THE POWER OF SACRED SISTERS AND SPACES

Iona Sanctuary Art Gallery

Yesterday afternoon, I participated in a literary reading at Iona Art Sanctuary, an art center established by Edward Carlos here at Sewanee. Three of us read for an audience of approximately 25 people in the large gallery filled with inspirational art that sits on a hill overlooking seven acres of woods and fields. Carlos built this sanctuary to provide writers and artists with a space where they could share their art with the Sewanee community, and he invites a variety of artists to perform there, beginning with fall sessions that continue until winter descends on The Mountain.

I read several poems from my book of poetry, published last year, entitled In A Convent Garden, which contains many poems about The Sisters of St. Mary and the Convent where I worship, frequently serve as a deacon, and sometimes preach. After reading a few light poems about the Convent animals, Penny the dog and Sophie the cat, I read a more serious work entitled "The Serenade of Sister Lucy." I composed this poem before Sr. Lucy began her demise, but when I read it now that she has passed, it seems to have been predestined to become a eulogy for this remarkable woman who was an icon in the Sewanee community.

Most of the obituaries about Sr. Lucy cover her long and productive life, and my acquaintance with her spans only seven years, but I grew to know and respect her, and I was saddened by her struggles with a serious illness, particularly this past year. I first met Sr. Lucy when she was head Sister of St. Mary's. She was also shepherding the congregation at Church of the Epiphany in Sherwood, Tennessee, just down the road from the Convent. I remember being introduced, then shaking her hand and telling her I was a deacon. She stepped closer to get a better look at me (she was almost blind in her late years) and said peremptorily, "You can read the Gospel this morning." I was pressed into service on the spot, and later I learned that when Sr. Lucy requested you to participate in the work of the Church, she "suffered no slackers." 

Such was my introduction, and so I read— and Sr. Lucy preached in her relaxed, storytelling fashion, celebrated the Eucharist even above the sound of the train from Cowan huffing through in the middle of the service, a loud and long whistle included with the noise of the cars striking the rails. She was unflappable, to repeat a word often used to describe our present Presiding Episcopal Bishop Schori, and she always expected those committed to the work of the Church to develop that same quality. Here is a poem published in my book of poetry, Just Passing Through, that I wrote after my visit to Sherwood during my first year at Sewanee:

INVITATION

Sister Lucy stands at a surround altar

consecrating the elements,

while outside the blue and red panes,

the hot air of August

settles on Our Lady of the Hills

perspiring, still guarding a walled garden

where dry leaves curl up

and fall without the grace of wind.

Sister extends her hands over the chalice

and the train from Cowan tunnel

whistles three long notes,

rattling through, rails chanting:

"The Lord is coming, the Lord is coming."

Her hands drop near His cup,

pause for the sound of the whistle

to fade, and ringing rails echo:

"The Lord is coming, the Lord is coming."

Chests heave and cough in the cavernous silence,

Sister's assistant turns the page,

near blind, Sister stumbles on the words:

"we celebrate the memorial of our redemption,"

no one hearing, no words as intermediary,

the train has already brought them to the table

and they are singing to the music of the rails:

"The Lord is coming, the Lord is coming."

I once preached a sermon that included a story about Sr. Lucy's expectations of committed Christians and the remarkable effect those expectations had on people who might have been unwilling to "come forth." The story was told to me by my good friend, Anne Boykin, wife of The Rev. Elmer Boykin, now deceased. During Fr. Boykin's retirement here at Sewanee, he developed Parkinson's disease. He became unable to perform many of his clerical duties, and his wonderful booming voice, which once caused me to dub him "Jeremiah in the Pulpit," diminished to the extent that he seemed unable to read or preach the Gospel.

However, one year, Fr. Boykin and Anne decided to join one of Sr. Lucy's tours abroad, a contingency scheduled to visit Iona, a small island in the inner Hebrides on the western coast of Scotland. To most travelers on a spiritual quest, the Isle of Iona is known as "a sacred space." It seems that Sr. Lucy was asked to conduct a service in the chapel on Iona, and, in her usual manner, began tapping recruits on the shoulder and giving them their assignments. She singled out Fr. Boykin and said the same words she had said to me in Sherwood: "You can read the Gospel." As Anne Boykin knew that Fr. Boykin was usually unable to read, she put her face in her hands and lowered her head in embarrassment. But when the time came for Fr. Boykin to proclaim the Gospel, he stood, and in his former booming voice, read through the passage without fluster. Anne says that with Sr. Lucy's prodding and confidence in his ability to proclaim, Fr. Boykin made a miraculous, momentary recovery. It was perhaps the last time he read with such fervor and with faith inspired by Sr. Lucy's feet at his back, but this miracle occurred at Iona.

