Love is one, and love is changeless.

For love loves unto purity.  Love has ever in view the absolute loveliness of that which it beholds.  Where loveliness is incomplete, and love annot love its fill of loving, it spends itself to make more lovely, that it may love more; it strives for perfection, even that itself may be perfected–not in itself, but in the object.  As it was love that first created humanity, so even human love, in proportion to its divinity, will go on creating the beautiful for its own outpouring.  There is nothing eternal but that which loves and can be loved, and love is ever climbing towards the consummation when such shall be the universe, imperishable, divine.

What a statement – all of me.  Can we do things with our whole selves or do we always carry around baggage that gets in the way?  With God, all things are possible…

On Sunday, May 10, Mothers’ Day, Volunteers from FPC will be driving down to Waco to bring food to the homeless.  I invite all families in the church and in the community to take part in this event.  Bring your mothers and your grandmothers and let us celebrate the morning of Mothers’ Day serving the mothers who have little to nothing and who fear for the lives of their children each and every day.  This is what being part of the body of Christ is all about – escaping our tendencies to be comfortable and isolated and to serve others with unconditional love meeting their basic needs.  Contact me  for more information or if you would like to help.  Thanks. – Tim

 And when he drew near and saw the city he wept over it, saying, “Would that even today you knew the things that make for peace!  But now they are hid from your eyes.”

                                    Luke 19:41-42;

                                    see also Psalm 127; Luke 19:29-40

 

Pardoning this borough for its evil,

I look past the tops of buildings, to where

The sky is.  Remembering that man’s malice,

This man’s fate; the former’s cunning,

The latter’s jeopardy — seeing the sky,

Placid in spite of soot and heartache,

I am reminded to pray.  Redemption,

Like our janitor, comes as we go home:

A stooped man turning out the lights.

                                                Richard Selig

 

It is hard to see a city from its streets. 

     Perhaps you have to get up above it, say to the sexteenth floor. 

     There is the city at your feet, the throb of its business a steady roar,

     its mingled joy and pain appearing as one organism, streets alive with the intertwined lives of persons who are no more than dots in motion.

     From that height it is hard to sort out the hospital from the office building.

     But imagination, the more conscious of persons for being at a distance, dwells on one man’s malice, another man’s fate,

     the man in a hospital gown,

     and another, briskly striding, in a starched white shirt,

     one anesthetized against his jeopardy,

     the other vigorous in his cunning.

     But that is the city, the place of “business is business” and business as usual, and the place where people die as surely as they go home from work at the end of the day.

     You can seee a city whole from the sixteenth floor, and seeing it you may call to despair.

     or to not caring.

     But from an eyrie you can also see the sky:

       I look past the tops of buildings, to where

       The sky is…..

       ………………………….

       Placid in spite of soot and heartache.

     You can live in a place like New York and see that bluest of skies as seldom as you see the faces around you,

     lost in endlessly fascinating canyons,

       heartache obscured by well-furnished windows and well-planned faces,

         the sky unnecessary and soo-shrouded.

     But from the sixteenth floor, you can see the sky.

     Up there, in view of the placid blue, you may be able, even while looking down on malice and fate,

     cunning and jeopardy,

to pardon this bourough for its evil, to forgive and accept, and that is something very different from not caring.

     You don’t pardon out of hand what you see from the sixteenth floor.

     The city at your feet is not at all like the office at your back,

     this efficient place with unseen people ready every night for your daily manipulation.

     Out in the city, unlike the office, you can’t even clear the air of soot, to say nothing of heartache, by pushing buttons and sending memoranda.

     Standing above the city you come to see that the life which threads its streets and moves behind blank windows is out of your control.

     And so you are reminded to pray, and in praying to live with the city’s malice and pain without resignation.

     From the sixteenth floor, a man sees both the city and the sky, and he is likely to feel humble and hopeful, to come to passion for the dying as well as the cunning.

     We are on the sixteenth floor.

     We can only imagine how the earth appears to the astronaut –

     his sens of the world in its wholeness,

       a small blue ball floating in space with three billion people aboard.

