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The Highest Form of Hope

 

Let's say that...

We've been recovering from the flu this week, and as such time outdoors hasn't been on the agenda. In the bowels of our spacious but dark basement suite, it's hard not to feel a little blue. Sometimes when I need to feel like "life is pretty good" (imagine that!), I go to 1000 Awesome Things. If you haven't checked it out yet you should. It's a great Canadian blog that is dedicated to counting down - you guessed it - 1000 awesome things that most of us have experienced. For its genuine, thoughtful and humorous posts, 1000 Awesome Things won a 'Webby' (the blog version of the Oscars) this year. Today, needing a bit of sunshine myself, I thought I'd share 4 awesome things of my own.

4. Old ladies in a pub
Nothing warms your heart like seeing three or four life-long friends in their eighties enjoying a pint (or likely something harder) together. The sight of three white-haired ladies, with polyester pants, red lipstick, smelling faintly of Chanel No.5 reminds me to never lose my friends, my style (even if that style includes plastic rain caps), or my ability to have fun. Here's to you, ladies of the pub!

3. Seeing people picking berries
This is a particular awesome thing I've only noticed since moving to the West Coast since berries and joggers are plenty here. Have you ever had the good fortune of seeing a jogger, in all their high-end jogging apparel straddling the ditch at the side of the rode in order to pick a handful of black berries? Here is a professional, modern person (likely a doctor or lawyer if it's happening in my part of town) choosing to place themselves in an awkward position for berries. It's as if all the trappings of the modern life no longer matter and we're all just hunters and gatherers again, fending for our survival in the primal rain forests of the Pacific Northwest. We're all the same deep down. We all like berries.

2. Adults in public, in costume (and it's not Halloween)
About four weeks ago I had the happy experience of observing a pirate on the bus. Yes, a pirate. A grown man, wearing a large three-corner hat, long hair in a pony-tail, chops, and a nautical jacket circa 1700 c.e., walked onto the bus, sat down, and opened a book and began to read as if all was normal. All was not normal so I took a discreet picture on my I-phone. The pirate sighting truly made my day, maybe even my week - which was made complete by a sighting of a person dressed as a Blackberry outside the Rogers store. High fives Blackberry man!

1. When kids say, "Let's say that.." while playing pretend
A phrase often uttered in playdates long ago... JP and I were creative little girls. We fought along side the Ninja Turtles, carried secret messages for Robin Hood and his band of merry men, and preformed plastic surgery on Ken to reattach his severed legs (we had a very complex and nuanced 'Barbie narrative' going on back then)... There was no dilemma that could not be solved by the words "let's say that". What's even better is hearing your own kids say these magic words!


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Peace in the Land: Searching for the Anabaptist Aesthetic, Part III

Jeremy Begbie views both creativity and creation from a Christological standpoint. Creation’s end is to be united in Christ. It is out of love that God creates, and this love is seen most fully in true physical form in the person of Christ. Through his sacrificial love, all things are made, and all things are made new. Since God creates, not out of any reason other than his overflowing love, creation is a true gift. I say ‘true’ in order to distinguish between the gift of creation and the gifts that we as humans give to each other. Human given gifts often come with a certain expectation that the gift will be reciprocated in some shape or form, and therefore the language of ‘gift’ may unintentionally denote an expectation of reciprocity in order to fulfill the desires of the giver. The gift of creation is not like this; it is utterly peaceful in that it demands, nor can accept, anything in return as reciprocity. It is given, and though we may or may not turn to our creator in worship, God does not need creation in order to complete something in himself; the gift is completely selfless and completely unnecessary.

The language of “gift” can recall Wolterstorff’s critique of the Kantian concept of art as essentially unnecessary or non-functional (and therefore ‘gift’), citing that art is always created for some kind of purpose. Works of art exist within history and culture and therefore do have a function within a specific context. We can become confused at the meaning of art when we take a work that is created for a specific purpose and treat it as if it were an object of “detached contemplation”, which is closely tied to the assumption that art as essentially useless. From what Jeremy Begbie writes, one could conclude that the concept of uselessness or non-necessity is best understood in the gift of creation, not in art itself. For God did not created out of necessity or in order to somehow complete himself, but he created out of the overflowing of his own joy and abundance coming from within his triune being. The idea that creation is not necessary to God does not take away from its significance but rather adds to it. Creation becomes a true gift – a gift given with no selfish expectation of return because it is a gift that is given in love.

