As Jesus and his disciples were on their way,
he came to a village where a woman named
Martha opened her home to him. Luke 10:38
Hallowed preparation call;
how honed steel breaks through
onion, whose tattered outside
coat crackles like pitch in fire.
Now fragrant incense rises to
bring lacrimatory plea
long held composed. Come, Duty,
bid these hoarded tears, unroll.
Down, beyond face, neck, arms trace
path back to garden's fall.
Bulb, broken, nourishes all.
Maria
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
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
In Andy Crouch’s, Culture Making, Christians are encourage to take up the posture of cultivation. Kenyon and I have proceeded to use the term cultivator as one of the various roles of the Christian artist. Tonight at InterArts Fellowship we venture one step further and will highlight the relationship between prayer and cultivation in the life of the artist.
Here is how we see it, both prayer and art are cultivating actions. Prayer tills our souls, cultivation works at shaping the material world. Together, prayer and cultivation echo back to the scene in Genesis 2, God’s Spirit animates the man who is then placed in a garden. Quite rightly, it takes life-giving faith to engage in generative, meaningful work. Furthermore, Henry Van Til states there are two main actions Christians perform in the world, prayer and work, ora et labora, cultus and culture. Both are life expanding. Our prayers speak through our deepest inner being in order to draw us out of ourselves to work assiduously in the world.
This is why I’m intrigued by the story of the cursed fig tree that withers in Matthew 21. It bridges Jesus’ cleaning of the temple, with the stern warning that if God’s people do not produce fruit for the king, they too, will wither. The disciples amazed that Jesus could quickly dissipate the fig tree hear the reply to their wonder, “Whatever you ask for in prayer with faith, you will receive.” According to Jesus, you can even move mountains, if you just ask.
God longs to make us a house of prayer that we may bear choice fruit. But the biggest miracle is that prayer enables us to hand over our harvest, what we have cultivated, back to the Lord. We are called to be both temple, the house of prayer, and Bethpage, the house of green figs. God’s creation is such that it harbors extraordinary potential. There is no need to hoard the firstfruits because we live in God's abundance. So when we enter into relationship, through prayer, with the giver of live, we should begin to see possibilities even among mountainous impossibilities.
The artist as cultivator invests in soul-stretching activity. Through prayer and the the creative process we align ourselves with God. We urge you to hand over your harvest to the true landowner. Prayerfully cultivate, cultivate prayerfully.
--Maria
As a painter coming from a fine arts background I’ve always resonated with the craft of quilt making, so it was with great pleasure, if only for a short time, the wall between art and craft came down like a house of cards. This past week 650 red and white quilts, somewhat resembling playing cards, where visually stacked on top of one another in circular formations to create pied-color rooms in the vast Wade Thompson Drill Hall of the Park Avenue Armory.
The installation, Infinite Variety: Three Centuries of Red and White Quilts or as I like to call it, “the flying quilt show,” conveyed a museum-like seriousness through its dramatic lighting and grand physique, yet the affair was whimsical, celebratory, and a homage to the collaborative work of women, past and present. This week the Park Avenue Armory did not displayed high art, or low art, it simply held art. For the installation touted what art does best, it made the mundane monumental.
Pieced together by hundreds of handmade quilts, the exhibition represented the particular, the collaborative, and foremost, it honored relationships. The majority of quilts were created by groups of women looking to celebrate a rite of passage for a community member. Knowing the initial impetus for these quilts deepened the meaning and scope of the show. Represented were hundreds of women, their marriages, childbirths and life stories, patched together and quilted in red and white. Through the grand scale of the Park Avenue Armory, the foundational, yet overlooked things in life were finally honored.
And here is where I tie in the gospel parallel of transformation. Just as Christ’s redemptive work ennobles, artists can pick up this God rhythm, take up the ordinary and celebrate it. Through Jesus’ actions in the world we can praise the small, the quiet, and the humble things of this world. The triune God also bids our work to be collaborative, communal, a celebration of the infinite variety of relationships we hold in our lives.
Piece together some art for the glory of God,
--Maria
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!
