Drawing the Line Somewhere
Drawing the Line Somewhere
Blake Sherman
In college, I found myself with feet in two places that seemed worlds apart. One foot was firmly planted in a First Baptist church where I served in the youth ministry; we spent time telling kids about God. We’d point out what He has done, celebrate what He’s doing and point to what He will do. All of this was done with a healthy dose of skits, teaching, and singing.
The other foot was fixed in the local arts scene. It was a hodge-podge group of musicians, poets, painters, storytellers and even a sculptor who would join us. Back then, there weren’t many places to play music, so we’d often host house shows, where we could provide a platform to our hodge-podge group, however small. We rotated on whose house would host the show. Typically, these events were hosted in a small college house crammed with other creatives, and we did our best to create an intimate atmosphere where one could truly engage with the art. There would be a painter’s work strewn along the hallways, a homebrewer showcasing a new brew in the kitchen, scheduled sets for singer-songwriters and poetry readings in between. Although there were some beautiful memories made with these lovely people, I found myself navigating an underlying tension amidst all the activity.
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At the private Christian university that we attended, many of these artists prided themselves on their disillusionment with the church and their rejection of core doctrine. In the minds of many, unbridled creativity could only come from the removal of the boundaries that were latent in their Christian upbringing. I would listen to these discussions on what it means to be a true artist or a creative with a vested interest, often wrestling with these concepts in my own writing. On one hand, I wanted to be an unfiltered, raw artist; on the other, I spent most days teaching youth about orthodox belief in a local church—the juxtaposition was not lost on me.
Yes, I was and am resolute in my belief that churches should do a better job of providing places and hosting the work of creativity. However, I maintained my conviction that thinking and speaking about God rightly is crucial for the Christian. For this reason, I had to ask myself the question: how does orthodoxy encourage creativity?
This complex question found its answer in an all too familiar place: a children’s story. I was re-reading a childhood favorite, Madeline L’Engle’s A Wrinkle in Time, when I stumbled across an illustration that struck me profoundly.
Mrs. Whatsit, a celestial being, is conversing about fate with one of the young protagonists, Calvin. Fate is often a concept we assume to be rigid, with no room for creativity. Yet, Mrs. Whatsit argues that this is a rather shallow understanding of fate. To prove her point, she directs Calvin to a conversation on sonnets. She explains that the way that sonnets are a strict form of poetry that have fourteen lines—all in iambic pentameter—and end with a rigid rhyme pattern. Although the form is strict and uncompromising, the poet finds the freedom to express whatever is desired within the pattern. Calvin comes to a moment of epiphany: “You mean you’re comparing our lives to a sonnet? A strict form, but freedom within it?”
“Yes.” Mrs Whatsit said. “You’re given the form, but you have to write the sonnet yourself. What you say is completely up to you.”
Regardless of our diverse theological opinions on fate, I believe L’Engle’s metaphor to be a helpful one for the myriad of conversations similar to what I was hearing in dorm-rooms and house shows. There are places of rigidity and even certain patterns that are inherent to Christianity. Even still, there is freedom within that rigidity. The so-called boundaries and walls of Christianity actually provide a framework for one’s creativity to be exercised. In the succinct words of G.K. Chesterton, “Art, like morality, consists in drawing the line somewhere.” If art is too shapeless and boundless, then it can become unhelpful or even unreachable for others. Although the purpose of art isn’t limited to its reception by others, part of reviving the Christian imagination will certainly require art that captivates others.
As we go through life in a community of believers, we learn and navigate the lines of rightly ordered creation; we grow in the ways of Jesus, the story of redemption, and the patterns of the Kingdom. These are not hindrances to the artist-in-residence—rather, they are understood landmarks that map out the creative space within a faith community.
The beliefs of our faith community aren’t stumbling blocks to creativity, but the communally understood spiritual backdrop for the scenes we paint, tell, and sing about. The faith community needs Spirit-led artists to joyfully illustrate the space for creativity within the framework of orthodoxy. Harbored safely within the way of Jesus, we may venture out with a wild imagination set ablaze by the Spirit.
This space of creativity shaped by Jesus is the path forward towards masterful art, not just Christian art. We quickly forget that if Jesus is who he says he is, then he is clearly a master in every aspect of creation. Unfortunately, this isn’t the light in which we tend to see Jesus. Dallas Willard wrote, “For all the vast influence he has exercised on human history, we have to say that Jesus is usually seen as a frankly pathetic individual who lived and still lives on the margins of ‘real life’. What lies at the heart of the astonishing disregard of Jesus found in the moment-to-moment existence of multitudes of professing Christians is a simple lack of respect for him.”
If anyone can understand reality, wouldn’t it be Jesus Christ? Surely, the way, the truth and the life could create art that stirs us at our core? After all, He is the one holding this reality together according to Colossians 1:16. If we want to create something masterful, then we should create in the presence and pattern of the master. Let’s not exercise a lack of respect towards Jesus by assuming that our artistic endeavors are outside His realm of expertise.
For the Christian, the local church and the house show down the street don’t have to be worlds apart. Established liturgy and spontaneous creativity don’t have to compete with one another; the boundaries of the canvas don’t inhibit the painting. The thoughts of God are not far removed from the grit of reality. The moment we begin to form dependence on the transcendent is the same moment God breaks through in the immanent.
As we gaze upon the ultimate Creator, the shapeless in front of us will begin to take shape. Much to our surprise, real art that strikes at the heart of reality comes from within the shapes and patterns given to us by our world-weaving God.
Blake Sherman
Pastor & Writer
Photography by Ludwig Favre