Stardust
by Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity
Inspired by Matthew 6:1-6, 16-21
Acrylic on raw canvas with digital drawing
Many of us begin Lent with ashen marks smudged against our foreheads, the oil glistening on our skin throughout the rest of the day. It’s a mark that is holy because it tells the truth: we are formed from the dust, and to dust we shall one day return. We are not immortal. Death will one day find us all. However, as we think about the theme, Full to the Brim, we’ve found ourselves asking for more from our Lenten journey. Yes, death will surely find me one day, inhaling me into that infinite abyss. But the cross on my forehead only tells me part of the story. The empty tomb tells me a fuller, more expansive truth: death will not have the last word. There is more. God is more. This expansive truth requires more of us. It invites us to abandon empty or showy practices of faith, and instead, draw inward to open ourselves to a deeper journey of transformation. It requires me to believe that I am truly worthy of love, belonging, and grace. It requires me to believe others are also.
—Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity
2. Temptations
by Hannah Garrity
Inspired by Luke 4:1-13
Paper lace
“Jesus answered him, ‘It is said, “Do not put the Lord your God to the test.”’ When the devil had finished every test, he departed from him until an opportune time.” (Luke 4:12-13, NRSV)
In this image, concentric circles depicting the temptations that Jesus meets in the wilderness radiate outward. A crown and swords echo the power of kings that the devil offers to Jesus. Steeples point outward between the swords.
“Do not put the Lord your God to the test.” Jesus quotes scripture in verse 12 of this Luke passage. And yet, the devil continues to test. Nails in the center foreshadow Jesus’ death on the cross.
“Do not put the Lord your God to the test.”
I depicted this story within the structure of a stained glass window. Where in our religious structures do we find temptation winning the day? Where do our selfish actions fall on this temptation continuum? May we see the abundance before us, dispelling the desire for more.
—Hannah Garrity
3. First Fruits
by Rev. Lauren Wright Pittman
Inspired by Deuteronomy 26:1-11
Digital painting
This text urges the harvester to ground themselves in ancestral and divine identity. This requires a primal knowledge of the answers to the questions, “Who are you?” and “Whose are you?” When the harvester brings the first fruits to the dwelling place of God, they are asked to offer a response to God, in which the harvester recounts the Exodus narrative. This narrative defines the harvester and gives understanding, resonance, and purpose to their offering before God.
Notice how the response is in first person plural: “When the Egyptians treated us harshly and afflicted us, by imposing hard labor on us, we cried to the Lord… and the Lord heard our voice and saw our affliction, our toil, and our oppression. The Lord brought us out of Egypt with a mighty hand and an outstretched arm, with a terrifying display of power… and he brought us into this place and gave us this land, a land flowing with milk and honey.” (Deut. 26:6-9, NRSV) I imagine this recitation roots the harvester in their identity as an Exodus person—a wandering alien, oppressed and afflicted, who was heard, seen, and rescued by God. Regardless of whether or not the harvester directly experienced the events of their pronouncement before God, this narrative is where their identity is found and it changes how they live. Echoes of this narrative live in the harvester. This narrative affirms the truth that the harvester was once an alien, and whatever they have been given and all that they are belong to God. Therefore, all of the bounty—the sumptuous, nurturing, first fruits of the ground are to be shared with the aliens who reside among them. What would it look like for you to ground yourself in ancestral and divine identity? How would it change how you live? Who are you? Whose are you?
—Rev. Lauren Wright Pittman
4. Under God’s Wing
by Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity
Inspired by Psalm 27
Acrylic on raw canvas with digital drawing
The beauty of the psalms is that they are personal; they are prayers that are honest, desperate, and undeniably human. The psalms remind us that theology is not just something we think about—it’s something that we live. Scholars think the author of this psalm may have been seeking asylum in the temple, fleeing persecution. Learning that contextual detail
expanded the psalm for me—it was no longer just my personal prayer, but the prayer of someone fighting for their life.
