“Of all God’s gifts to the sighted man, color is the holiest, the most divine, the most solemn.”
—John Ruski
Today I’ve been thinking a good bit about color. Everything here in Santa Barbara seems so intense. Even the muted shades. Even the colors that are cast in shadow. There must be something about the light. I wonder how much fun God is having as He creates anew every day. Is He exuberantly splashing color about? Is He deliberately painting each delicate flower petal? Does He enjoy us oohing and ahhing over each new discovery? Today all the colors, all the dance of light and shadow, seemed to speak to me.
Morning was spent quietly in our room, writing and recovering from the rigors of yesterday. God seems to have designed us for rhythms of activity and rest. The older I get, the more I feel this truth. I am learning that greed in all its forms is not of God. Greed for experiences is no exception. When I try to take in too much, I cannot digest it all. So I need to take breaks. Every so often God slows me down. Every so often I need to rest and reflect. This morning of writing and reflection was when I began to think about color.
And then we ventured out to Mission Santa Barbara. The cool whites of the adobe walls against the deep brown of the beams and the rusty red of the roof tiles are crisp and clean. All of the missions we’ve visited have projected a sense of order and calm, even as one approaches from a distance. The clear sky provides a brilliant blue background which seems to focus not only the eye, but the mind as well.
The mission gardens are places of cool green. They generally are squares open to the sun, surrounded on all four sides by covered tiled walkways known as cloisters. A cup shaped fountain is the central focal point. One walks in the shade, so the colors of the garden, even the brilliant reds and yellows of the flowers, give a sense of refreshment.
The interiors of the chapels are often simple with white walls and tile floors, filled with dark wooden pews. But the altar pieces are elaborate, in typical Spanish style. Yet the muted light sets an atmosphere of quiet reverence. One’s heart is immediately turned to worship as one’s eye is drawn to the crucifix.
The Stations of the Cross at the mission are colorful tile mosaics set amidst olive trees along a meandering path. I found that I preferred these to darker, more somber depictions of the Stations. My imagination was captured and my heart was engaged.
Mount Calvary Monastery is an Anglican Benedictine community next door to the mission. The guest master was a colorful fellow called Jim who graciously allowed us to wander the monastery’s equally colorful grounds filled with palms, succulents, and flowers in every imaginable hue. I was especially moved by a crucifix in one of the gardens depicting Jesus in agony. His shoulders appear to be dislocated and His hands are contorted. I don’t think I’ve ever been so affected by a depiction of the crucifixion. The simple brown and white were stark. Further ornamentation would only have been a distraction.
We moved on to dinner at The Harbor Restaurant on Stearn’s Wharf. Here was a riot of color. The blues of the ocean, the sky, and the mountains. The greens of the palms and the sea grass. The rainbow colors of flags, buildings, and flowers. The whites of sailboats and seagulls. Even the black beans and fresh guacamole on my dinner plate. Everything seemed to be bursting with life. What a jarring contrast to the monastery garden!
My senses as I retire this evening are simply overwhelmed. I am ready for the soothing quiet of our room and a mug of tea, followed by a glass of wine. I need the visual feast as well to process, to reflect, and to allow our good God to speak to my soul what He wants me to absorb of this brilliant day.
“Let me, O let me bathe my soul in colors; let me swallow the sunset and drink the rainbow.”
—Khalil Gibran