What do you do?

I've been thinking about the various questions people ask without thinking. Questions like, "How are you?" or "What do you do?" On the one hand such questions are rather mindless, and when someone answers them seriously it can take the questioner by surprise. On the other hand, such questions serve a social function. They serve as ice-breakers, getting a conversation started that (hopefully) can be more thoughtful.

One type of question, however, though well meaning enough, poses a difficulty for some. The questions of this type include, "Where are you working?" or "What do you do?" or "What would you like to be doing in 5 years?"

The reason is that for some people, how they earn a living is not all that significant. They may be washing windows or working as a receptionist to earn a living, but at heart they are artists. Their art is what really defines their gifts and calling, but the question doesn't get at that. It not only asks a question that skirts who they really are, it raises a sense of guilt over the fact that they aren't on a career path. Or they may be one of the many who need to experiment before discovering what they are all about. Rather than treat them as an individual, the questions assume everyone fits into the identical (secular) framework of jobs or careers, with efficiency and success as standards for significance. In fact, such a perspective is merely a modern variation on the tower of Babel.

So, I request some comments from you, dear reader. What question(s) should we begin asking so that we include these of our sisters and brothers who feel, correctly, a bit oppressed by the ordinary opening inquiries?

After all, even the questions we Christians ask reflexively and without thinking come under the Lordship of Christ. I look forward to your suggestions.

Art and fundamentalist legacies (III)

(…continued from part II)

Believing that art, culture and human creativity is part of a physical realm that is less valuable in God’s eyes than spiritual pursuits is not a minor issue. How we see life and reality will have an impact, for blessing or for curse, on all we do, think, and feel. It’s basic to everything else.

The Bible teaches us that there is indeed a great divide, but it isn’t between the physical and the spiritual, but between good and evil. Sin—falling short as human beings of what we were created to be as made in God’s image—tears apart the fabric of all of life. My worship and my art, my relationships and my witness, my work and rest, my desires and convictions are all distorted by my sin. And worldliness is not engaging or making human culture—it’s impossible to live apart from culture—but participating in the systems of pride, power and rebellion that fallen human beings establish in the world to try to escape the word and will of their Creator. The tragedy is not that I choose the physical over the spiritual, but that all my choices are shot through with brokenness. The biblical view sees the great divide to be a moral one, between good and evil, between sinfulness and righteousness. The ancient Greeks not the Scriptures divided reality into spiritual and physical. It’s a common perspective among Christians but one we must recognize for what it is, as shocking as this must seem: it’s a pagan perspective rooted in a pagan view of life and reality.

Some of my fundamentalist friends will probably dispute this characterization of their teaching, insisting they see art as an issue of Christian freedom. In other words, each individual believer is free to do art or to enjoy art as their conscience allows, as long as their freedom does not become a stumbling block to others. I’ve not seen much evidence of this myself, but I’ll take them at their word. I’m very glad they have this freedom. The real problem, though, remains. The Bible teaches that every legitimate vocation and calling—including both missions and art—is not only spiritual but is equally spiritual. This is what we must believe and teach and seek to live out faithfully before a watching world.

Art is not simply a neutral thing that I am free to enjoy before it all gets burned up in God’s judgment. Rather, art is a gift of God’s common grace to be received with gratitude and pursued with faithfulness under Christ’s Lordship. The fruit of human creativity—art and human culture—will be celebrated in the new earth to God’s glory.

But this is not the place to work all these ideas out in detail. If you would like to reflect on the truthfulness of what I have been saying here I would suggest four resources that might prove to be of some help. (At least they were a big help to my wife and I as we tried to make sense of these issues.) On art and creativity, Art & the Bible by Francis Schaeffer and Imagine: A vision for Christians in the arts by Steve Turner (both published by IVPress). On the spiritual/physical dichotomy, Being Human: The nature of spiritual experience by Ranald Macaulay & Jerram Barrs (IVPress). And for a study of culture in light of what the Scriptures teach about the end of time, Millenium Fever & The Future of this Earth by Wim Rietkirk (an iBook available free on Ransom’s web site).

…to be continued

Art and fundamentalist legacies (II)

(…continued from part I)

Attending the Christians in the Visual Arts (CIVA) conference (June 2009) helped to remind me of how our—OK, about how my—priorities so easily slide off kilter. CIVA forced me back to square one to reset them, which is always a good exercise. Busyness slips up on me even when I don’t want it. So I have to be intentional about scheduling unhurried time in art galleries and museums. Unhurried time to look, reflect, to look some more, and then process it all with a few safe friends who care about the things that shape the deepest issues of life. I guess it’s the visual equivalent of the slow-food movement. It won’t appeal to anyone who hasn’t discovered that creativity matters in the cosmic scheme of things.

