THE GOSPEL OF CHRIST, OUR MOTHER AND HER MURDERERS: DONALD TRUMP AND THE ALT-RIGHT. 6. Good Samaritan (A parable, as told by Christ, Our Mother)

Good Samaritan (A parable, as told by Christ, Our Mother) ©2017 Alfred Eaker.

“Alfred Eaker’s series of works are deeply felt journeys into sociopolitical satire. Each painting seems to be pulled from Marc Chagall’s dream furnace.” Bill Ross: Curator Thunder-Sky Art Gallery.

*Christ is modeled after Ohio poet Cheryl Townsend

THE GOSPEL OF CHRIST, OUR MOTHER AND HER MURDERERS: DONALD TRUMP AND THE ALT-RIGHT. 5. THE TEMPTATION OF CHRIST, OUR MOTHER

The Temptation of Christ, Our Mother ©2017 Alfred Eaker.

“Alfred Eaker’s series of works are deeply felt journeys into sociopolitical satire. Each painting seems to be pulled from Marc Chagall’s dream furnace.” Bill Ross: Curator Thunder-Sky Art Gallery.

*Christ is modeled after Ohio poet Cheryl Townsend

THE GOSPEL OF CHRIST, OUR MOTHER AND HER MURDERERS: DONALD TRUMP AND THE ALT-RIGHT. 4. THE BAPTISM OF CHRIST, OUR MOTHER

The Baptism Of Christ, Our Mother ©2017 Alfred Eaker.

“Alfred Eaker’s series of works are deeply felt journeys into sociopolitical satire. Each painting seems to be pulled from Marc Chagall’s dream furnace.” Bill Ross: Curator Thunder-Sky Art Gallery.

*Christ is modeled after Ohio poet Cheryl Townsend

THE GOSPEL OF CHRIST, OUR MOTHER AND HER MURDERERS: DONALD TRUMP AND THE ALT-RIGHT. 3. THE WEDDING AT CANA

The Wedding At Cana ©2017, Alfred Eaker

“Alfred Eaker’s series of works are deeply felt journeys into sociopolitical satire. Each painting seems to be pulled from Marc Chagall’s dream furnace.” Bill Ross: Curator Thunder-Sky Art Gallery.

*Christ is modeled after Ohio poet Cheryl Townsend

THE GOSPEL OF CHRIST, OUR MOTHER AND HER MURDERERS: DONALD TRUMP AND THE ALT-RIGHT. 2. Christ, Our Mother

Christ, Our Mother ©2017, Alfred Eaker

“Alfred Eaker’s series of works are deeply felt journeys into sociopolitical satire. Each painting seems to be pulled from Marc Chagall’s dream furnace.” Bill Ross: Curator Thunder-Sky Art Gallery.

*Christ is modeled after Ohio poet Cheryl Townsend

THE GOSPEL OF CHRIST, OUR MOTHER AND HER MURDERERS: DONALD TRUMP AND THE ALT-RIGHT. 1. MAGNIFICAT

“Alfred Eaker’s series of works are deeply felt journeys into sociopolitical satire. Each painting seems to be pulled from Marc Chagall’s dream furnace.” Bill Ross: Curator Thunder-Sky Art Gallery.

*Christ is modeled after Ohio poet Cheryl Townsend

Magnificat ©2017, Alfred Eaker (1 of 33)

“Blessed art thou, Simon Bar-Jona” with “My Life” by Amaya Engleking

Blessed art thou, Simon Bar-Jona. Flesh and blood hath not revealed it to thee, but my Father in heaven. Thou art Peter; and upon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it. ©Alfred Eaker, 2018

(reprinted with permission *) MY LIFE by Amaya Engleking

In 1984 I had colic but through 1993 the years were idyllic, running with wolves and kissing Jesus on the cheek. Watching the stars dance for me outside my bedroom window. When we moved from the sunshine when I was ten my hair slowly turned dark, and soon did everything else. I dreamt of the Colorado mountain skyline like dulcimer notation through the drugs and divorce and would hum the tune like it was family. I hit a grand slam in an all-star game the same year I was hit by a car. My little brother was scared to look at my demolished face for weeks. I didn’t get a permanent implant on my front tooth for a couple years. Then high school and college were all about making the grade. I didn’t get that wasn’t the point and still don’t really. But I never got a calling. Everything I tried to grasp dissipated as if in a dream — friendships, talents, what I thought was my identity. Faulty foundations. I escaped back and forth to China, like the proverbial backyard hole. It’s pointless learning a language if you have nothing to say. 2005-2009 were the darkest years of my life. I was just a shadow of myself.

