Beauty revealing truth

For me an unforgettable experience was the Bach concert that Leonard Bernstein conducted in Munich after the sudden death of Karl Richter. I was sitting next to the Lutheran Bishop Hanselmann. When the last note of one of the great Thomas-Kantor-Cantatas triumphantly faded away, we looked at each other spontaneously and right then we said: "Anyone who has heard this, knows that the faith is true". The music had such an extraordinary force of reality that we realized, no longer by deduction, but by the impact on our hearts, that it could not have originated from nothingness, but could only have come to be through the power of the Truth that became real in the composer's inspiration. ~from an essay by then Cardinal Ratzinger (later Pope Benedict XVI)

I don't have a lot to say this week other than to note that the sliver of the Christian culture that I live in is very weak on beauty. The essay linked above discusses the Beauty and Truth in Jesus with more detail and delicacy than I can, so I encourage the brave to read it slowly.

But I will make the follow comments. I understand my role and my community to be a missional outpost. This means that we live on the far edge of a boundary, let's call it the edge of the kingdom of God and the kingdom of the World (this may be too high falutin' but it'll work for now). So we call out to and receive the weary and worn, we triage them with the truth of God and send them on in, deeper into the kingdom, further in where they can settle into the kingdom life and kingdom rest.

It's the edge-ness that I want to draw attention to. If we are what we say we are, "evangelical" or "missionaries to our zipcode" or "attractional" or whatever, why aren't we more devoted to beauty? Isn't beauty by definition attractive?

I spent 6 months studying in St. Petersburg, Russia. This is a city that was called the Venice of the north. The Hermitage Museum houses art on par with the Louvre in France. The Russian choirs, ballets, and operas were frequent and magnificent. When I rewind through my memories, I had some of my most intense experiences of beauty there--stumbling into choir practice at the Smolny Cathedral, catching sunset in Tavrichesky Garden, that aria in La Traviata. These left me with the deepest sting of loneliness. I was in St. Petersburg alone, I experienced these on my own. But it felt like such things should be shared.

What is truly beautiful draws us out of ourselves, Ratzinger says that it "reawaken[s] a longing for the Ineffable, readiness for sacrifice, the abandonment of self" and contrasts this with false beauty which "stirs up the desire, the will for power, possession and pleasure."

As it happens, I enjoy and value beauty for the missional outpost, but I don't know how to comes to be. But I daresay it's a question worth wrestling with.

**
Image of Smolny Cathedral

Beauty in tears: Suffering redeemed

I've put off writing this final post on suffering. First of all, somehow all this has been emotionally exhausting. But secondly, we have a tendency to want to jump to the potential good that can be found in suffering. This is for obvious reasons--suffering is uncomfortable--but we miss out on acknowledging that we live in a world that is profoundly broken. But not hopelessly so.

Though suffering is the result of sin, just as Jesus conquered death, He can redeem our suffering.

Lately, I've been thinking that if I could tell people three things I would say:

• You are a beloved child of God.
• You can trust Jesus.
• Say yes to Jesus in big ways and small ways, day after day. 

As I think about finding beauty in our tears, about Jesus being bigger than sin and bigger than the suffering that comes from it, I think these three things redeem our pain powerfully.

You are a beloved child of God. 
Our tendency is to live in every identity but this one. We want to be known for what we have a accomplished, or who we know, or how we look, or how other people think of us. But in our suffering, as we encounter our own powerlessness, we can learn "to release our hold on worldly hopes and put our 'hope in God'."

When we embrace our identity in our belovedness as children of God (Galatians 3:26), then we can live in the tenderness of a Father who is present with us in our pain, who grieves with us, who holds us tenderly. And this Father is so powerful and loving that He can take the ugliness of suffering and use it mature us, to heal us, by "heal[ing] our hearts of self-reliance, misplaced security, fears, and complacence." In this we learn the next truth.

You can trust Jesus.
Reynoso writes in her essay that after the tragic death of her daughter, she understood better why people self-medicate with drugs and alcohol. Pain demands an answer. She says it "drives us to run either to God or away from Him." In God's love and power, we can trust Jesus. When we have the power and perspective, we can trust him with our pains in general. When we have fallen and are overwhelmed, we can trust him with our next breath, the one too painful to inhale.