The array of artwork on display over the days of the CIVA conference nurtured my imagination and soul. Beauty reveals something of God that cannot be adequately reduced to words. Or as I heard Francis Schaeffer say more than once, there is much more to human knowing than human knowing can ever know.

The walk-in gallery at the conference and the CIVA Late Late Show reminded me how sad it is that in a time of economic recession it is often the arts that get axed first. Music programs are cut in schools, art shows are postponed or curtailed, public murals in urban renewal programs go unfunded, and small galleries are forced to close their doors. I understand the economic realities involved, but that only convinces me that somehow the entire system needs a major overhaul. Though educated people should know better, American Christians tend to see the arts as either expendable niceties or commodities best left to the supply and demand of the market. In reality, of course, the arts are essential to human flourishing, an expression of our identity as creatures made in God’s image.

The art, conversations, and biblical study I was enjoyed at the CIVA conference also sparked unbidden reflections on my fundamentalist background. So much of what the CIVA conference celebrated had been condemned as worldly in the fundamentalist circles of my youth. As unnecessary as rearranging deck chairs on the Titanic, a proof that one’s allegiance was far too centered on temporal things that soon would be swept away in the fire of God’s wrath when Christ returns.

Rod Wilson, Bev’s husband put it this way in the Summer 2009 issue of The Regent World: “My early Christian life was characterized by the kind of anti-sensual sensibility that is all to common in Christian circles. Truth was content, word and abstraction; and the realization that God created us as human was muted at best and, at worst, negated. Theology was in. Art was out.”

Firmly entrenched in the various circles of North American fundamentalism, and found in many evangelical circles as well is a common but insidiously unbiblical teaching. Life is seen as divided explicitly or implicitly into physical and spiritual, a secular and a sacred realm. And only the spiritual and the sacred are seen as having eternal value. In this view, being a missionary is intrinsically better than being a sculptor. The missionary is a “full time Christian worker,” while the artist is not. Art is thus not of much value, unless it is somehow made more spiritual, perhaps by being designed for use in missions. Doing your job well is considered important, but not because it is spiritual service to God, but in order to be a “good testimony.” It’s true that doing carpentry or sculpture is necessarily “sinful.” But it’s not as equally spiritual, equally pleasing to God as something like witnessing.

It is here that both Bev and I growing up in Canada (her) and the US (me) felt the tension of our fundamentalist upbringing. We were drawn to beauty, stunned by human creativity, and yet taught that such things were indications of a worldliness infesting—and endangering—our souls. The issue wasn’t really all that complicated for those who are spiritually minded. (“If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth.” Colossians 3:1-2.) Even ignoring the nudes, art may seem very beautiful but that can be a trap. Lot’s of things are attractive here on earth, but one must have an eternal perspective. (“Do not love the world or the things in the world. If anyone loves the world, the love of the Father is not in him. For all that is in the world—the desires of the flesh and the desires of the eyes and pride in possessions—is not from the Father but is from the world. And the world is passing away along with its desires, but whoever does the will of God abides forever.”)

…to be continued

Art and fundamentalist legacies (I)

“When you finally leave it’s like hearing a massive steel door slam shut behind you. People who have not gone through it simply don’t understand.”

Bev Wilson said that to me as we shared lunch in a college cafeteria. For the life of me I’m not sure how college cafeterias manage to achieve such precise levels of mediocrity. Bev and I had met for the first time that weekend, but as she talked I increasingly felt we had known each other forever. Have you ever had that experience? A Canadian, she lives in Vancouver, is an artist and warm conversationalist, alive to the flickers of grace that shine out through unexpected cracks in this sadly broken world. She exhibits both the wisdom that comes when ancient truth is seriously embraced, and the easy wit that comes by not taking herself too seriously. Bev had attended my breakout session and approached me afterwards to tell me her story. As she talked I kept hearing echoes from my own past, phrases that seemed to hint at a common heritage, events shaped by similar experiences. My hunch turned out to be accurate. We had both been raised in and then left the same fundamentalist movement, known to outsiders—they don’t accept the name—as the Plymouth Brethren (PB).

“It seems so final,” Bev said, “when you leave.” I knew what she meant. Growing up we had heard so many warnings about the worldliness and compromise that was outside that leaving was almost impossible. Then you step through the door, it shuts behind you, and all you’ve known socially, religiously, psychologically, and relationally is gone.