Only when the Holy Spirit brought me to death when I was 24, did I glimpse true life in the risen Christ. And it was in me! My essence. Because, “For God so loved the world…” And I was part of that love. I discovered the mystical pilgrim church on earth and it far transcended the barbed institutional Churches or man-made religions of the world. Worshipping with anyone who seeks a life for God, I don’t need to defer to dogma of Catholic or any other authorities, as if the resurrection of our Lord, of myself, means nothing. I was again born, but not by unnecesarean section into the world but through the divine birth canal into the spirit, and I’d be forever free from the burden of doubt. I met my husband in 2009 as we were paired as wilderness co-instructors of adjudicated teenagers. Eight days on, six days off and we were learning every day and night out in the Capitan Mountains of southern New Mexico how to surrender to God. Still, for the next several years we battled desperate demons who were imminently losing us to Love.

We married in 2013 and parenthood began right away as I’ve been pregnant and/or nursing non-stop since a month after our wedding. So I will live the gospel like a mother nurses a child. This makes sense, though my story is far from complete. Every so often I miss those stars and their sky pirouettes, but I’ve learned it’s not worth it to be paralyzed by the world’s twirly wonders and then blind-sided and struck down. Abused by something that, while gorgeous and enchanting, never loved me at all. I may still be in infancy in my wisdom, but I do know true Love. And being beloved will sustain me for the rest of my life, and into what comes after.

2017, Amaya Engleking

A 2017 tribute to John McCain in art: Christ, Our Mother heals the faithful Centurion’s pais

Christ, Our Mother heals the faithful Centurion’s pais. ©2017 Alfred Eaker.

A tribute I paid to Sen. John McCain about a year ago, casting him as the Centurion in “the Gospel of Christ, Our Mother “ ( a series which cast Christ in the symbol of Julian of Norwich’s Christ, Our Mother ) although I didn’t always agree with him politically, McCain was the last of the Rockefeller Republicans – a moderate- who believed in reaching out and working with those of different ideologies and who refused to mantle a fundamentalist attitude of towing the party dogmatic line.

In the narrative, a Roman centurion goes to Christ and asks Christ to heal an ill servant. Christ agrees and gets up to leave. The centurion stops Christ and says, “ No, you do not have to leave. Just say the word and my servant will be healed.” Christ marvels at this and says, “ I have never seen this kind of faith in all of Israel. Your servant is healed.” And he was. This is the moment the centurion thanks Christ. Christ as mother is a metaphor, which comes from the 14th century mystic , Julian of Norwich who essentially said Christ was as maternal in his empathy and love as he was paternal . So, in this contemporary setting , I cast Christ as mother, McCain as the centurion. It’s kind of a reflection of McCain’s bipartisanship, sticking to his guns of being a maverick, and his faith in country.2017 Alfred Eaker

SEA OF ROSARIES: OUR LADY OF THE WOODS

OUR LADY OF THE WOODS ©1994 ALFRED EAKER

Winter’s Night (Thomas Merton)

When, in the dark, the frost cracks on the window
The children awaken, and whisper.
One says the moonlight grated like a skate
Across the freezing river.
Another hears the starlight breaking like a knifeblade
Upon the silent, steelbright pond.
They say the trees are stiller than the frozen water
From waiting for a shouting light, a heavenly message.

Yet it is far from Christmas, when a star
Sang in the pane, as brittle as their innocence!
For now the light of early Lent
Glitters upon the icy step –
“We have wept letters to our patron saints,
(The children say) yet slept before they ended.”

Oh, is there in this night no sound of strings, of singers!
None coming from the wedding, no, nor
Bridegroom’s messenger?
(The sleepy virgins stir, and trim their lamps.)

The moonlight rings upon the ice as sudden as a
footstep;
Starlight clinks upon the dooryard stone, too like a
latch,
And the children are again, awake,
And all call out in whispers to their guardian angels.