The Raw Material for Beauty (Revised)An Essay on Suffering, Creativity and Hope
This blog post is dedicated to a friend and an artist who ended his own life on Sunday morning, January 22, 2012. (My apologies to subscribers who receive this article twice. The following is a revised and edited version.)
Throughout history, the most enduring creative expressions are most often created within or just after moments of social upheaval, war, grief, chaos or disaster. It would be difficult to overstate this phenomenon. Consider the context in which John Milton penned his epic masterpiece Paradise Lost. “His son was dead, his daughters estranged, two marriages ended, his eyesight departed, his public image disgraced, his friends judicially murdered or fled into exile.” Miguel de Cervantes was the greatest novelist of his century. He was also enslaved for five years in Algiers. His life is described as “endlessly sorrowful and painful …” Aleksandra Solzhenitsyn was tortured, suffering for eight years in Soviet labor camps.
Victor Hugo was already a prolific writer when, in 1843, he lost his daughter in a drowning accident. He was so deeply affected by this tragedy that his pen remained silent for almost a decade. Something miraculous took place during those silent years. Hugo would come storming back with a new wave of poetry and writings that included Les Miserables, his masterpiece about the resurgence of hope that would secure him as one of the greatest French writers of all time.
I have a fascination with individuals who break through humanity’s usual barriers and limitations. As I have tried to understand the substance in their lives which lifts them to such creative heights, I am in awe at the numbers of them who encounter unusual pain and suffering when they are children. As a boy, for example, Charles Dickens labored in the grime of a paste blacking factory. Isaac Newton was abandoned by his mother at the age of three. J.S. Bach’s mother died when he was nine and his father followed her eight months later. Oscar Wilde’s little sister died unexpectedly at the age of eight. One study estimates that of eminently creative individuals, 28% lose their parents as children, in comparison with eight percent of the general population.
At the age of six, the novelist James Matthew Barrie, who wrote The Little White Bird and the successive stage play The Boy Who Wouldn’t Grow Up, lost his brother David in an ice skating accident. It was described as a “catastrophe beyond belief” for his mother. Young James grew up in the fallout of her grief, often hearing her groan that her only happiness was found in the knowledge that her dead son would never grow up. James’ experiences would eventually rise through his pen to become Peter Pan, one of the most adored characters to ever grace the pages of children’s literature.
Consider the writer who swept our hearts and imaginations away into Narnia, showing us what it feels like to playfully romp with delight in the arms of Aslan? C.S. Lewis typed with creative magic. In what circumstance was that brilliance forged? When he was ten years old, his mother fell ill with cancer and slipped out of his world into eternity. Meanwhile his father sent him off to a boarding school. It wasn’t long before little Clive’s imagination rose on the wings of his grief. And in the process he would learn to awaken hope in the hearts of other children. The big-eyed delight in the eyes of every child reading of Narnia quietly originates in another child’s anguish.
Lewis wrote that God “whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks to us in our conscience, and shouts in our pains.” He called pain “God’s megaphone to rouse a deaf world.” Jean-Paul Sartre called suffering “the raw material for beauty.” From my perspective, there is an unmistakeable relationship between suffering and creative power. The secret of that power is not suffering itself, but the hope that is forged in the soul while suffering. Romans 5:3-4 explains this relationship. Hope is born in suffering, which produces perseverance, which gives birth to character, which blossoms into hope. By hope ἐλπίς, the Apostle Paul was not referring to the fast food flicker of optimistic euphoria that we sometimes associate with this word. Hebrews 6:19 says, “We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain …” Hope is the anchor of the soul. A soul empty of hope is anchorless in the raging, unpredictable and disappointing voyage through life. Hope is the joyful anticipation of the good while in the midst of a trial. Hope, by its very nature, cannot exist apart from pain.
Walking amidst this great crowd of humanity are the rarest of artists. They are the masters, who create life changing, breath taking works of art. Artistic talent alone is powerless to produce such masterpieces. Their art confronts us with an audacious faith in providence. Their creative expressions lift up our eyes and plant a resolve in our hearts to rise again. Whatever their genre of creativity, they simply cannot be ignored. None of us are ever quite the same after being confronted by their art forms. These are the great artists whose creative outflow is mysteriously illuminated with an enduring and radiant hope. Almost without exception, these individuals have been lifted up through some inferno of hellish darkness. On their ascent, they’ve snatched up a handful of hope, anchored it to their souls and carried it with them through life.
