SA KRUS MO AT PAGKABUHAY... INILIGTAS MO KAMING TUNAY

ST. JOSEPH, PRAY FOR US

ICON OF ST. JOSEPH THE WORKER

Most icons to date which bear the name of St. Joseph the Worker are traditional portrayals of St. Joseph with the Christ Child, wearing the himation (outer garment) and usually holding the flowering staff or holding a set square (as a representation of his carpentry).

St. Joseph is portrayed in his middle years, in this new icon, wearing a pale blue tunic with rolled up sleeves and a leather earth-toned shop apron, which is buttoned at the shoulder. He is presented in 'working' cloths and not wearing the traditional himation, which wouldn't be worn while working. The tradition of use of blue (or purple) for the inner garment represents the spiritual, and the outer s garment is in warm brown colours for the earth. The blue in the detailing on his waist sash is representational that St. Joseph was from the lineage of the House of David. His left hand is resting on a wood-chipping tool and reaches out with his right, inviting people to himself. Referenced to the Byzantine Tradition, the design is such for a stronger focus on St. Joseph’s title.

The icon IS a reminder to us to be open to the working of God in our lives, and an invitation to us to trust in what God is doing as Joseph was. “It also would be consonant with the traditional admonition of the Church "Ite ad Joseph" (Go to Joseph) to seek the intercession of the patron saint of the universal Church.”

An icon is referred to as having being written and not painted because it is not associated to the fine arts. It isn’t about artistic creation but about tradition, unchanging guidelines and the iconographic theology that sees an icon as sacramental and in the same light as the written Word. An icon is not just an image to be looked upon but connects with the viewer and draws he/she into itself and directly to its prototype (in this case, St. Joseph) and through it, God’s saving grace.

The process for each icon is a journey for the iconographer; certainly one of patience as an icon will take the time that it requires. Every step is deeply set within tradition and rich in symbolism, guiding the spiritual journey. It begins with the wood panel, the symbol of the Tree of Knowledge (Garden of Eden) and the Tree of Life (the Cross). This icon is constructed in solid poplar and has two parts: the outer part ‘container’ (the raised frame area) and the inner part ‘the contained’ (the inset area); also symbolizing the two natures of the human being – the body and the soul. (You will note that it also has extra braces along the back of the icon to help prevent the natural warping of wood over time.)

The board is covered with linen cloth, which symbolizes the ‘Shroud’, dying to ourselves to enter the Kingdom. Aside from the practical preparation of the panel to receive paint, the white gesso symbolizes light creating a new room for beauty.

After the image is transferred on the panel, the Bole (a red clay base) is then applied to the sides and also to the front surfaces where the gold leafing will be adhered to - representing our nature in God’s Creation. It symbolizes the ‘old humanity’; the clay in the inner surface (under the gilding) symbolizes the ‘new humanity’.

The 24K gold background is the prime symbol. Gold symbolizes Heaven. Gold applied on clay (bole) symbolizes Heaven’s plans for Humanity, representing the union of Heaven and Earth. I only use an archival quality acrylic paint which is higher in pigment content, does not fade over time, and for its longevity. The key is that it is water based. Oil paint cannot be used for icons as water symbolizes the rituals of purification, the waters of Baptism. Colours are a gift of God, such as when God presented Noah with the colours of the rainbow. As we add more and more colours and highlights, paint moves us from original chaos to shape and order. That is why I never use black paint in an icon. It may appear as though black is used for details, but it is fact dark greens, dark red purple, and a dark blue (Anthraquinone Blue). The colour black is the absence of God’s light.

When an icon reaches completion, the white circle is often drawn around the original red halo as a sign, not that perfection has been achieved, but that this particular transfiguration has been completed; it also symbolizes the iconographer’s return to the white panel; the determination to start all over again with a new board (a new white gessoed panel).

The oil varnish at the end symbolizes anointing, the consecration of a chosen one. An iconographer learns quickly that if any step is rushed or simplified, it inevitably results in failure in later stages. With every icon, the icon guides the journey. The iconographer becomes a participant.

Andre J. Prevost

http://www.caedm.ca/icon.aspx

GO TO CONFESSION!

LENT IS A TIME TO SHARE WITH THE POOR

PRAY THE STATIONS OF THE CROSS

GOING TO CONFESSION: A GUIDE

thanks to busted halo!

TIRED OF RELIGION? THINK AGAIN!

Spiritual but not religious — Not so fast!

Making the case for moving beyond your own personal God

by James Martin, SJ

(thanks to:  http://bustedhalo.com/features/spiritual-but-not-religious-not-so-fast)

Everybody seems to be spiritual these days — from your college roommate, to the person in the office cubicle next to yours, to every other celebrity interviewed. But if “spiritual” is fashionable, “religious” is unfashionable. This is usually expressed as follow: “I’m spiritual but just not religious.” It’s even referred to by the acronym SBNR.