 I have written the poem in In A Convent Garden that became my eulogy for Sr. Lucy, which I read yesterday at the Iona Art Sanctuary. On September 27 I will serve as deacon at her funeral Requiem, and I'll remember the poetic refrain she brought forth in me at Sherwood... and which she must have heard a few weeks ago: "The Lord is coming, the Lord is coming." Today I couldn't resist writing a few words about the strong influence she had on those who often needed a little more faith and fervor to carry out God's mission... according to His will...and to the will of unflappable The Rev. Sister Lucy, CSM.  

IONA ART SANCTUARY

When I exited a Sunday afternoon reading at a unique art gallery on The Mountain, and a man with deep blue eyes, wearing a baseball cap, bowed gallantly, kissed my hand, and invited me to read at a literary event in the Fall of 2014, my response to the invitation was a resounding “yes.”

Yesterday, I attended a reading by local authors of the Autumn Assembly of Authors at IONA Art Sanctuary.  I had been invited by my friend, the Rev. Francis Walter, who read from his novel, Goldilocks and the Three Bears at Mobile Bay. Following this amusing reading, I was re-introduced to Edward Carlos, a sculptor and artist I met the first year I moved to Sewanee, Tennessee, shortly after he opened his Art Sanctuary. I had been deeply impressed by his religious and spiritual art, some of which reflected visionary events that he experienced during four visits to Iona, a small island off the western coast of Scotland.

On this particular Sunday afternoon, three writers performed at the reading: my friend Francis who read from his unpublished manuscript, David Bowman who read from his book, Sewanee in Stone, and Lynn Cimino Hurt who read from her unpublished manuscript of poetry. The reading was one among a slate of Fall readings and art exhibits sponsored by Carlos, who was called to “offer a place for writers and artists to share their creative work with each other and the community, and the emphasis is to source creativity and spirituality,” Carlos says. I might add that many Sewanee writers and artists produce rich creative work that isn't read at the annual Sewanee Writers Conference, which features mostly national luminaries, so Carlos provides an outstanding service for less-recognized literary and artistic figures.

The IONA Art Sanctuary sits atop a hill off Garnertown Road and overlooks a field of dried sedge grass and seven acres of lake and woods. The building is situated on a N-S, E-W axis and offers art lovers a view of colorful sunsets as they exit the 70’x64’ building. The interior of the sanctuary follows the design of a nave with a Celtic cross shape. A 20' high gate stands in the center of the field of sedge grass and symbolizes an entrance between the physical world and the spiritual world. It reminded me of a similar gate at Rip Winkle Gardens on Jefferson Island near my home of New Iberia, Louisiana. Above the entrance on the IONA veranda the sculpt of an angel hovers, part of a scene about the Nativity, which is further carried out inside with a life-sized “Creation Nativity.”

At the reading, before Carlos introduced the first writer, he pointed out a vertical 19 l/2' x 10’ piece of art behind the improvised stage, a complex photographic work by Carlos’s son, Adam Carlos, that depicts an earth mother figure superimposed over images of a forest and a lake. Entitled “Lost Love," it contains 260 separate but overlapping 16”x20” black and white photos..  It is a stunning backdrop to reading performances, and Carlos explained that the building ceiling was constructed to accommodate this piece of art.

When I’m in New Iberia part of the year, I often read some of my poetry at Paul Schexnayder’s Art Gallery and am scheduled to read at this gallery with the new Louisiana poet laureate in November. I know that combining art exhibits and literary performances in one event results in an afternoon or evening of interesting entertainment, so I understand the efficacy of holding the Autumn Assembly of Authors at IONA, a highly creative venue.

Carlos has also sponsored the exhibits of many talented art students and area artists at IONA Art Sanctuary. The year that he retired from his position as chair of the Fine Arts Department and director of the university gallery at the University of the South, staff, community members, retired faculty members, and students helped install his two-month long exhibit, “Creation: Aurora Borealis” at the university gallery. My architect friend, Sarah Boykin, a graduate of Sewanee who now teaches at the University of Tennessee at Chattanooga, spearheaded a drive to raise funds to provide for a new gallery in the Nabit Art Building, which was named the Edward Carlos Gallery of Art.  Although Carlos lives on campus with his wife, Sarah, and a flock of dogs, he spends his meditative moments at the IONA Art Sanctuary. 

I look forward to seeing my blue-eyed host and to reading my poetry next Fall during the Autumn Assembly of Authors at IONA Art Sanctuary, another "thin" place of inspiration and beauty on The Mountain.