The living brushstrokes of faith

Fishes and Loaves, 2018

Oil on Panel, Screen Door

As I write this, the panhandle is burning. Fires are sweeping through the dry windy grasslands of the Texas plains with little regard for the scattered pockets of human settlement in their path. But this isn’t new. It was last year’s story as well. 

West Texas is not a spring break destination. Picture the opposite of Disneyland. Nothing is a facade. No distractions. Beauty comes from the absence of stuff. Things die and are reborn quickly. There is very little to get in the way of a person taking stock of their life and getting to know others. In my own childhood it was a place that helped me think about the big questions: how much control do I have, who do I want to be, what is this Jesus person saying about God? 

The last time I drove highway 287, I sped through a town that had erected large PVC crosses in their front yards, facing the relentless traffic of that highway. Only Flannery O’Connor or John Prine could have put that sixty seconds into words. It was both desperate and beautiful. 

My father’s family is from the Panhandle: Hedley, Clarendon, and Shamrock. My summers were spent chasing red dust-devils and exploring dried creek beds. As a child I watched clouds of lightning that were so far away they would roll over the dark horizon without making a sound, without dampening the earth. The adults sat, ate, played dominoes, and told stories. They smiled a lot. On the way back to the big city my parents would process the stories they had heard, sorting truth from tall tale.

As the uncles aged and as the kids moved on to settle in more populated, more irrigated places the invitations to be “saved” increased. Perhaps the growing number of family funerals simply made the references to Jesus Christ more salient. But I had also been educated by the Jesuits and like a damp sponge I began to absorb my extended family’s reality. I could see and respect what faith offered these people, my people. 

Today’s readings tell the story of doubt and faith. Nebuchadnezzar and the Jews boast of their confidence, but there is anger and fear in their voices. They struggle with what it means to be loyal. They are prideful, and they place great value on obedience. Rationalizations are heaped upon insecurities. Kings hold up their golden statues. It is good for me to remember that other people in this world use PVC piping to create symbols of worship.

Today’s readings remind me that faith can protect people from doubt, from enslavement, from the daily grind of life. Fire is an analogy for many things but in West Texas it is also real. “But,” he replied, “I see four men unfettered and unhurt, walking in the fire, and the fourth looks like a son of God.”

Author: David Williams, Sophomore Counselor, Fine Arts Department, Soccer Coach