Hope is an enduring and confident determination that the sun will rise. Gentle light will melt the darkness into a soft gray, then slowly fill up the bedroom window. Soon the brilliant sun will sweep away the night, lighting up your tear stained pillow. The Voice of God is heard in the morning. “Oh, faithful one. Your beautiful soul is formed out of a collision between your pain and my life giving, creating words. The wreckage from these collisions form the textures by which I, the greatest of all artists create My masterpieces. See how you separate the curtains, push the windows wide open and feel the rushing breeze of a new day on your face. You will rise. You will most certainly turn your face toward the cold, biting wind and live again. Just as the radiant colors of dawn are born in the turmoil of light overcoming darkness, you will emerge through the blinding confusion of your ephemeral and seemingly chaotic nothingness.
Hope is a creative force that explodes from within us, casting light across the canvas. Ronald Lopez was a gifted artist. He did amazing things with his natural talents, and he was a master at painting murals. He was an advocate for artists, and his work touched many lives. I was inspired by what Ronald created in Istanbul. Apparently, his life more recently took a downward turn. I feel that I can relate. I know how it feels to wake up in the night, wondering if life is worth living. I know what it means to be tortured by fear, anxiety, guilt, self doubt and depression. And yet, without exception, after each night spent in the valley of the shadow of death, God has gifted me with a glorious sunrise. I suspect that God was forming in Ronald Lopez the raw materials for an explosion of beauty. His most creative gifts to humanity and God were most certainly in front of him.
No matter how blinding the night, no matter how disgraceful our failures may be, there is always, always, always a reason to wait for another day.
Hey Faith Activating Friends,
Here's part one of an interview with Paul Richardson which he recently did on the Canadian TV show, "100 Huntley Street." It's an interesting discussion on the backdrop on his dad's book, "Peace Child," redemptive analogies, his growing up years in Papua and how our culture tries to insulate us from all risk taking. Click above to watch.
One thing that continually amazes me, after calling Indonesia my home for the last 12 years, is how fertile the soil is on Java.
Fertile is actually an understatement. Active volcanoes pour their nutrient rich dust on the landscape year round and the rainy season drenches our island for about half the year, the result of which is dust and mud on the city streets and happy farmers in the rice paddies.
Other Asian countries get one or two rice growing seasons a year. Java gets three. No other place I know gets the benefit of so much equatorial sunshine, rain and minerals, the perfect recipe for wealthy and healthy soil.
The way farmers in villages make fences here (and I am not making this up) is to pound cut branches into the ground next to each other all down a row. Because of the unbelievably rich soil, new sprouts will grow out of these branches which intertwine with the other branches forming a thick, natural fence.
The trees grow tall and the landscape is lush and green, especially during the dripping wet rainy season. My sister, upon arriving in Indonesia for the first time on a visit, gawked at all the greenery surrounding her, which stretched upwards to the heavens and marveled, “Man, this place is like nature on steroids.”
Jesus, very familiar with farming, once told a story to spiritually illustrate how important welcoming soil is to growing seed. The story is only parable that shows up in all three Synoptic Gospels and here it is quoted in Luke chapter eight:
“The sower went out to sow his seed; and as he sowed, some fell beside the road, and it was trampled under foot and the birds of the air ate it up. Other seed fell on rocky soil, and as soon as it grew up, it withered away, because it had no moisture. Other seed fell among the thorns; and the thorns grew up with it and choked it out. Other seed fell into the good soil, and grew up, and produced a crop a hundred times as great.”[i]
The only variable in this story is the soil, and there are four types. The cool thing is we get to choose which kind of soil we will be. “The seed,” Jesus explained later to his confused disciples, “is the word of God.”[ii] It remains the same, powerful and constant, and will grow in any soil that will welcome it.
How is your soil today? Crusty, tough and dry? Open and inviting? If your soil is choked with the thorns of the “worries and riches and pleasures of this life,"[iii] as Jesus called them, it’s up to you to remove them. Get your soil in the drenching rain of His presence and let His words root deep into your heart. Your life will become more fertile than the soil of Java and will produce even a greater yield.
Lord, make the soil of my heart soft for You again. Please help me remove all the rocks and thorns that have covered it over for so long. Drench it with the rain of Your sweet mercy and let your Word go deep into the hidden places of my heart. Thank You that You make all things new. Make me new today Lord Jesus.
By Faith WilsonI stared up the towering wall of limestone before me. The thought of scaling it was daunting. I watched in awe as person after person in front of me carefully clung to seemingly invisible nooks and crannies that allowed them to slowly and steadily ascend the vertical mass.