The day I began working on this image, I learned that 40 Afghan families would be seeking refuge in the city I call home. With that in mind, I read the psalm again, imagining the words spoken from the lips of one forced to flee their home. When I finished the psalm, I gritted my teeth and prayed my own desperate plea: “Please, make it so, God. May your protection expand to everyone. Please.” I invite you to read the psalm again from a similar vantage point. When you do this, how does your faith grow fuller? How does this impact your sense of who God is? When I began this image, I drew a young boy peeking out from the open folds of a canvas tent in a refugee camp. I added rugged stones lining the bottom hem of the tent, holding the flimsy fabric in place. But then I felt compelled to turn the tent flap into a wing with feathers lined in gold. At that point, all the details of the boy’s setting no longer mattered. I erased them from the scene. I saw clearly the promise of this psalm: you are under God’s wing. May you dwell there, surely and safely, all your days long.
—Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity
5. You Are Worthy
by Rev. Lauren Wright Pittman
Inspired by Luke 13:1-9
Block print with oil-based ink
How often does society wish us to feel like we are wasting soil? The whole capitalist system lurches forward, powered by our collective sense of unworthiness and our searching for worth based on what we produce. This parable upends the notion that we are what we produce, and speaks truth: you are worthy. You deserve rest and care simply for existing. What a gift! In this image, I wanted the fig tree to look unremarkable, surrounded by the hands of the Gardener reaching down to lovingly massage the soil. The sleeves contain patterning of simplified visual references to everything a plant needs to not only survive, but to thrive. Starting close to the roots and moving upward, the patterns include water, air, sunlight, nutrients, and space. The emphasis in this image is on what is happening below the surface, in the depths of the dirt. The roots stretch toward the hands of the Gardener as the specks of dirt seem to also image the stars of the vast universe. Within us, despite what we produce, despite what can be seen at the surface, we contain multitudes. We bear the image of God, and our mere existence makes us worthy of Sabbath and the loving arms of the Gardener reaching out to provide us with everything we need. On a personal note, the Full to the Brim theme keeps bringing me back to the image of resting while God reaches to embrace us. Lately I’ve spent so much time and energy fighting so hard to get some kind of tangible grasp of God, all the while feeling so empty. I’m realizing that I need to practice surrender, allowing God to find me where I am, and to receive God’s care and love, filling me to the brim so I can then be full to pour out once again.
—Rev. Lauren Wright Pittman
6. New in Christ
by Rev. Lauren Wright Pittman
Inspired by 2 Corinthians 5:16-21
Digital painting
How does one image the transformation we experience in Christ? I began with this verse: “So if anyone is in Christ,
there is a new creation; everything old has passed away; see, everything has become new!”
(2 Cor. 5:17, NRSV) When I closed my eyes and repeated this verse over and over again, I began to see the silhouette of a person filled with the echoes of the first creation narrative in Genesis. This came at no surprise to me, considering I like to think of the first creation narrative in a radial fashion, with the imagery of each day starting from the center and building in rings upon the next. Within this person experiencing new life in Christ is imagery of the delineation of light and darkness, water and sky, water and earth. They contain seeds yielding vegetation, the light of the sun and the moon, the feathers of winged creatures, the patterned wings of butterflies, and the closed buds of Sabbath. From there the creation narrative begins again, continuing to ripple and move toward the edges of the figure. At the center of the creation narrative is a fire poppy, which symbolizes new life, for it grows and thrives in the ash following the destruction of wildfire. A butterfly is poised on the flower, also representing new life, for it transforms from a caterpillar into an intricately-designed, delicately-winged creature. The poppy grows from the wound of the golden figure who is meant to personify the transformative love of Christ. The figures, one experiencing new life, and the other sharing the love of Christ, embrace and dance, offering a new picture of what the ministry of reconciliation might look like.
