Whenever Our Hearts Condemn Us...

This then is how we know that we belong to the truth, and how we set our hearts at rest in his presence whenever our hearts condemn us. For God is greater than our hearts, and he knows everything.

Dear friends, if our hearts do not condemn us, we have confidence before God and receive from him anything we ask, because we obey his commands and do what pleases him.

And this is his command: to believe in the name of his Son, Jesus Christ, and to love one another as he commanded us. Those who obey his commands live in him, and he in them. And this is how we know that he lives in us: We know it by the Spirit he gave us. 1 John 3:19-24

It struck me recently that much of the conversation I find myself having with artists who identify themselves as followers of Christ is very seriously concerned with moral perfection. Perhaps it would be better described as a moral burden. This burden or pressure to perform morally and ethically disturbs me for several reasons. The first is simply that this sense of pressure to perform morally is not the intended result of the new birth. In fact, it seems to demonstrate a lack of reception of saving grace and the gospel of grace. Truly, I would hope that artists who actually believe in Jesus would be the freest of all artists, but I find that just the opposite is true. Those whom we might consider to be anti-God or anti-Christian are often the very ones whose lives are seemingly unfettered by self-salvific moralism.

I suppose I'm merely observing what Tim Keller describes in his book The Prodigal God as the older brother/younger brother phenomenon. Not to over-simplify the scenario by applying the parable directly to artists, but I suppose I could apply Tim's reading of the Prodigal Son story and subsequent indictment of the "older brother" who stayed home with the father as being equally as lost as the "younger brother" who cared not for the father or the rules of the household but demanded what was "his". In the end, Dr. Keller shows us that both brothers are equally far from receiving the father's love and grace and the sense of freedom therein. But, as we also learn from Tim, at least the younger brother ultimately humbles himself and receives the fattened calf (a picture of Christ's sacrifice) and the ring-seal of the the father's favor (picture of the Spirit).

Yet, I wonder if it really is as simple as that in this case: believing artists are at home with the father like the older brother and unbelieving artists are like the younger brother whom the father is faithfully seeking on the horizon? Two kinds of lostness...? The application seems too simplistic to me. Certainly the gospel demands a moral response, that is, an embodied response to the Reality of Redemption. This seemingly awkward transition of sinner to redeemed human being is the "already-but-not-yet" moment in which believing artists find themselves. And I think they have a lot of naturally accompanying fears and hopes in the midst of that scenario. As I look on the faces of these would-be artists seeking to follow Christ with all their heart, I have to believe that their sense of over-responsibility is more than just a self-righteous obsession with their own moral rectitude. While this may be the case in many, it does not account for the abject fear I've seen in some of their faces.

So what about this fear? Fear that God will strike you down if you accept a role that is less than wise or write a play that is more vulgar than is good for one, or perhaps you publish a trashy novel in hopes of getting a better opportunity in the future, and the list goes on...I suppose we all want to know what will come of our relationship with God and his people if our story was to include some of these mishaps. And here, I surmise, is the kicker! What will God's people say or do or think about my art work? Not what will God say, think, do...

What will Christians say, think, do about my work?

Isn't that the real fear? Perhaps the grace we are seeking isn't the grace of God but the grace of God's people that is so tragically and egregiously absent in the current relational state of the church to the arts. There is perhaps so little grace between the two communities that artists who find themselves living between them are completely petrified both of stepping on the toes of the lost younger brothers in the arts and the lost older brothers at home in the church. If this is true, then what a situation! How can we increase the level of grace that is extended to artists from the church, particularly those artists who would hope to call the church home? But then of course the question follows, how can we extend grace to artists who are far from home and have not yet grown weary of their lostness from the father? Still more, how can we extend grace to the lost artists who are physically home in the church yet so afraid of the father, desperately trying to secure his favor through moral perfection?

Oh Father, help us! This is a sad picture indeed.

