Baby Isaiah and my old tattoo |
But I didn’t want to
cover it up.
I wrote in this space then about why—the sentimental value
of seeing the same image on my arm at my wedding, nursing my newborn children,
graduating from college —that tattoo is in all of those pictures. It’s become
lopsided and faded, but it’s me. It’s
possible that I am also becoming a little lopsided.
Until, until. I started to plan my next tattoo. My first plan was to get a great blue heron.
They symbolize a connection to place and wilderness that’s hard to come by so
close to the city. I’ve written tons of poems
about the heron in the pond by the cemetery across the street from my house,
and in the summer they fly over from daytime feeding grounds at the tiny lake to
the west. They’re beautiful and shadowy,
motion and stillness at the same time. Grey, black, muted blue.
At the end of the day, though, a bird is a bird. And while I
may still get the heron done, there was
another image I couldn’t get out of my mind.
There is a woman (at least I see her as a woman) looking out
with clear eyes and calm gaze. The green beneath her feet suggests the round
earth under her. She is love. Just love. She has kind of a square face and
looks like she’s seen a lot. But the way she looks out is just clear
compassion. Total and complete love.
I sat opposite her window when I was on sabbatical in 2012
at Grace Medford, where my husband is t So just over two weeks ago (10 months after
the original decision was made), after 6 ½ hours of needle time, here she is.
he rector, which was when I was planning
the mommy tattoo. And she just wouldn’t let me go.
And you can still see my old tattoo, shadowy in the
background. I have an appointment for
January to go over and fill in any spots that didn’t heal properly, and maybe hide
that a bit more. But I kind of love it.
The line in the original window from 1 Corinthians—“The
greatest of these is charity”— you’ve heard at every wedding—is in the
background, but I went for the Latin “Caritas” just on the top instead of all
the words. I have mixed feelings about
Latin—you know, there’s that whole central tenant of Anglicanism that talks
about worship in your own language—but I am setting those aside in favor of the
wider Christian history of it.
Getting ready to preach recently, I found another place in
Scripture where this image resonates.
As Jesus was setting
out on a journey, a man ran up and knelt before him, and asked him, "Good
Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?" Jesus said to him,
"Why do you call me good? No one is good but God alone. You know the
commandments: 'You shall not murder; You shall not commit adultery; You shall
not steal; You shall not bear false witness; You shall not defraud; Honor your
father and mother.'" He said to him, "Teacher, I have kept all these
since my youth." Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, "You lack
one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will
have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me." When he heard this, he was
shocked and went away grieving, for he had many possessions.
It’s an astonishing and tragic moment: he comes up to Jesus
and bows down, offering deference and respect. “We can imagine that maybe he’s
expecting to be told he’s doing well; he says he has kept all the commandments.
But something unanticipated happens—Jesus looks at him, and loves him. In that loving glance, Jesus sees him and
knows him, and tells him what he’s missing. The man was looking for approval,
not grace. Certainly not this kind of love that will change his life. So he leaves.
For his security, and a deeper grief than he’s ever known.
This, it seems to me, is as clear a picture of hell as we
ever see in the New Testament. Never mind all that stuff about the eternal fire
where the worm never dies. This is the real thing. All of the promises of God’s eternity so
close he could touch it, and instead he turns his back. Giving in to his fear, he can’t listen to his
sorrow. He walks away. Even Job knew he was talking to God in the
depths of despair, but the rich man has nothing. Just his money. And he will find out that
that’s not enough.
Jesus looks at him and loves him. That’s what this woman is doing—
this look in her eyes is so astonishingly clear, so generous, you can see her
looking at you and loving you for who you are. And all of your anxiety, all of
your perceived need to prove yourself or justify your status—it just melts. And
you imagine that this is what love is. With all the transcendent hope in the world, I
want to say yes to it.
What about all the other stuff? the lilies and stems are Christ Church Waltham. The anchor is just cool, but we have one of those, too)
1 comment:
Jesus is Lord. sm+
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