The thinking goes like this: being “religious” means abiding by arcane rules and hidebound dogmas, and being the tool of an oppressive institution that doesn’t allow you to think for yourself. (Which would have surprised many thinking believers, like St. Thomas Aquinas, Moses Maimonides, Dorothy Day and Reinhold Niebuhr.) Religion is narrow-minded and prejudicial — so goes the thinking — stifling the growth of the human spirit. (Which would have surprised St. Francis of Assisi, Abraham Joshua Heschel, St. Teresa of Ávila, Rumi and the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.)

Or worse, as several contemporary authors contend, religion is the most despicable of social evils, responsible for all the wars and conflicts around the world.

Sadly, religion is in fact responsible for many ills in the modern world and evils throughout history: among them the persecution of Jews, endless wars of religion, the Inquisition, not to mention the religious intolerance and zealotry that leads to terrorism.

You can add to this list smaller things: your judgmental neighbor who loudly tells you how often he helps out at church, your holier-than-thou relative who trumpets how often she reads the Bible, or that annoying guy at work who keeps telling you that belief in Jesus is sure to bring you amazing financial success.

There is a human and sinful side to religion since religions are human organizations, and therefore prone to sin. And frankly, people within religious organizations know this better than those outside of them.

Some positive aspects

Some say that on balance religion is found wanting. Still, I would stack up against the negatives some positive aspects: traditions of love, forgiveness and charity as well as the more tangible outgrowths of thousands of faith-based organizations that care for the poor, like Catholic Charities or the vast network of Catholic hospitals and schools that care for poor and immigrant populations. Think too of generous men and women like St. Francis of Assisi, St. Teresa of Ávila, St. Catherine of Siena, Dorothy Day, Mother Teresa and the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King again. Speaking of Dr. King, you might add the abolition, women’s suffrage and civil rights movements, all of which were founded on explicitly religious principles. Add to that list the billions of believers who have found in their own religious traditions not only comfort but also a moral voice urging them to live selfless lives and to challenge the status quo.

And Jesus of Nazareth. Remember him? Though he often challenged the religious conventions of his day, he was a deeply religious man. (This is something of an understatement).

By the way, atheism doesn’t have a perfect record either. In his book No One Sees God: The Dark Night of Atheists and Believers, Michael Novak points out that while many atheist thinkers urge us to question everything, especially the record of organized religion, atheists often fail to question their own record. Think of the cruelty and bloodshed perpetrated, just in the 20th century, by totalitarian regimes that have professed “scientific atheism.” Stalinist Russia comes to mind.

On balance, religion comes out on top. And when I think about the examples of the maleficent effects of religion, I remember the English novelist Evelyn Waugh, a dazzling writer who was by many accounts a nasty person. One of Waugh’s friends once expressed astonishment that he could be so mean-spirited and a Christian. Think, said Waugh, how much worse I would be if I were not Christian.

“But I’m my own person”

Still, it’s not surprising that, given all the problems with organized religion, many people would say, “I’m not religious.” They say: “I’m serious about living a moral life, maybe even one that centers on God, but I’m my own person.”

“Spiritual” on the other hand, implies that, freed from unnecessary dogma, you can be yourself before God. The term may also imply that you have sampled a variety of religious beliefs that you have integrated into your life. You meditate at a Buddhist temple, participate in Seders with Jewish friends at Passover, sing in a gospel choir at a local Baptist church (great again), and go to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve at a Catholic church (also great).

You find what works for you, but don’t subscribe to any one church: that would be too confining. Besides, there’s no one creed that represents exactly what you believe.

But there’s a problem. While “spiritual” is obviously healthy, “not religious” may be another way of saying that faith is something between you and God. And while faith is a question of you and God, it’s not just a question of you and God.

Because this would mean that you’re relating to God alone. And that means that there’s no one to suggest when you might be off track.

We all tend to think that we’re correct about most things, and spirituality is no exception. And not belonging to a religious community means less of a chance of being challenged by a tradition of belief and experience, less chance to recognize when you are misguided, seeing only part of the picture, or even wrong.

Consider a person who wants to follow Jesus Christ on her own. Perhaps she has heard that if she follows Christ she will enjoy financial success — a popular idea today. Were she part of a mainstream Christian community, though, she would be reminded that suffering is part of the life of even the most devout Christian. Without the wisdom of a community, she may gravitate towards a skewed view of Christianity. Once she falls on hard times financially, she may drop God, who has ceased to meet her personal needs. Despite our best efforts to be spiritual we make mistakes. And when we do, it’s helpful to have the wisdom of a religious tradition.

This reminds me of a passage from a book called Habits of the Heart, written by Robert Bellah, sociologist of religion, and other colleagues, in which they interviewed a woman named Sheila, about her religious beliefs. “I believe in God,” she said. “I’m not a religious fanatic. I can’t remember the last time I went to church. My faith has carried me a long way. It’s Sheilaism. Just my own little voice.”

