October 20, 2011
It's been our good fortune to be in Granada at the same time as a major exhibit of M. C. Escher's work, staged by foundation that manages his legacy, in honor of the 75th anniversary of his last visit to Granada. Why this exhibit honoring such an anniversary?
Because it's widely accepted that many of the forms Escher used, how the forms interlock, and his fascination with visual depictions of mathematical relationships all were inspired by what he found on the walls of the Alhambra.
Escher visited the Alhambra twice, once in his early twenties and once in his late thirties. A film at the exhibit demonstrates clearly the connections between the tile designs web had just seen at the Alhambra and many of Escher's familiar works. To remember how much Arab and Muslim influences in the sciences, arts, and culture have entered into our Western lives is nothing new. To find this demonstrated in an unexpected context, in the work of an artist we have both always adored, was a delightful surprise.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
Practicing Alone
On the way to visiting the most amazing exhibit of the work of M.C Escher, we stopped by Iglesia St. Gregory, which we pass by on our walk to and from our apartment. It's a neighborhood church, with a stunning baroque altar as its centerpiece, which was behind an equally ornate scrollwork gate. Kneeling in front of the altar was a tiny woman, covered from head to toe in white. At first I thought: "if this is a wedding--where is the groom?" Then, it hit me- she is a nun and "the groom" is Christ, and the "audience" was the large statue of Mary St the center of the altar. I think it was part of this order of nun's daily devotional practice-- to pray in front of Mary regardless of who else was in the chapel.
We came back to the church on our way home, this time while a Mass was being conducted. There in the front was there, again, a small figure cloaked in white. Other nuns were singing, but invisible to the visitor sitting in the back of the sanctuary. The organ was accompanying lovely and haunting Gregorian type chants. All of this beauty, I thought, for the one person, who was attending the Mass, and us, two Unitarian Universalist ministers on their way to some place else. I realized later, however, the fundamental difference between Catholic and Protestant style of worship: the "audience" for this order of nuns was Mary and God; it didn't matter if we were there or not. For Protestants, which is the lineage and history of Unitarian Universalists, the people's presence is imperative.
This experience reminded me of one of the threads on a recent ministers chat which posed the question about whether or not ministers will be holding Sunday morning services this year on Christmas Day. Some have decided against it, citing that no one would come. Others, like us, have said "it's Sunday and we do church on Sunday, even if no one comes.". Sometimes on Sunday morning, at 9:15, I look out in despair because the sanctuary is three quarters empty and I pray that people will come (and they do, eventually)If no one came to church on Christmas morning, I think Wayne, David Blazer and I would simply spend that hour in meditation, prayer and music instead of conducting a "service."
I realized that although I love the idea of the Unseen Presence as the audience, church for me requires the presence of people. Our faith tradition requires showing up and engaging in the spiritual practice of church. Every Sunday when we lead worship, it makes a difference to be in the living, breathing presence of the gathered community. The showing up of real bodies on Sunday morning is, in truth, the answer to my prayers. Kathleen
We came back to the church on our way home, this time while a Mass was being conducted. There in the front was there, again, a small figure cloaked in white. Other nuns were singing, but invisible to the visitor sitting in the back of the sanctuary. The organ was accompanying lovely and haunting Gregorian type chants. All of this beauty, I thought, for the one person, who was attending the Mass, and us, two Unitarian Universalist ministers on their way to some place else. I realized later, however, the fundamental difference between Catholic and Protestant style of worship: the "audience" for this order of nuns was Mary and God; it didn't matter if we were there or not. For Protestants, which is the lineage and history of Unitarian Universalists, the people's presence is imperative.
This experience reminded me of one of the threads on a recent ministers chat which posed the question about whether or not ministers will be holding Sunday morning services this year on Christmas Day. Some have decided against it, citing that no one would come. Others, like us, have said "it's Sunday and we do church on Sunday, even if no one comes.". Sometimes on Sunday morning, at 9:15, I look out in despair because the sanctuary is three quarters empty and I pray that people will come (and they do, eventually)If no one came to church on Christmas morning, I think Wayne, David Blazer and I would simply spend that hour in meditation, prayer and music instead of conducting a "service."
