Calling All Creatives! Calling All Creatives! We Need You!
While riding my mountain bike a few weeks ago, I took a tumble and shattered my collarbone into five pieces. A group of villagers carried me to my house, where I was helped into the passenger seat of my car. I asked someone, “Can you tell my wife I have to get to the hospital?” Minutes later, we were on our way. It felt like gravel was churning around in my shoulder where a collar bone used to be. I needed a doctor, and I needed him fast.
When we are seriously injured, we know exactly where to go. We make a bee line for a doctor. When our sewer pipes get clogged up, we call plumbers. When our cars break down, we take them to mechanics. And when our souls feel like they are dying of solitude, thirst, emptiness and brokenness, we entrust them to … psychologists? Politicians? Priests? Professors?
Not a chance.
Instead most of us turn to the gardeners and shepherds of the soul. We plug in to the I-pod, rent a movie, turn on the television or roam the aisles of a book store in search of the cure for our internal sickness. This is no random coincidence. Much like a surgeon can slice open a shoulder and patch up a collarbone, an artist is a surgeon of the soul.
The greatest artists have always known their mission. Pablo Picasso referred to painting as “an instrument of war.” He said, “I want to draw the mind in a direction it’s not used to and wake it up. I want to help the viewer discover something he wouldn’t have discovered without me. That’s why I stress the dissimilarity, for example, between the left eye and the right eye.”
Art is lightning that flashes across the sky in the dead of night, momentarily revealing the broken furniture on the patio. If even for a moment, the lightning exposes the conditions of our souls and sends the rats running for cover. It may tear open a widespread condition of humanity, or focus our awareness on something very specific that most people have chosen to ignore. Mark Twain wrote The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn well after the conclusion of the Civil War. Pen in hand, he opened up the human heart and rearranged our inner consciousness. Readers picked up his book and laughed until our sides ached. Meanwhile we found ourselves drifting along the Mississippi River with a slave. Then we were beckoned into the slave’s life. We were annoyed to discover that he had feelings. He had a family. He had a soul just like us. He even had a name. Eventually Jim became our own imaginary friend, and all of us longed for him to be set free. Then we put the story on the bookshelf and went back outside, into the real world where the devastating effects of slavery continued to hang over the grandchildren of slaves.
A writer had toyed around inside of us until he was satisfied that we had been set free from our numbness, our death of compassion for the desperate plight of humanity. His art took effect. In our new, transformed state of mind, we were far more ready to take action on behalf of freedom. And therein lies the power, the nobility and, dare I say, the responsibility of creativity.
Although the Christian artist is often very quiet and sits toward the back of the church, there is rarely a more powerful or influential person in the building. The church urgently needs to call upon her artists to step to the forefront of the movement of Jesus. Imagine if your pastor were to gather a team of artists in your congregation and say, “This is the passage of Scripture I want to address in four weeks. These are the themes and messages that I want to convey. Would you mind helping me bring my message more deeply into the hearts of my congregation?”
The timeless American writer Flannery O’Connor once said, “I am not afraid that the book will be controversial, I’m afraid it will not be controversial.” May we see an explosion of controversial art at the forward edge of the Christian faith. May we all burst up from the tired old paradigms and begin to create with courage. We must leave behind expressions that are frivolous, careless or irrelevant ramblings of meaningless philosophy. We must create with a radical standard shaping our vision. We must create by faith, after getting on our knees every morning and surrendering our souls to God with the hope that he will put a new song in our mouths, that he will unleash a redeeming narrative to humanity through us.
Artist, may the Spirit of God light a fire in your soul. May He set you free to create with authority and courage. The church needs you! May the streams of Spirit fueled creativity flow, causing change in the world around you. May your creativity result in movement, response, healing, truth, and life.
Re-thinking Creativity and Ministry
In the season when kings mounted swift stallions, unsheathed gilded swords and went to war, one king called in sick. Following a massage and a hot bath, he stretched himself across fluffy white, goose down pillows. His mind began to whimsically drift away from the fierce battles raging outside. His thoughts turned instead to nostalgic memories of youthful days. After awhile his mind drifted through the window, beyond the curtains fluttering in the afternoon breeze. His imagination tinkered nowhere in particular, like a butterfly wandering aimlessly in a pastel field of wildflowers. After hovering for a moment over an intriguing snake hole, he was suddenly sucked down into the rogue abyss of his own dark side.
