In his book, Pink points out the six senses of the Right Brain: Design, Story, Symphony, Empathy, Play, & Meaning.  All of these combine to provide a quintessentially right-brained employee of the future.  Why, as the subtitle of his book suggests, will such people rule the future?  Three reasons: Abundance, Asia, & Automation.

Pink’s understanding of Abundance is that it affects the consumerist drive to seek out novel and aesthetically pleasing products.  Since functional capabilities of products are no longer as discernable (they’re all practically the same anyways) the only difference is one of Design.

The second reason is that Asia = Outsourcing.  If someone else halfway around the world can do it just a good as you can but at a cheaper rate on the American dollar, you can bet that’s where the money will go.  Therefore, the jobs in high demand will be those that cannot be outsourced.  One component of living in a culture is being able to speak its contextual language.  This is a key aspect of Design and a reason why Design cannot be outsourced as easily.  It requires a more locally grown organic grass roots method of cultivation.

The third reason is likened to the second: Automation.  If a robot can do the work cheaper than a person, regardless of it being outsourced, than a product will in fact be manufactured in such a way.

For most of the book, with these three reasons in mind, Pink goes through the six senses listed above, their measurable effects upon productivity in the workplace, and methods of cultivating these senses.  The portfolio exercises at the end of each chapter are intriguing and enjoyable.  They are quite fun!

Take for example the chapter on Play, which explains that one quality of Right-Brained thinking is Humor, which involves empathy, play, and symphony.  Take a cartoon from The New Yorker (without reading the caption)  and make an attempt to write your own caption.  Any luck?

What is interesting to note about such activities is the brain’s ability to “cross-train,” like the curious ability of pianists to also be skilled mathematicians.  This has led my own thoughts into a direction briefly touched upon in the chapter on Empathy.  What would it take for the world to see, as Martin Luther King, Jr. once quoted from the book of Amos, “Justice roll down like waters in a mighty stream,” ? 

As such understandings suggest, it would take the development of right-brained thinking by individuals and societies who are able to grasp issues holistically and in a non-linear fashion, by people who have been educated broadly and are able to synchronize seemingly disharmonic variables into a congruent whole without the compartmentalization of issues that inevitably lead to the cynical resolution of "Such is Life."

This is done, quite frankly, through the Arts.  Not through passive appreciation, but through active participation.  Through practices such as Painting, through Poetry, through Dancing, through Singing, and especially through Drama, the artist is not only honing the skills required in their own craft but, as Daniel Pink suggests, cultivating a new and richer world where the Right-Brained act of Empathy plays a key role.

“The M.F.A. is the new M.B.A.” says Pink.  “A master of fine arts, an MFA, is now one of the hottest credentials in a world where even General Motors is in the art business.”  Clearly, times have changed, and that linear Left-Brained education that was so highly valued a generation ago is no longer the only game in town.  How will educational institutions change in response to a growing business world that demands highly creative thinkers?  How will you change?

A Whole New Mind - Daniel H. Pink

That being said...

I love my Mac.

During my final year of college, I was steadily indoctrinated to the wonders of Apple by my friend and roommate Patrick. He effused about Macs daily and even threw a little party when he bought his first Macbook. When I purchased my first computer a half-year later, I never considered any other brand. I've never regretted it.

I am a oft-times too eager disciple of Apple. I have owned two iPods since converting, buying a second one after my first one broke. Now, that's loyalty. I think the company makes dependable products that are aesthetically pleasing. I don't ask for much else.

However, though I daily partake of the goodness of my Macbook and my iPod, I have yet to complete the holy trinity of Apple products - I do not own an iPhone, and I don't think I ever will. Allow me to explain why.

An iPhone is not simply a phone, as all the users will readily attest and as the advertisements affirm. An iPhone is a mobile connection device. An iPhone is an email-sending, Facebook-checking, Twittering, GPSing, video game-playing computer that fits in your pocket. And it makes phone calls.

It's kind of awesome. iPhones are the future come to the present.

In May, my friends Patrick, Jon, and I were driving through nowhere Wyoming, and Jon and I got into an argument about how to pronounce a word. After a few minutes of going back and forth, we decided to pull up an online dictionary on Jon's iPhone, pipe the audio through his truck speakers, and have the internet settle our argument. While driving 80 mph through the middle of nowhere, we had a computer correctly pronounce a word for us.

If that's not the future, I don't know what is. As my professor Barry Taylor said, with an iPhone, one has the collected knowledge of all humankind in the palm of one's hand.

That's crazy cool, but as awesome as the iPhone is, it's not enough. It's almost enough, but it's not quite there. Because an iPhone is so much more than a phone, I need it to do a little more than it does. I need my mobile connection device to allow me to write and upload to the internet at any time from practically anywhere (within reason). An iPhone is great for interacting with what has been created, but it's almost useless for creating.

The iPhone is a consumption device. It helps one consume media of all kinds (and it makes phone calls). It does not help one produce anything. Allowing me access to the internet is one thing; allowing me to alter it is another. Putting the collected knowledge of humankind in the palm of my hand changes my world; allowing me to add my knowledge to that of humankind changes the whole world.

When Apple builds that device, they'll likely get my money.

The iPad might be that device. I'm not really sure yet. I need to play with one first. We'll see. I think it's at least a step in the right direction.

In any case, the iPhone and its deficiencies exemplify a key component of our society. We truly live in a culture of consumption. Almost everything is oriented to encourage us to buy. Remember after 9/11 when President Bush gave his speech from Ground Zero? Remember how he suggested Americans should cope with the tragedy and fight back against the terrorists? He told us to go shopping. How does our government combat a recession? It mails us checks and asks us to spend, spend, spend. How do I cope with a particularly stressful week? I go to the Apple Store and look at all the things I could buy if I really wanted to.

Consuming equals peace-making. The iPhone is so popular in part because it is an excellent means of being a good citizen of the kingdom of Consumerism.

But the kingdom is evolving, and my problems with the iPhone are indicative of that evolution. As another of my professors, Ryan Bolger, points out, we are moving into an equal parts consumption-production culture. Photoshop, Garage Band, Final Cut Pro, YouTube, Facebook, Twitter, MySpace, Wikipedia, Noisetrade, blogs, etc. - these are tools for production and outlets for what is being produced. The consumers of cultural artifacts are becoming the producers of those artifacts. Our society is morphing into one of both consumption and creation. We are defining ourselves both by what we consume and what we create.

As a student of worship, theology, and art, I must ask what that means for the church. Here are a few brief thoughts:

I think people will be less and less willing to simply sit and take from those in leadership. People are going to want to have input not just in big decisions but in definitions and dogmas as well. People are going to want to help form worship instead of just forming themselves to it. This will be challenging for church leadership because it will take a great deal of discernment to know when to insist on certain tenants and practices and when to bend. We must learn to better listen to God and to each other as more and more voices clamor to be heard.

I actually find this to be a very exciting time. When I read Jesus and the apostles' descriptions of the ideal church in the New Testament letters (by the way, none of the actual New Testament period churches were ideal), I see a nonhierarchical, highly interactive church where everyone is a valued part of the body bringing individual gifts and no one is left out.

Will we get there in our generation? No. Will we get closer? I hope so. I think the history of the Church is one of being conformed more and more to the likeness of Christ. I don't think the Church was closest to right in the first century and that we've just been getting more and more corrupted as time has gone by. I think God has been sanctifying His Son's Bride for two thousand years, and I think that one day we will be made perfect.