But the gift of creation is not the end of the story. The fallenness of creation, and the consequent “disorder” that arises from humanity’s freedom has made creation a place that exhibits both beauty and terror in its alienation from God. Annie Dillard describes this in her contemplative book, Teaching a Stone to Talk. She writes about a neighbor who has taken up the task of teaching a small pebble to talk. Dillard remarks that this is “noble work, and beats from any angle, selling shoes”. The reason why it is noble work is not fully explained, but what Dillard does explain is that nature is as silent as the rock. She emphasizes that this is our doing; that God at one time may have spoken in or through nature, but it terrified us so he stopped. Because of our fallenness nature is silent. It can only speak the cycle of life and death in all its beauty and dread.

The created world is no longer a place of shalom but a place of where death propels it forward; which is as Begbie describes “anti-creation”. How are we to take up our vocation of gardener when we are the ones at fault for the silence and disorder in the created world? How can both creation and our role in creation be restored? The gift of God in the self-giving of Christ unites both God’s victory over the powers of disorder and violence, and humanity’s victory as found in the incarnation of Christ. Through Christ’s ascension as “the God-Man, he embodies and constitutes the telos of created reality”. Christ fulfills the human vocation as founded in the creation narrative to its fullest and takes on his role as ruler and gardener of the earth. “In Christ our broken and distorted humanity has been re-established in its proper orientation toward the creator.”

So what does this vocation of “gardening” look like? What is the tangible outworking of our restored vocation? Annie Dillard describes the dilemma of creation’s silence, she also touches on the solution, though not in the actual content of her essay but in the way she interacts with the created realm in her writings. Dillard finds meaning and inspiration in considering trees, an eclipse, or the evolutionary process; through her prose she ‘decodes’ nature. This is not to be merely understood as a ‘platonic pointing’ to something greater, but it is an exercise in peacemaking. Through Dillard’s crafting of words and careful observation, she is essentially becoming a voice for the created world. Once it was silent and alienated but through Dillard’s words creation become engendered with meaning and it is at peace with us again.

God’s redemption of our vocation through the person of Christ allows us to participate in creation’s development and continuous unfolding. We share in the work of the Spirit as we continue to walk in love in congruence with God’s created order as he draws all things to himself. We enact Christ’s judgment when we “unmask” that which is disorder or disfigurative. We affirm the goodness and grace of the gift of creation when we take joy in its beauty, or marvel at its unfathomable diversity. But this is not a passive activity; we are indeed workers in the garden and our vocation is to bring about “new forms of order”. This conjugates all facets of human creativity: science, medicine, technology, music, the visual arts, craft, and architecture. And certainly it becomes obvious that all such activities can be destructive and can transform us into vessels of anti-creation rather than agents of God’s unfolding. We can only be agents of transformation and re-creation in relationship: first, to the triune God, second in the community of the church, and third in communion with creation. Human creativity is foundationally communal; it affirms the intrinsic “relatedness” of human existence. Christ has given us back true vocation, and we are now set about the task of bringing shalom to all things. In the work of restoring creation’s peaceful relationship to the Triune God, perhaps teaching a stone to talk is not as outrageous as it at first seems.

The reality of my background is that though peace was central to my understanding of the church’s role in the world, this peace was too often seen through a telescopic lens. Though I value the ideals of the peace community, the reality is that many communities are not at peace but fraught with division and animosity. The supreme irony of the Mennonite heritage is though we may claim to value community, humility, and simplicity; we are plagued with detachment from our friends and family, false humility, and covert trust in material wealth under the guise of “stewardship”. Joy can be frivolous and generosity can be foolish. But despite these shortcomings, the aesthetic of my heritage is one that can demonstrate aesthetic and creative obedience. Mennonite simplicity, ingenuity, and creativity are examples of the peacemaking vocation of humanity taken up in faithfulness. Anabaptist communities should therefore be cautious not to thoughtlessly give up these creative traditions in order to gain ‘cultural relevance’. The Mennonite aesthetic tradition of my heritage is one worth saving because it is a tradition in which peace finds form. In order to grasp a rich and active peace, shalom must be couched in Christology because it is in Christ that we are given back our true task; to bring glory to God in the peace of restored relationship. In this we find our true human vocation while at peace with the land.