     Seeing earth from 50,000 miles out has given us a new feeling for the human community.

     From out there the geographical boundaries and ancient rivalries of man seem petty indeed.

     From space, the earth returns to the appearance of creation: one earth for all of God’s children.

     In such a world, the law of survival is not nature red in tooth and claw — any more than it is the city’s competition and individualism — but compassion and cooperation.

     But how shall that become clear to us, as clear as the sky?

     The times are upons us, clearing our vision, getting us up to heights where we can see.

     The theologian would say that tht e time is eschatological.

     Crisis presses us to think about the meaning of our life together.

     People in the city are hurting –

       hurting each other,

         hurting themselves by hurting one another,

            just hurting.

     Increased visibility and enforced proximity will not let us escape the questions: Who is my neigbor? Why do I feel so uncomfortable in the elevator with these people who live in the same building with me? What is a community?

     T.S. Eliot’s Stranger puts the question:

               “What is the meaning of this city?

     Do you huddle close togethar because you love

          each other?”

     What will you answer?  “We all dwell togethar

     To make money from each other”? or “This is a

          community”?

     And the Stranger will depart and return to the desert.

     O my soul, be prepared for the coming of the Stranger,

     Be prepared for him who knows how to ask questions.

     We know the answer to the question.

     Knowing it, how shall we pardon “this borough for its evil”?

     Only if we know that Richard Selig knows: the redemption of the city is not finally in our hands.

     The lesson is late, but we are learning that human community is a creation of the spirit.

     Our technology has reared skyscrapers,

         our science has produced enough food for all the people,

            our genius has made man mobile, as free as the jet and the automobile.

     But we live in jeopardy,

         next door to hunger,

            in cities where we cannot walk in the parks,

               choking on our own wastes.

     Technology, research, efficiency — the hallmarks of our society — will certainly play their part in rebuilding the city that they have built.

     But they cannot redeem the city.

     As the air becomes more choked, the fact becomes more clear that our salvation lies in the recovery of faith and humanity.

     However much we dislike the overused word, the city’s problem is “spiritual.”

     Or as the poet puts it, there is hope of salvation in the man who leaves his business, the engineering of the town, to look out over the city,

     to feel for it,

         and then to be reminded to pray.

                                    . . . Redemption,

         Like our janitor, comes as we go home.

Let us, so to speak, come down to earth.

     What does it mean to say that the redemption of the city comes after we have closed up shop, that salvation arrives after we have done all that we can do?

     Take a specific problem, the pollution and ravaging of man’s environment — air, water, countryside.

     The very face of the land — like a man’s counenance, which with passing years reveals his affections — reflects the soul of a people.

     The soot which blankets our cities,

         the ugliness which litters our avenues and highways,

            our thickening rivers,

            the glut of murderous automobiles belching the poison

            of irresponsible individualism at its worst:

     our soul is laid bare by what we are doing to the land.

     Having gained the world and lost our soul, we are losing the world.

     The ecological crisis reveals our spiritual poverty, the price of materialism.

     To our madness for wealth, novelty, and power, even the air we breathe and the water that is life itself can be sacrificed.

     As St. Augustine knew, when men cease to love best the City of God, the city of man becomes a slum.

     Looking our upon the city that we have built, we see our souls.

     We need not, however, dwell on soot and sewage.

     We could speak of the ignored elderly, unwanted by their busy families and written off as a loss by a glamorous, high-living sociey;

     the socrned poor, an affront to our self-image;

         the neglected sick, who can’t pay their own way and

         embarras a society built around the myth of self-made man.

     They are all part of the landscape of a city where economic success and personal fulfillment are equated, where power is supremely valued and ultimately trusted.

     That landscape is a jungle, where people prey upon each other.

     All right, so we are up on the seixteenth floor.

     We’ve seen the city, and ourselves.

     So what do we do?

     That is the first question an American would ask.

     The point of this sermon is, however, that the first movement of the faithful man is not action but prayer.

     Praying is getting up on the sixteenth floor where we can see the city and feel for it.

