CathNews New Zealand

A popular hymn of the early 70s that remains in use today is known by its first line, Colours of Day, a hymn from the folk genre of the time. It is worth reflecting on some of its words these fifty years on.

“Colours of day dawn into the mind,

The sun has come up, the night is behind,

Go down in the city, into the street,

And let’s give the message to the people we meet.”

There is almost something post-COVID in that opening verse: the sun has come up, and the night is behind.

In contrast to its gray-toned absence, color is returning to brighten our days, the arrival of expectant hope. Later in the hymn, we are encouraged to:

“Go through the park, on into the town,

The sun still shines on, it never goes down,

The Light of the world is risen again,

The people of darkness are needing a friend.”

After a journey through darkness the light of the world has risen again.

Life as a jigsaw

Our lives resemble, in many ways, a jigsaw or the art form known as collage: many small pieces arranged together to create a whole.

In the early ’90s, I spent some time working on paper collages, one of which is reproduced in this article.

They were constructed from colored paper taken from magazine illustrations, cut, and arranged in abstract patterns. Some shapes were torn from the original image, leaving a rough, ragged edge before re-assembly.

Similarly, the fragments that form our lives are sometimes shaped by clean-cut lines, at others roughly torn from our experience of the day-to-day bustle of living.

The pieces don’t always fit together like a neat jigsaw, each carefully interlocking with another.

No, the rough edges jostle for space, each anxious to assume dominance.

The consequent discomfort is one that we have all experienced as we learn to take the good times and the not-so-good times in equal parts.

Life comes to us multi-shaped, with great joys and small pleasures, enormous hurts, and aggravating niggles. All hit us at one time or another, just as the materials of a collage come together to form one whole design.

We can view the Church as a collage

Many great artists have used the collage technique in their work, creating memorable statements through a simple, tactile form.

The extensive use of this technique by Henri Matisse comes to mind. His spiral arrangement of irregular polygons of colour, entitled The Snail, is well known.

His blue-colored nudes and the rich tones of The Dancers brilliantly demonstrate the artist’s skill in this medium.

I had reproductions of both hanging on the wall of my room in school.

The use of found materials, rearranged in a creative manner, can be transformed into something of great simplicity and beauty.

In many ways, we can view the church as a collage, a whole edifice constructed from many fragments, some with neat, clean edges carefully arranged, each in its place.

Others, with roughly torn edges jostling with their neighbor, are anxious for space that their voice might also be heard.

It is often suggested that one of the great difficulties experienced by religious communities is the very fact that a disparate group of men or women live together week after week, putting up with each other’s foibles and forgiving each other repeatedly.

In fact, the parish can also be seen as a collage, small pieces of color assembled to form a great whole, each alongside the other, with rough and smooth edges alike.

Prayer

How about our times of prayer? Indeed, there is another example of an aspect of life as a collage.

Our times of prayer are never the same. Sometimes, the edges are smooth, and everything seems to fall into place. On other occasions, the rough edges make for an uncomfortable ride.

We do not choose the time or place; it just happens, and we have to cope with the consequences.

It is just another aspect of life that has to be managed, one step at a time.

If we are sensitive to change, then we can learn from the experience. In making a collage, not every cut or tear or choice of color is right the first time. The rejected pile of materials that grow on the floor around the artist’s feet tells the story.

So, too, does the litter pile from our broken attempts at prayer accumulate throughout our lives. The important thing is that we do not become dispirited and that each attempt at prayer is seen as a step on our journey rather than an occasion of failure.

Many books have been written on prayer, offering new insights into well-worn paths. All is well and good, but reading about prayer is no substitute for prayer itself.

In a journal entry in December 1964, Thomas Merton tells us, “In the hermitage, one must pray or go to seed. The pretense of prayer will not suffice. Just sitting will not suffice. It has to be real. Yet, what can one do?

“Solitude puts you with your back to the wall or your face to it, and this is good. So you pray to learn how to pray!”

Honest, direct, and without frills, Merton does not attempt to cover the hardship with well-fashioned phrases or sentiments. He says it as it is and concludes that we might pray to learn how to pray.

Building the collage of prayer is to set out on an arduous journey, one with many points of failure and darkness, occasionally lit with the light of God’s presence to encourage our effort.

There is nakedness in our efforts as we struggle to live a life in prayer, as each tentative step brings with it the risk of joy or perceived failure.

And there lies the nub of our problem; what we call failure may not be a failure at all, just as a serious fall does not always follow a small stumble.

So, although our steps falter, the pilgrimage of prayer continues as we return again and again to pick up the pieces, the torn and ragged fragments of the Collage we are trying to form.

Returning to the collage image accompanying these few words, it is formed from many different colored shapes. Moving across the image, there is change, and we respond differently to the dance of its organization and detail.

Dance of prayer

Taken to the edge

we face the emptiness of words

that once had meaning.

There we face the loss of surety

where in the cold stillness

of each dawn hour,

in the breaking light

the echo of words remains

and the dance continues.

Sr. Wendy Beckett wrote in her book Simple Prayer that the essential act of prayer is to stand unprotected before God. What will God do? He will take possession of us.

Have you ever thought to pray for the artist whose work is our inspiration? None are perfect, and despite fine lines and glorious color, each artist has secrets and shame in their hidden lives.

To conclude where we started, the people of darkness need a friend. It is through the prayer collage of our lives that darkness finds light.

• First published in La Croix
• Chris McDonnell is a retired headteacher from England and a regular contributor to La Croix International.

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News category: Analysis and Comment.