The Highest Form of Hope

Drawing a happy face on a pumpkin...The proud little artist.
Give us candy!The grumpy little lion!


Happy Halloween from the Morgun family! I, nerd mother who still pulls out a costume for Halloween, had a wonderful day dressing up my little ones and going trick-or-treating with the whole family! Sasha and I carved a pumpkin last night. He drew a face and I cut it out. The boy who never draws (breaks my heart) pulled out a lovely happy face for the occasion. As you can see, he's very proud! Today, Sasha (the turtle), Noah (the grumpy lion), Mommy (the gypsy/pirate), and Daddy (the "American Eagle" model - he he!) hit the streets to plunder the homes of Hepburn. In true Morgun fashion we waited last minute to buy candy from the Co-op and ended up getting only gum. Oh well, at least it's better than the time we forgot about Halloween entirely and handed out packages of Ichiban noodles. Yeah, kids didn't come to our house for a few years after that.

Labels: family

Aleko and Zemphira by Moonlight. 1942
The Blue House. 1917
Crucifixión Blanca. 1938

I've been looking at Chagall lately. I saw a print of Chagall's The Village and I when I was very young, and it has always fascinated me. I love Rouault, who was trained in stain glass, and Chagall seems to exhibit the same luminosity. Chagall is indeed a hopeful and mysterious artist - finding beauty and spiritual significance in simple people and simple events.

Sadly, I've never come face to face with an actual Chagall - but I can imagine it would be overwhelming. Looking at a print and looking at the actual piece is a completely different experience. Recently, at the Mendel, I came face to face with an intimate drawing by James Abbott McNeill Whistler (one of my favorite artists of all time!) - and I nearly cried. I don't get to see much of the great figures of Art History in Saskatchewan. Sigh.

Chagall had a very long career, nearly spanning the twentieth century. He lived in France, but was of Russian-Jewish decent.
His paintings are full of Belorussian villages and biblical scenes reflecting his Jewish heritage. He was influenced by the Fauvist and Cubist movements, but retained a style that is truly all his own.

Labels: art

This image really has nothing to do with my post, I just thought it was funny. I guess I do take free toilet paper for granted....




I have an irrational fear.

A fear of monkeys.

The most terrifying monkeys (I guess 'ape' to be correct) in my opinion are chimpanzees. I know, know. I'm clearly irrational and insane. How can a girl who grew up in Saskatchewan possibly fear chimpanzees?

Well, it started when I was eight years old. I was reading an old National Geographic at my grandpa's farm about Jane Goodall's work with chimps in Gambe. The article focussed on the family history of a certain troop which included such wonderful tales of cannibalism and infantcide (yes, chimpanzees are not as cute as one might think) that provided ample material for nightmares over the following years.

I've never recovered from this article. I was recently unable to watch the British thriller 28 Days Later; not because of the blood-vomiting zombies, but because of the chimpanzee who attacks an animal rights activist in the opening scene of the movie. Scary.

So this is the origin of my fear - a fear that is not just associated with chimpanzees, but primates in general.

To prove that my fears are not as crazy as they sound, I submit to you this article from the CBC. To my horror I read of the death of New Delhi's deputy mayor. He was murdered by a renegade troop of monkeys. While he stood on his balcony, minding his own business, he was swarmed by a gang of Rhesus macaques, and subsequently fell to his death. What an awful way to go! Apparently monkeys have free reign in Delhi it is not uncommon for them to bite people and steal food. It would seem that these monkeys have graduated from petty thievery and assault to more serious crimes.

My friend Heather during her first stay in India, lived in a nunnery that was plagued by primates. Torturing defenseless Buddhist nuns is certainly despicable, but murder? Clearly the monkeys have gone too far! But have no fear - the city of New Delhi has a plan!

In an effort to curb the problem, city authorities are training a larger, fiercer breed of predatory monkey — the langur — to frighten and pick off the smaller, more frenzied Rhesus macaques.

Yes, great idea. Introduce larger, more aggressive monkeys... Soon there may be lowland gorillas roaming the streets of Delhi to keep the various species of primates under control. Somehow, I don't think I'm going to be visiting New Delhi anytime soon.

Labels: humour

Marc Chagall La Marriee, Gouache Pastel 1950

She seems to be sleeping
eyes fluttering every so often
hands twitching like
the antennae of a walking stick
mostly wordless
except for breath
mostly anonymous
but namely diverse
mostly still
but not dead
not like a beautiful corpse
bones bare white
slowing down in the ground
not like a creeping vine
devouring and making same
a landscape garbage and all
not like a flower among scrub
a flower only to itself

She is like a woman
laying asleep on the ground
she makes this dump look
beautiful but lacking
she is nothing but herself
and her constant exposure
a presence
a picture
laid bare for all to see
not passive
not apathetic
not ironic
but presently
always
open

- A.W. Trenton

Labels: poetry

Johannes Vermeer, The Girl with the Pearl Earing 1665, Oil on Panel. Hart mentions Vermeer as an example in The Beauty of the Infinite.

I finished David Bentley Hart's The Beauty of the Infinite about a month ago, and it's still settling in. Considering the fact that I picked up the book on completely false pretenses (I thought he would write a little more than three pages on art - literally), it's been a formative coincidence indeed!