And if I have to get an iPhone or iPad to be better prepared to help us get there, so be it.

In Andrei Rublev, we find the once cloistered monk-artist exposed to the horrors of the outside world’s ensuing battle: between state patronage and repression, Orthodox Christianity and pagan hedonism. Unlike the fictional character, Don Quixote , there is little comedy instigating sympathy for our supposed hero. Moving with an almost stoical impassivity, Andrei struggles to overcome revulsion. After giving up on painting, Andrei finally meets a boy who challenges the artist to look at the world again; emphasizing Tarkovsky’s ideal that art’s purest form culminates in unselfish acts. The film attributes a significant role to the artist, as if his powers have the ability to hold the whole of creation together as it bangs against itself, threatening to pull itself apart. It does, but through Andrei we are given the expectation of resurrection. After having massacred a village and burned the church, Vladamir’s new Czar assigns a young boy, the last living of the bell-makers, to the task of crafting a new bell. With the threat of beheading behind him, the boy assets to the mammoth task with a passionate sense of urgency.

The bell has functioned as an incredibly powerful symbol in Russian history. As Elif Batuman writes, concerning the return of the Danilov bells to the Danilov Monestary in Russia:

In Russian history and culture, church bells occupy a mysteriously important position. Their tolling, Father Roman said, has been known to bring hard-hearted people to repentance, and to dissuade would-be murderers and suicides. Whereas Western European bells are tuned to produce familiar major and minor chords, a Russian bell is prized for its individual, untuned voice, producing rhythmic layered peals. Russian bells are given names like Swan, Bear, or Sheep, and are considered to be capable of suffering. Mentions Konstantin Saradzhev, “Moscow’s most famous bell ringer.” Tells the story of Boris Godunov and one of Ivan the Terrible’s heirs, Dmitri. Under Stalin, bell ringing was prohibited by law, and thousands of tons of bells were destroyed. (The New Yorker, April 27, 2009)

In Andrei Rublev, the ringing of the bell triggers the film’s first relieving moments. The bell seems to represent the irony of a world founded on self-contradiction and the life lived “between the times.” This setting provides the material from which Andrei bears witness. From the purview of the bell’s authoritative presence and cathartic resonances the prophet beckons.  Slowly, the first glimpses of color begin to overcome the screen, as if consuming all of the events that transpired before it.  Burnt orange emanates from the screen as the camera pan’s closely across the surface of Andrei’s icons, seemingly representative of the baptismal fire (Matt. 3:11). A fire which consumes, cleanses and resurrects, indeed, presenting itself as a challenge to evil’s unrelenting adage– “Long live death!”. The film concludes with a view of The Old Testament Trinity, inviting the audience to gaze into the very face of God Himself.  The icon provides a window into divine things, a deterrent from material idolatry, and the abuse of power.  We are admonished to take up our proper residency under the authority of the true King, where judgment and beauty, ultimacy and grace, truth and love, exude from a single Countenance.

http://rtrentpettit.wordpress.com/

A controversy developed as some viewers noticed that, viewed from the sea, the building makes the shape of the cross.  People claimed that Tom Wright had a dream that he should be a Christian influence in the largely Muslim UAE.  The level of controversy surrounding the building developed to such a degree that Tom Wright responds to it on his website with the following statement: “I can categorically state that the idea of designing the largest Christian cross in the world on the shores of Dubai never crossed my mind,” and specifically identifies himself as an agnostic.

As far as I can tell, some of the major news sources (i.e. The Los Angeles Times and The New York Times) have not taken the time to deal with the quibbling of the conspiracy theorists and gossipers on this issue; however, the fact that the issue has grown large enough to incite articles, blogs, and a personal response from Tom Wright points to its significance.  Symbols are powerful, and this situation is one example of that.  The simple presence, however unintentional, of the shape of the cross—infinitely more iconic than Wright’s towering sail—has caused a backlash that would not have arisen if its critics did not think that there were any power or import connected to the shape.   

I am sure there are Christians that hear of this odd circumstance and feel a sense of pride in the fact that, in their opinion, God has brought about a small miracle in order to witness to Muslims.  There are images circulating the web that highlight the cross on the building.  This strange sense of “haha, we got you!” from Christians feels like a tagger from one gang crossing onto another gang’s turf.  To some people, the presence of the image indicates the power of its group in the place it is located.   The cross functions in many ways for Christians, but some of them include a reminder of Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross and a reminder of God’s presence.  But is the cross a reminder of God’s presence or does it actually mediate God’s presence?  The criticism and bitterness on one side and exultation and encouragement on the other shows that, for many people, the presence of the symbol really does indicate or even mediate the presence of the church or God in that place, almost as if it were a sacrament through image.

I am convinced that it does not take the presence of a symbol or a member of the church to know where God is; God is everywhere.  On the other hand, when people recognize a cross and connect it to Christianity, it offers a moment to remember God and/or the church.  In some people’s thoughts during these moments, the memories—perhaps of bad experiences in church or of scorn for the idea of a higher being—may have the opposite effect of what some Christians view as the positive witness of the shape of the cross.  For others it may be a reminder of God’s presence or Christ’s love.  Still many more, including myself, may see the cross and experience a variety of these and other types of responses.  Because of the nature of the human mind, it turns out that the shape does mediate something about God and the church, but not God’s Self.  The symbol is too entangled with human experience for that.  In the end, God does not need the symbol to be present.  God is there already and humanity’s power-mongering is only detracting from the truth of love.   

Tom Wright Design 

Our mothers bore us for 9 months, breastfed us for 2 years, bathed us for two more, and watched us grow and mature for the rest.  They know the freckles on our nose, the mole behind our ear, the scar on our chin, and every ticklish corner of our skin.  Yet every time a mother looks at her child, who by now has grown up with years stretched across his eyes, she sees with joyful surprise that same face she beheld in tears when she was a younger woman.  She knows that body, which she bore, nursed, bathed, and clothed.

We all enter the world in the same fashion.  We sense our bodies in much the same way.  We learn to bathe ourselves.  We learn to clothe ourselves.  We look in the mirror at ourselves.  We get haircuts.  We step on the scale.  We feel our heart race.  We feel our chest rise and fall.  We feel the tingle of a soft wind blow upon our neck and through our newly cut hair.  We feel our teeth and our lips with our tongue.  We feel our fingers press and our toes wiggle back and forth.  We feel our bodies in motion in much the same way.

Yet we come to experience another person’s body in varying degrees and contexts.  From a look, or a handshake, to the most intimate of human interactions, we learn of the other.  And in that most intimate of human interactions we surrender what for so long we had always assumed was so uniquely our own yet bears the signature of a proud mother and the trademark name of a father.  In this moment we learn more fully that our bodies are not our own, but one variant manifestation aforementioned.

I raise my eyes from the charcoal lightly held in my right hand, pressed in sweeping gestures upon a blank white sheet of paper.  What must it have felt like the moment right before the Big. Bang. occurred?  Right before The Word rolled off His tongue.  A thousand violins poised in expectant, bottled furry waiting for the down-stroke of the conductor’s baton.  And then…  Creation pours forth.  From my hand as if from the very source of Life itself!  It feels like teenage trestle jumping off the train tracks at night into a pitch-black lake.  It’s that moment right before your first kiss.

