Medium and Message

Both religion and the arts provide access to desires and needs that are a part of being human. Will Willimon states how “God continually, graciously, gives himself to us and makes himself available to us through touched, tasted, experienced, visible means.” (Willimon, Worship as Pastoral Care, p. 151) By God’s grace knowledge arrives in many forms. This is precisely why the artist’s creative action also strengthens faith. Multifaceted art experiences helps establish concrete connections to theology. Art helps “flesh out” facts, data, concepts and makes them dynamic.

Art comes by exploration of ordinary human abilities. We notice, remember, speak sounds, listen, understand and recognize. Then, we take our findings, order them, create patterns, adjust and manipulate our resources. Matthew Crawford finds “moral significance” to this type “of work that grapples with material things.” For working with our hands, discovering the properties of materials, takes us “outside the self.” (Crawford, Shop Class As Soulcraft p.16) Perhaps this is why art is sometimes termed as transcendent, and consequently, why it can play a vital role in our spiritual formation. Art is not necessarily a distraction, but instead exercises our attentiveness. I remember defending my teenager’s doodling in a parent-teacher conference explaining how the drawing gave access to the listening.

Through the busy work of creating we also collect information that shapes the way we perceive the world and make sense of it. Juhani Pallasmaa states how “Artistic expression is engaged with pre-verbal meanings of the world, meanings that are incorporated and lived rather than simply intellectually understood.” (Pallasmaa, The Eyes of Skin, p.24) Art is a different way of discovering God and the world he set us in. Art can also be the medium that allows us to care for His creation. If John Patton’s statement that “The message of God’s care is inseparable from the messenger,” think of what our art work could deliver. (Patton, Pastoral Care and Counseling, p.95)

If the word became incarnate, God’s message of love and forgiveness found in the medium of Jesus’ body, we don't have an excuse to put the paint brushes down, forgo the dance class, tell ourselves art making takes too much time. Marilynne Robinson reminds us of “when people still had sensibilities, and encouraged them in one another.” According to Robinson folks “assumed the value and even the utility of many kinds of learning for which now we can find no use whatever.” (Robinson, The Death of Adam, p. 9) We learn from encounter with the world. Literacy is not just the ability to read information, but connects our embodied knowledge and histories with the words being offered.

You are the medium, and you have a message.


--Maria

Presence in Writing

As a writer, grappling with the writing process every day, I often come across comments like this, “…the work itself – the practice of the craft of writing – must be its own reward”(Dennis Palumbo, Writing from the Inside Out, 53). Over the years such statements have paled, and in fact, become a source of discouragement for me. Because oftentimes writing isn’t its own reward. Such phrases – art for art’s sake – actually became statements of disillusionment and abandonment. 


Recently I intentionally re-read Mark Batterson’s book, The Circle Maker, because I want to grow in prayer and faith. I was surprised to find that much of the same material that applied to me as a spiritual person also spoke to me as a writer. And then it hit me. When I see the word, “prayer,” it’s a word of relationship. When I pray, I’m entering into a relationship with Christ. I’m not alone. But when I utter the word, “writing,” I’m alone. It is no secret that aloneness and loneliness is a “right of passage” every writer must accept. Naturally, then, it would also become core to the writer’s identity. 


As a Christian, maybe this is something that needs to be questioned and reassessed. Writing, like prayer, is not only about the inner being, the self, but it’s also about communicating and interacting with the world (evangelium). It’s about finding relationship through the craft. It’s also about being in a relationship with Jesus. When I sit down at my desk, turn on the computer, and look at the blank page – forced to confront myself – it can be terrifying. I realized that much like the effects of prayer, I want Jesus to be waiting there on the other side. I need to know that he’s waiting there. 


It’s about entering presence. When I conceive of it that way, I’m not abandoned to figure it out on my own. I’m not begging the blank stare of art for art’s sake to fulfill me. Instead, I’m stepping into glory. 
It’s still a struggle, for the daily discipline of writing often feels harsh and unrelenting. But if it is your call, your work, then like prayer, it can also be a conduit into Christ’s presence. Then the raw discipline, the craft, the monotonous constancy isn’t the end in itself. Rather, the reward is an invitation into his presence. It’s an investment and cultivation into something eternal. It’s a journey home. 

Thinking, Oil and Wallpaper

--Anita Kobayashi Sung
Anita is one of the many talented artists that participated in our seven-week faith and art study, In the Living Room, this past spring.  Anita and her husband David are both graduates from Gordon-Conwell Seminary and will soon start a church in Manhattan. 


Come to InterArts Fellowship this Monday Night at the W83 Ministry Center as we examine how Eternal Life shapes the present lives of artists. Featuring works by The James Hall Quintet, Anna Hillengas Troester, Maria Fee and guest speaker Cherith Fee Nordling. Artists reception to follow program.

