Art, Life, Faith - a Casual Discussion

One of many, many highlights of my last few weeks of traveling for support-raising was filling my downtime with art. From the MET in NYC, to the Glass Museum in Corning, to sitting around a wood stove with old and new friends marveling at photographs of works by this guy, ...and as I slowly drove home through swirling snow it occurred to me that each of those very different experiences with art lead me to thoughts of our Creator; in some way pointed me to God. 

I've learned a lot these past few years of how the arts can be such a connecting point to God, but instead of hearing another example from me, I'm excited to share this article from Japan:

Art, Life, Faith - A Casual Discussion

Original article published in CHRISTIAN TODAY by Reima Shinjo, January 31, 2015

(Translated from the Japanese)

Community Arts Tokyo’s first event of the year, “Art, Life, Faith” (ALF), was held on January 19th in a home in the middle of Tokyo. Community Arts Tokyo seeks to connect people through the arts and reconnect the arts with society and daily life. They are also a resource to organizations and churches of various denominations to provide artistic events.

In the wide range of activities Community Arts Tokyo has to offer, from performance parties and symposiums, to volunteer relief and revitalization work in areas of northern Japan hit by the 2011 disaster, ALF is a casual event, simply meeting in local homes. It is an open discussion built on the basis that the fine arts, formalized in the concert hall, theater, museum, or gallery, are present in our everyday lives, fulfilling an important role in our lives and society, and can serve as a connecting point to the God of the Bible.

Leaders, locations, and themes of the discussion differ every time, sometimes a scholarly discussion of the music of Bach, other times addressing topics from popular entertainment, like the movie “Frozen.” This evening Roger Lowther, Director of Community Arts Tokyo, presented the theme of “eyes.” Conversation was sparked with the viewing of a piece by Marina Abramović, a well-known performance artist originally from Yugoslavia, and everyone was invited to share their thoughts.

The video clip was from Marina’s performance “The Artist is Present” on exhibition in New York’s Museum of Metropolitan Art in 2010. In this performance, Marina and a member of the audience are seated on either side of a desk, silently locking eyes, while all around them a crowd of spectators looked on, waiting their turn. This simple action had a mysterious power over people. Some people would begin to cry as Marina looked at them, completely “present” for them, and then she began to weep also.

Our discussion started with questions and comments such as, “I wonder why the audience cried?” and “Like a staring contest, I think I’d start laughing!” and grew from there. As this particular ALF was attended by Japanese, American, and British participants, distinct cultural differences from each country influenced our conversation as well: “If they did this performance in Tokyo instead of Europe, do you think people would come?” “Eye contact seems more difficult for Japanese. Usually our eyes don’t meet...” “I’m hesitant to lock eyes with someone: you might give them the wrong impression, like you have feelings for them.”

In an open conversation where everyone shares their thoughts, Roger sometimes throws in a remark, such as the words of one reviewer of Marina’s performance. “The atmosphere Marina was able to create was reminiscent of a church confessional box, which is quite remarkable when you consider how public it was.” No matter the faith or background, the discussion easily drew people into the conversation, even first-time attenders.

The conversation naturally turned to the mystery of God’s gaze mentioned throughout scripture. “When Adam first sinned, he was separated from God and didn’t want to be seen.” “Hagar, the slave woman, called God ‘You are the God who sees me.’” “Jesus said to Nathaniel, ‘I saw you under the fig tree before Philip called you.’”

ALF is never pushy about Christianity or making people believe the Bible. Roger, an organist with experience performing around the world, and his wife Abi, a pianist, are dedicated to creating a space where artists can gather, this time including many musicians and designers. This particular evening everyone happened to be Christian, but first-time visitors and people from all backgrounds are warmly welcomed.

Abi says she “hopes the arts will serve as a gateway to think about life, and through that, personally experience an encounter with God.” Living as a Christian does not mean detaching from the world, but rather living our everyday lives realizing God is present and at work all around us. This event cultivates a perspective of seeing the world through the lens of God’s Word.

