The Lie About Artists Exposed

There is a terrible rumor flying around out there about us artists, and I think it is time that we confront it head on. I say this because too many of artists have believed it and have been using it in masochistic rituals against the very core of our beings. Over enough time believing this lie will, at the very least, leave us creatively crippled and at the worst will destroy our spirits, the part of us that makes us amazing and wonderful creations of a creative God.

The lie is simple. Artists are lazy. Now, I have to admit that there are few posers out there who have adopted the title as artist to justify their tendency to do as little as possible and live on other people’s couches and eat from their refrigerator. However, simply adopting the title does not mean one deserves the title. True artists are anything but lazy. The problem is much of our progress is difficult to measure in standard terms.

We are seen sitting staring at dust motes in the sun, following the patterns in the carpet, or getting lost in a movie. To the outside observer all of these things can be considered lazy, pointless even. What you can’t see, is the sifting process going on in our brains. If you don’t believe me ask an artist to tell you what they see in the film you watch together. Most people will tell you about the plot and the scenery or that really great actions sequence, we will tell you about the symbols and color pops, the way shots were framed, the use of music to set the tone, or the theological implications if such a thing were true.

A true artist never gets a moment alone, our heads and hearts are filled with images and ideas that like hungry children are begging for our attention. I cannot remember a time when I did not have the next painting forming and shaping itself in my mind, a character in a book not yet written pleading to have their nose described and defined by my words, or some great void of inspiration begging to filled. They are always there, when I am driving, brushing my teeth, and trying to sleep.

And like children, I tell them they can wait. I tell them I will see to their needs in a little while, and like children, they know when they are being placated so I can have moment’s peace. So many of us develop methods of coping. For me it is pacing, I pace with determination and purpose. So much so that if you were to study the padding beneath the living room carpet you would find distinct levels of compression indicating my paths.

Adding to the chaos is the number of voices, if you are or love a creative person you know that we have a million and one great ideas. We have to figure out which ones should be ignored and which ones should be embraced and nurtured. I have rejected a reoccurring idea to dye myself purple, writing random bits of poetry on the walls of my home, and welding a sea horse like apparatus to the hood of my car. I would like to say I rejected these ideas because I realized their impracticality, but the truth is I have yet to find the right shade of purple, my landlord wouldn’t appreciate the graffiti, and I don’t know how to weld.

So I have to figure out what I can do with the tools at hand, and getting to that idea requires tremendous concentration and focus – hence the pacing. Sometimes, I have to take more drastic measures to scatter the ideas enough to pick a single one from the foray. This means Air Supply has to be blasted from the stereo and I must sing loudly and off key until the proper level of tranquility has been reached. And the really sad thing is, I don’t even like Air Supply.

Then and only then, can I begin to work. Now, I call this work, others would probably call it a series of false starts. As with this blog post which was started and deleted four times to date. To the average on looker it could appear as a wasted effort and an abuse of time, but I know that all of this starting, stopping, creating and destroying is a part of the process. It’s the winnowing of the words and images that I am trying to capture. It is working out the impurities and refining the molten ideas of my heart. There are no short cuts. It is a simple surrender to something that others may not understand or value.

I think this is why so many artists must work in seclusion. We need the freedom to file our nails, and stare at our faces in the mirror before putting pen in hand, brush to canvas, or finger tip to key. The weight of scrutiny is just too much to shoulder when you are already laden with so many sensations both tangible and esoteric. We don’t need to worry about appearing strange or odd to a perplexed audience. I also think this is why there are so few famous women artists, but that is a post for another time.

Creation is labor intensive. It always has been. Even God declared the need for a rest after his endeavors. Not that he needed one, but he knew that we would need a space in time to silence all the demands of the creative process. He understood that taking a moment to consider dust motes would allow us to rest in the greatness of a God who created even these insignificant bits of wonder.

Speaking Their Language

Okay so Christmas has past, but there is this thing that keeps running through my head. It is one of the absolute coolest parts of the Christmas story, apart from God being born as a baby. Nothing trumps that, but this is pretty amazing, too.

I think I like it because I love the Bible stories about the outsiders, the people who didn’t quite belong or fit, but were included anyway. The Bible is full of them. I guess I really don’t see it as that big of a deal when someone who knows the rules does the right thing, but when someone who has never been taught is just so overcome by the splendor and holiness of our God that they instinctively do the right thing, it just blows me away. It reminds me of how far God is willing to go to reach all who have a heart to respond.

Maybe this is why my favorite people on the scene, (although technically, they arrived way past fashionably late, make that two to three years late), were the Magi. The Bible doesn’t have a whole lot to tell us about who they were, what their background and history was, and so we have built up a lot of myths and legends about their journey. We have given them names, that may or may not have been theirs, we have given them different and distinct ethnicities so they can serve as representatives for the rest of the world. (Read that Gentiles).

But as usual, the truth is so much stranger than fiction. Magi was the official title of the priests of a Babylonian god named Mithras. In their official capacity they observed the stars, foretelling the future, searching for omens, and looking for signs. Stars were the writings of the gods, revealing to man all that the gods desired for him to know, and it was a language they knew well.