Lost in himself, he ordered a servant to fetch the curvaceous wife of a faithful and trusted five star general. After he waited anxiously for several minutes, she appeared at his bedroom door with a terrified expression on her face. Within a few weeks, it was whispered in the palace that a baby was on the way. After making a few clumsy attempts to cover up the scandal, the king ordered her husband to be murdered, and brought her to live amongst his bevy of other conquests.
Sometime later, the king had a visit from the most preeminent artist in his kingdom. The artist unfurled his canvas. Then he began to paint a sequence of images into the king’s mind. “There were two men in a certain town, one rich and the other poor. The rich man had a very large number of sheep and cattle, but the poor man had nothing except one little ewe lamb he had bought. He raised it, and it grew up with him and his children. It shared his food, drank from his cup and even slept in his arms. It was like a daughter to him. Now a traveler came to the rich man, but the rich man refrained from taking one of his own sheep or cattle to prepare a meal for the traveler who had come to him. Instead, he took the ewe lamb that belonged to the poor man and prepared it for the one who had come to him.” (II Samuel 12:1-4)
As the king watched this tale unfolding in his imagination, his heart was drawn into the story. He became increasingly irritated by the injustice being portrayed. He said to the artist, “As surely as the Lord lives, the man who did this deserves to die! He must pay for that lamb four times over, because he did such a thing and had no pity.” Then the artist looked straight into the eyes of the king and said, “You are the man!” It was the moment of truth. Scales that had once blinded his eyes were torn away. Light invaded his heart. The king blinked in the fierce glare of truth.
A work of art painted into the king’s imagination had been his catalyst of freedom.
King David’s heart had been locked away with a “do not disturb” sign hung on the door. He was untouchable. His servants were terrified to even speak to him. Having constructed a barrier between himself and truth, he was unaware of his own state of mind. David’s blissful ignorance of his own soul environment is typical of the human condition. The Bible describes the mental consequences of wandering away from God as, “madness, blindness and confusion of mind.” People at high noon are described as groping around like blind men in the dark. (Deut. 28:28-29) What was God’s counter attack in the battle for King David’s soul?
A work of art.
A sequence of powerful images were launched like torpedoes meant to seek and destroy the lies that had rooted themselves in David’s heart. The Prophet Nathan aimed straight for the imagination. Rather than threatening David, the Prophet slipped in through the back door of his mind. David was shaken free of his delusions from the inside out. A renewed imagination became his catalyst of freedom. Transformed and set free, he sat down and penned the 51st Psalm, “Create in me a pure heart, O God, and renew a steadfast spirit within me … O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth will declare your praise.”
What is an artist? An artist is any person who has nurtured the ability to frolic on the playground of the human imagination. I wonder, is there any greater influence on the face of the earth than this? All of us can nurture the gift of creativity. Take a few moments today to consider your ability to communicate effectively in the realm of the human hearts around you. Can you foster and develop your creative talents to confront the fallen and broken conditions in the world around you? If so, you can become a mighty weapon in God’s right hand to advance his kingdom.
RETHINK YOUR CREATIVITY:
Practice telling compelling STORIES.
Re-imagine creativity: Think of creativity not simply as “self expression” but as a RESPONSE.
Focus: What are the fallen soul environments around you that DEFY you to respond with delicate creativity?
“This is how we know what love is. Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers.”
I John 3:16
For centuries, the people living in villages clustered along the south coast of Java have lived in terror of Nyai Loro Kidul, the legendary Queen goddess of the South Sea. Though her magnificent beaches offer some of the most picturesque white sand on the planet, her waters are no place to frolic. Encounters with great white sharks are commonplace. Coral reefs abound with poisonous sea snakes. Unpredictable currents, thunderous 20 foot waves and merciless riptides kill dozens of unsuspecting and naïve swimmers every year. Mention to virtually any person in Java that you are visiting the south coast and you will hear the inevitable warning, “Look but don’t touch! Never go in the water!”
