bukas palad: May 2011

The Empire State Building. Everywhere you go in New York City, you will see it. You can’t miss its distinct shape and pinnacle, especially at night when it is illuminated in red, white and blue lights for this Memorial Day weekend. It is NYC’s focal point. For many a New Yorker, the Empire State Building is their reference point. It orientates them: it gives them a sense of rootedness and a sense of place. One knows where one is in NYC in relation to this iconic building.

This is a lesson I learned in this first week of living and working in NYC. Whenever I wandered into a new neighborhood that I’d not walked through before, like TriBeCa and NoHo, or even in places I’ve come to know like Gramercy and Midtown, and I sensed I was lost, I simply had to look up to see the Empire State to know where I was. Then, knowing my place in relation to it, I found my way back home. A friend describes this assuring sense the Empire State Building offers as the grace of place.

This is what cartography can also be about: the grace of helping ancient mariners, local residents and modern day holiday makers to know where they are, to get from point A to point B and to find direction when lost. It is the grace of being saved and feeling safe. This prompted me to reflect on Christian cartography: what would it look like and how would it be for us to map and chart our lives with Jesus as our focal point? How would such a cartography orientate or make a difference in the way Christians navigate through life and do ministry and service?

I don’t have any definitive answers for this is a work in progress. Perhaps, my continuing walks around NYC will enlighten me. But for now, these are some thoughts to share. If you and I confess belief in Jesus as our way, our truth and our life to and in God, then, we might want to spend some time to re-look at our Christian landscape of faith and life, and ask ourselves: What is my relationship to Jesus as I go about life? Is he my focal point? Do I take him as my reference in my daily relationships with God and others in ways that give life, build communion and do no harm?

Whatever our answers are to these questions, the lesson of being on the streets in New York City and looking up to see the Empire State Building offers us an insight into bringing a Christian cartography to life. Amidst the realities of our lives, we need only lift up our faith-filled gazes--and those we minister to and live life with--to better see that Jesus is not only with us but that he gives us the grace of our place with God and one another: we are all always in God’s gracious and saving relationship.

Photo taken at the corner of 5th Avenue and 23rd Street, Manhattan, NYC, by adsj

“All beginnings are hard.
I can remember hearing my mother murmur those words while I lay in bed with fever. ‘Children are often sick, darling. That’s the way it is, with children. All beginnings are hard. You’ll be all right soon.’
I remember bursting into tears one evening because a passage of Bible commentary had proved too difficult for me to understand. I was about nine years old at the time. ‘You want to understand everything immediately?’ my father said. ‘Just like that? You only began to study this commentary last week. All beginnings are hard. You have to work at the job of studying. Go over it again and again.’
The man who later guided me in my studies would welcome me warmly into his apartment and, when we sat at his desk, say to me in his gentle voice, ‘Be patient, David. The midrash says, ‘All beginnings are hard.’ You cannot swallow all the world at one time.’
I say this to myself today when I stand before a new class at the beginning of a school year or am about to start a new book or research paper. All beginnings are hard. Teaching the way I do is particularly hard, for I touch the raw nerves of faith, the beginning of all things. Often students are shaken. I say to them what was said to me: ‘Be patient. You are learning in a new way of understanding the Bible. All beginnings are hard.’ And sometimes, I add what I have learned on my own: ‘Especially a beginning you make by yourself. That’s the hardest beginning of all.’”

Chaim Potok, In the Beginning

photo: land and sky, at sedalia, colorado, august 2010 by adsj

bukas palad

with open hands, we give what we have first received. and with open hands, we receive what we will divest, once again. this is blessing itself: the giving and receiving of life and love, the sharing of faith and God.

Cartography: the grace of place

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"All beginnings are hard"

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