I’d heard of Jesus through church and the illustrated Bible my mom read to me, but the Catechesis of the Good Shepherd is where I first experienced the spiritual life as full of wonder, creativity, curiosity, and imagination. As an artistic, introspective child, the image-rich, participatory environment of this early Montessori-based faith formation gave me a dynamic toolbox for encountering the sacred in daily life and being an active participant in liturgy. As theologian Chris Pramuk notes in the Artist Alive, quoting the philosopher Heschel, “What the artist and theologian have in common is the cultivation of attentiveness to the holy, the realm pulsing beyond the good and even the beautiful.” This insatiable desire to experience reality deeply as an artist-minister-theologian is at the heart of why I find myself in theological education. 

 

In college, several intentional travel experiences taught me how to approach life as pilgrimage, a sacred journey of transformation rooted in place. First, walking the Camino de Santiago framed faith as an ongoing path of discovery, helping me begin letting go of perfection and fear of making mistakes. Second, studying placemaking, art history, and sustainability in Italy as a “creative pilgrim” revealed connections between geography and spirituality. Finally, through the repetitive chants and steady, integrated rhythm of work and prayer at the Taizé Community, it clicked. Art is a form of prayer. It’s how I practice noticing and responding to the holy. Formed by these experiences of pilgrimage, I brought open-ended creative processes, place-based reflections, and contemplative visual elements to the Catholic, ecumenical, and interfaith groups at University of Richmond’s Office of the Chaplaincy. As a Visual & Media Arts Practice major, countless sketchbooks brimming with drawings kept me attentive to pilgrimages of daily life (whether writing a paper or baking bread, everything is an opportunity for transformation!). Seeking “God in All Things,” a phrase I first encountered in James Martin’s Jesuit Guide to Almost Everything early in college, eventually culminated in a senior exhibition. These paintings, or “contemplative maps,” left me in awe of what happens when one trusts the pilgrimage of creative process. 

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When the Synod on Synodality—of learning to trust the Holy Spirit moving among the People of God—began right after I graduated, I was amazed to see pilgrimage unfolding on a global scale in sync with my creative and prayer life. During gatherings with groups like Catholic Mobilizing Network and Discerning Deacons, I painted a Prayer for Synodality, sharing it widely throughout the church. At the time, I was a St. Joseph Worker, steeping in the Congregation of St. Joseph’s (CSJ) rich liturgies, prophetic actions, and the charism of “always moving towards love of God and neighbor without distinction.” My placement site was a transitional home for asylum seekers. More than that, it was, as the name suggests, a sanctuary for those who had been forced on a journey away from their homeland and showed remarkable resilience in the midst of displacement. From these synodal communities emerged a desire to keep creating spaces for movement of Spirit. 

 

Then the Good Shepherd led me to the pastures, literally; I found myself serving at Bethlehem Farm, an intentional Catholic community in Appalachia that transforms lives through gospel cornerstones of prayer, community, service and simplicity. Here, I accompany young adults through service-retreat weeks centered on care for creation. Fueled by contemplative creative practices (drawing, writing, swimming, walking, or really following any kind of line), I thrive when leading liturgy or gathering folks to pray with themes of Catholic Social Teaching. Being close to the land, I understand firsthand Laudato Si’s call to hear the cry of the earth and of the poor…such as when a fracked gas line aggressively resumed construction in our region, plowing through waterways and homelands. One way of bearing witness to this misuse of creative energy was painting at an interfaith vigil inspired by Joanna Macy’s Work that Reconnects. Another was through a series of Holy Ground drawings displayed during the Seasons of Creation. Practicing ministry in these challenging times, I repeatedly turn to the Catholic Committee of Appalachia’s pastoral letter This Land is Home to Me: “May the church once again be a place where art flourishes, where justice speaks loudly, and the voice of God still cries out for life.” 

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Theological education is part of the ongoing formation that equips me to live out this vision through creative, contemplative leadership within and beyond the church. While there, I will commit to my daily ballpoint pen drawing practice and let this fuel collaborations with the undergraduate art department, Theology Arts Collective, and ecumenical community across the city. I see potential for sharing my drawings and curating the work of interdisciplinary artists in worship aids, liturgical spaces; bringing perspectives on contemporary art into theological discussions; and for letting an arts-based thesis project emerge as a culmination of what I’ve learned. As a Graduate Assistant in Campus Ministry, I will accompany young creative and service-oriented students as they discover the calling within them. The Clough School of Theology and Ministry will prepare me well and so will the city of Boston, with its iconic “Rainbow Swash” natural gas tank, created by a beloved artist-minister-theologian role model: Corita Kent. Her joyful social justice prints and heart-centered teaching endlessly inspire me. When I see this public art, it will be a physical reminder of why I’m here: to practice leading with courage, care, and creativity.