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Overview
Learn to use art as a way to open up a deep conversation with God.
This book is not about "art" in the sense of making pretty pictures, or even about expressing an experience of God. Rather it opens readers to new possibilities. The art they create here is the visual result of an experience with God through visual imaging. Those who use this technique invite God to be the director, writer, and artist of their hearts as they are introduced to the concept of "heart spirituality."
Prayer of the HeART is a wonderful exploration- for both the experienced artist and the novice- of the role of creativity in the life of prayer. Readers will find a variety of drawing techniques and media, and ways of dialoguing with the images they create. Each chapter, developed around a theme, features a visual exercise and a way to journey deeper into the heart of God.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780819226242 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Morehouse Publishing |
| Publication date: | 05/01/2006 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 92 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Prayer of the HeART
a journey through the heART with visual prayer
By KELLY SCHNEIDER CONKLING
Church Publishing Incorporated
Copyright © 2006 Kelly Schneider ConklingAll rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-8192-2624-2
CHAPTER 1
— HEART SPIRITUALITY —
Art. Images. Symbols. God. Life. Sacraments. Incarnation. These have always been intrinsically bound together for me. From an early age I saw and sought God through these means, even when I wasn't aware of what I was doing. Playing on the floor around the altar while my mother and grandmother worked—before I was big enough to help. Later, getting up early on Saturday morning to go out and cut flowers before the day got too hot. Placing them in deep water and taking them to the church to prepare them for the altar. Polishing the brass. Preparing the linens. Setting the altar. Placing the candles just right. Touching the rich purples, greens, reds, and whites of the hangings, soft, smooth, laced with golden threads and tassels. Watching the reflection of colors from the stained glass windows dance across the pews and the floor. Feeling the silence. Sensing the presence of God in that place and in and through the images and symbols all around me.
I am a visual person, somebody who experiences God best through the senses—touching, smelling, hearing, seeing, tasting, and the sacramental experiences of daily life, from flowers to a beautiful work of art, from a cup of tea with my mother to a walk with my husband to sitting on the patio listening to birdsong. Prayer is an integral part of these simple acts of living. It's an intentional awareness of God in, with, and through all aspects of our lives. And yet, at times prayer can be very elusive—words, ideas, thoughts, and conversations with God that seem to go nowhere, that have no sense of reality. For years I sought forms of prayer that had tangible elements to them. I looked and read and searched many places.
When I was about seven, my grandfather gave me a set of art books that covered the span of human artistic development in every culture. There were twelve books in all with hundreds of images of paintings, drawings, sculpture, and artifacts. I spent many an hour as I grew up looking through these books, over and over again, intrigued by the variety of expression. I remember being drawn in particular to the "religious" art work, both curious and confused by the artist's ability to represent God or the gods of their culture. I began to realize deep within my soul that there was a deep connection between God, art, and the stirrings of my heart.
My first conscious connection of prayer and art—tangible, visual prayer—came with my discovery of the Scottish minister and author George MacDonald. In his book, Lilith, an adult fairy tale, he writes of a man who is taken to a parallel world. As he and the raven, his guide, are walking through the church cemetery, the raven points out a flower—a prayer flower. After a discussion about how a flower could really be a prayer, the man states, "But I did see that the flower was different from any flower I had ever seen before; therefore I knew that I must be seeing a shadow of the prayer in it; and a great awe came over me to think of the heart listening to the flower." The great Heart listening to one of its little hearts. This concept struck me like a bolt of lightening: The heart of God, in which we live and move and have our being, listens to the longings and groanings of our little hearts.
This is a book about prayer. It's a book about a method of prayer using visual images as the means through which we allow God to speak with us. Ranier Maria Rilke wrote, "Work of the eyes is done, begin heartwork now on those images in you, those captive ones."
