Prophetic or Perilous?: The Artist and the Christian Life
An Apologetic
Dear friends,
Long time, no write. I am so very sorry. This has been a very transitional year that felt overwhelming at times. Migraines did not help. But things are settling, and I am feeling much better!
Today’s newsletter is a foundational one–an apologetic for Christian engagement in the arts and the creative life of the Christian artist. It features comments from three artists: musician Donna Matthews (former member of Elastica, current improvisational musician and experimental filmmaker); author and musician Stephen Roach (host of the Makers & Mystics podcast and founder/ organizer arts gathering The Breath and the Clay); and author and musician Sho Baraka.
Prophetic or Perilous?: The Artist and the Christian Life:
One of graphic novelist Craig Thompson’s most defining childhood memories comes from a traumatic Sunday school class when his teacher asks, “Does anyone have an idea of what we might be doing in when we get to heaven?”. Craig answers with enthusiasm, envisioning an eternity doing his very favorite thing, that which comes almost as naturally as breathing: “Drawing!”. Although his classmates also respond with their own favorite things (“football!,” “snowmobiling!,” “relaxing!,”), he is the only one reprimanded for giving the wrong answer. His teacher explains “Our new lives in heaven will be devoted to praising and worshiping God,” to which Craig asks, “Can’t I praise God with my drawings?”. This earnest question is met with boisterous and snide collective laughter from the class, as well as the teacher, who chastise Craig by telling him that “God has already drawn” creation for us.
Thompson’s love for drawing persisted into high school, as did his devout faith. When he considered attending art school upon graduation, he was told a cautionary tale by an older church member about a brother whose art school years led him “right into the arms of temptation.” The only solution for Craig, according to a peer, was to attend a Christian college and stay safe from the world.
Both of these examples from Craig Thompson’s 2003 biographical graphic novel Blankets paved the way for his departure from the evangelical Christian faith of his childhood. Although these formative occurrences are particular and extreme, many artists who are formed and informed by American evangelical culture will wince with painful recognition upon reading them.
The Life of Faith and a Life of Art-Making:
Thompson’s story brings up questions about the possible tensions between the life of an artist and the life of faith. In his young experience in Christian circles, many of Thompson’s peers and mentors saw his talent and deep love of art as silly, frivolous, and unimportant– a deterrence from the “real” work of Christian ministry and a hobby they hoped he would outgrow. Others were more fearful, seeing his impassioned talent as dangerous.
Are these concerns at all warranted?
Creativity is a part of our makeup as image bearers. In creating, we are doing the Lord’s work. This is one of the many mysterious reasons that art itself feels inherently spiritual. It is impossible to adequately define what happens to us when we hear a song we love or see a film that expands our empathy. But is this type of spiritual engagement edifying?
In an article from The American Scholar titled “Gazing Into the Abyss,” poet Christian Wiman explains that he was brought up with the “poisonous notion” that a conversion to Christianity was also a deconversion from “worldly” things such as art and the love of anything not traditionally seen as “spiritual.” This common theological misconception–as evidenced in both Wiman’s and Thompson’s stories– is based on an interpretation of the biblical term “world” as an indicator that the whole of God’s creation (apart from humans with redeemed souls) is fundamentally dangerous, perhaps even evil. On the contrary, when Wiman became a Christian, he found “a love of the earth and existence so overflowing that it implied, or included, or even absolutely demanded, God. Love did not deliver me from the Earth, but into it.” As a poet, Wiman–like so many other artists–cultivates the gift of what he deems “sacred attentiveness” to the beauty of creation, that which God made and declared “good.” This marriage of creativity and faith is more than natural–it is a movement towards the mystery of God’s beauty and goodness.
It is an invitation toward an attentive practice that helps us to see the “glory” of both the natural world and other human beings. And as Simone Weil once wrote, “attention is the purest form of generosity.” Attentive, artistic practice can parallel the toing and froing of the life of faith, fluctuating between selfishness and empathy, hopefully working toward something whole.
