Sabbath Devotional :: The Art of Discernment

I have a tiny painting of Jesus on my wall. It’s by J. Kirk Richards and is reminiscent of the shroud of Turin. There are no distinct features — no piercing eyes, no contoured lips that spoke “Our Father, who art in heaven. . .” or “Blessed are the poor in Spirit. . .” or “It is finished.”

I walk past it many times a day. These fleeting, peripheral glimpses linger with me, settle into me, are becoming integrated into my soul. Constant exposure feels like the wisps of a breeze or a tune. They are gracious nudges toward something too real to be adequately conveyed. There is nothing sternly precise about it. It’s an impression, almost a smudge — reminiscent of Ash Wednesday foreheads among Catholics.

I am not comfortable with fastidious certainty. I know my brain’s way of second guessing, of stirring up “what if’s”. Common Mormon mantras don’t work well for me. I can, however, testify of “the truest” things I have known — those bedrock experiences/answers/intuitions that guide and fuel my life. These I trust. These are what keep me in this Christian Mormon place. I am buoyed by these most reliable touchstones. I walk the walk. I’d say I also talk the talk, but my husband reminds me that, because I am a convert with a deep spiritual life long before my Mormon days, I speak Mormon “fluently, but not natively.”

With MWEG, I am new to political activism. I just couldn’t not do something. (Does that have sufficient negatives to convey my meaning?) Too much is at stake.

I feel a need to marinate myself in the wisdom of the non-violent principles taught by Martin Luther King, Jr., Gandhi and Jesus (whose teachings I like to think are part of my bloodstream). The overall learning curve is steep, and I am breathless trying to keep on top of the basics. And that’s not to mention the complexities of health care, immigration reform, anti-racism and every other category MWEG tries to address. My new knowledge base is broad but not yet deep, sketchy but not yet not precise.

In the barrage of governmental chaos dished out daily, I often feel overwhelmed, flailing, insecure. The gift I crave most is discernment. Because news, views and ballyhoos are so in flux, I want to hone my ability to sense what is most important, what most needs my attention and action.

One day that could be comparing iterations of congressional bills. A different day that could be building a communal sense of unity and care by high-fiving every sister who posts or comments. Another day that could be talking to a member of Congress about an urgent issue. The next day it could be taking a break from the hubbub and going for a quiet walk to regroup and restore.

Without getting centered and attending to my core, I will feel frantic, overwhelmed and confused. When I constantly move too fast, I can no longer hear the whispers of that inner tune or feel the subtle breath of the Spirit.

Another Mormon artist, Minerva Teichert, (1888-1976), had a mantra she kept in mind as she created her impressionistic, muscular, vibrant (and I dare say feminist) paintings to illustrate the Book of Mormon: “That he who runs may read.”

She knew that many would not have the luxury to stop and ponder the messages inherent in her paintings. She wanted there to be at least a quickly conveyed message, a lure to curiosity, an intimation of the Spirit that could linger in viewers’ hearts and minds. She was not concerned that viewers focus on the articulation of a horse’s hind leg (although she was uniquely gifted at painting livestock). She wanted them to quickly sense power, dignity, movement, energy and action.

We will continue through the blur and churn of topics, opinions and alternatives. For us all I wish the gift of discernment. Let us develop that art. Let us hone our abilities to perceive the smudges and nudges of the Spirit toward that which is most vital, that “we who run may read.”