     Before we do anything, or after we have done all we can — as you like — we are called to pray, remembering that redemption comes after we go home.

     For it is God who put us here together, who can put it in our hearts to love each other.

     What life have you if you have not life together?

     There is no life that is not in community,

     An no community not lived in praise of God.

     . . . . . . . . . . .

     We build in vain unless the Lord build with us.

     Can you keep the city that the Lord keeps not with you?

     . . . . . . . . . . . .

     Where there is no temple there shall be no homes.

     The words sound quaint, but they are no less true.

     Our redemption draws near when we trust only in the God of love.

     The compounding crises of our time, even as they spur us to action, remind us to pray.

     When you get up on the sixteenth floor, and see our city clearly, you are moved, not to send memos or push buttons, but to pray.

     Though we are God’s servants in saving the city — called to bend our energies to build houses,

     harness energy,

     control population,

     to push buttons, send memos, and man laboratories –

     from the sixteenth floor it is clear that

                                                 . . . Redemption

     Like our janitor, comes as we go home:

     A stooped man turning out the lights.

The gospel tells the story of Jesus’ coming to Jerusalem riding upon a lowly donkey.

     And when he drew near and saw the city he wept over it saying, “Would that even today you knew the things that make for peace!” (Luke 19:41-42)

     Not long after that, he carried a cross to the hilltop outside Jerusalem.

     Nailed up there, he had a good view of the city.

As Christians, when we go through relationship problems with our spouses, our boyfriends and girlfriends, our friends, our children, many of us ask ourselves the question: how do I save a life?  How do I save a relationship — with friends, spouses, etc? The problem is, when we go about trying to fix things, trying to understand other human beings, we tend to fail miserably because we treat others like ourselves.  But others are not ourselves.  While Jesus says, “treat your neighbor as yourself”, I believe the passage means more than simply that statement.  Treat your neighbor as you would treat yourself in the knowledge that Jesus is the prime example and we were made in that image of God.  But know also that saving ourselves and saving lives is something that belongs to God.  Turn to God “and pray” the following music video states.

 

Pitted in perspective, the plight of the pitiful and the privileged prove to be plenty.  Expectations are turned upside-down where nothing resounds except emptiness — and this is where the gospel comes to life amidst the plethora of perspectives and positions.

The following three philosophical ramblings look into the meaning of art and my hope is that after reading them you might be inspired to discuss the relationship between art and religion or art and faith. Enjoy.

What has art to do with living?

Can you imagine a world populated by human beings without art? There is somehow an inextricable link between what it means to live as a human being and the existence of art, the capacity to create it and respond to it. But how does art give our lives the meaning that it does? Or rather why? Does it share any common properties with other items that make human life meaningful, i.e. medicine, scientific discovery, morality? And then how is it distinctive from these other avenues of meaning? It is peculiar and ambiguous as to it’s teleological character. Where scientific discoveries tend to lean towards the purpose of progress, medicine towards better healthcare, morality towards better governance, to what purpose does art lean if it does at all. Is the artwork itself the purpose and the end to which it was created? And if so, where do we derive meaning from it?

Let’s suppose it is suggested that a painting is created for a merely aesthetic purpose — pleasing horizontal lines and circles or something to that effect. Of course this is hypothetical since a surface aesthetic purpose may cover for a true purpose of profit (galleries, pornography, etc), persuasion to vote a particular way (propaganda, etc). But let’s for now suggest that a truly aesthetic purpose is true. Is the work necessarily art? Let’s take a portait for example. Is a portrait always created for an aesthetic purpose? Probably not. It is meant to resemble the subject to which it is portraying, whether that subject is aesthetically pleasing to look at or not. This does not disqualify the portrait from being considered a work of art though. So a truly aesthetic purpose is too specific rather than encompassing.

Thinking this way it is pertinent to ask whether or not art can be grouped is such a large category or if it needs to be separated into various categories (literary arts, visual arts, film, etc). Can we really classify all of these as art using categorical principles. Chances are slim, though it has been tried. Principles, however, would need to encompass the actual artists’ purposes and context, and the actual artworks’ context, which is of course impossible with artworks temporally separated, sociohistorically, culturally separated from their times. An under girding categorical principle would need to take all of this into account for each artwork. A daunting, and perhaps useless task.

