by Justin McRoberts
A pair of brilliant young girls in my neighborhood (ages 6 and 8) set up an art gallery in their garage. Hung on packing twine with clothespins and paper clips, most of the art is their own, though they also featured a few contributions from siblings labeled "guest pieces.” These young artists also made invitations, tickets and gallery-member wristbands to distribute throughout our neighborhood. My wife and I immediately took our tickets down the way to pay a visit. We made sure to go during the hours posted on the “Gradn Openig” sign outside.
Handing in our tickets at the front desk, we received paper bracelets that allowed us gallery access throughout the day. Our bracelets, we were informed, also afforded us a 10% discount on featured pieces, 20% off guest work. We purchased one pencil drawing, one watercolor and then commissioned a second watercolor for my 4yr old son. He had noted a lack of truck-themed artwork and we decided to rectify that oversight.
Though they could have spent their free time consuming countless hours of children’s television, these girls chose instead to beauty to their neighborhood and their world. They chose to devote their time to the work and the wonder of creating.
I think these kinds of expressions, these deep desires that resonate within us, represent the best of who we are - in our better moments, and as our better selves, we use the raw materials around us and within us to make something truer, better and more beautiful.
We are makers, you and I.
We are creatures who create.
Unsatisfied with what is, we dream of better things and then we build them.
This is the best of who we are.
“The world is full of noise,” says author Andy Crouch, “but only humans make music.”
In his essential letter to artists in 1992, Pope John Paul II suggests, “The human craftsman mirrors the image of God as the Creator.”
Professor David Dark writes, “Something often excluded from our definition of being human is that we are makers.”
I see this truth about us at play in an endless list of creative expressions...
- the way our hands can take paper and steel and ink and fire to create a piece of art that evokes powerful emotions and thoughts in its viewers.
- the way our hands can rebuild a city twisted and broken by weather or war or tectonic shifts…
- the way our hands can take hold of a life crushed and defeated by chemicals or abuse and slowly, patiently, reshape, and restore a person to health.
By its very practice, the story art tells about us seems to echo the religious narrative of human life: that there is more to life than what we can measure or see. And not only do we get to experience that “More," we also get to participate in it… should we have the courage. The measurable, material world is exactly and only that: material -like unworked clay... a beginning, pregnant with potential in the hands of a powerful, creative being. In other words, both art and religion intrinsically proclaim that it is the act of making (and even unmaking) that defines the human experience of life rather than our matter or our circumstances.
My materialist friends tend to balk at my religious reading of the human experience, believing I add an unnecessary, Christian filter to everything, like the Instagram user who just can’t let well enough alone. I understand their concern, but I struggle to find anything in a materialist worldview that fully accounts for (much less affirms) the vibrant and vital story of a humanity unsatisfied with the world as it is. The instinct for survival just isn’t a large enough story. We clearly want and work for more than simple survival. We are not content with what simply is. In our better moments, we want to make better things from the lesser things we naturally have in hand.
“The Lord God took the man and put him in the garden of Eden, to till it and keep it.” - Gen 2:15
Being in the garden was a beginning.
The soil and the seed was a beginning.
That we were asked to do something with the things we were given is the beginning of human history, the beginning of the world.
For the artist, it isn’t enough to have clay and steel and paint. Holding these things doesn’t make one an artist; making something of them does. I’ve come to believe the same thing about being “human.” It is not enough to hold chemistry and history and circumstance in our hands - our humanity is dependent upon what we make of what we are given.
My blessings and abuses, wealth and lack are a beginning - a start.
What am I making from what I am given?
What am I building?
My materials might be paint or pixels, notes or measures, steel or clay…
Or they might be the fragments of a shattered past.
Regardless, I believe it is what I make, rather than what I have, that defines who I am, that tells my story true.
Justin McRoberts is a singer, songwriter, blogger, pastor and teacher living in San Francisco He is also the mind behind the CMYK Project. You can
follow him on Twitter @justinmcroberts and find more information about his other endeavors here.
You might also like:
by Jim Kast-Keat
Growing up, there was one Christmas present I could always guess with a single shake: Legos. This simple (and sadly overly commercialized) toy has been my obsession for the past thirty years, recently resurfacing as I declared myself an official Lego Collector (which means my wife is kind enough to put up with my Lego creations being proudly displayed underneath our whiskey shelf).
As a pastor and theologian, I cannot help but look at theology through the lens of my Legos. And, in doing so, I have discovered five simple things that make me love Legos and theology all the more.
1. Legos are fun. So is theology.
Why does the former evoke play while the latter evokes work? Legos are fun and theology is too (or at least it can be). People often think of theology as a mountain of inaccessible books and boring ideas. And while at times this is (sadly) true, theology at its essence is fun. It is about asking big, if not the biggest, questions in existence and entering into an arena of thought where one can play with these ideas.
I’m tired of people saying that theology is boring. Personally, I avoid all things boring. (For any of you enneagram junkies out there, yes, I am a seven.) But theology is one thing I eagerly embrace. Theology is not about following the rules so much as it is about playing the game, toying with ideas and seeing how they can fit together. And this game called Life & Faith is meant to be fun.