Clearly aware of the menace posed by the ocean, Isak Timoteus arrived with his wife Ruthy, their five children and a few family friends on a remote South coast beach last Friday morning. He parked, reminded his children not to go near the water, and walked onto the beach to find a shady place to enjoy a breezy day together. Suddenly Timo noticed a group of people standing along the shore. Three young women had been swept into the waves and were screaming for help.
Timo never hesitated. He shouted to a teenager, “Run to the village to get a canoe! Find someone to come get us!” To another he shouted, “Make sure my children stay away from the water!” With that, Timo, who is a strong swimmer, sprinted to the water and dove into the waves to save the lives of three complete strangers. Another man, who was engaged to be married to one of the young women in the water, followed Timo in.
From this point, it is not clear to me exactly how the next hour unfolded. Villagers ran onto the beach but vowed they would never go in that dangerous water. Two of the three of the women were saved. But Timo, the other man and his fiancé, exhausted from battling the riptides, were sucked under and drowned in the waves. A half hour later their bodies washed ashore.
The news of Timo’s drowning sent shock waves through our city over the weekend. Not a person was surprised that Timo would unhesitatingly risk his life on behalf others. After all, Timo had made a habit of sacrificing himself on behalf of others. A decade earlier, Timo felt the call to resign from his prestigious position as a high level manager in a pharmaceutical company to devote his life to full time youth ministry. Passionately burdened to win the souls of youth to Christ, Timo sold his house, entered seminary, and led his wife and children on a journey of faith. Living on the edge of poverty, Timo devoted himself to sharing the Gospel with teenagers, offering counseling and doing everything in his power to serve them.
Over the next decade, Timo’s name became frequently mentioned in the testimonies of hundreds of people. The day I was introduced to him, I immediately I sensed that here was a man I wanted to emulate. His humility was so refreshing. His passion to seek and save the lost was radical. Inspired by his relentless determination to serve youth, I decided that I would do all I could to support his dreams. Mustard Seed joined with Timoteus to open the Malang Youth Center (MYC). Over the years, MYC has impacted the lives of hundreds of teenagers from the eleven high schools in our city. The ministry offers counseling for youth, outreach programs, evangelistic events, and intensive discipleship.
Last Wednesday, I met with the staff of the Malang Youth Center for one of our weekly leadership training sessions. We studied Acts 20. In this passage, the Apostle Paul meets with the elders in Ephesus for the last time. Upon hearing that they will no longer see him, the elders “fell on his neck (NKJV) and wept.” I shared with the leaders that love is the basis for all Christian ministry. I asked them to take few minutes to ponder the question, “if the youth that you are serving heard that they will never see you again, would they shrug their shoulders, or “fall on your neck” weeping?
That conversation was the last time I would ever see Timo alive on this earth. In my heart, the theme of the Bible study holds near prophetic significance. Not just dozens, but hundreds of youth or adults who had been impacted as youth, are weeping for his loss.
I was asked to preach at Timo’s funeral last night. It was one of the most difficult messages I’ve ever given. How could my words possibly capture the limitless and enduring impact of this man’s amazing life? In my talk, I pondered the question, In the echoes of his death, what would Timoteus ask of you and me? I am convinced that he would ask us to repent and follow Jesus with all our heart, mind, soul and strength. He would ask us to carry on his ministry to youth. And, he would most certainly ask us to take care of his beloved Ruthy and their five children, Sasa, Noel, Justian, Teo, and Paul.
With this in mind, would anyone out there be willing to send in a sacrificial donation for this man’s family? I can verify that Ruthy and the children have been left with next to nothing. Timo spent his adult life giving everything away! What will it be like for Ruthy to raise Sasa and the four boys alone? What will be the cost over the next decade?
Imagine if we could combine our resources to purchase them a small home. Would you consider being a part of this dream? Perhaps through our combined generosity, God will provide a home for Ruthy and the children.
Isak Timoteus Memorial Fund
Mustard Seed International
P.O. Box 20188
Charleston SC 29413
In solidarity. In compassion. In Christ.