Our culture today is in dire need of doing "heartwork." In the Celtic tradition there's a clear sense of our having been created in the image and likeness of God and an embracing of all that entails: our innate goodness, our free will, and our responsibility to be co-creators with God in this world today. In what my now grown-up daughter calls our "generic" culture, I've found that visual imaging, used as prayer, can help with the "heartwork"—to find that center within ourselves where God dwells and in which we live and move and have our being.
RECOVERING AN ANCIENT WAY OF THINKING
The great Heart listening to its little hearts. The heart of God listening to the hearts of God's children. When I was in seminary, I discovered an affirmation of this connection between the heart and prayer in the writings of a fifth-century Syrian mystic, Pseudo-Macarius. He wrote of our journey to God as a progression of the heart—a progression from a heart that was sinful, to a heart infused by grace, and finally to a heart that totally belonged to God. This heart spirituality of Macarius is based in the ancient Hebrew understanding of heart, which influenced all of the Old and New Testaments and continued for many centuries in the Christian Church.
One of the striking things about the Judeo-Christian concept of God is that our God is a God with a heart. In turn, this God of ours, in whose image we are created, has given us a heart. The ancient understanding of "heart" is one that is multi-dimensional. The heart is the place of our emotions and affections. It is the place of thinking and wisdom, the place where our free will and conscience reside. In this way, the heart specifically refers to the human person as a whole. The heart is the core of our being, our inner self, and, most importantly, it is the place where we come face to face with God. It is the place where the Spirit of God is active.
It is this rich understanding of the heart that Macarius had in mind when he attempted to explain the workings of the heart in relationship to prayer. He wrote:
The heart itself is but a small vessel, yet dragons are there,
and there are also lions; there are poisonous beasts
and all the treasures of evil. There also are rough and uneven
roads; there are precipices. But there too is God, the angels,
the life and the Kingdom, the light and the apostles
the heavenly cities and the treasures of grace—all things
are there.
* * *
During the 1990s I saw a movie called Restoration. Set in England during the seventeenth century, it was about the life of a doctor. In one memorable scene, the doctor and his friend see a man who had come to the hospital with a kind of leather shield over his chest. They gather around, and he unbuckles the shield opening the front flap. Beneath the shield his chest is open—open and red like a wound, but open as if it had grown that way, with his beating heart clearly visible. The doctor and his friend, of course, are amazed. The man with the open chest asks if the friend wants to touch his heart. Enthralled and fascinated, he's also afraid and can not bring himself to. The man then invites the doctor, who slowly steps up and tentatively reaches out to touch the heart; a smile of joy, amazement, and understanding spreading over his face at the moment of contact.
In the seventeenth century, William Harvey, an English doctor, actually did present to his colleagues at the Royal College of Physicians a visible, tangible heart, one that could be held in the hand, measured, and dissected. At this moment, the heart became "demythologized." As James Hillman wrote in The Thought of the Heart and the Soul of the World, "Thought lost its heart, heart its thought." Human beings' love affair with scientific proof pushed away the heart of the past. Emphasis was placed on the "real" heart rather than the "symbolic" heart. Now when the heart was spoken of, it was the physical muscle in the breast. Any ancient understanding was relegated to metaphorical sayings like "wearing his heart on his sleeve." From this point on, the divide between heart and mind, heart and emotions, has continued to grow.
The heart is literally a muscle, an organ in our body, which pumps blood. But is that all there is to the heart, or were the ancient Hebrews on to something? Today we are now beginning to see that this "pump in the chest" isn't all there is to it. Recently scientists in the field of neurocardiology have discovered that the heart has its own nervous system that functions independently from the brain. Simply stated, it receives and sends information to the brain that creates a two-way communication between the two organs. The heart and brain "talk" to each other. The heart sends feelings and emotions to the brain, which in turn affect our health and well-being. So the metaphor of the heart by Macarius is really quite accurate. As we begin to recover an old way of looking at the "seat of our emotions," we find that there are deeper levels of "truth" than there are in cold, rational biology alone. "The heart, as the innermost spring of human personality is directly open to God and subject to his influence." Indeed, as we read in Psalm 33:15, God "fashions the hearts of them all."
