Art, Christianity and Why I Sometimes Hate Them Both

I watched a documentary called Beautiful Losers last night, a documentary about New York street artists and their collaborative art gallery 'Alleged'. Then tonight I watched Ray, the movie about Ray Charles.
If there's two things I love, it's street art and soul music. If there's two things I've never been, it's daring, risky, brooding with soul and life. I've stifled those things. Both consciously and subconsciously.

I've been observing myself as an artist lately. Sometimes I hate art, especially my own. I've been asking myself why that is. My process has been this: I'm not sure if I remember a time when I painted straight from who I am, rather than painting what I think people want to see. I've been asking myself what kind of art I would create if I began creating from the things that go on in my mind and my heart. Would I still create rigid, detailed portraits, obsessing over every line and shadow until it reaches perfection? No. I'm beginning to think my art has been another way in my life to exhibit some type of control when I'm well aware of the fact that there's nothing about my mind, heart or life that I can control. But what a relief, right? What an escape--to be able to keel over a piece of paper and perfect the face of someone else, to replicate someone else's creation with precision and perfection, knowing I can place my pencil on the page, will it to move and have it listen.

The people in my life that have affected me the most are the ones that were broken.
The concepts in my life that have affected me the most have been the radical ones.
No one has ever impacted much of anything by being perfect. 

I'm wondering how this theme of perfection in my life translates into my religion. Probably in every sense of the word. Sometimes I find myself hating Christianity because of how incredibly vapid it can be. There are times I sit in a Christian small group or listen to a fellow Christian giving me "sound advice" and all I am thinking is that there's a possible chance I'm devoting my life to complete tripe. But I shove that feeling down because it's the right thing to do, and if I voiced it or asked questions, eyebrows would be raised and people would question my salvation. People would ask me why I'm a missionary. And I get that. I mean, those are logical questions to ask. But out of all the times I loathed Christianity, I've never felt that way about God--the huge God who encompasses vitality and transcends conditioned religious thinking. That God gives me hope to sit through the person telling me I just need to pray more or have more faith. He gives me grace for our religion perverted and dumbed down with human striving and frantic attempts to construct and box-in the undefinable. He encourages me sit down alone with him, pray and get honest. I want those times with God to cross over into my art, as well as my writing.

I'm tired of creating art and writing to please others and to get praise. Anybody will tell you they like something or that it looks nice. Not many people will tell you that your work is shit, even if it is. I'm aiming to begin creating things that draw out a disturbance from those who view it--whether that disturbance is positive or negative. I want it to be more than a pretty thing to look at (although there are times for that). I want it to be what art was meant to be. Then maybe I won't hate it so much.

So you think you can dance--at CHURCH?

It's interesting how much I hear everyone give this lady crap that goes to my church. I guess I should include myself with 'everyone' because I give her crap, too. She dances during worship. But she doesn't just sway back and forth or jump up and down, even--no, she lurches and jerks around. Sometimes, during an exceptionally powerful song, she looks like she might have a seizure. This lady doesn't even have the decency to stand in the back where no one can see her--she stands in the very front row, of all places. It doesn't matter where I look when I'm singing, somehow I can always see her arm flailing or her hair bouncing. I'm not the only one who notices, because I've seen people glance at her. I've heard people whispering. Actually, I've only heard one person say anything good about her dancing, and it was from a person that's always able to see Jesus in anyone and everyone, so I shouldn't be surprised that he was the exception to this rule. Anyway, today I was standing again during worship in the center and there she was again, a few rows ahead of me--bobbing back and forth with her eyes closed, looking lost in the music, while the bassist on stage kept glancing over at her odd movements. My normal reaction to this is to roll the eyes of my heart and try to will myself out of judgment and animosity. But today I didn't feel any animosity or judgment toward this woman. I felt a weird sense of longing. Because me and this lady are complete opposites, in the worship sense. This lady lets loose and is completely fearless in her adoration of The Lord, which is as it should be. Me? My heart twists with fear and anger at every corporate worship time, wondering why the only reaction to God I can muster is completely stoic. Worshiping in solitude, I have no problem with. But when it comes to corporate worship...I'm like ice. Now, if there's one quality you can pinpoint about this dancing woman without even talking to her, it's this--fearlessness. Nothing is stopping this woman. I mean think about it--if fear is one of the major roots of depravity, then imagine what could happen if you carried fearLESSness as a prominent character trait. You could transcend a lot of things that most people would never overcome. I imagine this woman does.
I kept watching this lady more and more, and as I was watching I began thinking about David and the well known story of him dancing in the street for The Lord. In 2 Samuel 6, David beings dancing before the Lord and simultaneously, his subjects. David is so enthralled and enamored by his Lord that he's dancing like a complete undignified idiot--one of those 'special' ones. One of those people that you see and then immediately turn away from. Or start picking at your nails. Or start praying they don't come alongside you and pull you into a dance with them. Or turn to the person next to you and crack a joke about how ridiculous they are. You all know the type of dancer I mean. During David's display for the Lord, verse 16 says, "Michal the daughter of Saul looked out of the window and saw King David leaping and dancing before the Lord; and she despised him in her heart." She then comes down to the street and pulls David aside and says to him, '"How the king of Israel distinguished himself today! He uncovered himself today in the eyes of his servant's maids as one of the foolish ones shamelessly uncovers himself!"' David replies, "'It was before the Lord, who chose me above your father and above all his house, to appoint me ruler over the people of the Lord, over Israel; therefore I will celebrate before the Lord."
David's reaction was wise and soft, knowing that his dancing was for no one else but One person. What did he have to worry about? His treasure lies somewhere else.