Another problem with applying principles to all artworks is that once a principle is proposed that encompasses all artwork, that principle is usually too broad, encompassing more than what is allocated as art. For instance, I draw some squiggly lines on paper, and call it art. Chances are, most people will disagree with me. But according to a categorical principle that under girds art I am correct. See the problem. This is not to suggest a relativism with regards to art since it is obvious that some things are considered art by a wide majority and other things not. What is considered art must be taken into account even if it is being labeled art based upon inadequate principles such as only aesthetic ones.

The ambiguity as to who decides what art is and how they decide is one of the underlying problems I’m noting here. For instance, a certain gallery was having an exhibition, and an artist decided to go to the local hardware shop, buy a urinal and enter it into the exhibition as is. The first year the judges (authorities) deemed the urinal inadequate art, but then later recanted entering it into the gallery. A year later it was taken out. So you see there is a certain disagreement on what makes art art even to those we recognize as having the authority to make such decisions.

The only way I can characterize art based upon these examples is that it is 1) something that communicates meaning in communion b/w artist and artwork with the interpreter — his or her experiences and context and 2) something that stands the test of time remaining an artwork regardless: it is better understood and perhaps appreciated given its context and history, but one needs not know these things to appreciate it. To know the purpose of the artist, the context, etc perhaps allows for a more full appreciation of the artwork, but not a necessary appreciation. The artwork should be able to stand on its own two legs apart from these communicating them within the work itself. The latter statement 2) would disqualify the urinal, but give the Harry Potter stories a chance to prove themselves to the world.

Anyway, back to purpose. What purpose does art serve then or is purpose-free art a distinction that separates art from other meaningful endeavors? Well, I think art can be both. Let me explain. What about scores composed for film, such as the Lord of the Rings score by Howard Shore. The composer is given video clips and audio dialogue to work with limiting the scope of a score for the purpose of amplifying mood and giving a quality to the film that would otherwise be absent. This greatly limits the artist and the artwork for the purpose of contributing to the overall work of art — the film. Does this nullify score composers as true artists having restrictions placed upon them, or having a purpose for composing when I’ve suggested already that some purposes for artistic endeavors kill the artistic component? I don’t think so. I would suggest that these limitations actually enhance the overall artwork. This is not propaganda or pornography or something to that affect.

Finally I think that art, because of its ambiguity and varying forms is oftentimes linked and described in terms of morality, aesthetics, values, etc. We lend art — its creation and interpretation — a transcendent quality that encapsulates human nature pointing to possibilities beyond, or rather pointing to situations presently. For instance, we will say that a novel is great because it encapsulates justice, reveals what evil really is, or maybe it just makes us happy (with a sappy romantic ending with a kiss, or Benji comes charging home). These are all various ways in which works of art are described and reviewed by critics. But the connection between art and morality, or art and aesthetics is less realistically made since some artworks can be interpreted in such terms and others cannot. Is an abstract painting always linked with morality? Is a painting portraying French aristocrats making their way to the Guillotine aesthetically pleasing? Not always (if ever). This does not discount its status as art since many will consider it art, but it does discount an aesthetic principle in such a case. Apologies for not completing the discussion, but I hope this promotes thought into what art might have to do with religion…

Do I get credit?