I don't want to make it sound like this was the "perfect" book in any regards (I found myself disagreeing with Hart in a few incidences at least - not only his ideas, but in many cases his tone), but I do think that considering my own context, this book reminded me why I am a Christian. Not because I was intellectually convinced, or emotionally manipulated (though these are no strangers to any of us); but because the story is different than any other - the story is at the same time complete anarchy and ultimate completion of every narrative told in order to make sense of a world seemingly as beautiful as it is terrible. This is the good news - the economy of sacrifice, the cycle of violence, the will to power is overthrown by an "anarchy of charity".

In my own backwards way, I ended up reading The Doors of the Sea (also by Hart but much much shorter). The Doors of the Sea was written as a response the December 2004 Tsunami and the subsequent theological debate over the god who could have willed such a catastrophe. It was a much more transparent work than The Beauty of the Infinite - the author as a person rather than an academic became visible. There are certainly moments of transparency in The Beauty of the Infinite, but they are unfortunately overshadowed by the sheer difficulty of the language (which was not always English - not joking).

One theme of both books that stood out to me was sacrifice. The world runs on sacrifice. We raise and kill animals in order to feed ourselves. The death of one creature feeds a multitude of others. The the shifting of tectonic plates causing a tsunami averts an even greater disaster. We see it in nearly all religious traditions, in art and literature - one dying to give another life. Perhaps it is out of our own necessity to make sense out of death - to make it beautiful, to make it necessary on some level. But what a painful narrative it can be, for it eventually dehumanizes those who experience suffering by telling them it is for a greater good - that death is just a part of life. It is a narrative that quickly becomes ugly when faced by the sheer senselessness of the most profound suffering.

The Christian story is so often portrayed as such; the final chapter in the narrative of sacrifice. But to think of Christ's death as "tragically necessary" as any other in the narrative of sacrifice would be to forget the gift of Christ, to forget grace. His death is rejection, not merely a necessary payment for sin. The resurrection is not only the overturn of death, but the second offering of the gift of Christ. Like Isaac, Christ is offered as a gift twice - in his birth and then saved from death.

I really can't do these ideas justice, but I'm feeling like I'm finally beginning to understand why the good news is good! Anyway, it's getting late and I'd better finish now before my editor makes another error in judgment...

Labels: aesthetics, books, sacrifice

I feel a little silly, a little overexposed. I'm not the best at saying how I feel and somehow it seemed easier to write it out, hit publish and be done with it (this isn't the first time - I never learn my lesson). I guess that was a bit of a cop out. I should have talked to my friends more, and let them know how I feel. I'm sorry if I made anyone feel like I didn't value your friendship - that wasn't my intention at all. I know I've talked to many of you about this before, and I think this feeling of loneliness is partly just part of my make-up.

Thank you to everyone who responded. It really touched me, and I didn't realize how many of you feel the same. Thank you so much for your encouragement. I especially feel for my friends who are scattered far from their families... your words meant a lot to me.

Thanks for listening to an emotional blogger.

Labels: life in general

The World Press Photo exhibit is on tour and in Toronto right now. The exhibit features the work of photojournalists from all over the world. This is the winning photo: a shot of Beirut after the 2006 war in Lebanon.

Labels: photojournalism

It may surprise you that we, who live on a large lot surrounded by mature trees, only own one rake. I am not a gifted in yard care. I 'm full of hopes and dreams for my yard ever spring but by fall, I really don't care that I've have to rake up wet, moldy leaves in six months.

The upside is that our yard is a very fun place to play at the moment!

Labels: family

Please forgive my honesty.

I am thoroughly frustrated. No matter what I do, I seem to give people the wrong impression of who I really am. I've been here five years and so many times I still feel like a complete outsider. I feel like I'm constantly forcing myself upon people - like no one wants to really talk to me. I'm honestly to the point of giving up. I've had just about one awkward conversation too many. I feel like I'm being avoided.

Will someone please tell me what the problem is? Is there some crazy rumor going around about me? Am I too weird? Am I smothering? Am I breaking some unknown social code? Am I too loud? Am I too quiet? Does my breath stink?

Is this part of the unwritten deal of being a "pastor's wife"?
I'm so afraid that there is something I'm doing that is making me completely unapproachable. I know that I'm quiet (mostly in groups of people I don't know very well) and I have a hard time with small talk - but honestly, I've been here five years and I still feel like I can't cross this invisible barrier.

I seem to get along best with other newcomers, but I'd really just like to find a few people who I can fit in with. Fitting in doesn't mean I want to find people who are exactly like me. Fitting in means finding someone who can share themselves with me and who are genuinely interested in who I am. I feel like I'm on the threshold of this with a few people, but I still don't feel like I'm part of this community - I feel like an implant who can't find her place. And I love this community. I brag about it all the time. I wish I could be part of it.

I can't change my personality, my interests, my convictions, nor do I want to. I just wish there was space for someone like me in a place like this.

On a lighter note, Sasha tried his best to comfort me. I was crying a bit and explaining to Paul how I felt and naturally Sasha was concerned that his mom was crying so he said in a very sympathetic tone, "It's ok mom, don't cry. Just no one wants to be with you." Thank you Sasha. When you put it like that, I feel a lot better.

Needless to say, this brightened up my day a little!

Labels: life in general

After months of silence, my brother finally posted something on his blog. He's living in Abbotsford for now and he's done a lot of work with the poor and down-trodden in Vancouver and beyond, which gives him some great insight as you'll be able to tell. I wish he would write more, so I won't say it was worth the wait, but it's a pretty darn great post so check it out.

Labels: family