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Peace in the Land: Searching for the Anabaptist Aesthetic, Part II

This relational foundation of shalom places a strong emphasis on the outward orientation of creativity. Wolterstorff is therefore highly critical of views that hold to more platonic and inwardly orientated focus on creativity, such as the writing of Dorothy Sayers. For Sayers, art is important because it points to the image bearing quality of humanity: God is a creating God and he has given us the ability to also create. Because the act of artistic creation points toward God, the ultimate reality, artistic creation in and of itself is connected to the divine. Therefore the emphasis for Sayers is on the internal processes of artistic creation; how the artist draws out from him or herself (the Idea, Power, and Energy) in order to create whereas Wolterstorff focuses on the exterior dialogue between artist and material, artist and community, and artist and God.

Sayers does offer valuable insights, specifically to how artists can understand their own internal processes, but also as to how the creative process can reflect the nature and character of God. Art making for myself has been a way of synthesizing what I have learned or experienced internally. In this way the arts do portray a picture of incarnation. Christ himself was made visible to us so that God could be revealed. One is immediately reminded of the icon as a way of the invisible made visible. The church has a long tradition in presenting pictures and allegories of who God is through the sacraments; the Eucharist is a picture of Christ’s body and the body of the church, Christian marriage is a metaphor for God’s love for the church, and baptism is a symbol of conversion and acceptance into the community of the resurrected. Not only are these sacraments allegories, they are also real, tangible ways the community can interact with the truth. It is in this way I can understand Sayers and David Jones when they speak of art as ‘sacramental’. The sacraments point beyond themselves symbolizing a larger truth that cannot be fully grasped in its entirety without the allegory to help mediate.

What may be overlooked in a sacramentalist view of art is that sacraments are the activities of the body of Christ. They are communal in nature. Robert Farrar Capon writes that with such a view we are “just members of a crowd of individuals following our own noses and achieving, at best, our own amusement. If, however, we are all together in the oblation, than it becomes something more than an amusement – it becomes culture”. Capon gives an answer as to how our experience in the created world can be formed into communal expression, which can ‘speak into being’ cultural incarnations that point to Christ.

Though Sayers probably overemphasizes “self-expression” through her metaphor of artist as creator, self-expression in our current cultural context can never be fully removed from art-making. Wolterstorff tends to overlook the power of art to effectively and peacefully communicate the thoughts and ideas of the artist. The type of dialogue that happens through art making and art viewing is a mode of communication that is more congruent to peaceful dialogue than pure dialectic. This is not to say that art, in its nature, is immune to being violent. But there is something to be said about the peacefulness of contemplative art. Contemplation of the arts can persuade the viewer to slow down and to open him or herself to what another has to say.

What can be said of both Sayers and Wolterstorff is that creation is of utmost importance when contemplating the meaning and the practical outworking of the arts. For Sayers creation is important because of what it says about the artist as one made in the image of God. For Wolterstorff creation is important because it is the context in which one takes up the vocation of the artist as well as the very media with which the artist works. In order to synthesize these two poles, one must look at what Jeremy Begbie presents as a theologically expanded view of the relationship between creation and creativity. It is one that can serve as both a synthesis and critique of Sayers and Wolterstorff.

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More thoughts on space...

As touched on in the previous post, space actually matters. Space shapes our behaviour; it encourages or discourages certain actions or attitudes. How we interact with space and environment reveals what we value, and, in turn, is also an agent of value formation.... so why we are so ignorant to the power of space?