Working at Worship

Writing on the original meaning and use of the word liturgy Nicholas Wolterstorff considers how “leitourgia never did mean action of the people. It meant action for the benefit of the people.” According to Wolterstorff the liturgy was actually considered “a type of public service.” (Wolterstorff, Major Themes in Reform Tradition, p. 274) Precisely because the liturgy is meant to benefit Christians Janet Walton heralds art as being one of the forms that should be utilized towards this public service. In her book Art and Worship Walton recognizes how the content of worship functions as a way of shaping God’s people. Liturgy, therefore, is not just a program to follow. Instead, Walton encourages churches to introduce “forms that will connect the revelation of God with the most poignant needs of the people who constitute the church.” (Walton, Art and Worship, p.56)

Indeed, Tim Keller relates how reason may tells us about truth, but we “really cannot grasp what it means without art.” Keller goes on to say how “the sensual expression of truth allows you to hear the truth, see the truth, to taste it, touch it, and smell it.”  (Keller, It Was Good, Making Art to the Glory of God, p.121-122) Yet the random insertion of art into worship many times reads as novelty, not revelation. Perhaps this penchant for novelty in worship can be bypassed if congregations begin to embody a theology of the arts. Part of this theology must take into consideration the corporate nature of art. Churches must ask what will inspire creative and regenerative corporate worship that will move beyond the doors of the church into the hearts of its people in order to shape their everyday lives.

By grace art bridges God to men and gathers people to one another. One must also consider the humanizing element of art which allows us to bring everyday experiences into worship. This makes worship and art more relevant, dynamic and contextual. Conversely, art in worship can certainly reverberate into our daily life. A theology of the arts recognizes the symbiotic relationship between theology and art. Thomas Franklin O’Meara speaks of the importance of this relationship when he relates how “Theology is the discernment of the presence of the ‘More’ amid sin and grace. Like art, when theology is only a symbolism, it is empty—devoid of prophetic, existential, and spontaneously transcendent dimensions, and ready to be passed over quickly.” (O’Meara, Art, Creativity and the Sacred, p. 215)

Quite frankly art is not the primary theological form we must consider when we talk about corporate worship. Consequently, we should ponder Marva Dawn’s assertion regarding art and worship by focusing on “the biblical picture of the Body of Christ [a]s the preeminent image for guiding this aspect of theological formulations. This metaphor primarily reminds us that Christ is the Head; he must remain the focus, and his self-giving presence determines everything that we do.” (Dawn, Reaching Out Without Dumbing Down, p.130) Art, therefore, is the medium that springs forth from discourse regarding how the incarnation, resurrection and ascension define elements of our corporate worship.

Richard Rohr wisely reminds us how God likes us despite our rituals. “God doesn’t need them, but we need them to tenderly express our childlike devotion and desire—and to get in touch with that desire.” Ultimately, true worship is God’s gift for his people.

Let’s work at worshiping our Triune God with all of our being.

--Maria 

In My Solitude

It is arguable that the most important time in which an artist may invest is not in networking meetings or collaborative workshops but rather in time spent alone. I am not necessarily speaking of studio time or the practice room either, but of true, unencumbered, undistracted solitude. 


I realize that I am addressing urban dwellers so let me explain what may be a nearly foreign concept to people who daily inhabit shared space with about ten million other bodies, and often in close quarters. Case in point, I'm writing this on a train next to three boisterous women who are reminiscing splendidly about New York in the fifties. In between songs on my iPad I'm catching bits of their conversation muted only slightly by my headphones. Then doesn't it seem merciless of me, given our way of life, to suggest that our most formative moments will be found in carefully prepared solitude, away from other people? Besides, you might say, isn't Redeemer Arts always challenging New York artists to seek out community and not to "go it alone"? Why now does it seem like I am saying just the opposite? Let me explain.


There's a difference between isolation and solitude, between feeling completely cut off from life giving community and setting apart time to enjoy peaceful solitude. The beauty of solitude is the discovery that we are never truly alone no matter how lonely we may feel at times. But this emodied sense of eternal presence did not come to us without a price. The lonely death of the incarnate God on a Roman cross won for us these pregnant, peaceful moments alone which would otherwise be utter isolation.  But Jesus was cut off so that we would never be truly cut off. He cried out to an empty sky so that we would never have to. It is his isolation from the father in the garden and on the cross that makes possible our blessed solitude. Without the cross we'd all rightfully dread being alone and we as artists would have no hope of finding inspiration in the silence, for silence would only mean the end of fellowship with the ever-present Creator. 

