Getting Out of My Own Way

For years now, as part of working with Lutherans Concerned/North America for full inclusion of glbt Lutherans into all aspects of the life of their Church and congregations I have been thinking a lot about brokenness.

I got used to it really, and to my surprise found that nothing in the momentous decisions made at Churchwide Assembly changed my thinking all that much. My inner world is still inhabited by broken things.

Broken promises, lives, careers, broken church spires, broken hearts. No vote taken can by itself bring a change, just like that. Too much water has already made its way under the bridge.

Going on three years now I have also been thinking about trying my hand at making mosaic pieces out of the shards of broken dishes. "Pique assiette" is the delicious mouthful to describe the practice.

As a technique it has existed for centuries, being employed in part by church artists reassembling stained glass windows shattered during other times of denominational upheaval such as the Reformation or as a result of the Puritanism of the English civil war.

Don't get me wrong, I am thought of and even regard myself as "crafty" in every sense of that word, but I do not consider myself an artist. On the surface, making something with broken dishes seemed a comfortable enough craft. Broken dishes are a homey medium and the idea of restoring functionality by incorporating broken pieces into some new whole appealed as well.

So about three years ago I bought myself a book and starting saving up cracked and chipped pieces around our home. I even began stockpiling inexpensive plates from a thrift store in preparation.I created a space in our back garden area using some shattered plate pieces as mulch as a way to dip my toe in those waters and yet...

When it came to putting mortar and shard together I was completely stalled out. Intimidated beyond any ability to begin. Despite my little pretense at "craft" the pieces I'd seen in books, or in galleries or online all revealed themselves as "art" to my eyes.

So recently, when an acquaintance invited me to join her in attending a spirituality workshop at Seton Cove entitled "Broken but Whole" I took a peek at the website description and knew the clouds had finally parted.

Explore bashing, reassembling, and other spiritual metaphors while creating mosaics from shards, "pique assiette.” Tools and materials will be provided, including old china plates. Make it more personal by recycling your own cracked dishes and trinkets or bring an object to be covered. If your project isn't completed in this session, you'll have guidance on how to finish it at home.

When the evening finally arrived, it was atypically raining cats and dogs, requiring us to run our soaking wet selves into the building where an outdoor setup was being rapidly moved up under cover of a patio roof. We signed in, slapped requisite nametags onto our damp clothing and settled in at plastic shrouded tables to meet our presenter.

Up stepped Ginger Henry Geyer. Artist, pastoral minister in training, wife, mother, sister and ad hoc humorist. With her soft Arkansas accent, she led us through a short history and primer of techniques, and kick started our thinking by displaying a pique assiette piece of her own entitled "Broken Table".

Consisting of a TV tray table covered with shards surrounding two broken kitschy church plates, one of the Last Supper and another bearing that familiar somewhatnamby pamby painted version of Jesus that inhabits many a Christian reared child's fever dreams, her piece features a cup in one upper corner and a halo of intentionally raised sharp pieces surrounding the Last Supper plate's communion scene.

"Broken Table" provokes consideration of how the eucharist has been misused as an instrument of separation rather than communion by so many Churches in so many ways. And sure enough, viewing this reincarnated TV tray table, up welled many of the same emotions I'd experienced since the ELCA's churchwide assembly earlier this month.

Joy, mostly, yes and potentially vividly deep joy, but so much pain as well.

Pain especially for those of our brothers and sisters in Christ who will become so distracted by their despair convinced we have taken a wrong path. Certain in their own minds that by voting to allow congregations to call partnered gay and lesbian pastors and staff, by officially recognizing all families equally, by making room for everyone who finds a love partner to promise themselves to each other in the midst of and with the blessing of their family of faith, certain that by all of that we have not made progress, but rather taken a series of sinful missteps.

Filled with pain they will have their heads bowed and perhaps miss entirely the other larger sight to behold. Without lifting their eyes they might not see every one of us on either side of this conversation, hand and hearts stretched out, all so very willing to work, long and hard, towards the fullness of Church as the expressed Body of Christ in this world. Never catching sight of all of us, every day, saints and sinners gathered together at the foot of the cross in equal need of God's forgiveness and grace.

Hearing holy echoes at every turn, I listened further as Ginger spoke of an Asian practice "Kintsugi" where a perfect vessel is at times intentionally broken and then repaired with resin sprinkled with gold, rendering the most precious part of the container that which is around and holding together all the formerly broken pieces.

Ears ringing I shuffled out with the others to select my shards. At long last I was to ignore if not shed my fears and begin a piece all my own. Taking a deep breath, I stepped out the door and off the cliff of my own making. Falling from inaction to action, gently guided by a final admonition to wear goggles if not glasses when breaking the pieces as "there is danger in any art".

What happened? Here from a grateful email sent to our artist leader along with a photo of the plate I'd taken home to complete..."Ginger: I took you at your word. Words, especially in these days when mainline Protestants struggle with their fundamentalist strains, have become very powerful. So I listened to you and despite being a recovering perfectionist I did not fuss much or fret over color schemes, establishing a pattern or trying for a lot of control. I let the pieces talk to me, tell me that they wanted to be used here, or there, or not at all.

They came together into a crazy quilt that represents my spiritual life here at the hem of the garment of my Church (Lutheran ELCA).

I am..... a perfectionist, broken hearted by the humanity of churches when all along I was seeking CHURCH. I thought early on maybe I was looking for God, but Church surely got in the way. Finally beginning to grasp that only God is perfect so no, maybe not getting too close to God, too threatening, too unintelligible to me except in broken incarnation.

It is all in there, in this humble reassembled plate I think of as "Church Potluck".

Church spires, branches and vines, blood, wine, high holy day purple and gold, the red of Pentecost, the pensive blue of Advent, the green of ordinary times. There are a few flowers on my broken altar, a baptismal shell, signs of water, the colors of desert and rainbow. Bits of grassy meadows where the meek of spirit are pronounced as "blessed". None of it complete, all of it only revealed in part, as a glimpse, as broken and haphazard as any of our lives. Not so gorgeous close up, really easier to appreciate with a bit of distance.

Like me and the church. Seeing the church from afar being the only view I can take for now. Get too close and all I see is brokenness. Jagged edges and rough surfaces.

Why am I here brazenly sharing this image with all the pillowing, the rough spots, the so many imperfections, with you, The ARTIST? The EXPERT?

Because your kind voice, your quick laugh and your gentle stories revealed such depth, some pain all your own, and a growing certainty on my part that you are not only creator but also mentor, supporter and She Who Understands. You created a safe space for all of us Thursday night so we could TRY. I think that is what God does, all the time. God asks us to try, not to succeed, God asks us to gently love each other and to please, please, love ourselves, as we try. So I try to do that....and sharing the imperfections rather than hiding them is confession of a sort. Showing them is how I begin to love them. And myself."

And so my friends, by further sharing this image and story here with you, I complete this, my first short journey of discovery and awareness and ongoing confession of imperfection celebrated through pique assiette.Please know I am fully, excruciatingly aware of the rough nature of this start. I have much yet to learn. I hope to learn by doing however, to learn by living out the practice, no longer waiting, no longer demanding that if I cannot have Perfection I will choose Nothing as the only other option.