Some prayers of hope:

To the artist who calls the church her home. Let us say to her, Daughter, breathe deeply of grace and fear not the loss of your place in his arms for you did not come home by your will but by his own, and you are not saved by your cleanliness but by his own.

To the artist who has yet to find his home in the church, let us extend a loving and hospitable hand...the hand of a patron, and of a father and of a wise citizen who seeks the flourishing of the city in which he has been exhiled. Let us extend the hands of those who live in covenant with the Almighty, who care for the alien in the land.

Finally, let us all together say to our hearts whenever they condemn us, that we have comfort and a great Saviour in Jesus Christ who was fully drowned in the cup of God's wrath, yet overcame the final judgement because he had not sinned. If we believe in him, then we are blameless by his death. Let us live as artists in the light of this truth.

Let your art-making and your great adventure of faithfulness be in response to the greatest act of love that ever was or ever will be.

Let us make art in this spirit, with this peace in our hearts.

Never fear, for it shames the cross.

Kenyon

The Physicality of Grace

…You have given me relief when I was in distress. --Psalm 4:1

He brought me out into a spacious place; he rescued me because he delighted in me. --Psalm 18:19

You have not handed me over to the enemy but have set my feet in a spacious place. --Psalm 31:8

If we put ourselves at the center of our lives, the world becomes a very small place. We become like an infant in a crib, pent up and cut off from the physical reality of the world in which we live. But grace offers us a different experience of ourselves and the world. Through grace we receive the physical world and our own bodies again.

When the Psalmist exclaims, “You have brought me into a spacious place…” he imagines a realm over which he does not have complete control. For in the world of his control he finds himself hunted by cruel enemies and tortured by guilt. In this world of his own making he is murderer, thief and adulterer. Yet when “in the day of his disaster” he is met by the Lord, he is led into a spacious place. This large room is an incredibly visceral description of grace as is David’s own physical sense of relief. He no longer feels trapped by his own deficiencies, instead he is lifted up and out. Relief came to him in the body because grace is a physical-realm response to a physical-realm problem. As a man thinketh so is he. But let us not limit this to the rational mind only. As a man thinketh also includes our imagination and our perceived existence in the physical realm.

Holiness connects us to deeper reality and we enter holiness by relinquishing control of our physical life to Jesus Christ. We enter holiness only through the realm of grace and we enter grace through yet another embodied experience. That is, the life that we would otherwise have lived in our bodies now must die in order for us to truly live.

Reflection

When at last we give up trying to protect ourselves against the flood of destruction that is due to us because of sin, and when at last we allow that flood to come crashing down as it has upon our Lord. When at last we put our imaginations to their highest use and remember him who gave himself for us and yet was without sin. When we see him, blazing and bleeding, seated at the right hand of God with our world under his feet and our destinies in the twinkle of his eye…When we see that he became inglorious for us, as shameful as a rapist, as guilty as Macbeth so that we could be wrapped up and held in the safest arms in the universe…Then we will enter the spacious place, that broad room of David, and the great, ancient sigh of relief which only the gospel of grace can induce in a human soul.

Kenyon

There, But For The Grace of God

there

but for the Grace of God lay I still

paralyzed but not still

devoid of peace bereft of hope

leper

perishing

languishing, lost, in a bed, in, deep in oppressive, depressive despair, slave to myself, blind to all else...

only by His command was I able to rise! And come forth

broken

one foot in front of the

other

unsure

afraid

desperately alone

unloved

unwanted, and therefore

worthless...

worthless.

(or so i thought - little did i know i was)

limping towards Love that saves

away from where my death was certain, imminent, and well underway

now

restored

redeemed

and Eternally Loved i lay me down to sleep

and sleep soundly

in the selfsame bed

finding my rest in

Him who my soul doth keep.

ileana santamaria

Vocalist and musician, Ileana Santamaria, typically performs this poem to the music of the classical Spanish piece, Nana by Manuel de Falla