In seeking to recover Heart Spirituality, we're connecting ourselves to the very core of our being. It's the path, the way, which Jesus taught—a way of living into and existing within the heart of God. As Meister Eckhart said of God, "You don't need to seek him here or there. He is not farther off than the door of your heart." In the process of visual prayer and journaling, which focuses on heart spirituality, we can learn a lot about the landscape of our own hearts as Macarius described them, discover deeper truths about ourselves, and make contact with God through ancient ways of prayer, journaling, and art, seeing and exploring them in new ways.
CHAPTER 2
— HEART AS PRAYER —
It was late in the evening. It had been one of those days—the kind of day when you find yourself anxiously awaiting the moment you get all of your work and chores done and can finally get to bed for a good rest. And that moment finally came—at last. Emily seemed to be asleep—her little three-year-old noises and singing stopped after several hours of struggling to avoid sleep. I listened once more, just in case. All was quiet. I put my book down, settled my pillows, turned off the light.
"Mommy!"
Oh, Lord, I thought. What is it now? Surely I didn't hear that. It's just my imagination. I turned over.
"Mommeeee!" This time I couldn't deny it. A voice was coming from the other room. Not Emily, but Sara. Sara, unlike her little sister, had always been a good sleeper and seldom woke up in the night. So what's wrong?
"Maaaa-m!" This time louder and more insistent.
As I began to pull myself up and out of bed, I went over the list of possibilities in my mind: Sick? She seemed okay earlier. Bathroom? Not usually the case. Thirsty? Maybe. Bad dream? Probably.
I went into Sara's room to see what was wrong, what she needed, hoping that it wouldn't be too involved.
"What is it? What's wrong?" I asked as I walked up to her bedside. "Are you okay?"
"Do you have God's address?" she asked, very simply. Not at all what I expected.
"God's address?" I asked kind of stupidly, trying to wake up enough to talk with her.
"Yes. God's address. I need it."
Okay, I thought. This isn't going to be a simple glass of water. I sat down beside her on the bed and began to explain, as best I could, that God didn't have an address like we do and that when we want to talk with God we use prayer. I then proceeded to try to explain prayer to her when she interrupted.
"Mother. I know all that," she said, rather put out with me. "But I pray and pray and I never get an answer. So I want to get God's address so I can write him a letter and he can send me a letter back!"
Oh, Sara, I thought. So do I.
* * *
My concept of prayer is really quite simple. For me, prayer is the longing of the heart, the desire to feel whole, to be in touch with myself, the universe, and most importantly, God. Any feeling that truly comes from the heart is prayer—an expression of myself reaching out for a sympathetic, loving presence. Even those feelings which I may think are "unholy," feelings of hate, envy, lust, when directed God-ward, as the psalmists did, are prayer. The Psalms are filled a myriad of emotions: fear, joy, hatred, anger, exaltation, all openly and honestly held up to God. The Psalm I find most disturbing is Psalm 137, which ends with this verse: "Happy shall they be who take your little ones and dash them against the rock!" Yet even this, as incomprehensible as it is for me, is the psalmist's prayer because it's an honest expression of feelings. To hold these kinds of feeling in, thinking that they are not "holy" enough to present to God, is to keep ourselves from a true and full relationship with God. Getting them out, on the other hand, allows us to turn them over to God for healing.
I have difficulty with words: keeping a journal or even praying in words. As much as I try, the words always sound a bit empty, false, never truly conveying what I really mean or how I really feel. I know what the Apostle Paul means when he writes, "Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. And God, who searches the heart, knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God" (Romans 8:26-27).
Words describe, images express. By using a combination of centering, imaging, and words I've found I can communicate with and discern God's will at a much deeper level. This process is very much like dreaming on paper. It is visual prayer.
Visual prayer is the opening of our heart to God—allowing the Holy Spirit to speak through the images we place on paper. It's fully open-hearted—not closed and controlled. There's so much we can learn through this process of prayer, which connects with the "spirituality of the heart" of Macarius.
