Susan Mangam is a life-professed Episcopal solitary sister, artist and certified spiritual director who lives in a hermitage in the Catskill Mountains. Susan's art has been exhibited in galleries, museums, and colleges throughout New England and New York, and is in private collections in the United States, Mexico and Switzerland.

   "A few years ago I sat on a rock looking down into the sea, and, for an instant, I seemed to see into the very heart of Creation - into the Life-force at the center of each and every creature," Susan says. 

"I thought of Van Gogh - this is what he saw, this is why he painted. And so I continue, seeing more as I see more, yet knowing I may never get in paint the Heart of sky or sea, mountains or tree.  But then, we never do 'arrive' in this unfolding Life - death - resurrection process of creation."

    The Hope Center is deeply grateful to Susan for sharing with us and our neighbors this stunning collection of paintings, and for her generous contribution of all proceeds from sales to support our unfolding life and ministry of peace and justice in the east end of Newburgh.

  Christy Sokalski is an art teacher who spends her days educating and inspiring children to develop the same passion for the arts that has been such a pivotal influence in her own life. "I strive to engage myself in a realm of lyrical beauty," she says. "I imagine a painting in every landscape I pass, within the reflection of light and the depth of shadows, and also through the eyes of my students' enthusiasm for learning. My aspirations are to flourish as an artist while I continue to evolve as an individual, all while being inspired by nature, splendor, and exposure to the world around me."  

    The free tour will be open from 11 a.m. to 5 p.m. each day. Click here for more information about the tour and the artists. 

church usher/deacon/greeter came into my study and said, "You need to come out front right away." I dutifully followed him through the social hall and the sanctuary and on out the front door where he pointed to the bushes. I stepped around the bush and saw someone lying there . . . "Hello . . . good morning . . . are you okay?" I asked.

   "Good morning Father Steve," came the reply from beneath a blanket.  

   "Mr. Dixon - Is that you?"  

   "Yeah, what's going on?" 

   "Oh nothing, Mr. Dixon. My friend here was concerned." 

    I turned to the other man, a member of the church for 50 or 60 years and said, "It's okay. It's Mr. Dixon. He'll be fine . . . "

His jaw dropped as I walked back inside with a "See you later, Mr. Dixon."

   (Mr. Dixon had been in and out of rehab more times than he can count. He's on the street during the warmer months. He has a good heart, a kind nature and an addiction that will kill him. In the decade that we've known him, we have learned that all we can do is love him, affirm him as a beloved Child of God, and walk with him, taking him to rehab if the mood strikes him praying that this will be the time that works. . . ) 

   In the days and weeks that followed, members of the congregation asked me what I was going to do about Mr. Dixon and his occasional encampment. My response was always the same - "That's Mr. Dixon. Introduce yourself . . .."  

   One or two actually did.  

   The case of the unwanted house guest came up at a church board meeting with some folks demanding action. I offered scripture and suggested affirmative action. . . I told them about my relationship with Mr. Dixon and that he had always been respectful and courteous and that he now kept the front entrance to the church secure during the night . . . 

   The weather turned cold a couple of months later and Mr. Dixon found warmer accommodations. No one ever spoke with him.

   Last year, Mr. Dixon camped by the church again. This time, a member of the congregation bagged up his clothes, took them home and was going to set them out for the trash man. We found about it, got someone to retrieve the bag of clothes, washed them and returned them to Mr. Dixon. He now refers to to the church as "The church that stole my clothes . . . but I forgive them."  

   I tell you this story because of next week's gospel reading - Luke 15:1-10. It's a passage in which members of the establishment complain about Jesus and the folks he was hanging out with. In response, Jesus tells two short parables. One is about a lost sheep, the other about a lost coin. Reading the parable of the lost sheep and how the shepherd left 99 behind to go out in search of the one who was lost, I wondered - if one of the sheep is with the shepherd and 99 aren't, who is lost?