Telling the Truth:
Although the connection between the vulnerable attentiveness of artistic practice and the Christian life can seem obvious to practitioners, this correlation is not always understood, welcome, or applauded in either Christian or secular circles. Borrowing a racially descriptive term from W.E.B. Dubois, Hip-Hop artist and author Sho Baraka speaks of having a “double consciousness” when considering his life as a Christian and an artist: “Who am I to the secular world and who am I to the Christian space?” Often, an artist is too “edgy” or seemingly “secular” for the Christian spaces and too Christian for the secular spaces.
Baraka aims to create art that exhibits “unadulterated truth telling pointing to future hope.” Art that reflects the truth of reality cannot be sentimentalized, reflecting easy rose-colored formulas that quickly remedy sin and create an escapist heaven on earth. For the artist to truthfully represent the marred state of the glorious human condition, they must be honest when depicting evil, and this delve into darkness is frequently misunderstood.
In “The Church and the Fiction Writer,” author Flannery O’Connor reminds us that “We lost our innocence in the fall of our first parents, and our return to it is through the redemption which was brought about by Christ’s death and by our slow participation in it.” Good and true art must not skip the process of wrestling with darkness in the fallen world to create a “mock state of innocence,” what theologian Jeremy Begbie calls “a premature grasp for Easter morning.”
In the creating of “Christian” art, there lies an (often an industry driven) temptation to tell stories, write songs, and paint images that neglect the complex reality of evil even in ourselves and our Christian institutions. Many Christian artists feel pressure to force their creativity into neat, tidy, and formulaic “evangelistic” boxes. Although the desire for a witness is a good thing, truncating and deforming the glorious freedom of the creative gifts–gifts that reflect the mystery, wonder, and beauty of God and his creation–can become manipulative, deadening, and the opposite of inspiring.
The Prophetic Role of the Artist:
But if good art is about truth telling, the artist must be brave and–in many cases–resist the cultural myths that have been accepted as the norm. In The Prophetic Imagination, theologian Walter Brueggemann explains that the role of the biblical prophet is to help us to see reality in all its pain and glory, an act that feels subversive–perhaps even violent–when we are continually told that “the way things are” is okay. Historically, we have seen artists taking on an uncomfortable, prophetic role and, as musician Donna Matthews explains, “pushing boundaries, existing at the fringe, exploring the mysteries of life, looking at things from an upside-down point of view, taking a second glance.” This “second glance” can lead to greater truth telling, deeper empathy, and more honesty. Although the artist is just as prone to sin and falsehood as any other human, her role as “truth-teller” can raise suspicions in Christian circles that might unknowingly prize a sort of conformity to established cultural norms that lead to comfort and certainty.
Although truthful art created by Christians must acknowledge the pain of our condition, Baraka notes that is easy to go too far in this direction and “get lost in the truth telling” without hope, creating works of “doom and gloom,” and becoming “nihilistic artists. This movement into cynicism and despair is a legitimate concern for Christian artists trying to tell the truth about the world around them. The key, Baraka says, is an art-making process that embraces a “truthful balance” of the struggle, the tension between darkness and light, highlighting what Francis Schaeffer famously labeled the “glorious ruins” of the human condition. Baraka sees this in the combination of lament and “resilient joy” in the spirituals of the spirituals sung by the “plantation poets,” not unlike the depth of struggle and tension in the Psalms.
The Importance of Asking Questions:
Engaging the arts can help us to be more honest about our own sin, particularly the ways our own beliefs can become syncretistic. In fast-paced Western society, the church is not impermeable to some of the quick-fix values of efficiency, comfort, and conquest–but the attentiveness of the artist reminds us to slow down, to look closely, to regain a sense of humility and childlike wonder. In the in the Kingdom of God this posture is not seen as weakness but as strength. When we are asked to become like little children, this does not mean a reclaiming of innocence but a reclaiming a state of curiosity, vulnerability, and play that is all based upon a deep trust in the Lord’s goodness. C.S. Lewis reminds us of this in The Great Divorce: "Once you were a child. Once you knew what inquiry was for. There was a time when you asked questions because you wanted answers, and were glad when you had found them. Become that child again: even now."