Here’s the first thing that amazes me, God got their attention and he did it using their language, their area of expertise. He did not require that they learn some new culture or code of conduct before he would deign to speak to them. It’s as if he said, “Okay, you can read the stars. Allow me to write it in the medium you know.”

It makes me wonder how many times we Christians like to complicate the message for those foreign to our ways. Why does it seem so hard for us to follow God’s example and speak the language of the people we are trying to communicate with? It’s time that we recognize that God desires to reach all humanity, not just the ones who talk, look, and act like us. We need to take the time to learn how to speak their language and quit expecting them to learn ours.

The second thing that amazes me is that God accepted their gifts, even honoring them by mentioning them by name in his Word. Now, there has been a lot written about the nature of these gifts, how they were used by kings and in anointing royal bodies, but the Bible never clarifies why these particular gifts were given and most of our Christian writings are just speculation. Maybe it is our attempt to Christianize these heathen priests.

I think it honors them far more to understand the gifts in light of the Magi’s culture. Gold, frankincense, and myrrh were gifts reserved for their god. It was the way they understood how to honor a deity, and just as God spoke their language to communicate with them, they now speak their language to communicate with him.

And it’s okay. It’s what they have to give to him, the highest honor they can bestow, and God says it’s enough.

Perhaps as Christians we need to value the language of foreign people a little more. Perhaps we need to be more sensitive when someone from outside our culture responds to God, and be less judgmental when it fails to meet what we deem to be correct. Maybe we need to stop placing our interpretations on their actions and let them speak for themselves. God was okay with the sincere gift of foreign men, and I can’t help but feel he has the same response to all who seek him with sincerity.

Perhaps it is time we took the value off the form and placed it on the intent of the heart, and let God decide whether it is a good and acceptable gift.

Don’t Flinch – Part 3

Of all the parts of this “mini-series,” this has been the hardest to put into words. There is a delicate balance that must be struck and requires a certain sensitivity of one who wishes to implement what I am about to say. It is difficult to share what I have learned without sounding arrogant or condescending. So I ask for your grace as I share. Please bear in mind that I am only submitting what I have learned from experience, both as someone who has been judged harshly and as someone who has judged others harshly.

When we take the title Christian, or Christ Follower, we are shouldering a tremendous responsibility. It is a declaration that as we walk through this world, we are to be a revelation of the Lord who gave his life on our behalf. We are to be an example of his grace and love to a world that is suffering the effects of sin, sometimes as willing participants and sometimes as another faceless victim. How we respond to those who are dealing with the effects of sin in their lives may be the only clue they have as to how God responds to them. It is our duty and obligation to fulfill this role with integrity and compassion.

Unfortunately, many of us fail to meet this standard. We act as if God’s holiness is in danger of being contaminated by a sinful world. We flinch as we hear the stories, we draw back in fear when we see the effects, and shun those who need his touch the most. I often speculated what could lead us into such damning behavior – are we afraid another’s sin will pollute us? Are we worried that God is unable to clean us up again if we get a spot or two on us? Do we think that he won’t love us if he found out we spent the day with a divorcee, an addict, a liar, a gossip, or worse?

Now, I have heard all the excuses. God doesn’t want us to associate with sinners. What does light have to do with the darkness? Evil company corrupts. Tolerance is the same as approval. You don’t want to be led astray. And I am not denying the validity of any of these arguments, but when they are not held in tension with the truth that we are the light of the world, we are the ones responsible for reaching out to those God loves and values as much as he loves and values us.

Don’t flinch, means that we are able to live our lives with a confidence that God is greater than any evil we may encounter. It means that instead of being appalled at a behavior or action we focus on the person, we see the need they have in their life, and we respond according to the strength and power of the one we serve. It means that we recognize the inherent worth the other person has as God's creation, and we demonstrate his desire to redeem any and every thing they may have ever done or endured.

When we flinch, we are telling the world that God is flinching, too. We are saying that God is not big enough or doesn't love them enough to reach out to them or push aside anything that separates them from him. We are telling them that their sin is so great, all hope for redemption has been lost. We are misrepresenting this God we claim to serve and have the utmost faith in, and I hope to never be held accountable for that action.

When I don’t flinch, I can hold the hand of one who is in pain. I am giving them permission to ask the questions, to seek God, and to hopefully, experience his love through me. When I don’t flinch, I am saying God is strong enough to deal with their issues, unafraid of their doubt or anger. I am declaring that he loves them enough to endure anything to be near them, including death and he has already done so. When I don’t flinch, I am saying that I am not naïve enough to think I am better than them, that I have been there and he was good enough to save me. I am giving them the hope that he may be big enough to save them.

When I don’t flinch, I am modeling the behavior of my Lord, who was not surprised that the Woman at the Well was living in sin. I am saying that he knows, he always knew and he still desires to share living water with all who are willing to sit at the edge of the well with him.