In our city it's easy to awake each day to the worship of an aesthetic, a philosophy or technique. These gods of our own making have shed no blood for us, but the One who loves us is waiting to meet us in precious moments of silence apart from the noise of our distracted lives. We receive this comfort in the very place where Jesus lost it, in solitude. It is our own renewed Gethsemane which we can enjoy now because he did not. He suffered the silence of God so that even our silence would be full of promise. Bless the garden in which he suffered, and bless the peaceful solitude we now can access through grace.

Kenyon

*Taking of Christ, Caravaggio

The Job of Attentiveness

Brian Fee, Untitled

how should tasting touching hearing seeing

breathing any—lifted from the no

of all nothing—human merely being

doubt unimaginable You?

(now the ears of my ears awake and

now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

--e e cummings from i thank You God

We recently attended a lecture featuring the poet and former chairman of the NEA, Dana Gioia.  If you are searching for a good articulation on the wisdom of art, Gioia is your man. Quoting Frost, Gioia reminds us how “poetry is a way of remembering what it would impoverish us to forget.” And, the former chairman made no qualms citing how impoverished our culture has become, now bereft of beauty. One example is the disparity between a WPA-era built public building, such as the local post office, and its contemporary version. This lack of concern for beauty illustrates how we have we lost confidence in its power.  And, isn't it interesting with the loss of beauty truth soon became untenable? We live in the time of the great no.

Art, however, lifts us from negation to tenderize the imagination. It opens eyes wider and ears deeper to encounter what is unimaginable. Through numerous experiences of cognitive tasting, touching, hearing, seeing, breathing  we develop and strengthen our beauty muscles. Beauty itself is a process. Gioia brakes down the movements into four steps: 1) Beauty causes us to linger. 2) In the lingering we experience pleasure. 3) This pleasure stems from capturing the true-ness of the object that has initiated the lingering. 4) Steps 1 through 3 are fleeting, reminding us we are not in control and that beauty is grace—a gift we have not earned.  Isn’t all of learning a gift?

Simone Weil believes the development of attention (such as in school studies) is “extremely effective in increasing the power of attention that will be available at the time of prayer.” (Weil, Waiting for God, p. 105) In our pragmatic obsession with the accumulation of information we have forgotten our aim in learning and the reliability of our senses to teach us how big God is. If Weil is correct, the attentiveness found and strengthened through our work can create the space of prayer.

And, beauty, as Gioia avers, is a reliable way to learn this attentiveness. Art speaks not just to the head, but grasps the heart, utilizes the body, and culls from the recesses of memory.  Thus, aesthetics assist Christ’s mission of restoring us to our full humanity. What does all of this mean for artists? Like Jesus, we bear this burden to restore human wholeness. Artists must pick up the mantle of leadership and forge, with the help of God, new ways of bringing beauty back into all of society.

i thank You God,

(now the ears of my ears awake and

now the eyes of my eyes are opened)

--Maria

Glory Be

Spend any serious amount of time working in the arts and you're bound to stumble upon one or two or more moments of glory: a triple turn on point, the high C at 10am finished with a buttery vibrato, the character writing himself into your novel as you sit in your pajamas at midnight surrounded by rough drafts. It's all too easy to live in the lingering echoes of such moments. It reminds me of a lonely astronomer sitting in her observatory in the Arizona desert (ok yes, I'm thinking now of Jodie Foster in Contact but I had the generic image first!). I wonder if many of us would continue creating if we could not be refreshed by such blips on the radar.


I suppose the same could be said about our search for God. Much like the observatory, we wouldn't be looking if there hadn't been a contact made at some point. But in the arts we tend to latch onto to these moments don't we? It's more than a blip on the radar, it is our defining moment. The way in which we learn to respond to such anomalies will undoubtedly determine our experience in the arts. As Elizabeth Gilbert so graciously shared in her TED talk, we must learn to attribute these experiences of glory to a divine source outside of ourselves or else we will fall under the burden of re-creating such a feat on our own.


The exact opposite conclusion about glory is expressed by Oscar Hammerstein in the Sound of Music. One of my favorite songs from the score is Nothing Comes from Nothing. This languid ballad celebrates the unanticipated glory and grace of falling in love. Captain von Trapp and Fraulein Maria declare their love by moonlight and ponder that so rapturous and wonderful a love could come to them. The only explanation simply must be that they are the most deserving people on the planet or else it wouldn't make any sense for them to receive such a gift. Nothing comes from nothing...nothing ever could. So somewhere in my youth or childhood I must have done something good. It's a logical conclusion I suppose, but as an artist I immediately think "If this good thing came because of exemplary behavior which I cannot now recall then I'm up a creek from here on out! I can never repeat that glorious moment and I'll be living in its shadow forever!" Does this sound like the way you view God's gifts sometimes, even the gift of your art? You seem to have many experiences of glory in which you create something truly special and share it with others, and yet there's no guarantee that you can produce or experience it ever again. Does it ever cause fear, even anger, that you will never have a sustained experience of glory?


