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I belong to a Classis (the gathering and governing body of congregations) that rotates its meeting location so churches in different cities can share the place they love with the colleagues that love them.
Late winter brought us to Chicago, where a congregant of Grace Chicago Church arranged for a gallery tour of some of the historical and contemporary art housed in the Union League Club downtown.
Look at her. Her body lies on its side, wrapped in cocoon-like burlap, blue-black swaddling cloths, coarse-hair grave clothes. Her head lies eyes-open, pale, a pearl earring dropped on one cheek. From her soft temple to the source of pinkish blue light, a flurry of bright yellow butterflies swirl. (On their feet, butterflies carry death. On their wings, life.)
It seems fitting to contemplate this image in Eastertide. In it, do you sense stillness or movement? descent or ascent? embalming or emergence? What do you think the butterflies are doing? blessing her rest? coaxing her breath? reviving life?
For a few moments of silence, consider:
~what does this image evoke in you?
~what prayer rises in you as you contemplate?
~what might the Spirit be whispering in your ear?
May you sense the tending of your soul in these resurrection days.