It has been brought to my attention in a few essays recently read and in a few conversations with people that there are many of my fellow artists upset that they as artist have been taken out of the equation with regards to the interpretation of their works of art. People have decided to appreciate and interpret art devoid of what the artist intended the art to communicate. Is this wrong? In any normal conversation it is pretty important when, for example, I tell someone, “The movie was great because of yada yada…” My intention in communicating my feelings perhaps are important to interpreting this statement. But then we get into the question of whether or not art is the same kind of communication as verbal communication. And most would perhaps say nay. There are three things to take into consideration — the artist, the artwork, and the interpreter. In this arrangement the artwork tends to upset direct communication between artist and interpreter. This kind of communication is sometimes not always apparent within the artwork itself. Does this make the piece a “bad” work of art if the intentions of the artist are not somewhat apparent in the piece so that onlookers have a grasp as to what the intentions are? Or is the work of art valuable despite whether or not we as the audience can infer or grasp the intentions of the artist. I would suggest that when possible, knowledge of context and perhaps authorial intent is beneficient to more deeply interpreting a work of art rather than merely walking up to it without the knowledge. But this is in no way a denial of the power of a work of art without knowing anything about the author or context. “Art” most characteristically is art precisely because it is designated as such. If it somehow were to lose it’s artistic title, then was it ever art to begin with or merely a fad? From the previous statement perhaps “art” is something timeless which remains art because it continues to give meaning to human beings across cultures and time. Without fitting this criteria is it art? So an original artwork is selling for $6 million down the street (an original Picasso cubist painting let’s say). Can you say this is art because it still gives meaning to people, or is it merely a historical artifact with worth, given that Picasso will not be painting anymore (at least I don’t think so). Do people really care about Picasso’s intent? And then there is another question that arises. Perhaps an artist decides to paint a painting bright blue — a study of color. Is one going to wonder of the artist’s intent or even understand how to begin an interpretation of the work? Let’s compare this to one of Gaugin’s scenes. We tend to need a little more help interpreting art with representations of people-like things and scenery (context, intent, etc). On the other hand, is the significance of authorial intent merely a product of our culture? What about those works of art in which we know nothing about the artist? Do they lose credibility as art? I don’t personally think so. Perhaps a richer and more broad range of interpretive lenses are missing, but the credibility is in tact if the art is in fact art. Why is the artist unappreciated then in most cases? Precisely because true art takes on a life of its own when the artist let’s it loose. This is not to deny that the authorial intent is embedded within the work itself in just such a way that perhaps one is able to tap it. Since true art has it’s value in the meaning it gives to the lives of human beings, it is the human elements that are remembered and interpreted: those elements that point to possibilities not yet realized in the present. But when I say true art this is in contrast with commercial art, which I would suggest occupies many galleries, museums, homes, etc…even some of the paintings of “masters artists.” Forgive the cynicism , but the worth of original artworks nowadays is pushing the limits of an elitism that is just ridiculous. These pieces of utter rubbish are being sold for millions of dollars to people who buy the fact that what they are buying is meaningful, when in fact they are trying to buy purpose. Some of the true artists I know are working 9 to 5 jobs with the real talent to create recognizable masterpieces devoid of western elitism.

The Death of Art

Original, perhaps creative thinking has seemingly all but disappeared, where the typical westerner takes up a similar approach to learning prescribed by Benjamin Franklin: imitation. To what extent are we products of our time and our space? Ultimately, these spatiotemporal categories impose limitations on what we learn, how we learn, how we think, how we communicate ideas…but where then does true art fit, where does the artist who truly believes in the power and transcendence of art fit into postmodern schema — the limits of contextual relativity? While pondering these questions, my observation of what society notes to be ‘art’ in the most general sense, has more to do with social value, more to do with the imitation of what other before have done. But have we embraced the originality and creativity that true art notably required? Or did originality and creativity ever exist, ever transcend our limitations? Observing concerts, operas, going to art galleries, looking at photography, breezing through graphic novels, staring at t-shirts…what strikes me is the imitating of elements characteristic of particular social spheres, wherein identity lies within the realm characterized by prestige, wealth, individualism…

In school curriculum, thinking for oneself has been waylaid until one can properly note what historians, philosophers, and other novelists and artists have stated before. Oringinal thinking just is not good enough any more apart from traditional thinking — yet another constraint. But how many constraints can one have, culturally, historically, familialy, literarily, logically before a person’s psyche snaps and revolution against imposed limits ensues and what is sacred breaks free from the chains of institutionalization?