I realized that although I love the idea of the Unseen Presence as the audience, church for me requires the presence of people. Our faith tradition requires showing up and engaging in the spiritual practice of church. Every Sunday when we lead worship, it makes a difference to be in the living, breathing presence of the gathered community. The showing up of real bodies on Sunday morning is, in truth, the answer to my prayers. Kathleen
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Living in Paradise
Living in Paradise : October 18, 2011
Yesterday we passed one of the milestone experiences that we wanted to have when we planned this sabbatical: a day at the Alhambra in Granada, the last surviving and most complete architectural monument to the Muslim polity in Spain. It is a site much written about, and our reflections about the design, the tile and plaster work, and the gardens would only add more superlative adjectives on to the existing pile that North American tourists have created, from Washington Irving in 1829, to the present day.
After leaving the Nasrid Palaces and strolling back through the gardens on another 72 degree blue sky day, I said to Kathleen: "Isn't this your childhood imagination of what heaven is supposed to be? Perfect temperature, sunshine and shade, beautiful gardens with walking paths, people chatting quietly as they stroll or sit on benches, beautiful architecture with mountain views? I half expect to see angels playing harps around the the corner."
My reaction to the Alhambra is no surprise, because this was exactly the intent in the greatest Islamic (and Christian) architecture: to create an image of paradise on earth. Rebecca Parker and Rita Nakashima Brock have gone into the theology of this effort in great depth, of course, in Reclaiming Paradise. You experience it in Al-Andalus all the time, in the courtyards with central fountains and beautifully landscaped four-quadrant gardens, in the intricately constructed geometric design blending into Arabic text reminding us there is no God but God, and even in the Christian monuments that are often placed adjacent to or inside the Muslim monuments.
The Alhambra has such a monument, the palace of Charles V, built after the Muslims had been driven out, right next to the Nazrid Palaces. It's Renaissance architecture is totally inconsistent with the rest of the Alhambra, and yet, with it's circle-within-a-square design and beautiful proportions, it's another representation of paradise in it's own way. A troubling reminder of how unlike-heaven the political struggles for supremacy in Granada were is the Christian church at the Alhambra, built on the site of the Nazrid's mosque, which was torn down. We remembered in sad contrast the two images of heaven in Cordoba, the beautiful columns and spacious design of the Great Mosque, large enough to contain within it a magnificent Christian cathedral.
On the way out of the Alhambra, we were browsing in the bookstore and came across these lines from the poet Ibn Jafayya:
"0 people of Al-Andalusia, blessed of God,
With your water, shade, rivers, and trees -
There is no Garden of Paradise
except in your homes.
If I had to choose, I prefer this one.
think not that tomorrow you shall enter the eternal fire.
No one enters hell after living in paradise!
Yesterday we passed one of the milestone experiences that we wanted to have when we planned this sabbatical: a day at the Alhambra in Granada, the last surviving and most complete architectural monument to the Muslim polity in Spain. It is a site much written about, and our reflections about the design, the tile and plaster work, and the gardens would only add more superlative adjectives on to the existing pile that North American tourists have created, from Washington Irving in 1829, to the present day.
After leaving the Nasrid Palaces and strolling back through the gardens on another 72 degree blue sky day, I said to Kathleen: "Isn't this your childhood imagination of what heaven is supposed to be? Perfect temperature, sunshine and shade, beautiful gardens with walking paths, people chatting quietly as they stroll or sit on benches, beautiful architecture with mountain views? I half expect to see angels playing harps around the the corner."
My reaction to the Alhambra is no surprise, because this was exactly the intent in the greatest Islamic (and Christian) architecture: to create an image of paradise on earth. Rebecca Parker and Rita Nakashima Brock have gone into the theology of this effort in great depth, of course, in Reclaiming Paradise. You experience it in Al-Andalus all the time, in the courtyards with central fountains and beautifully landscaped four-quadrant gardens, in the intricately constructed geometric design blending into Arabic text reminding us there is no God but God, and even in the Christian monuments that are often placed adjacent to or inside the Muslim monuments.