In the book of Revelation John is shown the bride of the Lamb exemplified as a brilliant city coming down from heaven. This is not a city fabricated from steel and poured concrete. Instead we find purified gold, excavated stones, cut jasper, emerald, and sapphire. Its gates are colossal pearls plucked from the deep. This city holds an overwhelming material presence and bids us to use all of our senses.
Why this solid, tactile description? Are we, the bride, the
As Christians, and as artists, we do not disregard the material despite its flaws; we view possibilities. We wrestle, almost battle, to materially manifest ideas, distill insights. Jesus comprehends the painful process of creating, the exertion needed to dig up what must come to light. What makes the city in the book of Revelation a work of art is its thoroughly worked-over presence.
Artists, as we watch the horrors of
--Maria
Infrequently and unexpectedly, art can surprise us. It can feel a bit like catching a glimpse of oneself and one’s surroundings in a mirror you didn’t realize was there. Recently, I had this experience while watching Ingmar Bergman’s Scenes from a Marriage. The succinct title reflects the film’s unmerciful directness. Separated into six episodes and almost exclusively featuring two lead characters, Johan and Marianne, the film surveys a marriage by making us privy to the critical turning points in the narrative arc.
Scenes from a Marriage offers at least two insights. The first is specific to the subject matter of the film (marriage) and the second is a broader point about the way Christians encounter art.
Let’s start with marriage. When the film begins, Johan and Marianne are presented as a picturesque married couple and the envy of their friends. This presentation appears to reflect what both characters believe about themselves--their circumstances are ideal: they are an upper-middle class couple, youthful, attractive, interesting and successful. This seeming perfection sets the stage for the central conflict.
As Johan and Marianne discuss their relationship throughout the film, Johan believes their marriage is possible because they possess the ideal circumstances. Marianne believes they share the same “language” and that this shared language enables their marriage. These beliefs become irrelevant when Johan begins an affair with another woman.
What interests me most about the narrative to this point is that most marriages are sustained and many fail out of these beliefs. Nearly as soon as Johan and Marianne articulate their assumptions things fall apart.
Love is conspicuously absent. Most of us believe in the power of love which is a kind of emotional-romantic attraction to or infatuation with the other. It’s exciting, but less exciting is the kind of love that actually holds marriages together. The latter love involves things like self-sacrifice and compassion. Many people get married out of the former rather than the latter, their partner posses an attractive inventory of circumstances and goods. Or like Marianne, they believe they share something special and exclusive with their partner. Each assumption is based on a sort of idealism, material in the former case and romantic in the latter. This film offers a rebuke to anyone who believes that their material comfort or romantic idealism will serve as the lasting foundation of marriage.
What makes this film instructive for Christians (and for all, really) is that Bergman offers an unmediated view of the couple’s split and each individual’s search for self-fulfillment. Johan and Marianne turn out to be ugly people with a huge predilection for selfishness, adultery and violence. It would be easy to judge them if you thought you were a much better person. Bergman offers no judgment. He simply shows us how rotten human beings can be to one another, especially when real motivations revolve around their self-procured and perceived happiness.
This illumination opens to a larger point I would like to make, not about Christians and marriage, but about Christians and the arts. One of the ways Christians can engage the arts is by taking the time to seriously consider work that may or may not be complementary to their faith. In doing so we may find there are works like Bergman’s that remind us of our own insufficiencies and false gods. Regardless of the intent of the author, and Bergman would certainly have disagreed with the conclusions I drew, we might find that modern art is very much aware of our contemporary spiritual poverty and personal insecurity.
This is why contemporary art has something to tell us about ourselves. It is the art of the society and culture in which we live. Both are contexts to which we are often more beholden than we would like admit and we ignore this at our own peril. In this regard, the force of the Christian narrative in our lives is largely a counter cultural one. Sometimes contemporary art with all its capacity for dissonance and the grotesque is the smelling salt we need to bring us to our senses. Bergman’s film is not a Christian one in terms of the answers it offers but I think we can consider it so in terms of the unflinching look it offers of something we call sin. When we are honest with ourselves, this unflinching look isn't simply an interesting story told by a gifted film director. It is our mirror image we come to confess each Sunday.
--Daniel
Daniel Clemens is a painter and writer participating in our seven-week study, In The Living Room
