Art Car

 A couple of weeks ago, Trudi and I were walking over to AU to get some lunch, and were stopped in our tracks by this wonderful car. We had been grumbling about something or other, but the sight of this little, red KIA Soul all decked out like some Pakistani truck took our breath away, making us forget whatever it was that had been making us unhappy just moments before.

Although we were hungry, and hours of work awaited us back at the office, we took our time to examine all the curlicues and furbelows, risking our lives by standing in the middle of busy, Massachusetts Avenue to take photos of every side. 

 

We admired the medallions filled with cockatoos, parakeets, and lovebirds; dogs chasing each other across a peaceful meadow; and even a beguiling houri, offering a prayer against a sky filled with stars. We applauded the skill of the artist, whose practiced hand unerringly filled each border with repeating motifs of stylized leaves and flowers. Our own mouths curved upward at the expressive eyes and pink smile that made the front of the car echo the face of the divine, greeting every passerby with abundant, overflowing grace. And we wondered whose hands had turned a mere means of transportation into a mandala on wheels.

It seems to me that this is the function of art, whether in the gallery, in the church, or in the street: to stop us in our tracks. Some art does this with shocking images or heartfelt stories, designed to make us think about the broken places in the world. Some art does this with sparseness and simplicity, designed to open us to the transcendent reality that is beyond any description or story. And some art simply makes us laugh with amazement and glee that anyone would take the time to do such a thing.

Ever since, I’ve been saying that I want to turn my own humble, little automobile into an art car, too. I’ve been researching what kind of paint would make such a time-consuming project survive in the changeable DC weather; dreaming about what images and motifs would speak of both serenity and joy amid the noise and distraction of city traffic; and asking myself if I am really able to accept the responsibility that driving such a car would require. Do I have what it takes to drive an art car? Do you?

PS -- If you know who is responsible for this astonishing manifestation in the AU neighborhood, please give them my thanks, and ask them to look me up. I want to meet them!

Wonder Coupled with Joy, by Kathryn Sparks

photo by Jeehye Kim

One day a dancer friend said to me something like, “Have you ever considered that when you simply raise your arms in worship you are changing the composition of the room?” Another friend, a pastor, confirmed this sentiment sometime later, “All you have to do is raise an arm and the congregation is with you.” And this got me thinking about the energy in a worship space and how a lifted arm might invite a shift. It got me thinking more about the make-up of the body and our desire for wholeness. It got me thinking about the pulse of worship and the way dance in worship generates or encourages praise, reflection, opening of hearts to God. And it led me to a deeper understanding of Liturgical Dance – presentational as well as congregational – as a means of facilitating healing of the Body. Dance within worship, God’s word embodied: a most immediate and visceral reminder of the goodness of the body, of Christ come to us as one of us.

Just as well, to learn the art of therapeutic massage is to learn to be a facilitator. The body of the one under my hands is the co-healer with God’s Spirit. What I do is to show up and, hopefully, create the conditions for some kind of shift to occur. To some this might sound like a ‘patch of weirdness.’ But Liturgical Dance is not exactly a well trodden path either. I cannot think of anything better than being a little weird for God.

In the work I plan to do as a massage therapist I will be part of a dynamic team of physical therapists, fitness trainers and dance teachers. My clients will be athletes and dancers and those with chronic pain who have not yet been able to find a solution for their pain. The connection of this work to my work in the church must surely be bridge building and facilitation: creating conditions for the body to find its way to a sense of wholeness. Whether through lifting arms or twirling feet in worship or through laying hands on a body that thirsts for touch, I pray with my whole being that I will be a vessel for transformation.

I read these words recently in an article on massage: “In touch, wonder is coupled with joy... As massage therapists, we get to do good. We get to put our clients in touch with the beauty that lives within them. We help them to experience more deeply the truth of their aliveness” (D. Lauterstein, Massage Magazine, Feb 2013, pp 42-46) And oh the wonder! Our heart pumps involuntarily and the highways and byways of our circulatory system carry nutrients throughout our body. Millions of cells do their mighty work to keep us in motion and help us rest. A nose remembers; an eye twitches and fills with emotion. Our body makes myriad decisions in passing moments for the sole purpose of keeping us alive and in balance.

Liturgical dance at its best is also wonder coupled with joy. Dancers in church have the distinct privilege of getting to do a barefoot boogie in a sanctified place. And the primary purpose is to bring the church lovingly home to itself, to remind the Church of the inherent, fleshly beauty of our incarnate and risen Lord. Herein is the great commission for an embodied ministry:

“Take, eat”…(ingest and digest Me)…said our Lord Jesus on the night he was betrayed. I become your cells and blood, enlivening muscle and bones. So tangible, I am your flesh and your deepest yearning…your desire and your action. Offer Me to a hurting world. Take your hands and put them on my Body, him and her who ache for newness and an end to suffering. Let your feet be swift and beautiful for a Church that needs a barefoot boogie to bring it lovingly home to itself. And take your words, soft and gentle yet gathering strength for witness and proclamation, and love, deep love. Offer Me to a hurting world.

May it be so!                                      Amen.

Take my Hands, by Kathryn Sparks

photo by Amy Gray

 Take My Hands…                                                

…and let them move, at the impulse of Thy love. Take my feet and let them be, swift and beautiful for Thee, swift and beautiful for Thee. So goes the second verse of the hymn ‘Take My Life’, number 391 in the Presbyterian hymnal. Lately I find myself singing these words almost daily.

Here at ‘A Studio Incarnate’ we can remember the most basic incarnation – the body.  Fashioned in the image of God, we inhale and exhale without any effort on our part. Bones provide our frame and muscles produce movement. I am inspired to write about the new profession I am entering, though my primary call remains the same. After two years in training, I am beginning work as a massage therapist to complement my ongoing explorations in dance.

I teach Liturgical Dance for the Luce Center at Wesley Theological Seminary and love dancing in church as often as I can. So…massage therapy?  How could the two possibly be related?  I invite you to go on a journey with me as I attempt to articulate the connection for myself and for you, the curious reader.

I have long been fascinated by the inner workings of the human body. More than ten years ago, I found myself drawn to classes in Charlottesville, VA (where I was living at the time) that supported the art form of dance. For ten weeks I delved into a type of movement study called Body-Mind Centering and, later, I was introduced to another subtle discipline called Feldenkrais.  At their core, both develop skill in listening to the body itself for wisdom and understanding.  I was captivated. During that period of my life I was also starting to claim my call as a bridge between sacred and secular through the medium of dance. I was dancing more and more in churches and brought sacred dance to the stage in a large community dance production at the center of downtown Charlottesville. The year was 2000 and it was ripe with possibility. A year later, I enrolled at Wesley to take this call further.

I have been dancing my whole life. Born breech, naturally, I came into this world led by my feet.  Now it seems my hands have something to say, propelling me into a surprising work. Feet and hands: the means by which I offer myself to this world.

My forays into massage therapy also began in the year 2000. I have long managed what can be a debilitating condition and it was during a crisis point, the spring before the dance production, that I received my first massage. It was Lent and life around me was heightened and terrifying. When Kathleen’s healing hands touched me, I received water in the midst of a desert. It did not occur to me then that I would eventually be called to do the same for others. What struck me most about the experience was that it brought me back into communion with myself and others. My spirit was released and flowed freely again.

Years of serving God through Dance passed. I grew as a dancer and a teacher. Through various other shades of movement and dance classes, workshops and practices, my understanding of what the body offers us and holds for us blossomed – is still blossoming.

--Kathryn Sparks