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We are the clay and You are our potter, and we are all the work of your hands.
This image is found in the great psalm, included in Chapter 64:8 of the prophet Isaiah by the unnamed writer from his school; it dates back to the end of Jewish Exile, 537 BCE.
Yet, this image’s roots are much older: from the Yahwistic writer of Genesis 2-7, drawn from 4,000 BCE—Indeed, the dynamic in the Jewish psyche which nonetheless speaks if we listen and obey.
Such hands still form, rework, and reclaim life as we experience it each moment in the actualization of our birthrights: To pierce setbacks elicits new courage, to unravel wisdom’s intricacies enlarges understanding, and to rejoice in intimacy deepens hope in this invisible Touch that keeps us whole.
To maintain such moistness so as to be malleable, though, requires attentive and gentle discipline. Only with heart-mind-openness to His Touch can this occur.
And how badly this openness is needed in Ukraine’s “special military operation,” now in its third week: Its woundedness dries and cracks apart spirits like broken sherds—both the aggressor and their prey. Terror seeps into psychic pores and hardens spiritual functions. Would that these hostilities lead to global purification.
Only intact clay pots can hold the message of the Potter’s unconditional love and share it with others, a reality consonant with our ancient creation story, found in the book of Genesis.
Only the whir of the potter wheel licked the stained walls of the studio as an apron-clad artist cupped a mound of clay slip with wet hands. Next to the wheel laid scalpel-like knives, sponges of various sizes and textures, wires strung to handles, other cutters, twigs, and leaves. But the potter’s sensitive hands, sinewy and dripping wet, caught my attention: He seemed to know when to pause, slow the wheel, add more clay, etch designs upon the lip, indent patterns, and so much more. With others, I looked on, hushed by the emerging bowl taking shape on the wheel.
After the potter slip-wired the bowl from the wheel and set it aside to dry, he focused upon his students and smiled. “You can do this too. It just takes practice—That’s why I’m here.” That was years ago.
Then, as well as now, this experience mirrors Potter God’s ongoing intimacy in bringing forth new life, within limits of time and space. Like the hollow in the earthenware bowl, my body of eighty-six years has held a treasure—despite chronic disorders. Light always emerged and I did find my way, albeit with new direction and resolve.
At some future moment, Potter God will slip-wire my body from the wheel of life and set me free from my present diminishments. Until then, I wait and pray… and ask you to do the same. I’m grateful.
Only the whir of the potter wheel licked the stained walls of the studio as an apron-clad artist cupped a mound of clay slip with wet hands. Next to the wheel laid scalpel-like knives, sponges of various sizes and textures, wires strung to handles, other cutters, twigs, and leaves. But the potter’s sensitive hands, sinewy and dripping wet, caught my attention: She seemed to know when to pause, slow the wheel, add more clay, etch designs upon the lip, indent patterns, and so much more. With others, I looked on, hushed by the emerging bowl taking shape on the wheel.
After the potter slip-wired the bowl from the wheel and set it aside to dry, she focused upon her students and smiled. “You can do this too. It just takes practice—That’s why I’m here.”
Then, as well as now, this experience mirrors Potter God’s ongoing intimacy in bringing forth new life, within limits of time and space. Like the hollow in the earthenware bowl, my body of eighty-four years has held a treasure—no matter chronic pain’s tenuous hold on my life. Light always emerged and I did find my way, albeit with new direction and resolve.
However, my ILD with Rheumatoid Arthritis is unique: There’s no getting better, only imperceptible decline and with it, moments of terror until countered by CPA’s Step I and those following. In some future moment, Potter God will slip-wire my body from the wheel of life and set me free from my present diminishments. Until then, I wait and pray… and ask you to do the same. I’m grateful.
Heart Whisperings 