It has been said that an icon is written in the heart of the iconographer before the brush touches the board or the pencil touches the paper.[i] Sacred psychology invites us to allow our wounds to stay open, to take off the Band Aids and cover-ups in order for a new story to be known in and through us. [ii]
The year is 1993. In July of that year the Bartow County Clerk declares by divorce decree that my marriage is over. It’s hard to say which was worse, the years leading up to the divorce or the years that followed. Nineteen years of being married to my high school sweetheart were bitter sweet. We were young to begin with and crazy in love to boot. He was dashingly handsome and charming, not quite a prince but almost. He didn’t have to steal my heart; I gave it to him freely when I was just a girl. And I wanted nothing more than to be his wife. So it was that we were married on June 8, 1974 and divorced nineteen years later. To sever such a love was devastating. Looking back it is unclear to me exactly how we came to that place of parting. I suppose it was years of me being over responsible and he being a dreamer. For him happiness was always just around the corner with one more scheme, one more move, one more great opportunity for making millions. For me happiness was being a wife and a mom and desperately wanting to go to seminary to be an Episcopal priest. It is not an unfamiliar story to many women who go to seminary but it is part of my story and it was my heart that was broken. That my ex-husband, Dale, was killed in a motorcycle accident two days before Christmas in 2006 is an important part of this story as well.
Fast forward to January 2008. I am very happily re-married and have been for seven years. Time heals all things, right? I am at my friend Anne’s church in Jacksonville, Florida attending my third icon-writing workshop with Teresa Harrison. The icon we are to write this time is of the Sinai Christ. I’ve read a little about this icon and particularly like the reflections of Frederica Mathewes-Green about these eyes of Christ. [iii] She suggests using an index card or piece of paper to cover one half of the face and then the other. By doing so the difference is notably dramatic. The right side of the face shows a challenging, penetrating gaze of Christ. One where he might be saying, “Oh, I’ve got your number.” But as Mathewes-Green observes there is also a bit of humor here, a lift at the corner of the mouth, perhaps a slight smile. On the left side of the face there is tranquility. This is a listening patient eye, one that is waiting for us to pour out our aching heart. And as is pointed out, we need both sides of Christ. We need the challenging side that calls us to move more deeply into our souls and we need the understanding compassionate side that loves us deeply just as we are. And so it is with this awareness of the icon that I begin on day one to write this icon of the Sinai Christ.
On day two, Anne, as our chaplain, begins morning worship by offering to anoint our hands with water because later in the day we will be painting the hands of Christ. This surprises me a bit because I thought the hands didn’t come until the third day but I’m open and step forward for Anne to bless my hands, which she does. After Eucharist we move to our worktables and I begin mixing paint to do more of the detail work on the gospel book and fill in the background. After lunch we work for a while and then Teresa asks the class to come up for a demonstration on the hands. I wash my brush and hover over her along with the rest of the class. She starts by taking what’s called “flesh 2” paint and with small short strokes begins to establish the knuckles and then adds flesh to the hands of Christ. The left hand is holding the gospel book and the right hand is raised in blessing. With the other two icons I have done, painting the hands has been a very powerful experience but at the moment these hands don’t feel particularly significant. Almost mechanically I move to my seat, dab a bit of the flesh 2 paint onto my pallet, thin it out with water, swirl it to the tip of my brush and begin to make the small strokes onto the left hand of Christ, the one holding the gospel book. Not even two strokes are made before my eyes begin to fill with tears. I can’t believe that I am crying. I sit still for a moment trying to collect myself. I try again to paint but the tears flow unchecked. More out of embarrassment but also because I cannot see to paint, I go to the bathroom to blow my nose and dry my tears. Believing that tears are the language of the heart the desire to sob is overwhelming and so rather than try and suppress the tears I let them flow. I go into Anne’s study and sit there sobbing. Being the wise spiritual friend that she is, Anne simply listens and lets me cry. My heart feels like it is breaking in two but I do not know why. As we talk what begins to emerge is the significance of the right hand of Christ being raised in blessing. I had not even begun to paint this hand but talking about it now makes me sob even harder because part of what I know of my priestly ministry is the power of blessing. Seemingly out of the blue a parishioner who died two years ago comes to my mind. It is almost as though Bobbie is in the room with us. And maybe she is because Bobbie as an artist and being a deeply spiritual person would have loved this icon-writing workshop. As her priest I was invited to walk the way of death with her and toward the end of her life she told me how much she loved the blessings I would give at the end of worship. She said she always wanted to reach out and catch them. Anne then wonders out loud if Christ, perhaps, wants to bless me, which, of course, makes me sob all the more. Clearly I’m not in any shape to go back to work on my icon today so Anne suggests that I take a walk outside, oh and why don’t I take that book of prayers that is on the table beside me, In the Hand of God.[iv]
So I go outside to sit in the sun and open the book to the first page. Here is what I read: “I said to the man who stood at the gate of the year: ‘Give me a light that I may tread safely into the unknown.’ And he replied: ‘Go out into the darkness and put your hand into the hand of God. That shall be to you better than light and safer than any known way.’” And that is how it came to be that I placed my hand in God’s hand and together we continued to write the icon of the Sinai Christ.
Later that night in the darkness of my room as I was praying before going to sleep I began to get a glimmer as to why my heart was breaking. I began to understand the tears and what the need for healing was all about. You see there was this very old wound in the depths of my heart I didn’t even know was still there that needed to be healed. Years of therapy and prayers and going on with life had not completely healed this wound. It was the wound from my divorce, from the betrayal, from the loss of that innocent sweet youthful love. This brokenness in my heart was from that place where intimate love emerges in its purest form and if it was to heal I knew I had to keep the wound open long enough so that a new story could unfold. I knew this healing had to do with Dale and my guess was that even in death he too was still in need of healing.
Returning to the workshop the next morning I finished both hands of Christ and began to work on the eyes. After a quick lunch I headed outside in the warmth of the sun to take a long walk. After a few blocks it felt like someone was walking with me and oddly I sensed it was Dale. I immediately became incensed. Someone watching me would surely have steered clear of this crazy woman shaking her head and talking to no one. But I didn’t like it one bit that my ex-husband, who I thought was long gone out of my life, had returned, from the dead no less, asking me to open my heart to him. Besides that, icon writing is something I deeply enjoy as a spiritual practice and I did not want him to be any part of this holy work. But as God does with compassion, grace and mercy, my heart began to soften and I conceded that Dale could look on as I returned to class to complete the eyes of Christ. You will not be surprised that painting the eyes of Christ had just the effect on me as Frederica Mathews-Green had written. Those knowing gentle piercing eyes looked straight into my heart—my broken heart. And through those eyes of Christ my heart was healed. Somehow through those eyes of love a bridge was built between heaven and earth so that Dale and I could forgive and bless one another forever. Somehow that thin veil between heaven and earth, here and there, was mysteriously brushed aside long enough to heal both our hearts. I have no doubt that if I looked deep enough into this icon I would see heaven for what looks out at me is light and love, mercy and forgiveness.
This is the Good News of God in Christ—that Christ will draw all persons to himself and that through him all things will be made new on heaven and on earth. This is my new story—an Easter story of reconciliation. And every time I look at this icon I receive a blessing and want to reach out to catch it.
[i] “Icon of Christ the Healer” article by Mary Katsilometes, January 3, 2008 EnVision Church website
[ii] The Search for the Beloved by Jean Houston, PhD, second edition 1997, p. 107
[iii] The Open Door by Frederica Mathewes-Green, 2003 pp. 15-22
[iv] In the Hand of God by Minnie Louise Haskins (1875-1957) Oxford England