The Alhambra has such a monument, the palace of Charles V, built after the Muslims had been driven out, right next to the Nazrid Palaces. It's Renaissance architecture is totally inconsistent with the rest of the Alhambra, and yet, with it's circle-within-a-square design and beautiful proportions, it's another representation of paradise in it's own way. A troubling reminder of how unlike-heaven the political struggles for supremacy in Granada were is the Christian church at the Alhambra, built on the site of the Nazrid's mosque, which was torn down. We remembered in sad contrast the two images of heaven in Cordoba, the beautiful columns and spacious design of the Great Mosque, large enough to contain within it a magnificent Christian cathedral.
On the way out of the Alhambra, we were browsing in the bookstore and came across these lines from the poet Ibn Jafayya:
"0 people of Al-Andalusia, blessed of God,
With your water, shade, rivers, and trees -
There is no Garden of Paradise
except in your homes.
If I had to choose, I prefer this one.
think not that tomorrow you shall enter the eternal fire.
No one enters hell after living in paradise!
Monday, October 17, 2011
Call to Prayer in Granada
Throughout our travels in Al-Andulus, we have encountered several small towns that, at one time, (i.e. The 7th-12th century) boasted an all Jewish or all Muslim population. The stories of those towns were all unique, of course, but also very similar. When Christianity came to power, there was an initial attempt to co-exist with person's of other faiths, but alas, eventually one had to either convert, be exiled or killed and all one's property confiscated. Such was the case of the Muslims in Granada, whose power and artistic beauty was expressed through the creation of Granada's premier site: The Alhambra. It sits on one of the highest plots of land in Granada, as if to remind the entire town of what it once was before Ferdinand and Isabella took the keys from the last Muslim prince, Baobdil, who, along with his nagging mother, was banished to exile in Africa
Sunday evening found us on a pilgrimage. We had heard that in 2003, a functioning Grand Mosque had been built on a hill opposite the Alhambra. We were determined to find it before the evening call to prayer. We got lost, finding ourselves, ironically, in the parking lot of Iglesias Isabella Catolica, which was closed for renovations. As twig light deepened, we despaired of ever being able to find the Mosque amidst the winding streets and clots of tourists everywhere.
Somehow, we set our feet in the right direction and climbed the hill that led to the gates of the Great Mosque of Granada. From the garden of the mosque, we could see the evening lights illuminating the Alhambra. As the sky deepened in color from yellow to pink to azure blue, we heard the imam calling the faithful to prayer. "Allah akbar" he called out into the twilight. Just at that moment, the cathedral bells began to ring. They did not drown out the imam, but they did remind us of how these two great traditions co-exist side by side, even to this day. We were filled with a profound sense of history finally righting itself, after centuries of damage done to the Muslim faith in Granada.
The court yard was now empty. Everyone else had gone into the mosque to pray. We were the last ones there, and the gatekeeper had waited for us to leave. Bowing low before leaving, we said a silent prayer of our own-- for the presence of the mosque; for the beauty of Granada; for the majesty of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, and for the scent of oranges and jasmine that filled the night sky. We felt ourselves truly blessed.
Sunday evening found us on a pilgrimage. We had heard that in 2003, a functioning Grand Mosque had been built on a hill opposite the Alhambra. We were determined to find it before the evening call to prayer. We got lost, finding ourselves, ironically, in the parking lot of Iglesias Isabella Catolica, which was closed for renovations. As twig light deepened, we despaired of ever being able to find the Mosque amidst the winding streets and clots of tourists everywhere.
Somehow, we set our feet in the right direction and climbed the hill that led to the gates of the Great Mosque of Granada. From the garden of the mosque, we could see the evening lights illuminating the Alhambra. As the sky deepened in color from yellow to pink to azure blue, we heard the imam calling the faithful to prayer. "Allah akbar" he called out into the twilight. Just at that moment, the cathedral bells began to ring. They did not drown out the imam, but they did remind us of how these two great traditions co-exist side by side, even to this day. We were filled with a profound sense of history finally righting itself, after centuries of damage done to the Muslim faith in Granada.