I look to see what my hands have in vain tried to recreate.  Out of the corner of my eye I behold the soft toned symmetry of curvilinear shapes that merge together in V-like perplexity and force a drafted echo of a figure upon the empty space of two dimensions.  I don’t know this young woman, not even her name.  But right now I feel as intimate with her figure as though I were her love.  And in every blemish and imperfection I fall more deeply in love as such mistakes become nuanced moments of intentioned observation wrought from charcoal.  Every wrinkle, every scar, and every sag I behold in my mind as a testament to time.  How perfect is imperfection?  My own skin once smelled like butter.  Now it smells and looks like a man’s.

    Maybe because of lasting impressions of Christmas and Epiphany, I can't stop thinking about stars. (And I mean the ones that have evoked the human imagination far longer and are less visible than the ones here in LA). Nearly every night when I walk I find myself looking up, and in spite of the light pollution, I can still make out a few constellations that I know: Orion and his belt, the Big Dipper and a faint view of Seven Sisters. That’s about all I remember from 4th grade astronomy anyway.

   When my husband and I drove back from Colorado to the Southland after New Years, we stopped in the middle nowhere in Nevada. We both were awestruck by the mass of greater and lesser stars we could see. Our necks craned, we could hardly make out good ol’ Orion or the dipper amidst the countless others. Have you ever had that opportunity? To think that that same sky captured the imagination of generations, how much greater impact would there be on the imagination in a world lit only by fire, a stable hope in the dark of night? It is no wonder that from these stars came stories like that of the Seven Sisters, Leo and so many more. Their imaginative potential is found in the Psalms, and in the star of the Magi’s’ wonder. However, they too show up in chapter one of the story, one of God’s first creative bursts: “'Let there be lights in the expanse of the sky to separate day and night; let them serve as signs…’ And it was so.”

    It is on this point that I have been most in wonder lately, thanks to my Dad. He’s an engineer, a mathematician and finds his faith fueled by connections with science. But lately we’ve found shared interests, where the wonder of science and the imagination of artists are met in God’s creation. My dad had sent me a DVD called “The Star of Bethlehem,” and while I knew he was excited about it -maybe because it smelled of too many a forwarded email I’ve received- it took me months to finally sit down and watch. But I finally did, and I’ve been thinking about it ever since. (Sorry, I didn't give you the benefit of the doubt, Dad) You see, as many a person more observant and wise than I have found, the movement of the stars is constant, steady and predictable. Therefore we are now able to see what the night sky looked like at any place in any time of history. It is on this technology that “The star of Bethlehem” is based. And why my mathematical father is so intrigued.

   However, as the DVD explores the possibilities of what “star” the Magi would have followed to Bethlehem, it also draws upon a rich history of star symbolism and meaning. For example, peoples long before Christ had named the stars and constellations, from which we get many Greek myths and the like. There are constellations of the Virgin, the Lamb, the Lion and others whose movement came together in striking ways that correlate with the Christ event that was to come countless years later: a slain lamb, the lion of Judah, born to a virgin. It excites the imagination to think about, especially considering that these stars were put into motion already on “day four!” Likewise, what does it mean that these stars also “told” of not only Christ’s coming but, his death, even before Adam and Eve were created, let alone sinned. There’s some food for thought.

    As an artist I was further struck by the idea that God put the stars there, but it was through generations of neck-craning philosophers and storytellers’ imagination we found their deeper meaning. It is in such orchestrated ways that our God works, and I am in awe. Whether scientist, philosopher and artist we freely think, imagine and create in response to the world, only to find ourselves kneeling before our King who divinely inspired our own imaginings. And so I wonder: Is this true of all creative processes, at least in their potential? And can we also, see, really see, imagine and follow where it (God?) leads?

To find out more about "The Star of Bethlehem" DVD, go to: http://thestarofbethlehemmovie.com

Where is your source of stability? What do you depend on? In the midst of the turmoil of life, where is peace? What is your hope?

For many, financial security is the bedrock of their lives. We work hard in our chosen fields. We go to school to obtain a higher degree and become more skilled. We save and invest. We do all of this in hopes that these practices will ensure a pleasant, peaceful life.

Then one day we find ourselves sitting across from a man like Ryan Bingham, and he has come to tell us that our foundation is being ripped from beneath us. We are losing our jobs. "Your hope," he says, "is no hope at all. Take this packet, and let us begin helping you rebuild your life."

Ryan Bingham, played by a never-been-better George Clooney, is the central character in Up in the Air, and his job is traveling around the country letting people know they have been let go. He is the god of wealth's angel of death, flitting through the clouds and descending only to bring judgment on the unsuspecting worshipers below. He does this coolly, calmly, and without remorse.

But he is also human, and to become Mammon's harbinger of doom he has had to detach himself from all consequential relationships. He loves and is loved by no one. Women are play things, other men are adversaries, and family is an annoyance. "Relationships are weight," he says, "To carry them is to be slowed down, and to move is to live."

The narrative's central crisis is created when Bingham learns that like the thousands he has spent his life firing, his way of life is in jeopardy. A hot-shot young woman (Anna Kendrick, wonderfully liberated from the Twilight franchise) has arrived on the scene to revolutionize the way Bingham's company fires people, and he isn't going to be able to live disconnected any longer. He's going to have to land in Omaha, a place where he has no reason to be except that the city houses the headquarters of his employer.

Up in the Air is essentially two films in one. On each end of the film and interspersed throughout are montages of people reacting to the news that they are losing their jobs. In these moments the film becomes a lament over the economic storm that we have weathered through the past year. Many of the people pictured in these moments are not actors. They are people who have recently lost their jobs. We see their actual reactions to finding out their hope has failed them. The audience lives vicariously through these people. We commiserate with them in their angst. We ask with them, "When our supposed hope fails us, to what do we hold?"

The second foci of the film concerns the purpose of relationships in our lives. "Make no mistake," Bingham chides Nathalie, "We all die alone." Why then, should we invest in one another?

"Ah ha!" you're thinking, "I know where this movie is headed. The second question answers the first." You'd be right in most films, but Up in the Air doesn't offer such easy answers. Like Ecclesiastes, Up in the Air admits that loving relationships are a balm to life's bruises, but also like Ecclesiastes, the film doesn't picture love as a cure-all.

This film as a whole is more honest that most others. It is a brave work, because it is willing to point out our brokenness and to admit it's inability to provide an answer. It is truly compassionate both to the character of Ryan Bingham and, by way of the people in the film who lose their jobs, to the audience. This is not a trite film in any way.

Like the slave masters who were kind to their slaves, most movies freely give false hope to their audiences. Up in the Air doesn't want you to remain in slavery, and so it doesn't offer easy answers. It doesn't lie to its audience by saying that romance solves all problems. Some will see this film as sad and depressing and unsatisfying. It is these things, but the filmmakers should be applauded for honestly saying, "This is the world as we see it and as we surmise our audience sees it as well. It is a broken place, and we mourn over that, and we have no answers."

This is the place where we, as bearers of the hope of Christ, must step in and give the Answer that has found us. We have true Hope in the face of economic misfortune. We have a reason for relationships. We see past death. "Saints love beyond Time's measure," the hymn sings ("All Flesh Is Grass"). It is our duty to answer Ryan Bingham's cynicism with, "No, Ryan. We don't all die alone, because we know One who has already died for us."