I think these feelings are justified, honestly. God never meant for us to have mere blips and spurts of glory. He created us to live with him in perpetual, radiant glory as his beloved. The fits and starts of creating beauty in this life are like pulling the start cord on an old lawn mower or turning the ignition on an engine that needs some repair. But what Christ accomplished by dying in our place is that we can now get our lives back through his life and our glory back through his glory. As 1 Corinthians 5:14 reminds us, One died for all, therefore all died. And Paul elaborates on this revelation in his letter to his friends in Colossae when he writes, For you died and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life appears then you will also appear with him in glory.


At our next InterArts Fellowship, Cherith Nordling and our own Maria Fee will help us explore how our work as artists, though now in fits and starts, will one day be fully experienced and shared in Eternity. That God has won back our lives on the Cross is a fact that sweeps our art work into a true, living and eternal hope.


Kenyon

The Church, the Artist, and the Handshake

“The door handle is the handshake of the building.”  Juhani Pallasmaa

Like a door knob, what does it signal when a church fosters an arts ministry? Lately, I’ve been reflecting on the shape and form of the arts ministry at Redeemer mainly because I’ve been fortunate to work in such a ministry, but also because I will move on to serve both the Church and the arts through formal studies at Fuller Seminary. I also recently had to articulate some of my musings for an article on urban arts ministry for Transposition, St. Andrew’s blog on Theology, Imagination and the Arts. Here, I write how the Church must encourage and theologically equip a growing urban movement. For “the city and its culture contributes to Gospel transformation as we continually die to self and become renewed, not just in our thinking, but also the way we go about life.” (read more)

If the door knob becomes the tell-tale sign of a building then how do we use this image with respect to the Church? Church, meaning not just the building, but also the gathered people of God. Furthermore, what does it mean for artists to be both welcomed and welcoming in regards to community life and the space it inhabits? As much as I hear that the local church is not a building, people need to inhabit a real space and this space should offer the signs and symbols of its community. The Word needs to become enfleshed by our acts and our art.

For the last couple of weeks Transposition has chosen to tackle this hefty subject of art and Church. It has gathered artists, pastors, scholars and asked them to reflect on or present examples of where and how art and Church intersect.  Transposition hopes you’ll visit the posted articles, videos, and essays in order to stimulate dialogue and inspire new works for and from the Church. Please visit the Art in the Church Workshop schedule of postings. 

The architect and architectural theorist, Juhani Pallasmaa, understand how shape and touch are interconnected. Artists are deeply aware of how we shape through our touch. The implications of this knowledge are staggering and should be shared with the Church. I bookend with a continuation of Pallasmaa’s thought from the line cited above: 

“The tactile sense connects us with time and tradition: through impressions of touch we shake the hands of countless generations.”

It is the call of the artist and the Christian to shake the hands of countless generations.

--Maria

Eternal LIFE: Attentiveness

So much of our work as artists is bound up in conscious attentiveness. We must pay attention. We pay attention to choices and how they interact in our media, to colors, to light, to tone. Attentiveness leads us to a weary contentment when at last, in the moment of inspiration, our work transcends form and material. The burden of attentiveness becomes the artist's most auspicious exercise, perhaps because it points to the reality that the present moment is imbued with it's reflective worth in eternity. As Maria Fee wrote this week about our next InterArts which will feature an exhibition of her artwork, "We will seek to explore how Eternal LIFE is part of our present life as artists". But how can we cultivate our attentiveness in order to work with eternity in mind?


At lunch with International Arts Movement Executive Director Bryan Horvath this week, we lamented about the human tendency to be blissfully unaware of all the ways that God is working in and through the arts. It's all too easy to imagine that an artist who may have little regard for God's kingdom or the work of the Spirit is consequently disqualified as a conduit of divine presence and power. But God often chooses to work through such unsuspecting people and circumstances. Curious, isn't it? Could it be that one reason for this phenomenon is simply that everything which we call good work is empowered by the Spirit who blows like the wind and falls like the rain on the just and the unjust? And if this is the case then could it also be said that anyone who cultivates a careful observation of this magnum opus of the Spirit through conscious attentiveness to his good work in essence becomes a careful observer of the Spirit? From this viewpoint it's more than a little embarrassing that we who would, by the Spirit, seek to worship, honor and cherish him through an ancient & divine blood covenant are so often the last to notice his precious presence and activity. So, what's that about? How can we connect our conscious lives in the present to the Eternal LIFE of the Spirit such that our work in the present becomes a reflection to us of it's eschatalogical destiny?