2. Legos evoke creativity. Theology can do the same.
Give a child a box of Legos and the possibilities of what they will create are endless. Yet for some reason, we bring our ideas about God to the table and suddenly find ourselves stuck within a rigid framework. Theology, like Legos, should evoke creativity. It should be the metaphorical building blocks that allow us to build and rebuild, articulate and re-articulate our understanding of God, faith, life, and the world. Theology should inspire us to bring new things to life rather than defend old ones. Because after all, being a person of faith doesn’t mean you have to be a person of antiquity.
Humans have always been called to be co-creators. Yet for some reason, we too easily become self-appointed defenders, holding fast to the anchors that hold us back rather than building sails that can be filled with the breath of God to move us and our creativity forward.
3. Legos are collaborative. Theology should be too.
Adults don’t typically have play-dates. But when you have thousands of Legos in your living room, your grown-up friends don’t mind being invited over to play. Because while Legos can be fun to play with by yourself, adding another person or two brings the activity to a new level of wonder and imagination. Legos are collaborative. And theology should be too.
Theology has a long trajectory of avoiding isolation and of situating itself among the people, in spite of certain individuals choosing to act as the self-appointed gatekeepers of orthodoxy. The Spirit of God is communal rather than individual. God works collaboratively, from the presence of God speaking to the nation of Israel at Sinai (after which they quickly nominated Moses to go up on their behalf) to the unleashing of the spirit of God in the egalitarian community in the beginning of the book of Acts. The Spirit of God does not just speak through one of us, but through all of us. God is like Legos with friends, or, like a Jack Johnson song: it’s better together.
4. Legos come in all shapes and sizes. So does theology.
In my thirty year history of playing with Legos, I have seen them evolve. From new colors to new shapes to new characters and worlds, Legos are an ever-evolving universe. They come in all shapes and sizes. And as much as one group (typically those with the privilege and power) would like to think, they are not the only ones out there. Legos come in more than bricks and flats, and so do the people of God.
Once upon a time, we lived in a world relegated by implicit tribalism. But in our global community we have the ability to transcend our tribes of origin and discover that, just as there are more than two thousand different Lego bricks, there are thousands of different expressions of what it means to be a Christian. The people of God is a tribe whose center eliminates the need for a boundary. Ignore certain Lego pieces all you want, but that doesn’t mean they don’t exist. The same reality is true with the people of God, a difficulty for both liberals and conservatives alike.
5. Legos are for all ages. So is theology.
Legos transcend age. They are a toy for children and adults alike. You don’t have to outgrow them. Instead they can continue to grow with you. In the same way, theology doesn’t come with an age restriction. But this doesn’t mean you give a six-year-old the most advanced Lego set you can find. The most advanced Lego set contains many of the same bricks as its most basic counterpart, yet you often need to start with one in order to get to the other. And as you grow and develop, you don’t leave the basic sets behind. Rather they are transcended and included in the new creations you bring to life.
Theology is much the same. Everyone, from young to old, can be invited to explore and wonder and think and ask questions about God. But this exploration must come with a developmental appropriateness. Too often we teach abstract concepts to concrete thinkers when what’s truly needed is an invitation to learn how the bricks of our faith fit together, cultivating skills and passion that can grow with you time. Because theology, like Legos, is for everyone.
Old Testament, New Testament, Brick Testament
So the next time you see a bright, colorful, interlocking, brick, think about a bright, colorful, interlocking theology. And the next time you see a looming tower of old theology books, imagine all the shapes and structures they could be stacked into. Because theology has a lot to learn from Legos. Therefore (Le)go and be disciples of all nations, playing theology and Legos, discovering that they are more alike than you may have initially thought.
Jim Kast-Keat is the Associate Minister for Education at Middle Collegiate Church in the East Village of New York City. He is a divergent thinker, an ideation specialist, and an aspiring minimalist. Prior to working at Middle he helped lead ikonNYC in New York, NY, worked as a Product Designer with Sparkhouse in Minneapolis, MN and was a pastor at Mars Hill Bible Church in Grand Rapids, MI. To find out more about Jim go to www.jimkastkeat.com or follow him on twitter at @IdeasDoneDaily.
You might also like:
by Ben Howard
This week on the show Ben sits down with Jim Kast-Keat to discuss
creativity, education, and his recent transition into ministry. We'll
also talk about his time working with children's education at Mars Hill
in Grand Rapids, Michigan, the importance of intellectual freedom in
education, his personal podcasting projects, and what it's like to be a
minister married to another minister who works at a different church.
Be sure to follow Jim on Twitter and check out his website at jimkastkeat.com.
If you like the show, please rate and
review us on iTunes. It's the first step in our secret mission to take over the world.
You can download the podcast by clicking here.
Or you can subscribe to the podcast by searching "On Pop Theology" in
the iTunes music store.
Also, remember to "Like" On Pop Theology on Facebook and follow us on Twitter @OnPopTheology for all the updates, posts, and links throughout the week.
Finally, if you'd like to stream the podcast, you can do that here:
Peace,
Ben
If you have any questions, comments, or if you just want to say hi, you can contact us at onpoptheology [at] gmail.com.