The court yard was now empty. Everyone else had gone into the mosque to pray. We were the last ones there, and the gatekeeper had waited for us to leave. Bowing low before leaving, we said a silent prayer of our own-- for the presence of the mosque; for the beauty of Granada; for the majesty of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, and for the scent of oranges and jasmine that filled the night sky. We felt ourselves truly blessed.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
Andulusia Remembers and Forgets
We visited two Andalusian towns yesterday that were important symbols to us of the multicultural history we came here to study. The first, Lucena, was the home of one of the most vibrant Jewish communities in Spain during the Muslim caliphate. It was the home of artists and poets, and was governed by the Jewish majority in the town for two centuries. It all ended when more fundamentalist Moors and the Castilian Christians took over and in their turn undertook to persecute and finally expel the Jews. Now there is almost no evidence in Lucena of this once-vital Jewish heritage. Unlike nearby Cordoba, there are no defined neighborhoods, no street names, plaques, or monuments. We heard there was one room dedicated to the town's Jewish history in their anthropological museum, and we finally found it housed in the ancient castle tower.
It was a well done display, but as the destination for a pilgrimage for Jews seeking a lost heritage, it would be disappointing.
Later the same day, we drove through Antequerra, a town with a strong Muslim history, a frontier town for the last surviving Muslim territory in Spain that the Christians finally overthrew in the 15th century. The museums were closed by the time we got there, but much to our surprise, at the base of the impressive castle fortress built by the Muslims a dozen centuries ago, we found a newly erected statue memorializing the Muslim refugees who had been driven from the city. The sculpture shows a couple in flight with all their possessions on their backs. They are in traditional Muslim clothing, the man in a turban, the women wearing a hijab and veil. Other than that, however, they could be any of the world's refugees. They could be Mary and Joseph on their way to Bethlehem.
We noticed the date on the statue -2010 - and did our best to read the Spanish inscription. Clearly, the monument is part of a progressive movement of reclaiming the town's history and telling it truthfully and compassionately. In one day, we saw vividly how Andalusia remembers, and how Andalusia forgets.
It was a well done display, but as the destination for a pilgrimage for Jews seeking a lost heritage, it would be disappointing.
Later the same day, we drove through Antequerra, a town with a strong Muslim history, a frontier town for the last surviving Muslim territory in Spain that the Christians finally overthrew in the 15th century. The museums were closed by the time we got there, but much to our surprise, at the base of the impressive castle fortress built by the Muslims a dozen centuries ago, we found a newly erected statue memorializing the Muslim refugees who had been driven from the city. The sculpture shows a couple in flight with all their possessions on their backs. They are in traditional Muslim clothing, the man in a turban, the women wearing a hijab and veil. Other than that, however, they could be any of the world's refugees. They could be Mary and Joseph on their way to Bethlehem.
We noticed the date on the statue -2010 - and did our best to read the Spanish inscription. Clearly, the monument is part of a progressive movement of reclaiming the town's history and telling it truthfully and compassionately. In one day, we saw vividly how Andalusia remembers, and how Andalusia forgets.
Wednesday, October 12, 2011
Castles in the Air
I don't know whether there are any Spanish origins of that expression, "castles in the air", but we have been seeing plenty of them in Andalusia. These Muslim castles were built at the highest point in the town, which itself was usually founded at a high elevation and near water, for defensive purposes. You could see who was coming at you for miles around and have the advantage of height in self-defense.
Following the occupation of Wall Street on CNN, I thought about today's castles in the air. They are inside Manhattan skyscrapers, or on private Caribbean islands. The sultans and kings of today aren't formally acknowledged as anyone's rulers, but the power they wield and the disproportionate amount of the wealth they control compared to everyone else in the world they rule is probably not much different.
I recall, and probably am paraphrasing, a line from Henry David Thoreau: " We have built our castles in the air. Now let us put foundations under them." He was speaking about ideals and dreams for what the world should be like. His 19th century New England world was full of such ideals, and not a few utopian experiments.
The 10th century castles in the air the Moors built stood on a foundation of religious authority rooted in lineage from the prophet Muhammad, and the ability to both control and protect the feudal kingdom that surrounded the castle with military might.
