The Potter

I was talking to my friend and colleague, John, today about Lent. One of his upcoming messages will be about God as our potter, the One who is working to shape and mold us into new creations. Much work and effort has been spent in acquiring a pottery wheel to use as a visual reminder during the Lent season. This got me thinking about my brief stint as a potter back at University.

First, a little background to my days with clay-mucked hands. During my freshman year, I pledged a fraternity. As was the custom during the 3 or 4 month initiation, we pledges were required to wear a suit and carry our fraternity paddles (another story) once each week. The joy and pride I felt walking around the campus in a suit as a newbie at universtiy was something I have never felt since. I hope I never will. There was a certain and very cool look on campus, and suits were not part of the wardrobe. This, in part, was why we were made to wear them. Pledging was mostly a time to humilate and create insecurity of those wishing to join a fraternity. There was no reason for the "abuse", other than it made the full-fledged, once pledged brothers to feel good about themselves. At some point following enough humilation through this and other creative venues, we pledges were sworn into the fraternity.

During this season of pledging I had a class in pottery. I saw it as an easy class to take amid my many other challenging ones. It met once a week and was held in a little art studio on the far side of campus. The very far side of campus. Can you guess what day of the week pottery was? Suit day for the fledgling pledges. With my tie swaying in the wind and my paddle in tow, I would make the trek to class. There was one true art student enrolled. The rest? Football players. Their football season was so intense that they tended to pick easy classes like pottery. I smiled and secretly thought, "I hope there are enough pottery wheels for these guys. I don't want to be one."

The fraternity's goal of insecurity, fear, and humiliation was working in fine form.

In spite of this, I loved the class. It was one of the most natural and enjoyable times of my life. The creative process brought joy I can still feel.

I remember the clay. It was moist, moldable earth. It held fast in one piece, yet every touch of the finger created change and new form. It became a part of your hands. The clay had no life of its own other than what you offered.

At the wheel, it was like being lost in another world. I huddled over it, and my legs surrounded it. My hands, wet with moist and runny clay, formed this spinning lump of grey matter. Once the shape took life, you could barely take your hands from it until it was completed, lest it fall. My thumb pressed into center and index finger on outside. Together, they were brought upwards, in and out.

My suit meant nothing to me at this point. So what if I was fit for a formal party? Let the world around me drift away as I enfolded myself in this creative process.

I delighted in my little works of art. Each piece was different, yet lovely and beautiful. Creating was joy and the result, even moreso.

I wonder how much I am like that piece of clay...limp, pliable, and moldable? How much do I recognize the direct, personal and intimate connection the Potter has in shaping me? How much do I recieve the Potter's delight in me, his created work of art? Or, in others as different, yet equally lovely works of art?

Those little works of art I made are gone. I'm not sure where they ended up. Yet, my joy in creating them caused a treasure to be stored in my heart until I die. We are like those jars, and we will fade away or crumble. God's joy in us will not, and that joy is stored in our hearts as a treasure now and always.