You might also like:
by Ben Howard
In this week's episode Ben interviews author and artist Troy Bronsink
about his new book "Drawn In: A Creative Process for Artists, Activists
and Jesus Followers" from Paraclete Press. They talk about the
importance of art in the church, the way we can view church itself as an
art form, and the importance of engaging in creative activities even
for people who don't consider them artists. Join in, be inspired and
enjoy!
You can download the podcast by clicking here.
Or you can subscribe to the podcast by searching "On Pop Theology" in
the iTunes music store. If you download the show through iTunes, please
be so kind as to rate and review us. We want your feedback and it helps
the show to grow.
If you'd like to find more information about Troy's book, check out his website or the book's Facebook page. You can purchase it on Amazon here.
Also, remember to "Like" On Pop Theology on Facebook and follow us on Twitter @OnPopTheology for all the updates, posts, and links throughout the week.
Finally, if you'd like to stream the podcast, you can do that here:
Peace,
Ben
If you have any questions, comments, or if you just want to say hi, you can contact us at onpoptheology [at] gmail.com.
You might also like:
 |
| Oooo...pretty. |
by Ben Howard
They used a red, white and blue ball. It was weird, and it was popular. This
decision did not come about because of market testing, or intense analysis, or
even any type of vigorous conversation. No, the guy in charge of the league had
bad eyesight and couldn’t see the typical brown ball as it bounced around the
poorly lit fieldhouses and gymnasiums that served as the home of basketball in
the 1960s.
Also, America.
Those are the reasons that the American Basketball Association, better known
as the ABA, used a red, white, and blue basketball. It’s the same ball that you’ll
see if you ever watch the three point contest at the NBA All-Star Game. It’s
called the money ball.
Unless you’re a diehard fan of basketball history, or have been an avid
basketball fan since somewhere around 1970, you probably don’t know much about
the ABA. So let’s start there.
The ABA was founded in 1967 as a competitor to the NBA. Even to say that it was
“founded” is assigning the act much more planning and forethought than was
actually the case. Better to say that the ABA “began to exist” in 1967. Their
players were essentially NBA rejects, their games poorly attended, and their
finances were…interesting.
Despite these limitations the ABA eventually found enough success to force a
lucrative merger with the much larger and far more stable NBA. So why did the
ABA exist for 10 years (arguably 9 ½ years longer than it should have)?
The red, white, and blue ball. Or, to be more specific, what the red, white,
and blue ball symbolized: a willingness to be innovative.
In addition to the colorful basketball, the ABA also introduced the three
point line, the slam dunk contest, and turned halftime entertainment into an
art form (here's the story of Victor the Wrestling Bear).
 |
| We need more afros. |
The ABA made itself the league of flash and flair. It made superstars out of
creative, high-flying athletes like Julius Erving and David Thompson.
There are a lot of similarities between the ABA and the megachurch model of
evangelical Christianity. Both have found popular success through a willingness
to innovate, a willingness to modernize, and a willingness to try absolutely
anything in a perennial quest for attention (one ABA team famously hosted
halter top night in 1975).
If you've read my blog, it’s no surprise that I think the megachurch model of Christianity is
ultimately flawed, much like the ABA. The movement has no historical roots, and
combined with the quest for popularity, which very quickly turns into a shallow
desire for aesthetic satisfaction, the model simply seems unhealthy and
unsustainable.
However, the flaws don’t diminish the lessons that other traditions can
learn from the megachurch model. This model of evangelical Christianity has re-imagined
the aesthetic sensibility of the church with its use of artistry and media.
Traditionally, the church has been known as a great patron of the arts,
however, in recent times that idea of the church as a locus of aesthetic
sensibilities has been on the decline. Even when the church does value art now,
it values high art, not the kind that is able to be enjoyed and discerned by
the masses.
Megachurches have done fantastic work utilizing media, graphic design and
modern music to re-engage the aesthetic sensibilities of the masses. Granted,
the content of this art is sometimes vapid and shallow, but that does not diminish
the form.
Additionally, megachurches have done an excellent job of energizing their
congregations. Unfortunately, much of the time that energy is directed into
growing the churches popularity and/or coffers, but the act of energizing a
community to some mutual purpose is a noble act.
 |
| Awesome. Just awesome. |
These are the things mainline churches can learn from the megachurch model
in the same way that the NBA had lessons to learn from the ABA.
The ABA never had the ability to conquer the NBA. The NBA had history,
financial stability, and a fan-base, but it did force the NBA to try something
new. The NBA adopted the three point line, the slam dunk contest, and started doing
more to entertain their fans. The NBA didn’t replace substance, but it added
style because sometimes it’s necessary to have a bit of flash.
The ABA didn't make the NBA, but it made the NBA try. Sometimes all you need
is someone to push you, to annoy you, to force you to think about things you
forgot long ago.
Peace,
Ben
You can follow On Pop Theology on Twitter @OnPopTheology or like us on Facebook at www.facebook.com/OnPopTheology.
Contact us at onpoptheology [at] gmail.com.