It was my turn to step up to the challenge. First a foothold; then a grab. With each grasp of the rock I gained momentum and height, conquering that which had seemed impossible. My muscles began to burn. One step at a time. With a rush of adrenaline, I reached higher. The pressure increased. My hands were sweating, but there would be no turning back. It wasn’t just the top I anticipated–no–every clench was a shot of pain followed by a douse of joy.
Hanging over open space, I was tempted to look down. Instead, I stole a glance at the panorama that encircled me. Cascading rocks, puffing volcanoes and painted mountain peaks competed with the city skyline for my gaze. My God, my Savior, crafted this engaging masterpiece! My attention returned to the wall. To trust was to live. Fear would not overpower my heart. Moderation meant death. I could either cling on to the rock with every ounce within me, or plummet to the ground.
For me, this was the consummate adventure, and it reminds me of how I want to live. I want to climb the daunting, painstaking, unknown will of God. I want to trust his vision for each foothold, for each grab. I want to rise to greater challenges, allowing my muscles to burn as they grow character and gain strength. Rather than allow my fears to overwhelm me, I want to steal glances at God’s creativity. I will not be content waiting on the ground, overcome by yesterday’s limitations.
My soul echoes David’s cry, “Teach me to do your will, for you are my God.”
We stand looking up at another year. This year can only be lived once. Let’s climb mountains. Let’s surrender all to God this year. Let’s cling to him for every step, trusting him to carry us into the unknown. Let’s take risks and face uncertainty clinging to God in faith. There is no assurance that this year will be easy, but it all comes with a promise: “I am the LORD your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you.” (Is. 41:13)
Happy New Year!
By Faith Wilson
I was boarding my flight to Indonesia when a friend texted me, “You are on the brink of your future! What does it feel like?” She was right. I was in transition, stepping beyond yesterday’s norms and leaning over the forward edge. I was pressing on, exploring the unknown, actively writing a new chapter into my life story.
And yet as I buckled myself into my seat, I found myself thinking “Has there ever been a moment in my life when I was not on the brink of my future?” A song that we sang at my kindergarten graduation came to mind.
“He’s still workin’ on me,
to make me what I ought to be
to make me what I ought to be
He already made the moon and the stars,
The sun and the earth and Jupiter and Mars
The sun and the earth and Jupiter and Mars
How loving and patient He must be
Cuz He’s still workin’ on me.”
Cuz He’s still workin’ on me.”
As a little girl I often pondered the meaning of this song. I remember being so excited to grow up, and for God to someday finish “workin’ on me.” A pattern of thinking was born inside of me that said, “Someday when God is finished working on me, then he can use me!” Through the years I would often think about what God could possibly have dreamed up for my future. This always excited me, and I just couldn’t wait to get there, to arrive at my future.
Can you relate? Could it be that this way of thinking can neutralize our receptivity to what God is doing in us right now? We all have dreams of the future. We long for perfection. We hope and desire more. Someday … all of our experiences, painful moments, frustrations, and doubts will find their purpose. Someday, we hope, everything will converge into perfection.
On a trip overseas a couple of years ago, I received this encouragement from the Lord: Everything in your life up until now has prepared you for this moment. That word from God was precisely what I needed. However, with time I have come to realize that God makes the same promise every morning! God’s reassuring promise to me was not just true two years ago, or in the moment I boarded a flight to Indonesia this year. Rather, everything in my life has prepared me for today, and something will happen today as a part of God’s preparation for thousands of moments to come.
God has empowered you with everything you need to rise up and face the challenges of today; yet today’s greatest moments hold the limitless possibilities for tomorrow. Every day is a completion, and every day is a part of a work in progress. God has done a good work in you already, and there is still so much yet to be done. It is so exciting to know that He will, and is currently, choosing to use you despite your continuing status as “under construction”. Every moment is a culmination of all that God has created in you up to this moment, and a stepping stone toward what he will do in the future.
Isaiah 64:8, “… O Lord, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand.”
Christmas 2011East Java, Indonesia
Awakened before dawn by the Islamic call to prayer, I rise out of bed, dress in the dark and tip-toe up the winding stairway to my rooftop balcony. My city rests in her cradle between three massive volcanoes. After awhile, the sound of the mosques’ chanting retreats back into silence, allowing me a few precious minutes to soak up the early morning.