This kind of work has huge significance in a country like Japan, which is not primarily Christian. Christianity is not only in Western cultures. Roger’s desire is to share together an appreciation for the excellence and charm of Japanese culture as part of this world, which was created by the same God. The discussion ended with a prayer, “With thanks to our strong, eternal, Creator God, who looks on us who are small and unworthy with a loving gaze.”

Starting next month, ALF will go from one meeting to two meetings per month in two different locations. For more details about ALF or other Community Arts Tokyo activities, please contact info@communityarts.jp.

Meditation on Incineration. I mean...

Itinerating. Type it in...wait for it... "did you mean 'incinerating'?" Thank you, spell-check.

OK, this support-raising journey isn't that bad, but on its rough days the comparison does give me a little chuckle.

And in all seriousness, it brings to mind passages throughout the Bible that refer to God growing, maturing, refining us like silver or gold: through fire. Painful imagery, right?

And I thought of this idea again as I was walking through the woods today and saw many of these. 

Whimsically twisty trees like this one were my favorite when playing in these woods as a little kid. Vines had grown up them, squeeeeezing the poor little trees as they tried to grow. But in time the vines fall away leaving the trees as strong as ever and, in my humble opinion, much more interesting and beautiful, like little works of art.

I can't wait to be back in Japan, learning and growing, loving and serving. But for now? I take a deep breath, go for a stroll, and praise God for the beautiful quirkiness of trees that have persevered through the uncomfortable times. And look back and forward and all around with thankfulness for the many times of rest and encouragement, for friends old and new, and for getting to be a part of the body of Christ in both the US and in Japan, in all of our quirky beauty.

And those whimsically twisty trees? They're still my favorite.

A Meditation on Incarnation

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God…And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us…”

I was first introduced to this piece singing alto with a children’s choir at summer camp for a “Christmas in July” concert. On break from university I would curl up, gazing at the Christmas tree, and blast it through my headphones. In Tokyo I would turn the volume on my laptop as high as it would go, feeling the harmonies swirl around me as I looked out on the river and the lights of the city. Regardless of my location, circumstances, mood… the beauty, humility, and glory of this piece draws me out of myself and to the feet of God in worship. (And yes, that link is me attempting to play this majestic piece composed for a large 8-part choir... on the organ. Unfortunately not doing the lyrics, music, or our great mysterious God justice, I know! But hopefully it gives you a general idea)

It is a song about the incarnation. The great mystery of Christmas: God taking on flesh.

“O great mystery,

and wonderful sacrament,

that animals should see the new-born Lord,

lying in a manger!

Blessed is the Virgin whose womb

was worthy to bear

Christ the Lord.

Alleluia!”

And it is a song about us. I mean really, am I that much better than an animal in comparison with our Lord? And He comes not just to let us see Him, but to move in with us! And the most mysterious of all? After He takes on flesh, lives with us, dies for us, raises victorious… He doesn’t even stop there. I think the greatest mystery of all comes next, as He gives us the magnificent title and role:  “Now you are the body of Christ…”

O great mystery! That God not only lived with and for humanity, but He purifies and calls us worthy, like Mary, to bear Christ the Lord. You and me. In our brokenness and weakness and big-hot-messiness. To be bearers of His Light, to be His Word made flesh in this world.

Incarnation. The God of the universe as a baby, born to a virgin. And most mysterious of all…in us. Alleluia!

~John 1:1, 14

~1 Corinthians 12:27

~M. Lauridsen

Chickens, Cats, and Delight

 I have never been much of an animal person, but as part of my “re-culture shock” of being in rural USA again after a few years in great big Tokyo, I am much more aware of the natural world of plants and animals surrounding me. And from the beauty of humming birds, to the horror of a dead mouse, to my current house-sitting situation with 2 cats and a coop full of chickens, this city girl is finding “normal” things pretty entertaining.

As soon as I open the back door, I hear the excited clucking. 16 scrawny legs scuttle awkwardly in a jumbled effort to be the closest to the hen-house gate. “Some one is coming! Maybe they’ll open the gate! Maybe we’ll be FREEEE!”( – at least, I’m pretty sure that’s what these chickens are going on about.) But as 8 heads turn side-ways to get a good look at who is coming, 8 beady eyes fix on the big, juicy, rotten pear in my hand. I open the gate just enough to slip my wrist through, tossing the pear to the far corner of the coop. After a split second ruckus and flurry of feathers all 8 chickens are happily pecking away for a beak-full of rotten fruit. Meanwhile I open the gate wide, close it behind me, help myself to all their eggs, and let myself out again: completely ignored.