No place for humility

More problematic than Sheilaism are spiritualities entirely focused on the self, with no place for humility, self-critique or any sense of responsibility for the community. Certain “New Age” movements find their goal not in God, or even the greater good, but in self-improvement — a valuable goal — but one that can degenerate into selfishness.

Religion can provide a check against my tendency to think that I am the center of the universe, that I have all the answers, that I know better than anyone about God, and that God speaks most clearly through me.

By the same token, religious institutions need themselves to be called to account. And here the prophets among us, who are able to see the failures, weaknesses and plain old sinfulness of institutional religion, play a critical role. Like individuals who are never challenged, religious communities can often get things tragically wrong, convinced that they are doing “God’s will.” (Think of the Salem witch trials, among other examples.) They might even encourage us to become complacent in our judgments. Unreflective religion can sometimes incite people to make even worse mistakes than they would on their own. Thus, those prophetic voices calling their communities to continual self-critique are always difficult for the institution to hear, but nonetheless necessary.

It’s a healthy tension: the wisdom of our religious traditions provides us with a corrective for our propensity to think that we have all the answers; and prophetic individuals can moderate the natural propensity of institutions to resist change and growth. As with many aspects of the spiritual life, you need to find balance in the tension.

Religion provides us with something else we need: stories of other believers, who help us understand God better than we could on our own.

To connect and correct

Isaac Hecker was a 19th-century convert to Catholicism who became a priest and founded the American religious order known as the Paulists. [FYI, the Paulists created and continue to sponsor Busted Halo. –ed] He summed it up best. Religion, said Hecker, helps you to “connect and correct.” You are invited into a community to connect with one another and with a tradition. At the same time, you are corrected when you need to be. And you may be called to correct your own community — though a special kind of discernment and humility is required in those cases.

Religion can lead people to do terrible things. At its best, though, religion modifies our natural tendency to believe that we have all the answers. So despite what many detractors say, and despite the arrogance that sometimes infects religious groups, religion at its best introduces humility into your life.

Religion also reflects the social dimension of human nature. Human beings naturally desire to be with one another, and that desire extends to worship. It’s natural to want to worship together, to gather with other people who share your desire for God, and to work with others to fulfill the dreams of your community.

Experiencing God also comes through personal interactions within the community. Sure, God communicates through private, intimate moments — as in prayer or reading of sacred texts — but sometimes God enters into relationships with us through others in a faith community. Finding God often happens in the midst of a community — with a “we” as often as an “I.” For many people this is a church, a synagogue or a mosque. Or more broadly, religion.

Transcending your individual understanding of God

Finally, religion means that your understanding of God and the spiritual life can more easily transcend your individual understanding and imagination. Do you imagine God as a stern judge? That’s fine — if it helps you draw closer to God or to become a more moral person. But a religious tradition can enrich your spiritual life in ways that you might not be able to discover by yourself.

Here’s an example: One of my favorite images of God is the “God of Surprises,” which I first encountered in the novitiate. My own idea of God at the time was limited to God the Far Away, so it was liberating to hear about a God who surprises, who waits for us with wonderful things. It’s a playful, even fun, image of God. But I would have never come up with it on my own.

It came to me from my spiritual director in the Jesuit novitiate, who had read it in a book of that same title by an English Jesuit named Gerard W. Hughes, who borrowed it from an essay by the German Jesuit Karl Rahner.

That image was amplified when I read the conclusion of one of the great modern spiritual novels, Mariette in Ecstasy. Ron Hansen, an award-winning writer who is also an ordained Catholic deacon, penned the story of the religious experiences of a young nun in the early 1900s, loosely based on the life of St. Thérèse of Lisieux, the French Carmelite. At the end of the story, Mariette, who has left the monastery many years before, writes to her former novice mistress, and assures her that God still communicates with her.

We try to be formed and held and kept by him, but instead he offers us freedom. And now when I try to know his will, his kindness floods me, his great love overwhelms me, and I hear him whisper, Surprise me.

My image of the God who surprises and the God who waits for surprises came from three Jesuit priests and the religious imagination of a Catholic writer and deacon. In other words, that idea was given to me by religion.

Overall, being spiritual and being religious are both part of being in relationship with God. Neither can be fully realized without the other. Religion without spirituality becomes a dry list of dogmatic statements divorced from the life of the spirit. This is what Jesus warned against. Spirituality without religion can become a self-centered complacency divorced from the wisdom of a community.

That’s what I’m warning against.

The Rev. James Martin SJ, a Catholic priest, is culture editor of America magazine the national Catholic Weekly published by the Jesuits. This essay is excerpted from his book “The Jesuit Guide to (Almost) Everything.”