Perhaps we can learn from actors in this matter. Let us look to the theater! Actors endeavor to be present in the moment of each scene while also being fully aware of and aspiring toward the play's culmination. The skill of the actor then is to employ their bodies and imaginations in the service of their character's highest ends with an acute attentiveness to every detail of staging, lighting, music, direction and their fellow actors. All of this must happen concurrent with a collaborative effort to move the story forward for the audience with a tremendous amount of focused intention until the dropping of the curtain. This proves even more difficult in film when the scenes are disparate, often shot out of order and over the course of several months. But is it possible in our real lives to be fully present, attentive and yet future-minded? Tall order huh?


It seems impossible to me, until I remember the words of Jesus to his disciples upon his departure from the earth, I am going to send you what my Father has promised; but stay in the city until you have been clothed with power from on high." (Luke 24:49). Jesus speaks here of the coming of the Holy Spirit and his instruction for his disciples is to wait in eager expectation even as the creation now waits for the Spirit of God to be revealed in human beings (Romans 8:19). Our conscious attentiveness, then, is no empty meditation but pregnant with anticipation of power from on high. It is the promise of Christ and the proof of his faithfulness (death on a cross) that becomes the subject of our attentiveness and the source of our power as we anticipate the culminating work of the Spirit in our world. We, like the disciples, must wait in the city for power from on high. And we do not wait in vain for God has shown us that he has held nothing back from us, pouring out his very essence even on those who reject him. Let's pray for eyes to see more of his magnum opus in the artists and industries to which we have been called. 


Kenyon

Make The Cake And Eat It, Too.

“Lately, I’ve been thinking about Jesus in the manner of how he is all consuming.” Or, it was something in this vein the artist Melissa Beck articulated during my recent visit to her Pratt studio. Evidence of this statement filled my eyes as I perused one of her utensil pieces: a horizontal band of silver-plated forks happily glued to the wall by thick cake frosting.  I was ready to partake in order to taste and see how good God is.

As a new fan of this emerging artist there is one thing I must herald about Melissa’s work: It is not just a cerebral exercise, as most of contemporary art is these days, for it jogs our embodied vision utilizing touch, smell, and taste. Her art is a holistic experience and through her use of food and household objects she explores ideas of consumption along with its tension between abundance and scarcity. This is exemplified by one of her pieces entitled “Drawering Room.” Does the collection of empty drawers hint at hoarding or are they waiting to be filled? These themes have already been explored by CFW guest speakers such as O. David Taylor and Andy Crouch who remind us that in God’s infinite kingdom to gain means we must give away.

Thoughts on the infinite and the finite are further mediated through variations of constructed cakes. Melissa assembles both real cakes oozing with icing and more durable confections made of building materials such as wood, nails, and foam. Her choice of repurposing ordinary objects such as bread, ironing boards, and furniture are overtly charged with nurturing implications redolent of home, family, and community.  Some may see the work as sentimental, but I prefer to view them as markers pointing to the accessibility of an eternal home made possible by our all consuming Christ.

Take in God through the arts!

--Maria

Eternal LIFE: Love & Death

Seeing Werner Schroeter's grotesque and penetrating film Two at the MoMA's retrospective of the German filmmaker this week sent me away with a new awareness of the commonality between love and death.  Outside the theater after the 117 minute screening one wondered if any of the audience, those who stayed until the end, really got anything out of the film other than a slight headache. But if my experience might serve as a case study, the film does have a latent but no less potent effect. Upon leaving the theater a woman and her friend, both looking painfully baffled, asked us..."do you speak French? Did you get it?" I admitted that I did not fully understand my experience but not before she interjected, "something about life I assume". I surprised myself by responding, "I think it's more to do with death actually".


Looking back I don't know where I got that idea. But it grew inside of me all evening and into the next day, and the next. I began to notice a change at dinner with a filmmaker friend who had prefaced his invitation to the film with "going to see a very weird German film". I was almost astonished at the insights I gained in our discussions of the film particularly since he, arriving late, had missed the screening altogether. Anyway, this blog will hardly suffice as a review of the film, but since you won't find a public screening of it any time soon and I don't necessarily recommend sitting through it (though I would again just to see the shots on the beach and the dress blowing in the wind like a flag). I will invite you into our post film discussion with the hope of unpacking some of the truth which arose for me as the thesis of the film though perhaps not of Schroeter's body of work as a whole.


 Schroeter so effectively carries us into the mania of our self glorifying existence. The film is comprised from start to finish by a series of seemingly disconnected scenes ranging from stunningly beautiful to viscerally disturbing, sweeping through memories with little prejudice for past or present. The narrative does appear, however, and culminates in an encounter with death, a moment which has led me to draw a kind of emotional thesis from the experience: That love and death are intimately tied together. In death love is revealed and through death love is received and shared. "But how can this be?" my heart asks me...the younger part of myself, perhaps, or the naive one. Is not love a positive thing and death negative? How then can one be dependent on the other?