Then we have the cats. On one side of the yard we have a stereotypical anti-social sleeping-all-day ball of fur. On the other hand…we have an outdoor cat who absolutely adores me. As I come home he runs up to the car, nearly getting himself squished to driveway-cat-paste in his eagerness to greet me. He rubs himself on my legs and finds the greatest pleasure in a simple pet on the head. But I am cruel; my ears calloused to the desperate mews as I stand up and head for the front door. Thus the battle of wits always begins. Usually I succeed: slipping into my quiet refuge and locking the door in the face of the mewing cat (usually without squishing his neck in the door – oops. Sorry), but twice the cat has had the victory: dashing through the open door as I fumble with groceries or a stack of mail. “I made it! I win! I am inside and I will never-ever-ever leave you! Now that you have reciprocated my love by allowing me in, PLEEEEEEASE keep petting me” ( - at least, I’m pretty sure that’s what he’s going on about).

I think of my awkward relationship with these animals, and I know it is an odd comparison, but I think of my relationship with God. Am I not a bit like the chickens sometimes? I come to an hour of quiet, a day of rest, and though my Father is right there, the gate open wide, I’m happy to instead fix my eyes on a glowing screen, scrolling through social media and watching TV shows (which in all their fun and wonderfulness are pretty much a gooshy rotten pear compared to my Glorious Abba). And while I know the cat's motives aren't pure either...when was the last time I would have stopped everything and risked my neck just to be with Him? And how thankful I am that He never plays a battle of wits with me, nor shuts the door in my face, nor laughs as I delight in rotten fruit. Oh no. Praise the Lord, He is not a city-girl house-sitter or even a business-like farm manager, but our God is our Shepherd, our Father: patient, overflowing with faithfulness and love. He opens the door wide every time; welcoming us to be with Him, delighting in us delighting in His glory.

迷子。Lessons on a "lost" child.

Clenched fists. Tear-streamed face. Heart-wrenching sobbing. Her 3-year-old frame looked small and fragile as businessmen, students, couples, families, all walked right by, maybe a quick glance before they pretended not to see her. Half hurrying to catch a train, half strolling along to their shopping.

Which way had her parents gone? I glanced around the train station, hoping to spot a frazzled looking parent. I crouch down to her level a few steps away, but being approached by a stranger/foreigner is still enough to instantly transform her tearful fear to terrified silence. (Oops.)

"Are you OK?" (nods affirmative) I try to ease the terror with a small smile, "I bet your mom or dad are close by, right?" My mind is racing: 'should I tell her to come with me to the station office around the corner, or, wait, can I say that in 3-year-old Japanese? yes, but is that going to scare her more...', when her tiny hand points behind me, to a man waiting quietly maybe 30 yards away by the station entrance. "Your Dad?" (nods affirmative)

Lesson #1: looks can be deceiving.

Lesson #2: the best way to get a Japanese toddler having a melt-down in the middle of a station to run to her Dad as fast as her legs can go, is a short conversation with a strange foreigner.

Lesson #3: I continued on my way to church, partly feeling bad (for not spotting the Dad, and terrifying this little kid), partly feeling OK (after all, I did fix the problem! Even if she wasn't lost, and just having a tantrum...and what if she had been lost?), and partly wondering what everybody else in the station was thinking as they walked right by her. But the little girl quickly faded from my mind as a million other thoughts took over, from the music I was playing for the service, to did I remember to send that email, to the meeting happening after worship, to 'wait, what was that Japanese word?', to what to eat for dinner tonight, to housing for the summer interns arriving soon, to raising support in the US this fall and when can I visit ____church, and...well, you get the idea.

Tonight I think back to the girl in the station, and the attitude of my mind/heart recently. No, I'm not having a melt-down; I'm doing great! But what does it mean when the default setting of my mind/heart is planning details (ok, sometimes worrying over details) instead of worshiping?

