It is Holy Saturday, a day of quiet interiority. I have saved this Polenov painting for just this reason — it is still and modest, inviting contemplation. Many artists paint flowers. Some are grand displays in fabulous containers, but Vasily Polenov's bouquet is different.
You might have different names for some of these flowers, but I see a little branch of sweetpea; a pansy; a red geranium; a white, double hollyhock in flower and with buds, a red poppy; a piece of Dusty Miller leaf; something red from the rudbeckia family. The white, trumpet flower is perhaps a highly-scented Angels' Trumpet aka Datura.
Vasily has evidently gone out into the garden. He has noticed each flower individually, paid attention to each, cut and gathered them, arranging them simply in a no frills cruet we might see at Mass holding water and wine, or on the dinner table holding oil and vinegar
This is a bitter time in our country. There are old festering wounds and poisons that have taken over. We need to create a new culture, not about eating and owning so much, not about sexiness, power and having the highest profile, fighting about everything — including religion. Christianity was historically rejected by Native Americans because it was perceived to be a religion of argument.
But is a new culture of gratitude possible? Our thanks, not reserved for a November food fest and segue into the Christmas shopping extravaganza, but a moment to moment, flower-like gathering of gratitude. Each moment noticed and carefully considered. As a boy I was taught that Catholicism was about discipline, paying attention because the possibility of sin was around every corner. Then there was my prayer discipline which could make for neuroses, "If I miss a day of my novena, do I have to start all over again?" The discipline of practicing virtues, of offering things up, the discipline of examining my conscience —You did what, how many times? But I think the real discipline to be embraced and cultivated is the discipline of gratitude which I would say makes for a soul that is lightsome (merry and carefree).
Orthodox Jews can undertake a prayer practice referred to as One Hundred Blessings. I don't know how the counting is done — that's not the important part — but the heightened awareness which is suggested at Mass: Blessed are you, Lord God of all creation, through your goodness there is this bread, this wine...." Then name it for yourself. The gentle goal is to count one hundred blessings each day.
Of course, some folks with demanding occupations may find it difficult or even impossible to do this. But St. Therese of Lisieux believed that a sigh was a prayer. And St. Kateri Tekakwitha is said to have prayed more with her eyes than her lips. Each moment opening to the next with the potential for surprise, however simple. One Orthodox priest in a concentration camp during the Second World War saw the encircling fence lights as images of the lamps before the icons in his parish church. A Roman Catholic priest saw the rising sun each day as the host he raised at Mass in the absence of bread and wine. The simile or metaphor isn't necessary — but the grateful awareness.
