A few years ago, I was summoned to the bishop’s office after the backlash from the visual sermon I offered at our annual conference. The conservatives were hurling metaphorical stones in my direction and demanding my immediate removal from the position of Conference Artist, the church, and probably the planet. I apologized for putting him in a bind - fire me and my supporters will be up in arms, retain me and my detractors will be outraged. If I were you, he said, I wouldn’t overestimate the support you have around the conference. Of course, I said, how foolish of me.
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He then told me that I remind him of the story about a guy who thought he was a prophet because people were throwing rocks at his head. But the guy was no prophet. They were pelting him with stones because he was an ass, he explained. So are you a prophet or an ass?
I’m no prophet, I said. A prophet is one who speaks for God. It would be foolish to make such a claim. Of the two choices, I’d rather be an ass - useful to the Nativity as a Bethlehem Uber for an unwed, expectant refugee and an important prop in the palm-to-passion street theater with a tragic ending. Birth and death.
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A few months ago, the assistant to the bishop (different bishop) sat in my studio and likened me to the desert fathers. You’re a mystic, aren’t you, she said. I conceded that the landscape I occupy is very remote - seemingly inaccessible, apparently unapproachable. Visitors are rare here, but loneliness does not a mystic make. A mystic is someone who has met God. I’ve seen God, but to my knowledge, I’ve never met God.
A mystic? Only a fool would make such a claim, but it reminds me of the story about a donkey. The beast of burden was a trusted servant of the prophet Balaam, the seer from Hebrew scripture who was being called upon to curse the people of God. On the ill-advised mission, the donkey sees something that Balaam cannot. Standing in the middle of the road is an angel of the Lord with sword drawn. So the donkey turns off the road and into a field thus saving Balaam’s life. Furious at the sudden detour, the blind seer, mercilessly and repeatedly beats the animal for leading him astray.
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I am not a prophet, nor a mystic.
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I am an ass who sees, otherwise known as an artist - carrying a sacred story, wandering off the beaten path (and beaten as a result), a fool bewildered by beauty.
Ted Lyddon Hatten is an artist, theologian, and educator in Des Moines, Iowa, who works in ephemeral installation art, dry painting, and beeswax. www.tedlyddonhatten.com