I presented these questions to Pamela Brown-Peterside, Community Group Director of Redeemer's West Side Congregation, with whom I shared about my experience of the film and how the filmmaker seemed to understand deeply the connection between love and death. She said immediately, "Greater love hath no man than this...that he lay down his life for his friends." This should have been obvious I suppose when you consider that the cross itself is God's proof of his own unfailing and eternal love. This is the love that casts out fear (John 4:18) and what does man fear more than death? I've heard, as well, the declaration from Paul's letters to the Romans: This is how we know what love is...while we were still powerless, Christ died for the ungodly. There it is again, love and death. Not only is all of this evident in scripture but as we learn in Gotham Fellows and in the sermons at Redeemer, the whole story of the gospel is that of creation (life), the fall of man (death) and redemption (life through death). The through-line of this story's action is certainly the incomparable, pursuing love of God.  So then it should not surprise me, this connection between love and death. But as I, looking towards our next InterArts Fellowship, strive to conceive of the impossible reality of Eternal LIFE I am continually confronted by thoughts of death, a death leading to greater love. It seems to be the unsung truth of the gospel: that death leads to life, but ultimately to love. Still my heart says, "but how can this be?". When might death ever provide an experience of ultimate love, other than in some ancient mythical tale of star-crossed lovers?

Schroeter's film presents two characters (both played by Isabelle Huppert) tied to each other by the love of their mother, a love fraught with frustrated longings for affection. The story unfolds to reveal the two are sisters, as it seems, Maria and Magdalena, portrayed as two parts perhaps of one person. He shows us how death, for them the death of their mother, tears us apart and creates another self with whom we can never reconcile until death. So in this case the death becomes the impetus and the culminating element in the character's pursuit of love and reconciliation. The ultimate reconciliation comes through her own death which is achieved or received apparently at her own hand. At that moment Maria-Magdalena, the bifurcated, wounded heart seems to have achieved at last the love that evaded her for so many tortuous and confusing years of thwarted loves and cruel memories. Certainly, Maria and Magdalena each dealt with death differently...one longing for love by seeking it and the other by withholding it from others. Finally, death unites them in solidarity and brings forgiveness for the mother who's death had so scandalized their young hearts. In this culminating scene I was confronted with the notion that love is perfected or achieved somehow in death, which left me confused and a bit battered until I realized that this is the truth on which I have based my life.


For me the film's conclusion screams the gospel or perhaps the most cutting edge of the gospel...that death is the way to life and love because Christ's death was an ultimate one. The claim of the gospel is that one died for all and therefore all died that those who live should no longer live for themselves but for him who died (2 Corinthians 5:14). Interesting, of course, that the names of the two characters are Mary and Magdalena (Werner was thought to be obsessed with Catholicism). It was Mary Magdalene who was among those first to see and recognize Jesus after his resurrection and conquering of death. This moment for me was captured in the characters created by Schroeter. Now, to the degree that I see Christ risen from a death he died for me, my death becomes a victory and an entrance into eternal love which is life eternal according to the gospels. This is life eternal, that they might know you, the only true God (John 17:3).


At the end of the film there is a sort of resurrection after death accomplished through diverse mythology and magic in a voodoo-like ceremony. The resurrection portrayed leads to a measure of reconciliation and peace for Maria-Magdalena, and I saw love too. But despite this vague resolution my spirit was comforted that after all of the traumas of memory that Shchroeter subjects us (and himself) to he led us through the grave to resurrection, and by a sacrifice to a new and strange life.  Isn't this the hope we find in Christ? That death no longer has victory? When we allow the self that we have served, worshiped and enthroned with all of its desires and demands, all of its rebellion against truth and reality, even against love...when we seek to end our self-driven life so that we can be caught up in a new life given to us by the resurrected Jesus, then we can enter love...and through love, Eternal LIFE. If we seek self actualization we become more unlike ourselves and the only ground to stand on in the river of our experience is the stones of our memories. But knowing Jesus personally is evidence that we are tasting eternal life, not ephemeral self-actualization but fullness of life.


 How brazenly Schroeter reminds us of the fleeting nature of our lives and the insufficiency of memory to shape our existence. He is merciful to show us this and to point us to death of self as a way of seeking a new life. But we need not use magic to resurrect this new life as Maria-Magdalena used in the final scene of the film. There is at work already a deeper magic as C.S. Lewis would put it. A magic that is not the result of human manipulation or power. No witchcraft here. The resurrection of Christ offers humans a purely arbitrary gift, undeserved and un-conjured, from the powers that be. In Jesus we receive the reconciliation with others that Maria-Magdalena was desperately seeking but we also find peace within ourselves as we cease from merchandising our longings and accept relationship with the God who gave up power and wealth for a moment of intimacy with his beloved...you and I. It was His death on the cross that released the greatest love on earth and it is his life I now seek to live instead of my own.