I suppose these fun little videos could be taken as a supplement to these ideas. I came across them on Kristen's blog. You could think of them as "experiments in space" or "how space can change our behaviour" or "making space fun". The whole idea behind the experiment is that creative use of space can encourage healthy and ethical living. I wonder what a school, a home, a church or hospital would look like if we paid more attention to how human interact in space instead of how cars interact in space; which, from how our cities are planned, seems to be the most important factor for consideration these days - seriously have you seen how houses are designed these days??? Two huge pet peeves of mine are giant attached garages and stucco. Guess I should plan on NEVER moving to Calgary!








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Peace in the Land: Searching for the Anabaptist Aesthetic

I've been asked to share a little bit of what I've been learning over the last couple months, and though I wish I had time to write something that is not directly connected to classwork, it has become apparent that that will not happen!! The following is a couple excerpts from a paper I've been working on for The Christian Imagination with Loren Wilkenson which focuses on the work of Nicholas Wolterstorff, Dorothy Sayers, Annie Dillard, and Jeremy Begbie (I would highly recommend reading Jeremy Begbie - I plan to take a class from him this summer!) seen through my own personal and cultural background. So that is the context for the next few posts... For more interesting material you should go over to Paul's blog where he's posted a video of Noah singing along with Karsten!

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The church my Russlander great grandfather built is located forty kilometers northwest of Saskatoon. It is a simple whitewashed wooden structure with a green tin roof, sitting double-steepled atop a hill surrounded by rolling fields of canola. The interior is painted a muted light green and well-worn pews stained rich sepia by the long years line each side of the sanctuary. The floors are scuffed and rich as the pews while the gothic shaped windows draw the eye upwards to the unadorned vaulted ceiling. This was the center of communal life for this small Russlander community. It was here that milestones, both in life and death, were marked and seen as a testament of God’s grace at work in the world. This year the church that my great grandfather built is closing in order to move the congregation to the community center of the town nearby. The hope is that, by moving their place of worship nearer to town, the church can better serve the community and fulfill its missional role.

For the Anabaptist ‘peace’ is central to the understanding of the church’s role in the world. But there is a tenuous relationship between living as a peaceful presence in the world and the responsibility to speak into a world where violence reigns. My own denomination has been strongly influenced by the evangelical impulse. It was this impulse that led the leaders of my great grandfather’s church to transition from German to English services and eventually encouraged many congregants to move into urban centers and take up secular careers like my grandfather who became a public school principle. Anabaptist communities, like the Mennonites of central Saskatchewan, are no longer tied to the land as they once were, and as such the community commitment to traditions of craft, music, and community life have begun to wane. And though these demographic and cultural shifts are reflections of greater trends in Canadian society, I wonder if the Anabaptist commitment to peace will be unable to find physical form as these traditionally counter cultural communities become like everyone else. There is no denying that balancing relevant cultural and social engagement with the Anabaptist commitment to live as a ‘city on a hill’ is a difficult tension to maintain. And perhaps this tension between “against culture” and “in agreement with culture” needs to be laid aside for a more embodied and incarnational encounter. The question I want to ask is what does a peaceful aesthetic look like?

It seems appropriate, when trying to develop my own understanding of the arts founded in Anabaptist practice and culture, to begin with Wolterstorff. The very little that has been written on the arts from an Anabaptist perspective has focused primarily on the work of Wolterstorff for his strong affirmation of the materiality of art-making and responsibility of the artist as one who actively building shalom. This philosophy of arts finds its foundation in the creation narrative. The earth is humanity’s home and Adam (literally “earthling” in Hebrew) is charged with responsibility over Creation. His duty as a creature is to be creation’s “gardener”, to shape and order nature, for the purpose of supporting human flourishing. This vocation is understood as threefold: first to God, then to humanity, and finally to creation itself. Shalom can be understood as the harmonious condition of all three relationships. Material art objects are active expressions of this ‘shalom building’, and are not primarily a means of personal expression or what Wolterstorff labels as “objects of disinterested contemplation”.