A breeze stirs the damp clothes still hanging on the line. The wind rustles the leaves of a banana tree. I watch in wonder as the Creator begins to paint with light. Beyond the city limits, the slopes of stately Mount Semeru emerge from darkness. Pastels give way to the blazing sun, which rises in victory over the spirits of the night.
With the new day, people step out of their front doors to chase their ambitions. They haul their loads to market. A neighbor gets to work tiling the roof on his house. A young mother sings to her baby. A farmer’s rubber boots slosh through a muddy rice paddy. In every direction, activity fills the noisy streets and crowded alleys of this emerald green, rice terraced island.
Tomorrow is Christmas, and nobody around here seems to have any idea.
No tinsel, fake snow or glitter in shop windows. Nobody will rush out tonight to purchase one more present to stuff under the tree. As far as I know, Santa and his reindeer have never visited this place. It all used to bother me. But nowadays I have grown to prefer Christmas here. Something about it feels a bit more like that first night. Original, raw and earthy. Poor. The cry of a newborn baby rises in the darkness and drifts over a moonlit village. A teenaged mother groans in pain as her husband does his best to make her comfortable in a stable. The world outside goes on sleeping, unaware that the hope of humanity lies nearby in his mother’s gentle arms.
Jesus, Light of the World, You are my hope.
I celebrate the opportunity to carry your love into my city today. Thank you for the honor you have entrusted to me and my friends to live here. I truly, passionately, love serving here. Thank you for giving us a chance to open schools of hope in places where most children have never heard of Christmas. Thank you for the beautiful faces of these amazing kids in our schools and orphanages. I celebrate that You have a purpose and an amazing future waiting for them. Thank you for calling dedicated teachers to serve with Mustard Seed. Thank you for calling others back home to give so generously. Bless them today Lord Jesus. Fill their homes and hearts with your peace. Jesus, you are worth dying for, and the mission you have placed before us is worth living for.
Blessed be Your Name.
Some are chained to the 1st quadrant. Others are mired in the 3rd and 4th quadrants. But the most effective people discover life in the 2nd quadrant. Paul Richardson and Mike O'Quin talk about thinking strategically, reflecting with purpose, nurturing self awareness, and advancing with vision beyond our typical New Year's resolutions. 2012 can be your best year ever. Find out how by listening to this short podast.
Click below to hear this conversation or search for "Faith Activators" on the iTunes store.
Podcast: Play in new window | Download
The writer of Hebrews encourages us to "be diligent to enter that rest" (Hebrews 4:11). In this audio podcast Paul Richardson and Mike O'Quin discuss that paradox and why it's so important for our frenzied souls to find some real rest, especially before and after seasons of advance. God has a sane rhythm of life for us and we can learn how to savor each season.
Click below to listen to this free podcast or you can subscribe to these conversations by searching for "Faith Activators" in the iTunes store.
Podcast: Play in new window | Download
Am I nuts?
I hear voices.
They chatter through the day and worry me awake in the night. They mutter shame and murmer guilt. They invoke my deepest fears. They conjure negative emotions about people I love. Running off at the mouth, they lure me into timidity. Dampening my spirit, they rant impossibilities, and conjure up chickenheartedness. They pull me back away from the forward edge, drawing me into my past.
They annoy, badger, heckle, hound, and pester. They are always talking to me about me. Am I nuts? Of course I am. And so are you. I can hear the voices rattling around in your head too.
Yakkety yak.
There is a VOICE. He says, "My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. Therefore you will boast all the more gladly about your weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on you. That is why, for Christ's sake, you delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when you are weak, then I am strong.”
The chatter fades, and the VOICE rises within. Can you hear Him?
He is the VOICE of strength, courage and hope. His VOICE brightens, comforts, emboldens, energizes, fortifies, inspires, refreshes, restores, revitalizes, and strengthens. He is the whisper in the night, “Why is your soul downcast? Why are you so disturbed within? Put your hope in Me.”
He nudges my thoughts beyond myself. Beckoning me forward to the edge, He says, Trust Me. “I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” He speaks clearly, saying that He is my help and my shield. He says that those who hope in Him will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.
He is the VOICE of hope who fills me with all joy and peace as I trust in him, so that I may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. He tells me that I can do everything through Christ who gives me strength. The VOICE of the LORD will guide me always; he will satisfy my needs in a sun-scorched land and will strengthen my frame. I will be like a well-watered garden, like a spring whose waters never fail.
And when he brings out his own sheep, he goes before them; and the sheep follow him, for they know his voice.”
John 10:4
