Sensible Resurrection

The resurrection of Jesus puts into effect the possibility of eternal life. But what does this incredible event have to do with the arts? CFW’s next Gospel & Culture lecture will feature Dr. Jeremy Begbie who will speak regarding A World Made New: The Art of the Resurrection and the Resurrection of Art.

We'll prime Dr. Begbie’s lecture by reflecting, here on this post, the topic of resurrection. To begin with we must acknowledge how for various reasons our modern world suffers a faith crisis surrounding the sensory. We mistrust the senses; hence we can’t seem to make much sense of art, never mind the idea of someone coming back from the dead. Perhaps John Dewey is correct when he surmised we fear what life may bring, especially since we tend to see opposition between mind-body, spirit-flesh (Dewey, Art As Experience, 22-23). So instead of allowing the resurrection to breathe life into our work as artists, it lives comfortably tucked away in our doctrines and confessions—apart and separate.

Fortunately the narrative of John 20 takes great pains to make sure we understand the disciples encountered not an idea but a risen physical body—nail holes, split side. As John Updike describes in his poem, Seven Stanzas at Easter, “molecules reknit, the amino acids rekindle.”

In fact, the chapter highlights Thomas’ discomfort with hearsay regarding the resurrection; he needed to see the risen Jesus. A radical confrontation with the concrete cannot question or doubt that God is involved with the stuff of this world. And just as Thomas was accustomed to witnessing Jesus incarnate the wonders of the kingdom, he also desired to look upon the manifestation of eternity in the shape of the risen Christ.

John Dewey remarks how our society utilizes the senses to arouse passion but does not move beyond “to fulfill the interest of insight” (Dewey, Art As Experience, 19). Good art making is dependent on both the senses and good sense. And, in a similar fashion Thomas needed to fulfill this new Godly insight through all of his being—including experience. He needed to touch the ridges of torn skin to thereby and passionately proclaim Jesus as “Lord and God.”

Likewise, some of us are not content with only a theoretical assertion that Jesus is currently living in a marred physical body. We want to make sense of this information in some weighty way. This passion should stir us to mediate this astounding God-action through our actions whether it be through dance, poetry, or just living a full life practicing for the one that is to come.

Thomas’ need allows us to ground Jesus in the fragility of materiality—“regathered out of enduring might,” as Updike reminds us. Seven Stanzas at Easter also calls us to remember:

It was not as His Spirit in the mouths and fuddled

eyes of the eleven apostles; it was as His flesh; ours.

Please join us on Saturday evening, March 10, as Dr. Begbie help us discover A world made new by Christ's bodily resurrection.

--Maria

Irresistible Mystery

This Easter season we share the benefit of hindsight as we reflect upon Christ's death. We behold the spectacle of God's shameless love, his inordinate response to our need for rescue and reconciliation. And yet, those who were most expectant of a rescue in Jerusalem experienced instead the disaster of his trial and crucifixion, the scattering of his followers and the seeming triumph of injustice as Jesus cried out in despair to an unresponsive heaven. How can a God who went to such extremes in order to come near to humanity also be known for his elusiveness and mystery? Why would he go to such great lengths to make himself known only to play hard to get? As artists I think we have some sense of the motive in God’s mystery.

When once the inspiration comes to do something which is truly worth doing no matter the cost, an artist will often set her face like a flint in the direction of the goal until it is achieved. But if one has sacrificed greatly for someone or something, one does not announce it with trumpets and fanfare. To do so would belie a false motive. Even the most outrageous and non-conformist artist would cringe at the idea of "showing her hand".

In our historical view of the cross it would seem that the Great Artist does indeed show His hand by outlandishly sacrificing his own life for sinners. Yet many who watched him die could not perceive the implications of the event. Even in his death his motives were cloaked in mystery, revealed only to a few. The soldier who stood near the cross hearing the final words and breath of Jesus, understood him in that subtle moment to be the Son of God. What kind of tactic is this? It would seem that God, in the most radical and inordinate act of history, chose not to spell things out for His audience, but allowed himself to be misunderstood completely. Even after making himself vulnerable to the extent of nakedness and suffering cruel murder he made no justifying statements and offered no concise explanations. He remained a mystery even in His death.