Kenyon

Being Displays Itself

Being Displays Itself

We are people of the Word but our beloved text points to gathered sounds that ultimately utter God’s actions. From burning bush to a son nailed onto a tree—we hear activity. The whole biblical narrative from creation, fall, alienation to reconciliation exhibits, as von Balthasar relates, God’s “genuine unfolding of himself in the worldly stuff of nature, man and history.” (von Balthasar, Glory of the Lord). The bible is a divine-human drama that begs for a theology that is just as robust and dynamic.

Following God-patterns employs imagination and theologian von Balthasar explores the Christian drama like a theatre critic trying to make meaning of a play. For Christ has radically changed the stage of history. The pagan dramas between human and divine entities so central to the ancient world has shifted. Through Christ “the dialectic of immanence and transcendence, nature and super-nature” can now find hope for reconciliation. (Von Balthasar, Theo-Drama, p. 129) Christ has invited all actors to take the stage and enflesh the Word through their lives.

Just as the torn temple curtain reconciles us to the Holy, the incarnated Jesus also removed the actor’s mask for God to draw near. This also means the Christian actor has the choice to follow Jesus into the tragedies of life. The passage into the dark abyss of the human psyche can only happen because of Christ’s own journey in and out of hell. As von Balthasar relates, “Christianity, with its inner dramatic tension… can take all theatrical aspects into itself in even the darkest moments” only because Jesus travailed through death.  (Von Balthasar, Theo-Drama, p. 82)

Observable transformation and authentic hope erodes the meaninglessness we find in much contemporary drama. With Jesus our stories become interwoven with the Christian story and some of these narratives need the stage to fully express its theological import. Theater allows us to publically incarnate these stories with the potential of ushering in his presence. 

Imagine a God who would write us into his drama. Be an actor on his stage.

--Maria

ETERNAL LIFE: This Death Must Come

All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.

                                                                       

                                                                     -Julian of Norwich

What is the story underlying your journey as an artist? Are you on a path to glory? If I’m honest with myself, the pervasive narrative in which I locate my struggle to create and share art is often rooted in my own imagined “path to glory”. As you can probably guess, viewing my life with this story in my heart often leads to more than a little frustration. It can even lead me to depression. Why does it seem that God is working against this “path to glory” narrative I’ve created? Doesn’t he want me to flourish and shine, if only for the sake of others (and for the years I spent watching VH1 and MTV). How might God see my path unfolding? As we continue our meditation this year exploring the essence of LIFE, please join me in a series of reflections on ETERNAL: LIFE looking forward to our next quarterly InterArtsFellowship with Cherith Nordling and guest artists.

i. This Death Must Come

God’s path to glory always includes death. This is staggering news to us, continually. But he is the Master Redeemer and this is his way. Our way of redeeming is about self glory. That is our natural choice. Whether we are aware of it or not, we actually default to our own self glory in all things. But the Master Redeemer knows us quite well. We were not always so inclined. He also knows the whole of His creation. And he knows the future.

All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.

Yet now is the hour of redemption by death alone. This death will come, to the self we seek to glorify. And this is his most loving way. This is his mercy. For his glory is not a matter of self-actualization for the Almighty, as it would be for you and I. That is a ludicrous comparison. No, the Almighty has no maker, he is eternal, the creator of all though not himself created... His glory is for the becoming of all things which are not himself, that they might become glorified by being drawn into his destiny. And this is the magnificent work of the cross.

Through Christ’s death, the death of God, all that is not within God is brought back into him not only for his own glory but for the reclamation of glory for all that he made. The cosmos is swept into the eternal life of God through Christ’s eternal reign over death. All which lives to die, now lives in the shadow of the cross and the hope of resurrection through the risen one. So this death must come, and through it shall come the resurrection of all things by the catalytic, Eternal LIFE of Christ, who is the glory of God.

Kenyon

Kingdom Waiting

I’m always amazed how Jesus’ parables convey a kingdom not estranged from this world, but very much bound to it.  Despite the eschatological-end times dimension found in Matthew 25, the three stories within focus on the work accomplished in the present.  

In the first narrative we come across ten virgins awaiting the bridegroom in order to enter the wedding festivities. The wise maidens carry extra oil for their lamps. They are able to join the celebration unlike the five who missed the procession due to their search for fuel. The Scout Motto be prepare can be invoked here. The parable of the talents is the second narrative. A master, about to embark on a long journey, entrusts three servants with talantons, dispensed in proportion to their proficiencies.  Here, the good servant multiplies the wealth of the master.

