A Pound of Nard

It’s funny how often I hear an artist say something like, “I wish I could stop being an artist, but it’s not possible…” Less funny is how often I feel this way myself. No matter how difficult it gets to simply keep making art in the midst of my busy, city life, there’s always a sense that I must continue to tell stories in song, film or on stage. I can’t throw aside the activity of developing characters or interpreting the dance of lyrics and melody anymore than I can stop eating, sleeping or breathing. Giving in to the fact of my particularity as an artist is both freeing and costly. Freeing, because I can immediately begin to joyfully explore and share my gifts; but costly because a life spent as an artist will ultimately require self-sacrifice in one way or another. Joy and sacrifice, freedom and great cost: these experiences are common to artists, but also to those who would follow Jesus with all their heart.

I love the story in John 12 of the radical and artful gift given to Jesus by Lazarus' sister, Mary. About a week before Jesus would be crucified He attends a dinner party with His friends (one of whom, Lazarus, Jesus had raised from the dead). At some point during the evening, Mary honors Jesus with a radically sacrificial and intimate gift by pouring out a year’s earnings worth of spiked nard (a costly perfume oil) on the feet of Jesus and completing her presentation by wiping His feet with her hair. No doubt, a hush fell over the room as the smell of the fragrance filled the house and Mary stood silent, her hair still wet with perfume. Mary’s gift was radical, sensual and even scandalous in her cultural setting.

In all accounts of this story, the first to speak were the disciples, scolding Mary for wasting the nard which could have been put to some practical use like feeding the poor. But Jesus receives the gift with heartfelt and solemn gratitude. For Him, Mary's gift came just in time. It was just the encouragement and solidarity He needed as He faced the reality of His own impending act of sacrifice. Mary's gift resonated both emotionally, spiritually and prophetically for Jesus, a comfort He would not receive from His sleeping disciples in Gethsemane. Despite the cost to herself or her reputation, despite her fear, Mary offered the gift she'd prepared, in all it's particularity, and it did not disappoint.

The gifts of the artist and their expression, worked out through obedience and faithfulness, are meant to bring healing and wisdom to the community of faith, to the neighborhood and to culture at large. The process of making art requires something of us. We must give ourselves over to the process in which we allow the art to be expressed. As Madeline L’Engle reminds us, art is incarnational, it impregnates us. Therefore, creation can become like a kind of sacrament, a sign of present grace and future glory. It is an act of worship on the part of the individual artist. Yet, in community, this sacramental act can be prophetic, making Divine truth newly apparent. This is the mysterious and essential work of the Holy Spirit, filling the house with the fragrance of our offerings. May it also fill our lives, our communities, and our cities.


Kenyon

An Intern's Musings

Within my first week in New York City as an Arts Ministry intern, I found myself sandwiched in the corner table of a Thai restaurant, deeply engaged in theological conversation with Kenyon and Maria while practically bursting with excitement about what the next four months of my life would entail. Little did I know that this conversation would contain one of the most influential pieces of wisdom I would take away from my entire season at Redeemer. After a brief ‘get to know you’ session, Maria went on to elaborate upon the amazing particularity of God’s delight in us as artists. She described a friend’s passion for needlework as an integral piece of her existence, explaining that God places these meticulous details into our image to rejuvenate and renew our hearts. I tried to mask my inner excitement with serious nods of agreement, but the newly introduced truth behind this statement rang in my ears for the coming months.

In David Taylor’s For the Beauty of the Church, Barbara Nicolosi also focuses on the specificity of artistic giftedness, saying “every one of us has to become an artist because the practice of art makes us focus on the details. Whether it’s gardening, or cooking, or needlepoint, or whatever it is that you do, everyone has to master the details of a craft in order to keep their life vibrant and their perception of God in the ‘tiny whispering sound’ keen.” The encouragement we receive from this reality is that even our smallest forms of self-expression shed light on the glory of our Father. In the Arts Ministry’s most recent gathering of The Living Room, we discussed the artist as theologian, reveling in the fact that God is even more committed to our artistic flourishing than we are. This means that every seemingly inconsequential piano recital, bouquet arrangement, incomplete song, dance class, embroidered handkerchief, or passion for painting ultimately brings joy to our Creator. We can now relax in our enjoyment of these gifts, no longer regarding them as superfluous or selfish, but as important and full of purpose.

Rachel Rogers