My recent mixed media work juxtaposes image and text to create connections and metaphors that may not be predictable or seen immediately. The image is the subtext that allows the viewer to interact with the text in order to consider story, a story that points to the transcendence and eternally relevant Story.

My paintings are inspired by poetry, great writers, like Tolstoy or C.S. Lewis, but most importantly the powerful Word of God.

The word, damah Heb., refers to a metaphor that transforms, an art form that starts with a commonly accepted way of looking at the world, and adds a surprise or unexpected twist that results in a new perspective that inspires and transforms the viewer. We are surrounded by metaphors that point us to the unseen world.

Images & Words by Grace Carol Bomer

Seen above (and on front-page mastheads): Ancient Mercy and Bending To Love by Grace Carol Bomer.

Sitting in the back of the Unit's Dining Room,
laughing & laughing.

It all goes away, you understand, all the memories...
of family Sunday dinners & Midwest childhoods
& a young girl's dance.
And more.

It ALL goes away, memories & stories
taking flight like birds that have stayed
too long in the Fall, and felt a North Wind.

Awayyyyyyyyyyyy it all goes,
even Dignity, of course —
until all that is left is
laughter & companionship.
What else really matters?

A Flock of Memories will wait for us
on the far side of The Green Hill,
like children excited at our Return.

Seen above (and on front-page mastheads): Photography & Words by Scott Fisher.

I have no wit, no words, no tears;
My heart within me like a stone
Is numb'd too much for hopes or fears;
Look right, look left, I dwell alone;
I lift mine eyes, but dimm'd with grief
No everlasting hills I see;
My life is in the falling leaf:
O Jesus, quicken me.

My life is like a broken bowl,
A broken bowl that cannot hold
One drop of water for my soul
Or cordial in the searching cold;
Cast in the fire the perish'd thing;
Melt and remould it, till it be
A royal cup for Him, my King:
O Jesus, drink of me.

Image above (and on front-page mastheads): Fresco of the "white angel" at Mileševa monastery, 2012, photograph by Snežana Trifunović. (This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.)

Words above: "A Better Resurrection" by Christina Rosetti. From Goblin Market, The Prince's Progress and Other Poems. London: Macmillan 1879.

Eyes are at rest, the stars are setting.
Hushed are the stirrings of birds in their nests,
Of monsters in the ocean.

My Lord,
Each love is now alone with his beloved.
And I am alone with You.

Image above (and on front-page mastheads):"Pieta-Beloved" © 2011 Janet McKenzie www.janetmckenzie.com

Words above by Rabia al Basri
From Perfume of the Desert – Inspirations from Sufi Wisdom
Edited: A. Harvey and E. Hanut

Through the window of a small Honduran Episcopal church is a clothesline in the yard of the home next door. The absolutely non-sacred placement is what struck me. Here God is where man is, there is no set-apart place for Him. Poverty allows little separateness.

Image above (and on front-page mastheads): "Christ And The Laundry" by Barbara Desrosiers.

Seen in the ECVA exhibition: "Jesus Our Brother"

Words above by Barbara Desrosiers.

Blessing the Body

This blessing takes
one look at you
and all it can say is
holy.

Holy hands.
Holy face.
Holy feet.
Holy everything
in between.

Holy even in pain.
Holy even when weary.
In brokenness, holy.
In shame, holy still.

Holy in delight.
Holy in distress.
Holy when being born.
Holy when we lay it down
at the hour of our death.

So, friend,
open your eyes
(holy eyes).
For one moment
see what this blessing sees,
this blessing that knows
how you have been formed
and knit together
in wonder and
in love.

Welcome this blessing
that folds its hands
in prayer
when it meets you;
receive this blessing
that wants to kneel
in reverence
before you:
you who are
temple,
sanctuary,
home for God
in this world.

Reflection for the Third Sunday in Lent (March 11, 2012)

This reflection, by Jan Richardson, is part of the series “Teach Me Your Paths: A Pilgrimage into Lent.” If you’re new to the series, visit the first post, Teach Me Your Paths: Entering Lent, to pick it up from the beginning.

Image above and on front-page mastheads: "The Temple of His Body," by Jan Richardson.

Words above by Jan Richardson.

Remain in me, as I remain in you. (John 15:4)

Shadow box with bittersweet vine, thorns, feather, and mesh.

By Kathy Bozzuti-Jones

Seen in the ECVA exhibition: "Jesus Our Brother"

Blessing in the Round

This blessing
cannot help it;
it’s the way
it was designed.

Lay it down
and it rises again.

Release it
and it returns.

Give it away
and it makes a path
back to you.

There is no explaining
how it delights
in reappearing
when you have ceased
to hold it,
no hiding the sly smile
it wears
when it shows up
at your door,
no mistaking the wonder
when it circles back around
just at the moment
you thought you had
spent it completely,
had poured it out
with abandon
where you saw
the deepest thirst for it,
had put it entirely
in the hands
of those desperate
in their hunger.

But here it is,
the perfect circle of it
pressing into your hand
that curls around it
and then lets go,
receiving
and releasing
and receiving again
like the breath
that does not belong to us
but sets us in motion.

Reflection for the Second Sunday in Lent (March 4, 2012)

This reflection, by Jan Richardson, is part of the series “Teach Me Your Paths: A Pilgrimage into Lent.” If you’re new to the series, visit the first post, Teach Me Your Paths: Entering Lent, to pick it up from the beginning.

Image above and on front-page mastheads: "For The Sake Of The Gospel," by Jan Richardson.

Words above by Jan Richardson.

Using scripture, prayer, and art, Diane Walker shares her Lenten practice.

Seen above (and on front-page mastheads): Digital collage, 1Lent2, by Diane Walker.

Reflection for the First Sunday in Lent (February 26, 2012)

How will we see the angels if we don’t go into the wilderness? How will we recognize the help that God sends if we don’t seek out the places beyond what is comfortable to us, if we don’t press into terrain that challenges our habitual perspective? How will we find the delights that God provides even—and especially—in the desert places?

Blessing that Meets You
in the Wilderness

After the
desert stillness.

After the
wrestling.

After the
hours
and days
and weeks
of emptying.

After the
hungering
and the
thirsting.

After the
opening
and seeing
and knowing.

Let this blessing be
the first sweetness
that touches
your lips

the bread
that falls into
your arms

the cup
that welcoming hands
press into
yours.

Let this blessing be
the road that
returns you.

Let it be
the strength to carry
the wilderness
home.

This reflection, by Jan Richardson, is part of the series “Teach Me Your Paths: A Pilgrimage into Lent.” If you’re new to the series, visit the first post, Teach Me Your Paths: Entering Lent, to pick it up from the beginning.

Image above and on front-page mastheads: "And The Angels Waited On Him," by Jan Richardson.

Words above by Jan Richardson.