Turmoil draws us out of our own selfish worlds and awakens us to what is beyond us.  We cry out to God.  We beg aid, because faced with worlds outside our own, we need someone outside our world to order things.  We need someone bigger than and beyond the brokenness to set things right.  Affronted with a bent world, we appeal to one unbent outside the broken to enter in and straighten all things.

Why is it then in those moments of deep desperation that God so often appears absent?  Why, when we most want answers, is God silent?

Faced with God’s apparent absence, our other problems dissipate.  The question, “Why is this happening to me?” pales before, “Where are you, God?”  If God is absent or ambivalent or non-existent, what hope do we have?  If all that exists is this mess, that fact is much more troubling than the mess.

Faced with the absence of God, how is one to react?

The psalmists wait.  “Wait for YHWH,” Psalm 27:14 reads.  “Be still before YHWH, and wait patiently for him; do not fret over those who prosper in their way, over those who carry out evil devices,” writes the psalmist in 37:7.  Psalm 131 reads, “O YHWH, my heart is not lifted up, my eyes are not raised too high; I do not occupy myself with things too great and too marvelous for me.  But I have calmed and quieted my soul, like a weaned child with its mother; my soul is like the weaned child that is with me.  Oh, Israel, hope in YHWH from this time forth and forevermore.”

But there is another option for how to respond to evil besides waiting on God.  One can fight back.

If God will not act and wipe away the injustice in the world, perhaps we should.  If God will not raise a hand against evil, we can.  In the absence of God’s justice, we can enact our own, or at least this is one possible answer, and it’s an answer contemplated by our world and arguably by the book of Esther.

In Esther, God is silent.  The Jewish people have been displaced.  Their homeland has been overrun.  They are aliens and outcasts in a hostile land.  Hadassah is forced to hide her identity to survive.  She calls herself Esther, gains the grace of the most powerful man in the land, and is made a queen.  Soon however, her secret people are in grave danger, but using her wiles, she saves them.  Faced with genocide, Hadassah turns the tables on her people’s enemies, and the Jews slaughter seventy-five thousand people in a single day, a day that was supposed to be a day of triumph for their enemies, and bring an end to their oppression.  Through all of this, God is silent.  YHWH’s name is never even mentioned.

Similarly, with his characteristic cinematic flourish, Quentin Tarantino gave audiences a modern version of the same tale in his 2009 film Inglourious Basterds.  The film is a reimagining of the end of World War II.  It is two and half hours of Jews brutally killing Nazis.  Even Hitler himself isn’t immune to Tarantino’s fictitious circumcised vengeance.  In the film’s main plotline, a young Jewish woman hides her identity, ingratiates herself with the Nazi glitterati, and uses her power to annihilate her people’s enemies during what is supposed to be a celebration of Nazi prominence, bringing an end to World War II.  Inglourious Basterds is more than WWII remixed; it is Esther retold as only Tarantino can tell it.

Inglourious Basterds isn’t about World War II.  It’s about the problem of evil in a world seemingly devoid of God.  (This next bit is speculation, but from what other context can I write?)  The Holocaust was an atrocity unlike any other, and God let it happen.  Where was YHWH in the midst of that?  Was God absent?  For many Jews, I would imagine the answer is yes, God was absent.  And if God was absent, if God refused to save them, perhaps they should save themselves.  Perhaps they should enact their own justice and destroy their enemies.  They weren’t able to do that then during the Holocaust, but Quentin Tarantino has given them their justice now much like the book of Esther gives narrative victory to the displaced and trod upon Jewish people in a land and time when God seems silent.

However, Quentin Tarantino isn’t as brave as the writer of Esther.  Inglourious Basterds does indeed revel in the violence of killing Nazis, but the film is ultimately ambiguous as to the worth of that violence.  Yes, the great Nazi evil is eradicated, but justice comes through strange channels and means.  The film does not celebrate the eradication of evil via violence.  It simply presents it to the audience to judge for themselves whether good was done.

Esther makes a claim.  Esther calls the violence and victory “good.”  The book closes with a celebration of the Jewish victory over their oppressors and commends the greatness of the Jews.  Inglourious Basterds does not provide that release.  The film refuses to make that claim.  The book of Esther hates evil enough to call its eradication “good” even when it comes by shockingly violent means.  The book of Esther hates evil more.

Because God hates evil.  God hates injustice.  And God loves people.  Unflinchingly.  Unfailingly.  Even when God seems absent, God’s love never fails.

Here is where Inglourious Basterds falls short of Esther.  Tarantino’s film cannot rejoice in the demise of evil, because it cannot call the evil wholly bad, because it will not call God good.

The writings of the Old Testament are built on the foundation of YHWH’s unfailing love.  The psalmists wait on the Lord because they know the Lord will come.  The Jews in Esther can institute a festival commemorating their victory because they know God also rejoices to see justice done.

And they are all proved true.  Time and time again, God answers the psalmists’ cries and delivers them.  The transplanted Jews thrive under the auspices of Queen Esther and her benevolent cousin Mordecai, God’s proxies in a foreign land.

Yes, sometimes God is silent.  Sometimes, God seems absent.  Everything we know can be falling apart, and we can look to the One who is supposed to be holding it all together, but our Help is nowhere to be seen, and I don’t know why that is.

But I know that God is good, and God’s love never fails. So while it may be true that tragedy is the tale common to all humankind, that is only a temporary truth.  One day a greater truth will take its place: God is making everything new.  And the absence of God will become the ever shrinking space between us.

And the silence will become peace.

Play: How It Shapes the Brain, Opens the Imagination, and Invigorates the Soul - by Stuart Brown, MD

Early last month marked the bicentennial anniversary of the birth of one of our most post-mortemly celebrated authors in American literature.  Any guesses?  I’ll give you a hint: “Nevermore!”  I am of course referencing the poem The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe.  What correlates Edgar Allan Poe with Virginia Woolf, Vincent van Gogh, Jackson Pollack, and several other popular artists down through the centuries is that none of them would have received a mental bill of health.  The old stereotypes of the Modern genius, tortured in her soul by an enslaving talent fit well with our assumptions towards the artist.  We expect them to act irrationally and erratically because such extreme behavior is the result of living on the existential extremities of life where the divine is experienced, on the borderlands of the mind and in the thin-places of the soul.  Forgive me for a moment if I steal the reader from out of the clouds to seek a more incarnational approach, more down to earth.

Over the years Stuart Brown has been making a name for himself and for his foundation, The National Institute of Play.  He’s directed and produced a PBS series on the topic of play, counseled Fortune 500 companies how to harness the benefits of play in the work place, and now has co-authored a book that came out earlier this year as a follow up to his widely acclaimed lecture at the 2008 Art Center Design Conference here in Pasadena, California.  You may have seen the lecture on TED Talks, in which case his book follows the same basic outline but is obviously longer than the twenty-six minutes it take to watch this lecture.  To meet the minimum word requirement Brown fills the pages with anecdotal stuffing, along with trimmings of easy-to-read tables and b&w photographs of children and animals naturally having fun.  In short, the book is an easy read with a light peppering of that confusing hard science, which the publishers must have assumed the average consumer has a hard time chewing.*

All this aside, the book, like the lecture, did provide many valuable insights, too many to fill this short blog post, which would likely raise issues of copyright infringement.  ©,®,â„—,â„ ,™ - take your pick.  Brown highlights creativity as one of the many hallmarks of the phenomenon of play.  For what little science Brown does discuss, he describes the psychological event as both an altered and elevated state of consciousness.  Altered being that we tend to accept as the norm the brain state that our societies deem to be normal.  And elevated because senses are heightened, as we tend to allocate more of our body’s resources towards a task that involves “play.”  It’s no wonder then that Fortune 500 companies want to harness this type of productivity.