It wasn’t a topic I had expected to be talking about when I arrived. Bev and I were in the student cafeteria at Bethel University in St Paul, MN for the biennial CIVA (Christians in the Visual Arts) conference (June 18-21, 2009). The days at the conference were filled with stimulating conversations, thoughtful sessions, an amazing book table by Hearts & Minds, and a chance to see the work of photographers, video makers, fabric artists, sculptors, painters, art scholars and a few whose chosen medium and style of work don’t fit into any neat category that I can name. It was like being suddenly immersed in a brilliant explosion of human creativity, and I loved it.

Each day at the conference ended with what is a long time CIVA tradition, the Late Late Show. Artists attending the conference are encouraged to submit digital images of their work. The images are projected and each artist is given exactly 4 minutes—a limit that is good naturedly but firmly enforced—to talk about what we were seeing. The work we saw ranged from poor, to immature but promising, to mature, finely crafted, and thoughtfully allusive.

I arrived at the CIVA conference expecting to talk about art, beauty, and the gospel. I see now, however, that reflecting on the fundamentalist heritage of my childhood was unavoidable. The experience of beauty has played a key role in my pilgrimage. And though I am in my sixties, the old fearful, guilt-laden warnings of “worldly” and “unspiritual” that had always been attached to art and culture still echo in my memory.

…to be continued.

Misery on the stage

The esteemed bishop of Hippo reflects on the irony of enjoying the theater.

“Stage plays also captivated me, with their sights full of the images of my own miseries: fuel for my own fire. Now, why does a man like to be made sad by viewing doleful and tragic scenes, which he himself could not by any means endure? Yet, as a spectator, he wishes to experience from them a sense of grief, and in this very sense of grief his pleasure consists. What is this but wretched madness? For a man is more affected by these actions the more he is spuriously involved in these affections. Now, if he should suffer them in his own person, it is the custom to call this misery. But when he suffers with another, then it is called compassion. But what kind of compassion is it that arises from viewing fictitious and unreal sufferings? The spectator is not expected to aid the sufferer but merely to grieve for him. And the more he grieves the more he applauds the actor of these fictions. If the misfortunes of the characters—whether historical or entirely imaginary—are represented so as not to touch the feelings of the spectator, he goes away disgusted and complaining. But if his feelings are deeply touched, he sits it out attentively, and sheds tears of joy.”

St Augustine in Confessions [3.2.2]

The Avett Brothers live

I haven’t been to the Minnesota Zoo for years, but booked tickets when I saw the Avett Brothers were appearing in concert at the amphitheater. It was a beautiful night for an outdoor concert, warm with a light breeze, the moon a bright crescent in a night sky filled with rapidly passing clouds. Margie and I went with two very dear friends, Wes Hill, soon to leave for England to study for a doctorate in theology at Durham University, and Anita Gorder, an artist living in the Mole End apartment at Toad Hall who has joyously filled our lives with beauty, laughter, and a lovely sense of community.

I have often been told the Avett Brothers give one of the best live concerts available. I haven’t been to enough concerts to render a judgment except to say this one was close to perfect. Their vibrant energy, their transparent delight in playing for us, and the beauty of the music simply swept us into delight.

For just one chance to find

Love was someone that you loved to find

For just the sense to try

To walk ahead and leave the pain behind

If the days aren’t easy and the nights are rough

When they ask you what you’re thinking of

Say love, say for me love

Say love, say for me love

Your heart says not again

What kind of mess have you got me in

But when the feelings there

It can lift you up and take you anywhere

But the gravel beneath you and the limbs above

If anybody asks you where your coming from

Say love, say for me love

Say love, say for me love

Say yes we live uncertainty

And disappointments have to be

And everyday we might be facing more

And yes we live in desperate times

But fading words and shaking rhymes

There’s only one thing here worth hoping for

With Lucifer beneath you and God above

If either one of them asks you what your living of

Say love, say for me love

Say love, say for me love

Say love, say for me love

[“Living of Love”]

I know this photo is blurred, and my camera asked if it should delete it because of that when I snapped it. I said No, save it. People who want to see a photo of the Avett Brothers can find one on their web site. This photo captures the energy of the concert perfectly.

None of us had heard of the opening act, Samantha Crain and the Midnight Shivers, but they were good. Anita and Wes bought t-shirts. On the drive home we listened to Emotionalism.

We came for salvation

We came for family

We came for all that’s good that’s how we’ll walk away

We came to break the bad

We came to cheer the sad

We came to leave behind the world a better way

[“Salvation Song”]

The Avett Brothers fulfilled that promise for us last Saturday. Their concert filled my heart to overflowing with happiness, and I am grateful.

In memory

In memory of Neda Agha Soltan, and the other incredibly brave Iranians, who like those in Tiananmen Square in 1989 have said, and against great odds, are saying No to political oppression.

Our Father

May your kingdom come,

may your will be done

on earth as it is in heaven.

In Christ’s name and for his sake,

Amen