No culture has existed without the arts, and certainly Anabaptist and Mennonite communities are no exception. There are several very positive affirmations one can make of this distinct cultural aesthetic. The aesthetic of the Mennonite tradition is one that is grounded in the created world. It shows an appreciation for functionality and the everyday, specifically of the traditional work of the household and the community. This creative work of the household is most often observed in the form of ‘craft’. From Wolterstorff’s perspective craft is worthy and admirable as a way in which humanity has answered the call to steward creation because it is so strongly tied to purpose and action and usually functions as a vehicle for enriching human life. Seerveld, another author from the Dutch Reformed tradition, takes the value of craft and the creative work of the household farther. He writes that living an aesthetically obedient life includes choosing hand made and home made objects mass produced objects of consumption. The simplicity of Mennonite furniture, the practices of gardening and canning, harmony in hymn singing, quilting and stitch work all are facets of a rich aesthetic tradition grounded in a respect for creation that does not often get the credit it deserves. Unfortunately, in the last fifty years true and thoughtful functionality have been consistently laid aside for convenience and productivity. Seerveld strongly labels this value of productivity and convenience over an aesthetic that values creation “Baal Worship”. One only needs to consider the bland anesthetic cityscape of midwestern suburbia, which is more suitable to a lifestyle of consumption than to wholistic human living, to understand what Seerveld is describing.

From what Seerveld and Wolterstorff write, interaction with ‘space’ and ‘land’ are good indicators as to whether or not we are fully embodying our human vocation. A box store or strip mall is an example of space shaped by consumerism, whereas space which demonstrates a “dynamic wholeness” is at peace with human life and the created world. “Dynamic wholeness” does not necessarily mean opulence or extravagance. Though my great grandfather’s church is primarily an example of restraint and minimalism, this does not make it less obedient in an aesthetic sense. The aesthetics of restraint, subtlety, and symmetry are all appropriate in their own context, especially when considering how minimalism is in aesthetic agreement with the prairie landscape. A simple well-built church may be a more aesthetically obedient choice than an ornate Cathedral, dependant of course on the environmental and cultural circumstances. This being said, minimalism and simplicity should not be confused with aesthetic poverty exemplified in the box store inspired mega churches of suburbia.

Not only have our spaces for living working and worshipping become aesthetically malnourished, our society has become increasingly withdrawn from the creative process as a whole. We no longer live as creative and aesthetic people, rather we choose to consume product of mass-production and seldom engage in the creative making ourselves. Something profound is lost in such a radical transformation. We are no longer at peace with creation, our neighbor, our Creator, but live as detached people without a homeland. Our living spaces reflect this alienation. The suburbs (created to allow people of means to escape the violence of the city), where people are relegated to their own plots of land detached from the places they work and do business, ironically create an environment where violence can occur unchecked because there is no sense of relationship or community in the suburb. The absence of relationship cultivates violence.

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By/For Project

Just thought I'd give a little plug for my friend Shannon's show coming up on November 4, 4:30-7:30. She'll be exhibiting her work along with the other participants from the By/For residency. The By/For Project is a really cool idea to help churches become patrons of the arts. Several churches pool together funds to sponsor the project, the proceeds of which will be split between the artists and the churches. The project then tours among the sponsoring churches (and Regent College). So come on out to see some great art and to visit with the artists (Also, check out Shannon's blog which includes a video)!

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Check!


A certain category near the top of my "things to do before I turn thirty" list was successfully checked off last night.


This morning I limped into Languages 500 with puffy eyes, a cotton-ball feeling in my ears, a pounding headache, and the realization that I had forgotten to complete my homework.


It was SO worth it.

 
 

Slick Boot

Standing in the warm rain in the greylight
of early autumns morning
Slick boot, stuck leaves, and frizzy haired humidity
I watch the cars pass disturbing the star speckled pavement
If I look only at the cars I move though standing slick boot still
The world moves and moves
In the busy greylight of early autumn's morning

Walking up the alley path in stepping time to stolen music
that sets the trees to dance
They drop their leaves as gifts to the muddy earth
Gifts that cling to my slick boot treads and clog the steal grate drains
The trees move and move
In the warm rotting grey of early autumns morning

And in this grey light I am at once content
I can wait for the bus on Emmaus road
Slick booted and frizzy haired carrying all the baggage
of a child home from the last days of school
Because we so long to give the expensive gifts back
I move and am moved
In the haunted greylight of early autumns morning

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