Another issue Brown discusses, which struck a dissonant note in my philosophy of aesthetics, was the antithesis of Play.  He states, “The opposite of Play is NOT Work.  The opposite of Play is Depression.”  How can this be if all of the greatest artists that we’ve come to idolize for their misery could have qualified for a lifetime prescription to Prozac?  This is understandable on the biological level since an PET scan of a patient diagnosed with clinical depression can literally show signs of depressed brain activity.  It is as if the mind is shutting in on itself, a chronic low-grade malaise prematurely simulating a lethargic death.  However, a growing amount of research is showing remarkably just how close the body-mind connection actually is and how we can best harness this to our fullest potential.

From a creativity standpoint, the old body-mind dualism of Western philosophy culminating in the Modernist agenda of the Cartesian theatre is daily finding new challenges that refute such assumptions.  If the creative process is indeed a mental process, then a case is made that a healthy brain is more capable of such things.  A correlative issue that Brown briefly discusses is from John Ratey’s new book SPARK:  The Revolutionary New Science of Exercise and the Brain.  In it Ratey shows with substantially adequate science that another one of our stereotypes is completely wrong.  In this new understanding the Jock is the Nerd!  The Bronze is the Brains, or at least has more potential to be so.  Of course proper input of time into any given task is necessary to become adept at it.  Anybody up for 10,000+ hours of Sodoku?  This being said, waddle on friends, waddle on!

But what do we do with people like Edgar Allan Poe?  Or for that matter, what do we do with artwork that by and large seems to be unbearably depressing for most individuals, save our hyper-morose teenagers who love their own melodramatic agony?  It may be understood that Edgar Allan Poe, or Virginia Woolf, or Vincent van Gogh (take your pick), didn’t necessarily create their art out of their misery but as a response to it.  The artistic process was a means through which they were able to break loose from these cold chains of melancholic conventions of the mind.  The difference is one of subtlety where in the former the state of depression is lifted up as an idol of perceived authenticity.  In the latter it serves as catharsis and if playfully and properly grappled with, like Jacob wrestling with God, serves as a moment of transcendence.

So what new models are there for us to use if the old paradigms fail to set the standard for creative achievement?  Numerous examples abound.  But what comes most earnestly to mind is the old photograph of Albert Einstein at a ripe old age riding a bicycle.  The argument here is not that depression and concepts of the tortured artist are invalid.  Every aspect of human experience is worthy of the palate’s objectification.  Instead what is proposed is that the experience of play, most akin to what ‘Jack’ Lewis might have called JOY, is the entry point into the creative process. 

*Thanksgiving is only a week away so thanks for putting up with the bad humor.

stuartbrownmd.com

National Institute for Play

TED Talks with Stuart Brown

A bit of background for those of you who don’t know:  The “Jubilate!” Mass was one part of a two day Brehm Centre event entitled “Just Art” (‘just’ as in ‘justice’ not as in ‘barely’...you’re welcome).  It was the first of what will be an annual lecture series designed to encourage ideas, conversation, and action in the arena of theology and the arts.  World famous philosopher Nicholas Wolterstorff, and practicing worship consultant Marcia McFee, came to us to explore and share ideas about art, ethics, theology, worship, and practice.  It was inspiring and sobering to listen to their ideas about the relationship between art, beauty, and justice in our diverse, pulsating global Christian community.

The Tuesday evening event which showcased Ed Willmington’s Mass was, therefore, an opportunity to truly experience theory birthing practice, action embodying concepts.  It was a privilege to be a part of that evening.  Ed had embraced the structure, text, and heart of the age old Catholic Mass, fusing it with both contemporary and ancient musical expressions.  The technological track, the live musicians, and the choir were admirably threaded in a mutually beneficial manner which resulted in an eclectic musical tapestry.  Alongside the music there were visuals also.  The dramatic walls of Pasadena First Congregational Church held projections of key texts and images, whilst Marcia McFee gave physical embodiment to the music by gifting us with deeply insightful dance interpretation.

The full title of the event was “Just Art: The Place of Art in the Ethical formation of Christian disciples.”  Especially meaningful to me personally, was the effort that Ed Wilmington took to explicitly link the artistic process and the real life living.  Time after time he would tell us as a choir that he hoped the rehearsal and performative process would be deeply enriching to us.  He gently exposed us to the formative (and sometimes painful) privilege of living with art during its gestating period.  He took time to explain the Latin biblical texts.  He took time to pray with us.  And he took time to remind us that we were taking our place in a long line of Christians who had sought to glorify God and bless others through those exact words expressed through music.  To those listening I truly hope and pray it was a blessing.  As one performing, I know that it was. 

    Last Friday, Fuller’s Hubbard Library opened Approaching Eden, an exhibition featuring seven pieces by Patty Wickman that reveal profound in experiences set in contemporary gardens. While we seminary students seek insight and nuance in study of the Word at the library, Wickman’s artwork is an example of how to rediscover the divine in layered conversations with the seemingly commonplace.

In the life-size painting Outside the Garden, a strikingly ordinary man is caught ankle deep in the soil of his garden, as his work is distracted by something outside our view that captures the attention of even the animals surrounding him. All the while, the bright light of the garden nearly catches the revelation of mystery in its rays. This piece is one of three large paintings in Approaching Eden. Wickman’s realistic style evokes the psychological and the transcendence of human experience in the everyday. Subtly playing with focus, she renders some elements naturally soft while accentuating others with striking sharp clarity. There is enough in each of the large paintings to keep you captivated, searching, journeying deeper into the images.

   For me however, the most captivating dynamic of the work shown is the juxtaposition of Wickman’s small after-studies alongside the larger three. Four of the after-studies depict scenes from the larger paintings, but stripped down and with their key elements altered. In Outside the Garden After-study the gardening man is still grounded in mud, but his hands are in a different position, striking a notably different chord. As painters prepare a composition, it is common to sketch out studies, playing with the gestures, and juxtapositions of the subjects. However, with Wickman’s after-studies, it seems like something more is being revealed.

(pictured) Struggle Garden by Patty Wickman, courtesy of Lora Schleisinger Gallery, Santa Monica

   At Friday’s opening, I asked Wickman about the after studies, seeing that the drawing Outside the Garden After-study was completed nine years after the large painting. She explained that while she simply needed to finish a few drawings to be ready for show, there was also more she wanted to play with in the subject itself. It is like a game, she said, moving around different elements— simply changing a hand gesture or the placement of an object—changes the narrative. This reminds me that as an artist, Wickman herself is on a journey, never fully arriving even when a painting is dry and signed with satisfaction. The elements that first drew her to a composition were simply guides as, like the title of the show, she approaches something, just as her paintings themselves provide layers of meaning offering more of an invitation to a deeper conversation rather than a monologue.

   As testified by the after-studies, Wickman works with pieces that keep intriguing her even as she finishes earlier studies. For the Seminary student, the same impulse lies behind our study of scripture in relation to the world-as-we-know-it. For anyone believing in deep meaning in our life experiences, these paintings challenge us to play, even wrestle with the ordinary in our own lives to see things anew. Along the way, perhaps we will find ourselves approaching the proverbial garden, returning to seemingly familiar images of our days, putting things in fresh light, seeing how the narrative changes as we explore, dig and seek God in the midst.

