“They’re firing up the big kiln while you’re on campus,” Jenn (Carnell, a regular co-author and friend) told me. “You should go!”
I’m so glad I did. The firing of the kiln is a regular formal ceremonial practice here at St John’s. The kiln itself is gigantic – built so that loading forks can drive into either end! – and it runs for ten days and ten nights at temperatures that could have converted that badly singed “Smelly Book” I mentioned in a previous post from book all the way to ash in mere moments. (I looked it up; temperatures inside the kiln will reach up to 2,500°F!)
It’s the largest wood-fired kiln in North America, and is called the “Johanna Kiln” after Sister Johanna Becker, OSB, whose work profoundly influenced the potters here on campus. And, by its size, the kiln certainly has the “wow” factor:
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| Kiln door |
The work of loading the kiln, we were told, had taken 6 weeks, and the work of keeping the kiln lit goes to two groups of volunteers, one of whom keeps the wood stoked and ensures that the process is running smoothly, and another group to support the first group by preparing food. The collective group laughed about the excellent food, so much excellent food, and about the work day and night to ensure the fire’s regular feeding. We toasted the volunteer team with ceramic cups of Sake.
In all, several hundred people turned out for the kiln firing. There were people from as far away as Japan (!) – someone who’d been in residence at St John’s and came back for the ceremony – and from California. Not to mention Tennessee. (That would be me.) This photo shows about half the crowd in attendance – it’s from after the ceremony was over, and you can still see how many people had joined in!
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| About half the crowd... |
As with many such events, there was opening chitchat, and a talk about the kiln’s founding in 1994/5 and its historical firings. There was recognition of those who’ve been in attendance – for 28 years, for 30 years, at every firing that has happened since they entered high school in 19xx. This is an event that has tradition at its back.
But it also has the spiritual ceremonial elements. It was not just the living who were recognized; the losses to the local art community were also recognized – and in two different ways. First, we heard their stories of connection to the campus, the abbey, and the kiln. (Hearkening back to all the mentions of preaching from the pulpit in the memoria endowments that I’ve been writing about-- recognition of the dead at a moment of importance to the community is a looooong-standing practice!)
And second, there were spirit boats created for each of the three of them, hosted on a table adjacent to the kiln wall, with incense and salt, flowers and fir cuttings and images. We remember people through the things we say, but we also remember them through the things we do. As the speaker said, the spirit ships mark the last time they will sail on the lake behind the kiln – a marker of their farewells to these surroundings and the people they loved. They plan to use a hot ceramic piece on October 25th to ignite a candle, and then light candles in the boats honoring the three dedicatees. They’ll be carried by canoe to the center of the lake, and released as a final goodbye.
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| Spirit boats with salt, incense, photo, flowers, and fir offerings |
The firing ceremony had two songs, an unaccompanied song newly created for the event, and another, with guitar, that is evidently a regular recurring part of the ceremony. The lyrics put us in the right frame of mind for the unfolding of events; I wish I’d recorded them somehow because the wording had slipped my mind by the time I got back to my dorm.
There was also a prayer, asking for blessings to come for the items in the kiln, the people who made them and tended them, and those of us who had gathered here in community to witness the start of the work.
And then it was time for the lighting itself. Only about the front three rows could see exactly what happened at the moment of ignition, but the firing – assisted by family members of those being remembered this year – includes a short prayer, a purification of the kiln area with rice, salt, and sake which took about two minutes and follows Japanese tradition, and ends with ignition of the two starting fires with a handmade torch. I at the back only had a chance to go into the kiln shed once the fire was lit, and even then, the sunlight was streaming HARD into my eyes (and the camera lens):
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| Within a few minutes of lighting |
They’ll be stoking the fire for ten days; the wood stacks run floor to ceiling inside the kiln shed, and there are additional 4-foot poles stashed outside the shed and covered with tarps. Before the ceremony, someone was joking about all the tarps – “time to think about an additional structure just to keep the wood dry” was the sentiment, which got agreement and laughter from standers-by! You can see a wee portion of the VERY abundant wood in my photo here:
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| soooo muuuuuch firewood |
And when I came back after my walk (and the sun had settled toward the horizon), I got to hear more about the work involved. They have to be careful to keep the downdrafts of cold air from flowing into the kiln, so you always move the sticks a bit before placing the new wood to ensure the fire’s heat is even.
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| tending the fire evidently includes telling stories about it! |
Also, wearing good gloves is important – one volunteer got $175 brand new elk-hide gloves and was extremely proud of them. But on his first time stoking the fire, he reached in with them on, and by the time he pulled his arm out, the gloves were on fire. (Heat will do that!) So they buy cheap gloves – though what was cheap last time is rather more costly this time, what will all the tarriffs. (Wow, the crowd nodded at that! We ALL know about inflation these days!).
In all, it was a very moving ceremony. I was strongly reminded of the way in which the ordinary becomes extraordinary when the proper attitude is brought to bear. On the one hand, the idea of kiln-firing and the preparations and act of treating pottery is simply a part of the artistic process – a necessary step in the act of creation, but not one that signals “I’m a spiritual moment” on its own. It’s work, and rather hard work, what with the chopping of wood, the tending of fire, the need to ensure even heating, and so forth.
But this ceremony reminds us that work too can function as an offering up of our daily tasks as good that we do on behalf of the spirit. The act of firing here creates community; it’s a team effort; it reflects the connectedness even of the artistic work as part of broader human enterprise. The purification and dedications that were folded into the ceremony also connect that community to its chronological ancestry – through ritual, we make an unspoken argument about the continuity of human activity, both what has come before, and what promises to lie ahead of us. Will you be back in two years? The ceremony suggests that the answer is “yes,” whether you come in person or in the memories of others who attend. And it creates a ritual moment of centeredness, where the act of doing becomes a prayerful activity.
In the Benedictine mindset of “Ora et labora” – of prayer and labor – this is a moment that reminds us that the two are inextricably intertwined.
May it be so.
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