Chuck commented,

I think there's another way to look at the question of whether the "thinness" is in the place or in us. Beyond our perceptions are our intentions and actions, the way we arrange our surroundings and the things we do in them.

Not having been there, what you're describing about Calvin Crest makes me think of what I experience in certain churches. When we build a church building, when we decide what the physical space we will conduct our worship in will look like, we try to make a place that will be as "thin" as possible. And the practices we participate in there are intended to make it even more "thin."

I think this is an excellent extension of this conversation, Chuck. It reminds me of my afternoon at the Cathedral Notre Dame in Paris.

I'm wondering what we can do to make the places we inhabit more "intentionally thin.

If we understand thinness to be the perceivability of God's presence and work in the world, then certainly this can increase just by our looking for it. One of the benefits of camp is that there are so many things that you don't have to do there. You don't have to raise children. You don't have to go to school, produce food, or a product that can be traded for food, clothes, electricity, etc. It is a time that is set apart away from the many demands on our lives . It allows us to concentrate our attention more explicitly on God.

There is no doubt that as week seek God's presence and work in the midst of the many demands in our daily lives, the Kingdom of God would be more apparent.

In addition, I think there is a place for retreat, for vigil, for pilgrimage that set aside necessary daily issues for the sake of focusing on God and God's kingdom.

Two things, Bill:

First, is the "thinness" of camp that you described in your previous post mainly attributed to its being a retreat from daily life? It seemed like you were suggesting something stronger in your other post.

Second, I guess what I was/am grasping for here are ways of reminding ourselves to look for God's presence even in the midst of our work, family, school, etc. daily lives. I agree, I tend to find God when I look for Him--but beyond a sort of retreat "hangover" effect, what can I actively do to remind myself to look for Him? The sort of thing that comes to mind is the practice I've heard of by some Eastern Orthodox who continually recite the Jesus prayer.

I don't know, just some thoughts. Thanks for indulging me in taking the topic afield from your thoughts about camp.

It is very strong, Chuck. Trying to discern why it is strong, I see three things, the absence of something, the addition of something, and a divine interaction. The absence of self and human focus, the addition of God focus, and something mysterious that God does in that place.

I think you are right on target with the Jesus prayer. I am exploring disciplines just like this that were a regular part of medieval spirituality but have been largely set aside in modern protestant spirituality.

I think an issue that you should think about involves the attuned ear.

I would tell anyone who wants to know how to paint: you must look at paintings. Look at how Philip Guston's 1950s paintings used textures and colors with one another. How large in width were the strokes, what did he put a red stroke next to, how thick is one color stroke in relation to its neighbor, is there a pattern to the strokes or colors, did he avoid that, why would one want to, is there evidence of brushwork underneath the top surface that gives a different feeling after new and final strokes of color are applied [in other words, are there left over colors peeking through inevitably, and do those give the painting's surface a beautiful quality and a history that would not be there otherwise], etc? These are some questions I would start off asking myself, if I were trying to do an abstract painting.

But if a person wants to paint representationally, he has to ask himself a host of other questions. He has to look at the wide array of people who have painted objects, from Giotto to Van Eyck to Rembrandt, Vermeer, Rubens, Van Gogh, Francis Bacon, Chuck Close, or even contemporary Brit painter Jenny Saville. The question is: how is light achieved? Light is what gives objects form, and even in subtly lit spaces one must train the eye to pick out differences in a specific color on a tangible form. These differences in tone, if perceived properly and then represented accurately in color mixtures, will give forms a life-likeness and 3rd dimension to them. It was the job of the post-impressionists and everyone thereafter of like mind to break the rule I just posed, and in varying degrees [there certainly is a lineage between Monet, to Van Gogh, to the German Expressionists, to Joan Brown, etc. But, one can try to use language in such a way that describes a successful process as to how to render objects in the effort to make a painting, but truly a person just needs to make 50 to 100 paintings before knowing if he can paint or not. It isn't an instantaneous 'do one painting, find out you are terrible, or that you are the next Picasso' and then be on your merry way. People have to hunt for it, experiment, look at old paintings, and also 'listen to the paint' which should show you what is new or original in what you are doing, what differs from what has come in the past. And when you hone in on that 'voice of the paint', you have to explore that diligently. That is you.

I always liked the idea of 'listening to the paint' because there is no other metaphor that quite sits so perfectly with me: so many times I would be trying to MAKE the paint do what I wanted, and eventually you just see where things are going, unavoidably, quite differently than you had wanted or imagined, and there is ultimately no way to stop it. And in that regard it reflects life and seeking God's presence pretty closely. This is not to say that you should not strive to get better, or to achieve effects you had previously been unable to attain, but when that 'voice of the paint' comes, it is unmistakable.

And it is only through doing that you can hear it. I'm not so sure retreat is the best place to help train people to hear the voice, to be in the presence. But rather, being in the flow, in activity, being so with others. I suppose it is a question of what is a supplement and what is essential perhaps...