Living, loving and learning from artists...

I just returned from a full week away from my normal gig - and I give thanks to God for the time away - as well as my return home. For three full days I had the opportunity to be with the artists and people of faith connected with IAM - the International Arts Movement - and it was a total blessing.

On Thursday night philosopher, Nicholas Wolterstorff spoke re: an emerging aesthetics for people of faith. After reviewing his traditional critique of contemporary art criticism - that art is more than an elite exercise created for contemplation - he went on to suggest that:

1. Art ennobles our work - elevates it - and gives it meaning.

2. Art helps us remember our deepest and highest values - and live into them - by keeping these values alive and well.

3. And art helps us engage in the world of creativity because acts of creation have intrinsic worth: they do not have to be justified or reduced to a utilitarian value - their beauty is organically valuable.

I took a cab back to Brooklyn to my daughter's apartment with my head swimming with thoughts from this lecture - and the fascinating classical music with piano, flute and computer performed earlier - and was blessed with an older cabbie from Africa who knew exactly where to take me when my directions were less that perfect.

On Friday, after spending time buying books, talking with colleagues in ministry and the arts, I spent some down time wandering through a mystery book store in Tribeca before the evening lectures. The evening began with a lecture by Makoto Fujimora on the importance of artists and people of faith meeting in safe space. As an incredible artist who is also a humble person of faith, Mako shared these insights:

1. Art is a gift not a commodity - and the very act of creative compassion in art models a new way of living and interacting in our post-Wall Street reality. As Nietzsche said, "Behind all great art is gratitude." How can the act of artistic generosity help us all move into a sustainable economy that refuses to commodifiy people or creations of beauty?

2. Art reminds us that our culture has lost the spirit of hospitality. Artists in our world are homeless: the church doesn't trust them and the culture exploits them. Yet they continue to create beauty out of a deep encounter with love. More than any other single group, artists can help us all regain our soul and rehumanize our world.

3. Art invites us into action: hospitality, compassion, creative beauty and paying attention are essential to the artist - and the rest of our world, too. In a post-September 11th/Wall Street world, radical hospitality and rehumanizing our commerce is a matter of life and death. Let us understand, Mako concluded, that we will either rehumanize life or dehumanize it because every act is either a blessing... or a curse.

The night concluded with creative jazz and the brilliant poetry of Billy Collins. I LOVE this man's poetry - it is humble, funny, touching and true all at the same time - and he read to us for over an hour. He noted that there are lots of inspirations for poetry - including irritation.

In a poem entitled, "Another Reason Why I Don't Keep a Gun in the House" he writes:

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.

He is barking the same high, rhythmic bark

that he barks every time they leave the house.

They must switch him on on their way out.

The neighbors' dog will not stop barking.

I close all the windows in the house

and put on a Beethoven symphony full blast

but I can still hear him muffled under the music,

barking, barking, barking,

and now I can see him sitting in the orchestra,

his head raised confidently as if Beethoven

had included a part for barking dog.

When the record finally ends he is still barking,

sitting there in the oboe section barking,

his eyes fixed on the conductor who is

entreating him with his baton

while the other musicians listen in respectful

silence to the famous barking dog solo,

that endless coda that first established

Beethoven as an innovative genius.

Then he read a poem that he explained was his correction of another stupid man's attempt at love poetry, in which men conclude that the only thing women really want are similes, it was brilliant:

You are the bread and the knife,

The crystal goblet and the wine...-Jacques Crickillon

You are the bread and the knife,

the crystal goblet and the wine.

You are the dew on the morning grass

and the burning wheel of the sun.

You are the white apron of the baker,

and the marsh birds suddenly in flight.

However, you are not the wind in the orchard,

the plums on the counter,or the house of cards.

And you are certainly not the pine-scented air.

There is just no way that you are the pine-scented air.

It is possible that you are the fish under the bridge,

maybe even the pigeon on the general's head,

but you are not even close

to being the field of cornflowers at dusk.

And a quick look in the mirror will show

that you are neither the boots in the corner

nor the boat asleep in its boathouse.

It might interest you to know,

speaking of the plentiful imagery of the world,

that I am the sound of rain on the roof.

I also happen to be the shooting star,

the evening paper blowing down an alley

and the basket of chestnuts on the kitchen table.

I am also the moon in the trees

and the blind woman's tea cup.

But don't worry, I'm not the bread and the knife.

You are still the bread and the knife.

You will always be the bread and the knife,

not to mention the crystal goblet and--somehow--the wine.

When I returned home to my daughter and her husband's apartment late that night, Jesse was asleep (she had to go in to school on Saturday) so my son-in-law and I spoke of jazz, Russian cinema and poetry. He is a GREAT man and I am grateful Jesse found him. Then on to more workshops, conversations and more reflections on the intersection of art and spirituality. The day ended with the kids taking me out for Greek food at their new favorite place.

Sunday I flew off to Cleveland, Ohio to preach the installation worship for two friends from the Bay Area. It was a delight to join Mark and Barbara and their sweet, sweet family. They are now serving a modest Presbyterian congregation outside of Cleveland (where I shared ministry for almost 13 years). It was a joyful time - with pipers and sweet music - and lots of hope for the future as they deepen their ministry. I had time to share music later with my friends and get to know their beautiful and sensitive children, too. Perhaps the highlight (besides celebrating their ministry) was playing guitar while their 6 year old son played drums with me and having their 4 year old daughter climb up in my lap (like my own girls did so long ago) while watching TV.

When I returned to NYC for a dinner with the kids before a train trip back to Pittsfield, the whole city had been coated in snow and it looked mystical from the air. It was a time of poetry and deep thought, new connections, preaching, worship and loving friendships. I feel renewed - and grateful to be back home with my church and my loving wife. I am blessed and I know it.