If then we embark upon that progression to God, it stands to reason that there are many ways to travel that journey. Visual prayer is one path. It is not meant to be our primary form of prayer, but an addition to it. An increased awareness of the visual can give God another way to speak to us and gives us another way to respond. Art and prayer both involve trusting a process. What they share in common is that we don't know what is going to happen until we begin. You cannot control the outcome. Getting started is the hardest part. And just like traditional prayer disciplines, you will not get comfortable with it until you practice it.
This book is not about "art" in the sense of creating splendid pictures. Nor is it only for professionally trained artists. You don't need to be an artist to create visual images directed by the Holy Spirit. So if you don't think of yourself as an artist, relax. This isn't about creating "works of art," but about doing "art work"—the work of the heart in images. In fact, you have an advantage over those who are trained artists. I've found that artists who have a very difficult time letting go of their need for a particular result don't always get the most benefit out of this form of prayer. As an amateur, you may have an easier time letting go of your need for a desired outcome and letting yourself be directed totally by the prompting of the Spirit.
George MacDonald wrote of "the groaning [of the heart] that cannot be uttered." Perhaps, he suggested, that's just what music (art) is meant for—to say the things that are shapeless and wordless, yet are also intensely alive. Art as prayer is communication and expression in the form of a visual metaphor with the intention of opening our heart and mind toward God. It is not so much the expression of an experience of God, rather it is the visual result of an experience with and through God. Visual imaging, art as prayer, invites God to be the director, writer, and artist of our hearts, and the result is a visual, tangible, "letter" from God.
CHAPTER 3
— VISUAL PRAYER AND JOURNALING —
Visual prayer with journaling uses a combination of visual journaling and art therapy techniques balanced by spiritual discernment, reflection, and meditation. While visual prayer uses art therapy techniques, it's not the same thing. It's the intention that makes it different. In art therapy, the focus is on the individual psychological state and discernment is focused on what the images reveal psychologically, while the spiritual isn't necessarily considered. But using these imaging techniques as prayer for spiritual discernment allows for both—though the process may very well yield some psychological insight, the focus is on the spiritual. You can take the spiritual out of the psychological but you can't take the psychological out of the spiritual—they inform each other. In visual prayer, both the psychological and spiritual interact to provide a deeper dialogue with God.
The goal of visual prayer and journaling isn't only to delve into the depths of our hearts to discover our true selves, but—more importantly—to find God and nurture the love relationship God always intended. In Ephesians, Paul asks that God strengthen us in our inner being through his Spirit and that Christ may dwell in our hearts. And in Romans and Galatians, Paul talks of the Spirit dwelling within our hearts and being active in our lives. In our Judeo-Christian tradition, the heart is the core of our being, the place where we can discover our true nature. It's also the place where we come face to face with God, and where the Holy Spirit is active. It's the place where there's a tangible awareness of God's presence and grace. Surveying the landscape of our hearts is a way of finding ourselves and our God.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Prayer of the HeART by KELLY SCHNEIDER CONKLING. Copyright © 2006 Kelly Schneider Conkling. Excerpted by permission of Church Publishing Incorporated.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
Contents
Acknowledgments
explorefaith.org books: An Introduction
Introduction
Part 1: Prayer of the heART
1 heART Spirituality
2 heART as Prayer
3 Visual Prayer and Journaling
Part 2: Journey to the heART
4 The HeART Itself Is but a Small Vessel: Surveying the Landscape of the
heART
5 Rough and Uneven Roads: Doubts and Longings
6 God and the Angels: God in the Ordinary
7 Dragons, Lions, Poisonous Beasts: Forgiving and Letting Go
8 All the Treasures of Evil: Fear
9 The Life and the Kingdom, the Light and the Apostles: Gratitude
10 Heavenly Cities and the Treasures of Grace; All Things Are There: Going
Deeper—The Possibilities
Appendix: Color Symbolism
Bibliography