East Java, Indonesia
When I served as a youth worker back in California, we asked the kids at our church to give a Saturday a month to serve at a convalescent home. We’d scatter through the hallways, going into the rooms of the elderly, sitting down next to their beds and listening to their stories. We’d often strum our guitars and sing for them.
Out of all the men and women we met on those Saturdays, one person in particular etched a permanent groove in my memory. I never knew the man’s name, but I can still hear his voice sounding like tires crunching gravel. His faded, grey eyes still contained enough hope to reveal a few ounces of determination. He said, “Push me over there.” I happily wheeled him down the white tiled corridor. We came to the end of another hallway. Again, he said, “Turn here.” After a minute, I realized that for him, this wasn’t just a joy ride. He had a destination in mind. “Now, left here.” Soon we found ourselves at the back of the Convalescent Home. We approached the end of a narrow hallway. A sign revealed that this was an emergency exit. Before us were the words, “ALARM WILL SOUND.”
“Okay. Now please just push that door open for me.”
“What?”
“I’m not strong enough to get the door open! Please, help me. Quickly!” Speaking with determination, he twisted around in his wheelchair and forcefully gripped my hand, “Please! I can’t stand it in here! I don’t want to die in here. They won’t let me out. I want to see the sky. Please let me see the grass and smell the flowers again.”
His eyes bored into mine and he gripped my hand even harder.
“But I can’t just open the emergency exit door!”
When I got home that afternoon, I couldn’t get the man’s voice out of my ears. This week I remembered again the feeling I had that day as I apologized to that man for not being willing to help him escape his dungeon of despair. Having just “celebrated” my 43rd birthday, I am aware that birthdays don’t hold the same excitement as they used to. They are now reminders of the brevity and fragility of my existence. Ah, forty-three. It feels like I’m on top of the mountain. I can see for miles from up here. But there’s only one direction, and that’s down. My life is now on a clear trajectory of demise. No matter how fast I peddle my bicycle, I will never be able to silence the drum beat of time. The stuff I value the most will be torn out of my grasp. My ability to see the faces of the people I love will dim. My ability to listen to birds chirping in the branches of trees will fade. Walking will become more painful with age. There is no escaping it. This dreadful feeling of being chained to time is the reason why society is so obsessed with youth. Look all around. Face lifts. Hair coloring. Anti wrinkle creams. We can’t stand the thought of growing old. Youth is a religion.
Living in Asia for the last eleven years has taught me many, many lessons. Paramount among these lessons is the Asian way of celebrating the aging process. Here, people more naturally embrace all stages of life. With age, most people are not clamoring to reverse the effects of time. The older a person becomes, the more respect is afforded by society. The elderly are honored and celebrated rather than stuffed away into convalescent homes. Their voices matter. They are cherished as vessels of wisdom, vital to the health of the community.
This, to me, feels right.
Kierkegaard writes about living with courage to embrace the fragility and brevity of this life. He sees this courage as the evidence of faith. “The lily’s coming into being becomes its destruction, indeed it seems as if it came into existence and became beautiful only to be destroyed—yet the obedient lily obediently submits to this, it knows that such is God's will, and it shoots up…. A man, or we men, in the situation of the lily would be in despair at the thought that coming into existence and destruction was one thing, and therefore would prevent ourselves by despair from becoming what we might become, though it were but for an instant. With the lily it is otherwise. It was absolutely obedient, hence it became itself in its beauty, it became actually its whole possibility, undisturbed, absolutely undisturbed by the thought that the same instant was its death."
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Read MoreIn 1985, hundreds of parents in the remote Borneo village of Kaladan longed for a junior high school for their children. At the time, there were three Christian families living in this village of approximately 10,000 people. One of these individuals had heard of an organization named Mustard Seed International, which builds Christian schools, youth ministries and orphanages, and trains national teachers to serve in impoverished and unreached communities. Mustard Seed leaders were sent to visit Kaladan. At the time, Kaladan was dominated by two religions; Islam and Keharingan. Keharingan is a mixture of Animism and Hinduism. Many of the people in Kaladan worshipped the bones of their ancestors, and paid homage to monkey spirits who controlled their village.
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