   Approaching Eden will grace the Hubbard Library until November 23, inviting us to engage in the conversation of juxtapositions in the contemporary images by Patty Wickman.

I have an extensive cd collection.  I particularly enjoy being able to study an artist's or band's entire career.  I like to be able to trace their progressions (or in some cases, regressions) as artists.  I feel that knowing an artist's catalogue adds an extra dimension to the listening experience.  That knowledge makes the good albums better and grants the bad albums a little more grace than perhaps they'd otherwise deserve.

As I've collected so many artist's catalogues, I've noticed an interesting phenomenon - self-titled albums are most often comparatively the least in an artist's catalogue.  (Admitedly, this is not always the case. Sometimes bad music is contained on non-self-titled albums as well, as evidenced at left.)  I've pondered this.  Why are so many self-titled albums bad?

Well, clearly self-titled albums are usually an artist's first album.  They're not experienced, and so the songs aren't as good as their later work.  That's the easy answer.

But the deeper question is, why are these songs worse than their later songs?  What quality is this early work missing that the later work possesses?

I think the answer is identity.

As I've listened to and studied these bad debut albums (Oh, the things I do for art!), I've noticed a common thread - on early albums, artists seem often to be trying to be someone else.  One artist plays the piano and writes story songs, so he tries to be the next Billy Joel.  Another captures snapshots of Americana that erupt in praise of God, and so he apes Rich Mullins.  This other band is from the South and loves guitars, so they try to remind you of Lynyrd Skynyrd.  Don't you just love the irony of a self-titled album where in every song the artist is trying to sound like someone else?

Eventually, over the course of a few albums, if they keep at it, the artist or band almost always finds their identity, but it seems to take time and practice and confidence to drum up the courage to be oneself, and it's wonderful when that finally happens.

This afternoon, I went to Azusa Pacific University to see their production of Andrew Lloyd Webber's Evita.  The show is very well done on all fronts.  The singing, the acting, the choreography, the costumes, the lighting - everything on stage is top notch.  Even the music, which is provided by a live orchestra, is wonderful.  The students at APU are really doing a fine job.

And to their credit, there seems to be a large measure of group identity among the cast and crew.  All too often, productions of this size try to be more than they are.  Companies overreach their rigging.  They overstep their stage, and so their productions fail, if not entirely, at least in part.  APU's thespians seem very at home on their stage, and theirs is a comfort that is communicated to the audience and makes for a very enjoyable afternoon.

As artists, we can learn from the failure of so many musicians and from the success of Azusa Pacific University's theater department.  May we learn to be ourselves.  May we be comfortable in who we are.  May we act on the stage God has placed us on.  May we ply our God-given talents to the task at hand so that when He gives us more, we will have developed the skills needed to be equally as responsible with them.

It's the least and the most we can do.

What’s the point?  What’s the meaning?  Is there meaning?  Why do we do what we do?  Essentially to do anything at all employs a contextual level of aesthetics that for most of our day we are blissfully unaware.  We all have tastes for certain artifacts in our lives be it our fashionable choice in clothing, what NOT to wear, our cars, our books, our Macs or PCs, or even our coffee, latte, or macchiato.  The latter three falling into a broad rubric of culinary aesthetics. 

But what is aesthetics?  What are we talking about when we say that someone has an aesthetic appreciation for ____________ ?  My first answer would be a pseudo-intellectual posturing where I would state that the etymological roots of the word come from its Greek origins, “aisthesis,” meaning sensation or perception.  My second answer, and perhaps more honest, would be that I haven’t got a clue!

My professor and mentor Steve Heilmer, associate professor of Art and the department chair at Greenville College, once told me in passing that art is done for the sake of the community.  I thought about this and compared it to the very practical applications of famous pieces of art from antiquity where great architecture, and imposing marble statues all made their civic contribution to Plato’s idyllic Republic.  But does this reduce the validity of art to a democratic acceptance via status quo? 

There is room enough, even within the many Christian communities, particularly Evangelicalism, for art that shocks, offends, and disturbs.  It would be stating the obvious to most people to say that Protestantism, and particularly the Reformed tradition, as opposed to the Catholic, Orthodox, Coptic, etc. has the most work ahead of itself in rebuilding the bridges it has burned between its own traditions and the broad, all-encompassing domain of art. 

At a time when Europe was experiencing great cultural upheaval, the incentives coming from John Calvin’s work The Necessities of Reforming the Church spoke to an emergent cultural expression which placed emphasis upon a new technological advancement, i.e. the printing press of Johannes Guttenberg.  It is a saddening case of cultural misattribution that Calvin makes to describe the various works of art, particularly statuary, that existed throughout the Catholic churches of medieval Western Europe.  These “Graven Images” which Calvin speaks of bore little resemblance, aesthetically or functionally, to the false idols of the Old Testament.  If you asked a peasant in the rural countryside of Christendom whether or not the statue in the local church of St. George was his god, the answer, lacking in any theological verbosity which Calvin was prone towards, would simply be, “No.”

The result of the Guttenberg press and the Reformation’s consequential emphasis upon the textual aspect of scripture is twofold.  The obvious, is that it relieved the institutional church of its burden of authority, most notably a cross taken up hesitantly by Gregory the Great and continued thereafter, and placed it upon the individual reader.  The less obvious result is that with an emergent emphasis upon the text, now being read silently by one’s self and not in community, the de-emphasis of art as a form of communication for biblical narrative allowed for a blind eye to be turned to the non-literate parts of society.  Hence literacy and salvation came hand in hand.

As inheritors of that Protestant tradition, Evangelicalism has much work to do to rebuild that burnt bridge and to broker the disconnect that is experienced between Art and Religion.  Living in the media saturated world of Web 2.0 we are no longer the textual culture of Modernism brought on by the advent of the Reformation.  And neither, as Marshall McLuhan would prophecy, are we now solely a visual culture.  But instead, as the World Wide Web suggest, we are emerging as a community based (i.e. facebook, twitter, myspace, etc.) visual/textual culture where we recognize art for what it is.  Art in essence is the way in which we shape our world.  Literature, therefore, even when canonized as scripture by a certain faith community, is still one of many mediums, like oil, marble, or pixel, in which we communicate.

My question would not be if it is or isn’t art, or even if it’s idolatrous.  I would have to ask, “Is it intentional?  What does it say?  What is my response?”  Art doesn’t become idolatrous because we can get carried away and lose track of time in the right-brain process, nor because we read our Bible a little less this past week or forget to shake our pastor’s hand at the end of every sermon for his own affirmation.  To view Art in conjunction with Faith as an Either/Or premise is to approach God without intentionality.  Like the ancient Japanese Tea Ceremonies where every movement is artistically imbued with meaning, or like the intricate and ethereal ballet dances of The Nutcracker or Swan Lake, we can give meaning and create intentionality within our own lives, within our Eucharistic communion with fellow believers, and within our walk, or dance, with the LORD.

Graffiare means "to scratch," and street art like that of Martin Soby, does just that.  It scratches beaneath the surface of the urban landscape and exposes the beauty within.  It scratches the itch the pedestrian feels as she walks past almost endless concrete and glass facades longing for a bit of beauty amongst the banality.  It scratches away at commercialism's near obsessive insistence on functionality and efficiency and reveals a better, more soul-filling aesthetic.