—Rev. Lauren Wright Pittman
7. Brazen Beauty
by Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity
Inspired by John 12:1-8
Acrylic on raw canvas with digital drawing
In the chapter just before this, Lazarus dies and Jesus weeps. But after being laid in the tomb, Lazarus is raised and made well. This act solidifies for the chief priests and Pharisees that Jesus is a dangerous threat. In response, they order for his arrest and plot how they will kill him. Jesus retreats from public ministry, hiding out in the wilderness in Ephraim. As the passover nears, people begin to wonder: “Will Jesus be here?” Despite the threats mounting, Jesus does return. On his way to Jerusalem, he stops in Bethany, seeking refuge and comfort in the home of his friends. Martha cooks a feast, and Lazarus—healthy and alive— joins him at the table. In resistance to death, as an act of extravagant love, Mary anoints Jesus with a fragrance that fills the whole room. Her actions could appear impulsive, but if you were saying your last goodbye to someone you loved, how would you act? This image began as a painting on raw canvas. With fluid strokes of paint, I allowed the colors to run and bleed into each other. As I drew Mary kneeling, I omitted the other details in the scene, removing Jesus’ feet, the other guests, the table full of food. I wanted to focus on Mary’s brazen act of pouring out the expensive perfume, a commodity valued at a year’s worth of wages. The luxurious liquid is expansive, flowing out toward us as the viewer. It bleeds into the red, foreshadowing the blood Jesus will soon shed. The vessel she holds is lined with gold, a reference to the ancient Japanese practice of Kintsugi, of repairing broken pottery with gold lacquer. The art of Kintsugi embellishes the cracks and transforms a shattered vessel into a new object of beauty. In this embodied act of worship, Mary is practicing Kintsugi—boldly celebrating the beauty of life even as death approaches.
—Rev. Lisle Gwynn Garrity
8. Vessel
by Hannah Garrity
Inspired by Isaiah 43:16-21
Paper lace
“I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.” (Isaiah 43:19, NRSV)
Dear God, we perceive it. Our initial reaction appears to be a tendency to dig in our heels. We are all holding firm to the past in one way or another. May your wisdom fall upon us, helping us to let go of the things of old. Amen.
In this text, I see water flowing in the abstract. Patterns of fallen chariot wheels, footprints of the jackal and the ostrich, and imagery of creation give detail to the shape of a vessel amidst the flow. God is doing a new thing! When I sing hymns, I feel the power and the joy. I feel the beauty and the freedom of God’s new way in this wilderness. Yet, when I live my daily life in the midst of God’s current shifts toward a new thing, it feels rocky, painful, devastating, and infuriating. It is so easy to let fear take over. Isaiah sings of God, of God doing a new thing. Isaiah helps us to remember, to embrace, to find the positives in the midst of the current drastic changes. Who are we to stand in the way of the flow of the Holy Spirit? Isaiah reminds us to open our minds to a new way. Holy One, as we lean into your new way, may we find the songs to sing, as Isaiah did. May we flow on this new path with your Holy Spirit. May we find the hope that allows us to navigate the pain and the jagged devastation of daily life in the midst of change. You are doing a new thing! May we bear witness and join Isaiah in song. Amen.
—Hannah Garrity
9. Even the Stones Cry Out
by Rev. Lauren Wright Pittman
Inspired by Luke 19:28-40
Digital painting with photo collage
When I began this image, I wanted the medium to be the message. Initially I thought I might make a mosaic of stones, however, I was wisely encouraged by my colleagues to try photography and digital collage. I went out into my side yard and picked up rocks to take pictures of them. As I quickly scanned for interesting rocks, I was underwhelmed by what I was seeing. I had already decided that the rocks were going to be dull and boring. My color enthusiast self was annoyed by the prospect of dusty neutral tones and minimal contrast. This was an interesting place to begin my process, considering the text I was working with. I was definitely underestimating what the rocks would have to offer the piece, and was preemptively disappointed about the mundane color schemes and textures I would have to work with from my photographs. Gosh, was I wrong. As I downloaded the images and began to edit them, a wide spectrum of color came into view. Most of the hues were entirely shocking and unexpected: periwinkle, magenta, turquoise, mauve, rust, orange, gold, and plum, just to name a few. It was as if God was saying to me, “See, even if you turn a blind eye, and your assumptions distract you, the stones will cry out.” In this piece there are three stones bordered in gold to reference the voice of God, the truth that will not be quelled. Down the sides of the image are the Pharisees or the “silencers” in postures of quieting judgment. My hope was for the silencers to be completely visually enveloped and drowned out by the stones. I left the silencers simplified and unfinished to signify that their attempts at diminishing the truth would ultimately and always be in vain.
—Rev. Lauren Wright Pittman