The claim about Jesus is that "all things have been created through him and for him. He is before all things, and in him all things hold together. (Colossians 1:16-17). Jesus holds everything together, the world we live in, the lives we live, the breaths we take. You can trust Jesus.

So say yes to Jesus in big ways and small ways, day after day.
Saying yes to Jesus is a good idea even if we're not suffering, but it is crucial when we are blinded by our tears. When we choose Jesus' way, we learn "humble submission in pain and sacrifice"--what Jesus chose in going to the cross-- is where God can work most powerfully and gloriously.

Yes to Jesus and no to ourselves is hard. We think we understand ourselves; we know we do not fully understand Jesus. We struggle to trust Him; we struggle to believe that we are His beloved. Fortunately, we don't even have to successfully struggle.

Paul talks about his struggle this way:

I was given a thorn in my flesh, a messenger of Satan, to torment me. Three times I pleaded with the Lord to take it away from me. But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.”  (2 Corinthians 12: 8-9)

We have enough. In Jesus, we have enough, we are given enough to trust, to say yes. We don't have to be strong. It's not about being pretty, successful, or with it. God's grace is sufficient. Our weakness gets in the way of nothing. In fact, it appears to be necessary. "Suffering showcases the work of God in our lives, allowing God to reveal Himself through weakness and great need."

Beloved child of God, hold on to Jesus. As he did for Israel, he does for us. He will "comfort all who mourn...[and give] a crown of beauty instead of ashes."

Quotes from Reynoso, "Formed through suffering" in The Kingdom Life.

Invitation to beauty

-Sky Rift by Nicholas A. Tonelli

Over the past week, I've been buffeted by this idea that NOT complaining is a part of gospel living. We've been trained to think that sharing the gospel is about telling people about creation, the fall, and redemption through Jesus.

But I was reading a book with some friends, and the author pointed out that after the Apostle Paul, writer of many New Testament books while sitting in a drafty prison, says, "Do everything without complaining or arguing," [WHAT!!] Paul explains the reason this way:

 "so that you may become blameless and pure, children of God without fault in a crooked and depraved generation in which you shine like stars in the universe as you hold out the word of life. (From Paul's letter to his friends in Philippi, chpt 2)"

First of all, I get that "good" people, "nice" people should not complain or argue. I just don't always want to be good or nice. But Paul claims that this not complaining, not arguing does two things: 1) It shapes who we become. 2) It attracts people to the word of life.

Just as pianists practice scales in becoming pianists, children of God who are blameless and pure, or innocent as one translation puts it, train for it by practicing not complaining or arguing. When we choose this path, we are changed.

This change is beautiful. Think about the night sky with the stars twinkling out of the darkness. On a warm summer night, it's a wonder to behold. As the practice of not complaining or arguing takes hold, our lives light up with beauty like the night sky, and this is an offering of the word of life.

A friend recently blogged this : "There’s a mother of two I’ve gotten to know, and for a long time I felt like something was weird about her until I realized that I’ve never heard her complain. About her kids. About anything." You don't have to wear a sign that says, "I've given up complaining." People will notice because it is attractive, because it is light in a world of darkness, because it is life in the midst of death.

But let's say you don't care. You don't care about other people, you don't care to become an innocent child of God. Fine. How about this: Complaining and arguing are making you miserable.  Somewhat tongue-in-cheek, a therapist lays out the 14 habits of highly miserable people.  Stuff like, "Be critical. Make sure to have an endless list of dislikes and voice them often, whether or not your opinion is solicited." or "Pick fights. This is an excellent way of ruining a relationship with a romantic partner. Once in a while, unpredictably, pick a fight or have a crying spell over something trivial and make unwarranted accusations. The interaction should last for at least 15 minutes and ideally occur in public."

The church women's study this semester is reading through Calm my Anxious Heart by Linda Dillow. The first couple chapters go back to Paul's letter to his friends in Philippi. From prison, he tells them that he's learned the secret of being content in any and every situation. Who doesn't want that? I think about my life; I think about the lives of my friends; I want peace, contentment for all of us. And I think many of us, if we were promised eternal peace and contentment at the top of a mountain, we would climb and drag ourselves up the mountain, we would walk over broken glass, we would give up our last cup of water.