Is then there an inherent need characteristic of human beings for creativity and originality to somehow teleologically explain their natural condition? And if so, when will the next Art revolution take place? In what form? How violently? And what could this mean for the varying human spheres on planet Earth? How might this affect how we think? How we teach? What to value?

Is art dead? One can make that argument…though I think there may be enough evidence that it only lies dormant.

As long as the sacred exists (perhaps until secularism eventually kills it and an eschaton of sorts ensues), then art, creativity, and originality have their existence in the mystery characteristic of our sacred constructions. [But even further, if one considers art to be teleologically normative, then as long as human beings are doing ethics, art will have a place.] Thus mystery and art have consummated their marriage under specific rules, yielding offspring of different shapes and sizes and values…all valid in our postmodern thought, though some historically shunned or even killed. But many children survive under the covenant umbrella of mystery. They imitate their adopted parents, perhaps enlightening them, perhaps merely living unnoticed. And when they are threatened by others, we defend ferociously our own children…we always seek to understand them…we impose our own limitations upon them, punishing them if not obeyed…and we love them…

…such is the perception of art, and such is the perception of the sacred…our adopted children, though more likely our own veiled dogma, fed by our misplaced love. True art then, in my opinion, is not truly created, or truly interpreted without true love placed not in the act of creating, not in the interpretation of that creation, but within the sphere of mystery on a quest to unveil art’s true origin.

“Slaves, accept the authority of your masters with all deference, not only those who are kind and gentle but also those who are harsh.  Forit is a credit to you if, being aware of God, you endure pain while suffering unjustly.  If you endure when you are beaten for doing wrong, what credit is that? But if you endure when you do right and suffer for it, you have God’s approval.  For to this you have been called, because Christ also suffered for you, leaving you an example, so that you should follow in his steps.

“He committed no sin, and no deceit was found in his mouth.”

When he was abused, he did not return abuse; when he suffered, he did not threaten; but he entrusted himself to the one who judges justly.  He himself bore our sins in his body on the cross, so that, free from sins, we might live for righteousness; by his wounds you have been healed.  For you were going astray like sheep, but now you have returned to the shephered and guardian of your souls.” – 1 Peter 2:18-25

1 Peter tends to be highly neglected and avoided by pastors and biblical scholars alike due to some of its statements that ring controversial to a pluralistic biblical audience.  One of these statements comes in verses 18 and 19 in the form of slaves obeying masters and accepting authority.  And one of the primary reasons for this controversy is a historio-cultural assumption that this biblical passage promotes slavery.  Taken into context however, 1 Peter is not a letter addressing slavery, nor is slavery its primary subject, but rather living the gospel and spreading the gospel in the midst of suffering and in the midst of slavery and persecution.  If you are a person in this sort of context where slavery and persecution is your reality, how do you live the gospel of Jesus Christ.  This is the aim of 1 Peter.  And with this in mind the common pitfall and controversy melts into nothingness.

In an apocalyptic time the author of 1 Peter (perhaps the apostle Peter) is under the assumption that the return of Christ is immanent and soon.  There is no time on earth to change the things on the earth because Christ is coming.  Live the gospel and teach others to do so.  This is primary.

What does this tell us about the mission of the church or rather about what mission is?  Mission is the spreading of the gospel of Christ where we are.  We are to endure suffering because of the gospel because Christ suffered.  1 Peter does not dictate that we fight back the authorities of the world, but that we endure for the sake of the gospel like Christ endured — Christ who suffered and was marginalized his whole life because of his radical activity and thought; Christ who died because of it.

So when we gaze over the horizon of our national battlefields in Iraq and Afghanistan and elsewhere throughout the world, how are we fullfilling our gospel-mission warranted by 1 Peter?

American strategy seems to bank more on the words from Saruman from Lord of the Rings, “We need only remove those who oppose us.”  And if you need reminding, Saruman was a bad guy.  This kind of strategy has been around for a long while and roots in the idea of self-preservation.  But in the pluralistic and ambiguous world in which we live, this kind of idea has no merit.  Or perhaps it does in a firmly clutching capitalistic economy…to be discussed at another time.