"The Diviners"

I recently attended a production of the play “The Diviners” at a seminary here in the South (I’ll avoid using names to protect the guilty.) My best friend of 20 years directed it (flawlessly, I might add) amidst some controversy over the content of the play and the appropriateness of performing it at a seminary (there is cursing in the play, which was toned down for this particular production.) What so frustrated me was that these characters, although portrayed by Christian actors, were not Christians in the play, yet the entire cast was being criticized by much of the surrounding community for a few (literally about 4 in a two-hour-long period) choice words. How can we expect Christian artists to perform honestly, with the kind of truth and tenacity to which we are called, without accurately portraying both Christian and non-Christian perspectives?

And I think perhaps this problem relates to more than just Christian art. I see Christian leaders lobbying in politics, trying to convince Christians and church-goers to vote for policies that will enforce “conservative Christian ideals.” But let’s think about this for a moment. When we start legislating morality, what happens to our rights? Do we honestly want non-Christians to be governed into behaving like Christians? We expect people who don’t know Christ to look and act just like people who do. And that completely goes against everything that we’re called to do as the people of God. We’re supposed to be set apart from the world, “in it, but not of it.” How are they supposed to recognize us if we all look the same?

Homogeny makes for boring art, whether it’s Christian or not. During the Renaissance chiaroscuro came into vogue, the marked contrast between dark and light, and it made for some stunning works of art. It’s that willingness to portray things in their true states, the dark as varied shades of shadow and the light as flickering values of luminosity, that allows true art to come to the forefront. It’s where we get the debate over whether art imitates life or life imitates art. True art is so real that it blurs the line between the craft and life itself. Where is the truth in our art now? The dark, ugly truths we’d rather hide beneath a mask, and the light, beautiful truths we put on display for the world to see... they both belong on the canvas, along with every shade in between.

Sufficient Grace (Part 2)

  Our sermon on Sunday focused on John 15:1-8, the "vine and branches" passage in which Jesus reminds us that He is the true vine and we are the branches.  Every now and then we use lexio divina in our services, an interactive process that involves reading through the passage a few times and using prayer and meditation to understand why specific words or phrases from that passage stick out to us.  Towards the end, we're invited to share our thoughts and reflections with our church body.  A few people focused on the phrase "true vine" in verse one, reminding us that while there are many things we may try to base our lives on, there is only one true source of fulfillment.  Someone else mentioned the recurring image of "good fruit," and how often fruit that may look like good fruit is actually spoiled or sour.

   For me, the word that kept pushing to the forefront of my mind was "branches." "I am the vine; you are the branches... Apart from me, you can do nothing."  Over and over again in my life, He has proven this to be true.  Every time I try to be "good" in my own strength, I fail miserably.  When I start to behave as though I'm strong enough on my own, as though I am the vine rather than just a branch, I let myself and everyone else down.  I try to go my own way, try to make my own rules for what I think is best for my life, and Christ always reminds me--or rather, He allows me to see for myself--what I am like apart from Him.  And in those moments of clarity I realize the truth of His words, "Apart from me, you can do nothing."  Not condemning me for my inadequacy, not trying to make me feel guilty for failing to do more without any help, but freeing me from the pressures I put on myself to be more, do more than I was ever meant to on my own.

   I have a problem with grace, with mercy, with the very idea of getting something that I don't deserve.  The "independent" in me wants to earn it for myself; maybe it's just my pride wanting to prove that I really am good enough.  But God is showing me, as I prove to myself, how little I could ever deserve His mercy, how impossible it is for me to earn His grace.

   "I pleaded with the Lord to take away the thorn in my flesh, that it should leave me.  But He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.'" (2 Corinthians 12:8 & 9)

Sufficient Grace (Part 1)

Too many times

I’ve said, “I love you”

Not knowing what I meant.

Too many times I’ve said my goodbyes

Not caring where they went.

Too many times

My heart has ached

And never asked for help.

Too many times

I’ve sacrificed 

My dreams for someone else.

Too many times

Dreamt of a knight

Riding to my rescue.

Too many times

Been let down when

He acts like all the rest do.

Too many times

I’ve been too shy

To stand my ground to others, 

So too many times

I’ve been taken

Advantage of by brothers.

too many times

I’ve tried to be

Pleasing to a man,

And too many times,

Unwanting,

I’ve agreed to his demands.

Too many times

I’ve sprawled in bed

Just wanting to be wanted.

Too many times

I’ve joined the hunt

While longing to be hunted.

Too many times

I’ve cast my heart

Like pearls before the swine.

Too many times

Been drunk on lust

Like hoboes on cheap wine.

Too many times 

I’ve rushed to love

And found it left me reeling.

Too many times

I’ve felt “in love”

And found love had no feeling.

   I debated long and hard over posting this poem. In fact, I haven’t even shown it to more than two or three people for fear of being condemned as a “sinner” or severely back-slidden, since although it was written some time ago, it was long after I became a Christian, and covers themes that we "church folk" seem to enjoy avoiding.  So often in the Christian community we get this idea that once we’re “saved” we lose all sensitivity to temptation. Or we think that, if we were really Christians, we wouldn’t be tempted by things like greed, lust, and bitterness. But the truth is, we face temptation at least as much as the rest of the world, and very often the same forms of temptation. Being a follower of Christ doesn’t mean that we live perfect lives, free from the lure of wrong-doing. Jesus Himself was tempted by the devil, and at least in the Garden of Gethsemane He struggled deeply with the desire to go His own way rather than that of the Father. C. S. Lewis once said, “Those who are most familiar with temptation are those who fight against it the longest. For once we give in, we cease to struggle with it.” Shouldn’t our lives, our art reflect that struggle? Shouldn’t we acknowledge our imperfections more than anyone else in the world? As Paul says, “I will boast all the more in my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me.” (2 Corinthians 12:9) But instead of boasting in our weaknesses, we try desperately to hide them, fooling ourselves into thinking that we’ve succeeded and no one can see our problems. We conveniently forget the insightful perspective of an outsider, those who see and shake their heads at our blindness, when we are called to be the ones bringing the light of truth to the others. No wonder the world laughs at us. Let’s embrace our humanity, rather than run from it. Let’s relish our weaknesses, not to indulge them, but to acknowledge that the grace we receive is sufficient for us all.