Two things from all of this.
A. What if we could live without fear, with the notion that this life is about something much bigger than ourselves? Holy crap, this life is NOT about us. What if we lived that way? Then maybe we could make eternal, lasting and selfless change for the flicker of time we're on Earth.
B. If we're ever to do anything radical or God breathed, we have to be willing to risk people not liking us or calling us things behind our backs. As ugly as that is, and as much as it shouldn't happen, it does. It happens because other people's fearlessness flares up and exposes our own fears. That's why we hate it. That's why I judge that lady and that's why you do, too.

I want to start moving away from all this stuff--all this judgment and fear, and everything that stems from it. Because it simply doesn't matter. There is no excuse for me to judge or trash talk a lady who dances in worship if I call myself a child of Jesus. There is no excuse for me to harbor fear of man during worship if I carry the mark of a perfect and fearless savior. I want to begin to worry about things that actually matter. I want to know Jesus so deeply that my cares and woes being to align with his, causing me to live and act fearlessly, sacrificially, selflessly and lovingly. O' to be free of what imprisons us.

I wonder if this lady knows exactly what her dancing stirs up--not only in the pleased eyes of her Father, but in the people at church who are ever observing her.

Real Cool, Kim

This is the dumbest and least sacrificial thing I've ever read in my entire life. Has social justice really become THIS trendy?

Kim Kardashian quits the internet for AIDS

God's Deafening Silence

On the threshold of change and transformation, the silence of God can sometimes be deafening.

Our God never says too much. He is perfect in that he always says just enough. In our struggles, in our desperations, we run to him pleading for answers and begging to be spared from trials. Each time we fall to his feet crying out our frustations, God nods knowingly, listens intently with patience and love, and then sits back...and is still. Why does that frustrate us more than anything? Instead of throwing out answers, he asks questions. Sometimes, he doesn't even do that. We're left in the dark, we're left without conclusion. The only conclusion we can draw is our own. Sometimes all we have in God's silence are bits and pieces of encouraging scripture, or hopefully the warmth of His Spirit. But sometimes, not even that.
Recently I was put in a situation that absolutely terrified me. It was a situation that depended on my performance. I had no idea how to carry out the task I was appointed, simple as it was. I let my fear consume me, I let my emotions grab hold of me and I was nearly throwing up in anticipation of how much I knew I was going to fail. I was praying diligently for God's answers. For the relief from the anxiety and fear. For God to fix everything for me. I've prayed for God's relief before, but this time, my plea was desperate. I prayed and I prayed and I prayed. But still, irrationally enough, I was absolutely overcome by my own fear and I had zero left in me to do what I was asked to do. But I couldn't back out of it. So, I told God that I absolutely needed him to come through because I was empty and void of anything to offer. I walk up to do my thing. I open my mouth and--to my surprise--words of eloquence flow out with nary a stutter. Everything made perfect sense and truth was flowing out of me that I never knew was inside. On top of that, the fear was zapped away.
What happened?
God moved.
Why?
I continually avoid every thing I can't control, every thing that makes me afraid, every thing that I could possibly fail at. But God works the most beautifully when we're completely emptied of everything inside of us. Because in that, his Spirit finally has room to move. To ebb and flow without getting stunted and pushed back by walls of pride, control and striving.
God knowingly lets us sit in our discomfort and ignorance. He lets us hang on the edge by a few fingers. We're screaming and shouting for an answer, for relief, for some type of solution. We feel like we are going to die. But it's in those moments that he moves the most mightily.

Surprisingly enough, this character trait of God sends me into an enamored state of warm fuzzies. What love! What pure and true love to focus on the highest good for his child. Silence, on the surface seems so awful. Like, we're being neglected. But the reality is that we're being nurtured more than we know.



Now, more than ever, I've never been so assured of his goodness or so trusting in his character.




I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong. - 2 Corinthians 12:7-10

Fasting and Solitude does not equal Deprivation and Loneliness

Fasting And Solitude

By
Ron Lagerquist

“Jesus often withdrew to lonely places and prayed.”
Luke 5:16

“Make peace with solitude and you will never be the same. The result will be autonomous, independent living that will free you to explore your creative side and God-given destiny.”