After Paul says that he's learned contentment whether hungry or full, rich or poor, then he says, "I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me." The miracle that Jesus did for Paul, that He can do for us, is that He can train us in the practice of not complaining or arguing. It will take a miracle. Thankfully, Jesus is in the miracle business. Let us join Him in His work.

In my spare time...

The last six months or so, I've been curating children's books for Zoobean.com which will be open to the public in mid-May. Here's a blog post I wrote for them on some of our favorite illustrators:

Sometime during the seven years I trained as a linguist I went from a world-traipsing museum-goer to a life of words, words, and more words. Oh, and the occasional gesture and eye-gaze.

In my new life with little ones, I've been reintroduced to visual art and have encountered some wonderful artists disguised as children's book illustrators.

Here are a few artists that have stood out over the past 600-odd books we've looked through.

1) Zachary Pullen
We first encountered Pullen in The Toughest Cowboy: or How the Wild West Was Tamed. This was a fun book, but Pullen's art was better than John Frank's story. So I hunted for other work by Pullen and found Friday My Radio Flyer Flew which he authored and illustrated. Home run! (Speaking of which, he's also illustrated Lipman Pike: America's First Home Run King.)

Pullen paints wonderfully detailed caricatures from frequently odd, close-up angles that invites the reader. young and old, to enter into the world of the book.

2) Jane Dyer
We first noticed Dyer in Talking Like the Rain: A Read-to-Me Book of Poems. Her watercolors paired so well with the thematically arranged poems.

Then, browsing in the non-fiction section of the library we came across Amy Krouse Rosenthal's Cookies: Bite-Size Life Lessons. Rosenthal uses cookies to define abstract terms like modest, fair, and content. Dyer's watercolors of children and animals complement Rosenthal's text in a way that provided a context and opportunity for me to discuss important concepts with our four-year-old. Because she's starting to become aware of ethnic and linguistic differences and her own ethnic heritages, I also appreciated that the children depicted were from a number of different ethnic backgrounds.

3) John Himmelman
Himmelman's extensive experience observing and documenting the natural world is obvious in his renderings of animals. As my father-in-law commented about Chickens to the Rescue, Himmelman has perfectly captured "chicken-ness" on every page. The antics of the thirty-odd chickens are so engaging even my two-year-old frequently dumps the book into my lap for another go at them. We've read several of Himmelman's other children's books, but this is our hands-down favorite. This summer, I plan to take a look at his non-fiction "Nature Upclose" series.

In my late teens and early twenties, I chased down the abstract paintings of Kandinsky and Malevich, and as much as I enjoyed that, it was sort of a personal quirk and definitely a solitary pursuit. In these children's books, I've been able to share the experience of beauty and truth with two little people I love. It's fun to have them point out what they notice, eg. my two-year-old always points out the upside down chicken in Chickens to the Rescue, and for them to remember things we talked about the last time we read the book. One day I'll introduce my kids to Kandinsky and Malevich, but for now we're having a whale of a time with Pullen, Dyer, and Himmelman.

The urgent long view

My current conundrum is that we don't know how many days on earth we get. I was remembering my friend Brian this morning. He has no more days; I have no more days with him. I still find that deeply saddening.

If I knew I had only 30 more days in my life, I would feel a deep sense of urgency to call some of my best friends and tell them, "I have 30 more days and beyond that my hope is in Jesus Christ, beyond that I believe I will experience beauty and majesty that we only get a taste of in this life, beyond that I will be in eternity with God. You too can experience hope, beauty, and majesty in this life and the next because of who Jesus is and what he has done."

But I don't know that. I may well have 30 + 30 years left in my life. And how sweet would be it be to have all those years with these friends and new friends? When I take the long view, I feel I mustn't force my hand, mustn't try and run ahead, mustn't try and rush things. Instead, I should live and enjoy each moment for what it is. Not rushing relationships to me means being a normal friend, not being a weird religious freak who is acquainted with someone. But that means that it might be year 8 in a relationship before someone says, "Will you pray for me and my family;" something that happened just last week. Year 8! In the urgent world, who has time for year 8? But in light of eternity, what is 8 years? Nothing.

In any event, I feel kind of stuck. So there it is, the problem of the urgent long view.