I point you now to Good and an interview with Soby by the Wooster Collective.  As artists (and especially as Christians), may we always seek to bring and find beauty in the broken places.

On Friday, Porterhouse Fine Art Editions will release a limited edition vinyl figurine of Mark Ryden’s, “YHWH” from the “Bunnies and Bees” exhibition from 2000. What I love about Ryden, is that he engages theological concepts from various religious traditions, be they Buddhist, Hindu, Christian, what have you, from the “outside,” in. That is to say, the artist claims no formal or institutional religious affiliation, yet his work belies a theological sophistication that, to my eye, offers wonder over disdain, curiosity over critique – not that critique isn’t welcomed. Actually, I would argue that it is Ryden’s theology from the “outside” that provides a fresh lens for those of us on the “inside” who sometimes find it difficult to see the forest for the trees.

What strikes me about this piece in particular, is Ryden’s grasp of Apophatic theology. Strains of Aphopatic theology within the Christian tradition can be traced as far back as Augustine. This approach, known as “the negative way” or “Via Negativa,” holds that the Divine is ineffable and our experience of God can only be recognized or remembered, rather than accurately described. What’s more, the imperfection of language and our finite ability to grasp the eternal necessitates that any attempt at describing God will ultimately prove flawed and incomplete. To that end, practitioners would not make propositional statements about the nature of God or what God is, but rather, what God is not.

Also worthy of noting is that in the Jewish tradition, “YHWH” is the ineffable and unutterable name of God. In fact, for reasons of reverence, its utterance is absolutely forbidden in many Orthodox Jewish communities, even in prayer.

So here I sit at my computer, looking an artist’s attempt to capture the uncapturable, in a painting named after the unnamable, and consider purchasing a $180.00 vinyl toy depicting that which cannot fully be known. I look at the little girl’s bare feet, conveying the holiness of her Audience, her bent elbows and open skyward palms symbolizing reverence and worship. I look at the unblinking maternal gazes of the tripartite ineffable, and I consider the omniscience and benevolence of an eternal First Cause. I’ve never been one to collect religious brick-a-brack but, as I consider these things and find myself moved to tears, I realize “YHWH” is probably a good place to start.

This entry is taken with permission from the author, Christopher Min, from his blog - "aestheticism - searching for meaning somewhere post of modern".

I grabbed a few friends and drove to the Barnsdale Gallery Theatre, and for two hours we listened to the teaching pastor Tim Chaddick introduce ideas about worldview, culture, the arts, and how Christians should interact with it. At one point in the lecture, Tim said something that stung me: “Art can become a demon in time if you demand from it what only God can give.” He said it in passing, but the words had weight to them, heavy and sharp with truth meant for my ears.

I did undergrad work in English, I buy books faster than I can read them, I listen to music daily, and I frequently try to create my own. So I’ve naturally grown quite accustomed to my regular diet of the arts. It has been a healthy feast for sure, but one that can slowly become more like gluttony, a vice that can crowd out any space for cultivating a hunger for God.

Tim’s words convicted me, and I’m thankfully starting to realize how easy it is for a healthy love of the arts to become an idolatrous obsession with the created object rather than the Creator it should be pointing to. Frankly, feeding only on human expression, no matter how transcendent the work seems, will not provide lasting spiritual sustenance.

When I look solely to the arts for meaning and transcendence, I’m soon lost in a house of broken mirrors, only seeing distorted images of myself. But if I can remember that my experience of the arts should always direct me to God, then art becomes more like a stained glass window, allowing light to shine through all its brokenness.

I've wanted to see Koyaanisqatsi in its entirety since I first watched a half hour clip from it in my Intro to Film class at UT Dallas during my first semester of college. Koyaanisqatsi is a a 90 minute film without dialogue. Basically, it's a montage of natural, industrial, and urban scenes shot in time lapse photography and set to music. Here's the trailer:

Koyaanisqatsi was released in 1982 (if you couldn't tell from the clothing and hairstyles of the people in the trailer), and while now much of what it is and does has become commonplace, at the time, its use of time lapse photography was groundbreaking.

Ostensibly, the film is about how our lives are inundated by technology and about how we are destroying the "pure, natural" environment and ourselves through our use of technology, but that is not what I was struck with as I watched and listened last night. I was brought face to face with the bigness of God and the vast variety and beauty in our world.

There are scenes in the film of hundreds and hundreds of apartment complexes, and while I'm sure the filmmakers' intention was to highlight our uniformity and anonymity, I saw the homes of thousands of people, and I knew that God was in and over and around each of them.

The film portrays beautiful landscapes in Canyonlands National Park and the Grand Canyon (I saw Horseshoe Mesa, which I've hiked) and Lake Powell (I've walked along its shore), and then it juxtaposes these images with clips of masses of people walking down the streets of New York City. I thought, "Wow. Those Parks are amazing, and I want to go to there, but each one of those people is more mysterious and endless and more fascinating than any of those natural environments. I could spend years in Canyonlands and eventually know it all; I could spend an eternity with any one of those people and never find where they end."

As the film continued, I saw more and more places I wanted to visit and more and more and more and more people I wanted to get to know.

One scene stands out for me more than the rest. I have to think it was in New York City based on the way the people were dressed. A short, dark-haired man with a thick mustache is standing at an ice cream counter holding an impossibly pink double scoop and talking with the two young African American men behind the counter. He's smiling. They smile at something he says. He reaches across the counter to shake their hands and as he turns to leave, he sinks his teeth into the top of his ice cream cone.

As I watched him, I thought, "I want to know that man. I want to know where he's from and how that has shaped him. I want to know what flavor of ice cream he's so completely enjoying. I have not been where he is. I do not know what his life is like. I have not experienced much of what I'm seeing in this film. There is a lot of world out there, and I want to see all of it."

This world is full of amazing, beautiful, unique people, and each of them is as complex and nuanced as I am. Each of them is the center of their own world, and I don't mean that in a bad way. I just mean that each person experiences life differently than every other person. Every life lived is unique. Every person is like a phone booth that opens into outer space. Every person is an eternity wrapped up in flesh.

And God is very, very big, because God knows every last inch of every person.

Koyaanisqatsi is a Hopi Indian word with multiple meanings, most of them having to do with life being out of balance, but the final meaning given is the one I like the best - "a state of life that calls for another way of living."

Koyaanisqatsi calls me to more fully engage with my world and particularly with the people in it. It inspires me to notice the beauty inherent in each person and the grace of the world around me. God has made an amazing earth and filled it with even more amazing people. I pray I see it better.

Garage Voice on MySpace

Noah Gundersen on MySpace

Tom Rorem on MySpace

Peanut butter and jelly.  Chocolate and vanilla.  Batman and Robin.  Ying and Yang.  Some of the best things in life are made even better when paired with a good opposite.  For three years Coffee by the Books and its Fuller community have witnessed the musical talent of two very different artists: Carrie Graham and Justin Fung.  Drawing large crowds whenever each musician plays, Carrie and Justin always bring an energized dynamic to their performances - a particularly difficult task for solo artists.