But questioning is sometimes seen as “taboo” in evangelical circles, perhaps even indicating a lack of faith. Author, musician, and podcaster Stephen Roach, refers to these hesitations: “When we talk about the vastness of God and the creative world, how can we approach this with such a tight fist and not end up creating an idol of sorts?” That idol, according to Roach, is “the idol of certainty.” The knee-jerk fearful response to self and institutional examination, the asking of questions, and experimentation occurs because “We tend to be apprehensive about anything not stamped with the approval of certainty.” But that “sacred attentiveness” that Wiman mentions can help us to see that many of the things we have become certain about are more cultural than Christlike.
A Need for Boundaries and Discernment:
Although the interrelationship between the practice of creating and the path of the Christian life reflects many good gifts, there can be reason for hesitation. Donna Mathews argues that it can be particularly hard to draw boundary lines when we experience the “radical openness” of artistic creativity. The ecstatic feelings of, for example, participating as an audience member at a concert or creating art in a community can become unhealthily seductive if boundaries are not drawn. It is possible to turn art into an idol, its own religion (just look at the writing of William Blake and the Romantic focus on artist as priest). The greatest gifts and freedoms can often pose the greatest dangers of temptation, and our innate desire to worship can manifest in the deification of anything that we love. If art is to be prophetic, it should also be able to critique itself. This, coupled with the skills of Christian discernment, can lead to a healthy, life-giving relationship with the arts.
Sho Baraka admits that an artist can also fall prey to the lure of self-focus: “Sometimes I just want to reach the masses is just a proxy for I just need a bigger platform and want more money.” Once again, there is a need for a prophetic voice to not treat the arts just like another identity defining commodity. Baraka notes that in America, “where success is defined by celebrity and exorbitant amounts of money,” the “idea of true contentment” is a “struggle” for Christians, including artist and creators of culture.
Baraka also understands the wariness sometimes expressed when considering the experimental “freedom” of the arts. This is especially a relatable concern upon one’s conversion from darkness to light. “When you come from such an egregious background” Baraka says, “when you have been an agent of evil and destruction and you see all of what the world offers, and then you encounter this beautiful, marvelous life of redemption, you want to forsake everything about the world.” The loves of our former lives–even the good ones–are seen as “trinkets” that we don’t want to bring to heaven: we might want to burn the CDs, stop watching movies, and lose our old friends. But once again, these apprehensions–although from a good place–are misled.
The answer to all these issues come from a robust theology of culture and an acute, developed practice of discernment based on prayer and the truth of scripture. This is a hard thing to gain when, Baraka comments, “Lots of churches do not encourage the reconciliation of the things we once loved with the things we now love.” The false theology of a sacred/secular split is too limited, flatlining any nuanced, serious, and joyful understanding of the good gifts of God’s creation. But a healthy love of making, of engaging with the arts, and of entering artistic communities can help us to be more attentive to beauty, aware of injustice, and postured towards worship.
Thanks so much for reading! In my next newsletter, I will focus on the upcoming arts gathering organized by Stephen Roach called The Breath and the Clay.
This arts and faith-filled weekend is an active, vibrant reflection of all the good gifts of thoughtful art in thoughtful community. If you come, you will get to hang out with Stephen, Sho Baraka, and me (among many others!).
More soon!
Mary
It's good to have you back, Mary! Looking forward to the next essay.
This is so good! Flannery, The Prophetic Imagination, Sho Baraka—all my favorite things. Thank you for this beautiful, thoughtful, and relatable essay.