Surely he took up our pain and bore our suffering,
Yet we considered him punished by God,
Stricken by him, and afflicted.
But he was pierced for our transgressions,
He was crushed for our iniquities;
The punishment that brought us peace was on him,
And by his wounds we are healed. (Isaiah 53:4-5)

On the cross, God shows himself to be the Master Artist. His passion for us and his response to our brokenness was far too authentic to be reduced to simple solutions and comfortable conventions. No, instead the Artist's Statement took on flesh and mysteriously dwelt among us. This was certainly an unexpected response to those he considered to be his audience. The beauty of the cross lies in its mystery, that is, in the mysterious intentions of the Master Artist who, in willingly losing it all, gave us everything. Suddenly, the sufferings of an innocent man become the hope of all who will suffer for all time.

The God of the Cross still shrouds himself in glorious, irresistible mystery, though he has made himself vulnerable for our sake. Yet will we today hear the subtle whisper of his ever present Passion? Amid the clamorous mystery of His seeming indifference to our current view of things, could the God of the Passion be as radically involved in rescue and reconciliation today as on the cross?

Kenyon

Art Illuminates: A Lenten Reflection for the Artist

PROLOGUE

We must never imagine that art is wholly subject to the fallen mind. On the contrary, the fallen mind must be lifted up in taking in the art. Art can offer us a taste of the kingdom come and illumine our hearts and minds in view of the renewing work of Christ.

ACT I

Because of the gospel, the artist can delve into the deepest grime of fallen man’s mire to illuminate God’s hidden glory through the power of expressive mastery. This assumption of imminent glory is predicated by the incarnation: that God has visited man in His mire. The reality of this truth has radically changed the material world in which the artist seeks to work. Therefore an artist who works in view of this reality may enter into a particular context with hope to see Christ’s own hand at work. In this way, Christ is the master of all who aspire to create.

ACT II

Yet, if Christ is master of the artist, then artists must also receive His most striking and paradoxical distinction, that of the servant-king. For Christ did not consider equality with God something to be used to his own advantage, but made Himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant. Therefore, as we are encouraged by our own God-likeness, being made in the image of God and possessing His power to create, we also identify with Christ as the humble servant of all. In laying down His life, Christ demonstrated the sublimity of His own expressive mastery. In the gospel, divine love is the central subject of God’s masterwork. Creation becomes the object of His love and Christ’s life, death and resurrection are the potent vignettes of this hyper-radical performance-art piece of cosmic proportions which will culminate, of course, in the glorious return of the servant-king. Behold, I am making all things new!

ACT III

Art that is created in view of the gospel is sacramental. It invites the divine presence. It seeks to transcend and yet be embodied in the physical. This transcendent embodiment is rooted in the Christian hope, the redemption of our bodies. If our bodies are to be redeemed, then we also have hope that life in the body may also be redeemed. Therefore, the sacramental element of art—transcendent embodiment—extends even to the material elements of one’s trade and the disciplines of mastery. Light, color, sound, stone, skin, bone, breath, pen, paper, laptop…all are included in the sublimity of this hope of redemption. Most joyously, we realize that the artist herself, through the hope of the gospel, is swept up into this work of Renewal. The performance which is now in previews is awaiting the opening night. In the gospel, the artist becomes broken bread and poured out wine through the wringing and emptying of her own soul, releasing the storehouses of hidden glory. For is not God at work in our hearts to restore us?

EPILOGUE

It is not merely in the letters on the page, the mixing of the paint, the pointing of the foot, the distinction of the brand, the delivery of the lines or the structure of the story, but the artist himself in body, mind and soul set apart for this breaking and pouring out in sacramental service. To what end? So that no stone shall be left unturned in declaring and realizing the Renewal of All Things through Christ!

Kenyon