Justin, an American from Hong Kong via London, is a singer/songwriter who makes such harmonic use of his acoustic guitar as to woo his audience into a sympathetic dream.  His style ranges from U2’s open chord progressions of The Edge’s arena rock guitar to the more somber life reflections of Johnny Cash or the near spoken-voice musings of Damien Rice.  His baritone voice, compared best with Jason Wade from Lifehouse, alternates back and forth between frail and full, depending on the lyrical demands.

Carrie Graham is a Texan singer/songwriter and pianist whose compositions are an expression of gratitude for the loved ones in her life, including family and close friends.  An ardent fan and friend of Carrie Graham says this about her music.

“If Ben Folds and Regina Spektor had a daughter, fed her a Gerber blend of Sia, Kate Nash, and Butterfly Boucher, then raised her in Broadway musicals, you’d have the fiery soul that is Carrie Graham.  She… displays a spectrum of emotions in songs written like 'a musical diary, therapeutic sort of thing' (her words).  Entries include reflections on the beauty of God’s love, the stupidity of human love, and everything in between.” Dan Long

On Thursday May 28th, 2009 from 6-9 PM, both Justin Fung and Carrie Graham will each be performing their Swan Songs in The Catalyst here at Fuller.  Coffee and other refreshments will be provided courtesy of Coffee by the Books and the Arts Concerns Committee.

Justin Fung on MySpace

Have you ever been lost in the woods?  Or been hiking down a trail hoping that you would?  Tina Frei, in her Master's Thesis work, evokes such sentiments.  With a Bachelor of Arts in Theology from Walla Walla University and the beauty of the Pacific Northwest as her muse, Tina’s body of work provokes a discussion on Western Christianity’s relationship with the natural world.  Studying her compositions elicit a literary comparison with the nostalgia of J.R.R. Tolkien, John Milton, or Henry David Thoreau.  Drawn both from the stark contrasts of earth and sky in her home town of Walla Walla and the lush green forests of Western Washington, Tina’s paintings convey a quality of immediate spiritual presence for the viewer.  Imagine listening to the softer side of Jars of Clay’s first album or the playful tunes of an Eisley cd.  Yet Frei is hoping to address our Western attitudes toward Nature by revealing that such nostalgic tendencies are in fact a cue that we’ve already separated ourselves from it.  If the “Re-enchantment of the West” is an emerging part of our collective consciousness, Frei does well in adding to that “stock of available reality.”  Look for her exhibit, which will be showing 9 AM - 12 noon Friday, May 22nd in Payton 101, here at Fuller Theological Seminary.

Jena Ashton, a Phoenix, Arizona native with a subtle touch of an “Indie” aesthetic, is a second year student in Fuller Theological Seminary’s Master of Arts in Theology program with a concentration in Theology & the Arts.  An undergrad hailing from Grand Canyon University with a degree in Christian Studeis, her Master's Thesis project, entitled Embodiment, debuts Friday, May 22nd on campus in Payton 101.  Coming from a vocational background in Youth Ministry & Worship with the Presbyterian church, Ashton draws from this as well as her own life experience as part of her thematic depiction.  Her six piece exhibit of mixed media – acrylic, print, plaster, etc. – on canvas features eclectic compositions dealing with various subject matter within the spectrum of Body Theology.  These topics include sexuality, gender roles, body image, and the body/ soul indistinction.  Drawing upon her own theological tradition, sharpened through her time spent at Fuller, Ashton defines Embodiment as the “portraying [of] characteristics of Body Theology through a holistic understanding of one’s faith which is lived out through the body.” 

Come by Payton 101 on Fuller’s campus to see the incarnational work of Jena Ashton and several other Fuller artists during Artventures starting 9 AM this Friday, May 22nd, 2009.

Jena Ashton's Website

TALKBACK
David Goetz
Talkback is a time for attendees to pick a topic for further discussion. Attendees broke off into groups that meet at various local venues. David Goetz gave a provocative insight into the flaws of the perfect picket-fence suburban lifestyle, and so I went to the Q&A session that was held at Buffalo Billiards, a local darts, pool and shuffleboard hangout. During the Q&A Goetz shared stories of his high-maintenance lifestyle and the burden that comes with it. He distinguishes in the city, while many socio-economic dynamics are compactly present; the differences are obvious whereas in the suburbs they are not. In the “Burbs” there is no drugs, no crime, no poverty and everything looks perfect from the outside. However, Goetz points out that poverty is not only financial, deeply hidden behind he picket fences is a spiritual poverty. The addictions lie in maintaining a certain lifestyle, and living our dreams through our children. Therefore as Christians it would be profoundly life changing to recognize these “toxins” and reach out to neighbors in meaningful ways. During the talkback, questions were asked to Goetz about remedies and positive outcomes to which he honestly confessed that it was still an on-going problem for him and the friends he is trying to reach. It was also asked if there were spiritual leaders to look to up to which he replied he is always hesitant point out a superstar, but rather seeking to find mentors who are older, found just within our communities. People who are farther along and not asking to be "trumpeted". I couldn't agree more.

AFTERNOON SESSION
John Burke, Pluralistic Evangelism.
Andy Crouch, Power, Privilege and Risk.
Tyler Wigg-Stevenson, The Post-Atomic World.
Shannon Sedgwick Davis, Not On Our Watch.
Bill Townsend & Bill Hampton, Economic Opportunity.

TALKBACK
Andy Crouch
During talkback Crouch dug deeper into concepts for his next book. Thoughts such as what happens after you have created culture. Does one simply marinate in the success or does one turn the accumulated power back into new opportunities. Couch shared how his first book Culture Making was first formulated during Q and how over the years it finally came together. Although with success, he expressed concern that no one wanted to here about taking risks and giving up the comfort of privileges. For the talkback he expect only a few people to show up but it ended up being fully packed with people standing on the sides. He gave illustrative answers that eventually addressed the issue but the whole way through he was thoroughly engaging!

EVENING KEYNOTE
Shane Hipps, The Spirituality of The Cell Phone. Keynotes are an extended talk, where rather than 18 minutes, the talks are doubled to 36 minutes. Hipp’s talk occurred after dinner and we were warned that upon entrance back into the theater, our cell phones would be confiscated for the period of the talk. There was a lot of anxiety for some many folks who found it really hard to part-ways with their smart phones even for that period of time. There were many people including myself trying to get in their last calls before handing over their coveted device. There was a survey where about 60% of the attendees had iphones, probably the largest concentration in any conference! I made a friend from Australia who cynically refused to hand anything over in America after many experiences of lost items in the past. Shane Hipps talked about the disembodiment of technology and how we are constantly being taken out of the present moment. He even made an iphone app called, “Fully Present” where for a specified time one can disable the phones functions. That when multitasking, our brain is merely dividing up the same limited resources and spreading it thin. Being so fragmented is the opposite of spiritual wholeness. Therefore to counter this he satirically made an iphone app called, “Fully Present” where for a specified time one can disable the phones functions. He also talked about how the power of presence is unique to the Christian faith, where God decided to take on a body to come to Earth. As Christians we are also called to be incarnate in a disincarnate world.

About
Q is a gathering where innovators, church leaders, social entrepreneurs, and cultural pioneers come together to explore the church’s role in positively contributing to culture.

In Austin, April 27-29 2009, hundreds of remarkable leaders will collaborate around the biggest questions facing the church today. Q is not for content consumers, but for those who will contribute to the bigger conversation. We hope you will be one of them.

Check out the rest of the presenters and more about Q. www.qideas.org