Sure, I know my Heavenly Dad is near. But do I act like it? Maybe, like my little not-so-lost friend, it's time to spend less time thinking about how I'd like things to go, and more time running to my Heavenly Daddy.

Advent thoughts, Mt.Fuji style

It was August, but we could see our breath, and fingers shoved into cozy mittens still went numb from the cold. It was 3am. Pitch black. Walking in an endless row of people zigzagging up the steep mountainside; awkwardly plodding along, occasionally climbing up rough portions of the trail on all fours. This probably sounds like the beginning to some horrible nightmare, but it was actually fantastic: my younger brother and sister were visiting from the states, and we were going to make it to the top of Mt. Fuji in time to see the sunrise.

We brought flashlights, but they were weak and the small stream of light quickly faded. If we tried to make the hike in the dark we probably would have tripped and found ourselves tumbling down to the base, or at best been stuck in the freezing cold until sunrise. But in the pitch black, even that puny penlight of a flashlight would have been enough to kind of get by. Not ideal, maybe a bit unnerving, but enough. But because we were surrounded ahead and behind with people who came prepared with powerful flashlights and headlamps, we hardly needed our flashlights at all. Thanks to their light, I could see reasonably clearly. Navigating the path in front of me, deciding where to step, was no problem.

But if that had been it: climbing up a mountain in the dark, then carefully making our way all the way back down in the dark, just to say we did it…there is no way I would have gone, much less invited my siblings along. What made it worth it, was hiking on with confident hope of the sunrise. Because it happens every day! We knew that after all the hiking and waiting and freezing, that glorious orange disk was going to slice through the clouds, paint the sky with beautiful colors, and warm our chilled faces and fingers. Not only was the sun itself gorgeous, in its light everything else was beautiful too. We see the path clearly, and the black sky and black mountainside and black valley of the climb up were transformed into a beautiful landscape of reds and greens and blues.

This advent season, it’s dawned on me that life is kind of like climbing Mt. Fuji. Sure it’s wonderful, great times, can be lots of fun and all, but it can also feel ridiculously hard. And sometimes what I am equipped with feels like a puny little flashlight. But it’s more than OK. Because the light is all around, behind and ahead, and we are far from being alone. And best of all? Well, like the sunrise, that’s yet to come. But I can hike, zigzag, awkwardly plod through life with joy, peace, love, and confident hope. Because it happens every day!  Christ is risen. He came. He’s coming again. He’ll never fail to show up. Emmanuel!

Creation

“In the afternoon, Ellie made cookies. Now the countertops were bare, the oven empty and cold, and the Spirit of God was hovering in the kitchen. And Ellie thought “first I need butter”. And she found some in the fridge and it looked good. She measured and softened it and called it ready – the first step… and Ellie tasted the cookies she had made, and they were very good.” 

OK, so that was ridiculously cheesy, maybe even inappropriate. But as I stood in the kitchen with flour on my shirt, washing the dishes stacked in the sink, the aroma of cookies wafting from the oven, a glass of milk and temporarily-empty plate waiting for me, thinking through who I could share the cookies with the next few days…I felt immensely pleased, satisfied. And when The Creation story popped into my head, I couldn’t help but find comparing it to my own feeble “creation” highly entertaining. Imagining God with smudges of dust on his hands, looking down at just-created Adam as he takes that first breath, feeling pleased, satisfied with His work, thinking “Mmhhmm. This is really good”.

When I’m feeling inferior (or superior) to another musician, or person of any vocation, I like to take a step back and remember: compared to God’s creating powers, my peanut butter chocolate chip cookies and Bach or da Vinci’s greatest works are not all that different. Nor are the works of the nurse, the banker, the administrator, the pastor, the parent, the little old man who sweeps up the trash and leaves from the park. We find beauty and declare it good and enjoy it, we bring order to chaos, we serve each other.

I am not saying we should all think of ourselves as artists, “creators”, or “creatives” (I don’t even consider myself one). Instead, I’m beginning to think it’s much grander and much simpler. I’m beginning to think that whether we realize it or not, we all just want to be more like Our Heavenly Dad. At least, I know I do.  How about you? What have you made/seen/been a part of today, that reminded you of Him?