The last tale ushers the listener into the future as the Son of Man sits as king on his throne. Here, we watch him separate people as a shepherd segregates sheep from goats. Those positioned to his right are ones who cared about earthly matters: they fed, clothed, cared.  Yet we must remember these humanitarian concerns are fueled by anticipation for the coming bridegroom, master, king; thus rendering them kingdom works.

Kingly people live life fully in the present, shaped and marked by a future. What, then, does it mean for the wise artist to be prepared? Are we hording, neglecting, or diminishing our talents or are we investing our time and energy to multiplying what the master has apportioned? And, most importantly, does our wisdom and entrepreneurial skills work to re-establish the best of humanity?

If Jesus is the good king his priority becomes care of his kingdom. A thriving kingdom provides the basic needs for its inhabitants; therefore, by seeking human flourishing through our practice of medicine, economics, law, or art, we become kingly servants.

It took the life, death, and resurrection of Christ to re-establish humanity. Let’s follow his lead as we wait for him, the bridegroom, master and king.

--Maria

Time Continuum

Space-Time Configuration

What does the worker gain from his toil?  I have seen the burden God has laid on men. He has made everything beautiful in its time. He has also set eternity in the hearts of men; yet they cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to the end.  Ecclesiastes 3:9-11

Time present and time past

Are both perhaps present in time future,

And time future contained in time past.  T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets

Investing time in the studio always yields benefits. The work focuses or branches out into new forms. Pleasurable discoveries shifts the expenditure of our time, expenses, energies as we grasp towards that elusive something. The pursuit is future-oriented, but to obtain it we must be fully vested in the present, all the while sustained by positive past experiences of accumulated processes of art making.  

Yet sometimes the need to create is mere burden. No explanations needed for He has also set eternity in the hearts of men. We experience something good when we make art. And just as our studio practices hones the work, it is a pattern parallel to God’s perfecting of the cosmos through time, space, the particular, through Christ. We cannot fathom what God has done from beginning to end.

What does this mean for artists? First off, eternity is continuous with our present world. Time present and time past are contained in time future. And time future double backs into time present: our time. God is with us through his promised Spirit, the hallmark of a new age. This means we don’t have to get it right the first time. Just as the whole of creation is groaning waiting for God to perfect it, our art is practice. One day the grunts and groans will eventually give way to true worship of the Triune God. Christ has already set the Spirit life in motion--we have the firstfruits of the Spirit awaiting the future redemption of our bodies. He has made everything beautiful in its time.

Secondly, since forever belongs to us, time is not a burden. One of the characteristics of our culture is the weight of time. We never have enough of it so we weary ourselves with too much work, too much play. The more we invent time saving devices to increase leisure, Colin Gunton notes the less capable we are of being able to dwell “in the body and on the good earth.” (Gunton, The One, The Three, And the Many, p.77). In God’s timelessness, he sets patterns of living: birth, death, plant, pick, kill, heal, extirpate, build up. Life does not happen all at once for we are to dwell in each zone discovering its merits and faults.

Isn’t this what we also learn in the studio? Idea, concept, action, introspection, more action, wait for the paint to dry, curse, smile, scrape off the paint, start again with the marks of the old refined by the new. What does the worker gain from his toil? John Dewey remarks how “Every work of art follows the plan of, and pattern of, a complete experience, rendering it more intensely and concentratedly felt.” (Dewey, Art As Experience, p.54) Artists, think of your art making practice as a sensitizing or priming agent for the ultimate experience of eternity.

Let the future break into the present; make art.

--Maria

Not As The Flowers

It was not as the flowers,

each soft Spring recurrent;

it was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled

eyes of the eleven apostles;

it was as His flesh: ours.

-John Updike, Seven Stanzas at Easter, Stanza 2

The lilies that will adorn our churches this Sunday are redolent of fresh life, yet for Updike this symbol is much too subdued. Christ’s resurrection signals so much more: we can forget about Easter fineries, for we will one day wear Spiritual bodies. And just like the angel at the tomb in John Updike’s poem, Seven Stanzas at Easter, we will be weighty, “opaque in the dawn light, robed in real linen, spun on a definite loom.”

The resurrection indicates a new way of being. A life animated by the Spirit, tabernacle in a physical body— the earthbound people of God. Easter for artists signals the re-creating capacity set into motion by our Triune God: the Father’s undying love, spurs the Son’s self-giving, and the Spirit’s creative activity overcomes death for all. For artists this dynamic movement reverberates into our own lives as we continually advocate and sacrifice for art to then experience some semblance of renewal. If our God re-creates out of brokenness, even death, please consider this Easter what this means for your art. “Let us walk through the door:”

The stone is rolled back; not paper-mâché,

Not a stone in a story,

But the vast rock of materiality that in the slow

grinding of time will eclipse for each of us

the wide light of day.

-John Updike, Seven Stanzas at Easter, Stanza 5

--Maria