Since my first expedition into the wilds of the Canadian north at age twenty-one, I have had a romantic love/hate relationship with solitude. Stripping my daily needs down to a canoe and two backpacks, off I would go, often for two weeks. Parking my car, loading my canoe, and paddling on the first lake, there were day-trippers to keep me company, families who wanted a taste of unpopulated shorelines without the rigors of leaving behind the car and tent trailer. The first portage into the next lake culls away the day-trippers, leaving a more serious folk, marked by their rugged gear and determined visage. Each portage thins the paddlers and, once deep enough in, it is not uncommon to have an entire lake to myself. A lake announces its solitude at night with the absence of distant flickering fires; instead, there is the darkness of the sky silhouetted by the deeper darkness of treetops. The only sounds are nocturnal creatures, the frequent wail of loon-song, and whispering inner voices.

On my previous wilderness trips with friends, I would often sit on a rock by the water, wondering if I would ever have the courage to venture out here alone. There was a longing to remove myself from the man-pack in order to explore the solitude that called to me from across the waves. Finally, at age 45, I mustered up the courage to do a solo canoe trip into the guts of Algonquin Park, a vast wilderness of hundreds of miles of portages joining over a thousand lakes. It was not bears or wolves that caused fear, but the thought of being alone for days with my own demons and no easy escape. Instinctively, I knew some great inner battle awaited me out there, one that I needed to face and win.  

“How was your weekend?” “Busy,” I answer. It’s a good answer; I always feel good saying it. The questioner gives a nod of approval. After all, a weekend filled with work, hanging with friends, or family gatherings speaks of a successful, well-connected person. But what if I answered, “I did nothing but sit alone at home and meditate,” I might be met with a courteous smile masking pity or even mild suspicion. Human societies—even Christians—have always been a little distrustful of those who spend too much time alone, yet all of the famous figures of the bible spend a great deal of time alone. David, Moses, and many of the prophets were tempered in the fires of solitude. The desert was a symbol of fasting and solitude. Jesus, himself, left family and friends and ventured out into desolate hills to come face to face with his demon. In his weakest hour, he overcame tailor-made temptations offered to him by one who had been waiting.

Trial by fasting and solitude has involved some of my  most painful moments. In the fires of solitude, the pretense of self-importance that comes from a busy life quickly falls away, revealing the stark reality of fears and insecurities that are always just below the surface. When life’s props are gone, the fragility and pending fatality of our humanness becomes exposed, which can leave you feeling naked and vulnerable. Being weakened by fasting only serves to enhance this feeling of vulnerability, forcing you to turn to your internal spiritual resources. If they are bankrupt due to lack of investment of quiet meditation and prayer, you will come face to face with a poverty of spirit within. I am convinced that spiritual poverty is at the root of addiction, whether it be to food, dysfunctional relationships, alcohol, or drugs. Addiction is a way to both dull and run away from a growing feeling of spiritual emptiness. Fasting and solitude stops running dead in its tracks, which is vital to breaking addictive behaviors.   

Fifteen years of fasting and solitude finally developed within me the courage to venture into the wilds alone for eight days. I aimed a loaded canoe away from the access point and started paddling. As the park lodge and car faded behind me, there was a growing sense of anticipation of what lay ahead. The effect did not take long. Divorced from e-mail, cell phone, and internet, the silence of wilderness and solitude quickly allowed the ever-present voices of fear, guilt, and regret to move from the background to the foreground. During the second night, while on a lonely island, as the dying embers of the campfire allowed the darkness to embrace me, I realized how much my busyness had been simply running from the whispering words. But here on this island there was no escape, no drowning them out with TV or music. I was faced with one option: confront the voices head-on.

During the first four days of that trip, I faced some of the hardest moments of my life. Waves of guilt and regret assaulted me, faces of the people I had failed were marched across my memory. A broken marriage, secret sin, lust, envy, and unforgiveness filled my guts with bile. Doubt battered me on every side. The authenticity of every good thing I had done was in question—even the motives behind all my writing. There was no God, no loving Savior, only a blue sky filled with the weight of sin and regret. After four days of choking guilt, it finally came; in the deepest crisis of shame, Christ broke through with His grace. This was the unfinished business of my salvation, waiting for me when I had the courage to go deeper into my own sinfulness, so I could discover the depth of God’s love. Accepting God’s forgiveness allowed me to forgive myself and put to rest the accusing voices from which I had been fleeing. Solitude transformed from a terrifying unknown to a sanctuary of fellowship with God.

The harder it is for you to be alone, the more valuable fasting and solitude will be to exact personal freedom. A person who is content with being alone and has made peace with solitude will never be the same. The result will be autonomous, independent living that will free you to explore your creative side and God-given destiny.

No longer afraid to be alone, I am guarded from all kinds of grief, including entering into dysfunctional relationships. Greatest of all, I am experiencing a whole new level of intimacy with God. Alone with God. Alone, silent, and listening. The whispers of guilt and fear are still there, but I am no longer afraid of them. There is a greater truth than sin and shame: God’s grace and forgiveness.