The 21st century occupants of castles in the air live atop foundations that are considerably more abstract. They command no armies, and claim no lineage of authority. They become wealthy because they give the people what they want. The question that the people have to ask themselves, the foundational question that the Wall Street occupation is asking, is "How much do the people want the goods they have access to, and they way they access them? Do they want them so much that they are willing to settle for 1 per cent of the population living in their castles in the air? Is there another way?"
Following the occupation of Wall Street on CNN, I thought about today's castles in the air. They are inside Manhattan skyscrapers, or on private Caribbean islands. The sultans and kings of today aren't formally acknowledged as anyone's rulers, but the power they wield and the disproportionate amount of the wealth they control compared to everyone else in the world they rule is probably not much different.
I recall, and probably am paraphrasing, a line from Henry David Thoreau: " We have built our castles in the air. Now let us put foundations under them." He was speaking about ideals and dreams for what the world should be like. His 19th century New England world was full of such ideals, and not a few utopian experiments.
The 10th century castles in the air the Moors built stood on a foundation of religious authority rooted in lineage from the prophet Muhammad, and the ability to both control and protect the feudal kingdom that surrounded the castle with military might.
The 21st century occupants of castles in the air live atop foundations that are considerably more abstract. They command no armies, and claim no lineage of authority. They become wealthy because they give the people what they want. The question that the people have to ask themselves, the foundational question that the Wall Street occupation is asking, is "How much do the people want the goods they have access to, and they way they access them? Do they want them so much that they are willing to settle for 1 per cent of the population living in their castles in the air? Is there another way?"
Monday, October 10, 2011
Foreshadowings
Sunday, October 9
Yesterday we landed in Iznajar, in the southern province between Cordoba and Granada, staying at a place we found on the home-away website. There are three other couples here, and we were delighted to discover that one of the couples lives in Israel, our next destination after Spain. I introduced myself to "R" and told her that we were going to visit Israel & Palestine after we left Spain. She was taken aback. "You mean you are visiting Israel," she said. "There is no Palestine." She made it clear in our brief exchange that by mentioning Palestine in the same sentence as Israel was making a political assumption that she did not want to acknowledge.
Similarly, when I went to buy a hijab from a store in Cleveland, I told the Muslim woman behind the counter I was planning to visit Israel & Palestine. She essentially said the same thing, only from the perspective of a Palestinian: "you mean you will be visiting Palestine. There is no Israel...". No Israel??? I was completely taken by surprise. It never occurred to me that someone would not recognize the state of Israel. Both women wanted to correct me; both women's perspectives were, in their minds, "right."
These two encounters, occurring on two different lands, is a sobering reminder to me of what we will be encountering next month when we land in the Holy Land for Jews, Muslims, and Christians. It also reminded me of the long reach of these historic conflicts-- all the way to a small shop in Cleveland, Ohio; all the way to a sunny patio on a Sunday afternoon in Iznajar.
Yesterday we landed in Iznajar, in the southern province between Cordoba and Granada, staying at a place we found on the home-away website. There are three other couples here, and we were delighted to discover that one of the couples lives in Israel, our next destination after Spain. I introduced myself to "R" and told her that we were going to visit Israel & Palestine after we left Spain. She was taken aback. "You mean you are visiting Israel," she said. "There is no Palestine." She made it clear in our brief exchange that by mentioning Palestine in the same sentence as Israel was making a political assumption that she did not want to acknowledge.
Similarly, when I went to buy a hijab from a store in Cleveland, I told the Muslim woman behind the counter I was planning to visit Israel & Palestine. She essentially said the same thing, only from the perspective of a Palestinian: "you mean you will be visiting Palestine. There is no Israel...". No Israel??? I was completely taken by surprise. It never occurred to me that someone would not recognize the state of Israel. Both women wanted to correct me; both women's perspectives were, in their minds, "right."
These two encounters, occurring on two different lands, is a sobering reminder to me of what we will be encountering next month when we land in the Holy Land for Jews, Muslims, and Christians. It also reminded me of the long reach of these historic conflicts-- all the way to a small shop in Cleveland, Ohio; all the way to a sunny patio on a Sunday afternoon in Iznajar.
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