“Why artists?” I am asked this all the time. As an artist, I wrestle with this myself; is it worth it to spend time writing beautiful bits of prose, or poetry? Shouldn’t I be out there, feeding the hungry with those same hours instead of hunching alone over my keyboard? Should I be encouraging others to abandon their easels for aprons, or their acting for action?
In fact, if you look at a lot of our blog posts, we talk often about slowing down, taking things in. Iin light of a pandemic with mass deaths and exasperated economic inequality, is this terribly tone deaf? I genuinely do wonder about this. I want to be faithful, and I do seek ways to serve.
Yet I find, again and again, that inspiration can provide lasting change. My work as an artist can outlast my work collecting PPE that will, unfortunately, run out again swiftly.
We still collected and donated hundreds of pieces of PPE, don’t get me wrong! But that can’t be all that I do.
In Reconciling All Things, a short book by theologian Emmanuel Katangole and minister Chris Rice that seeks to address the vast brokenness of the world holistically, a couple short paragraphs stuck out to me that emphasized the importance of beauty:
“In a world that entices to put ultimate hope in human activism, a deeper hope develops when we drop everything and take the time for beauty, rest, and celebration—to visit a garden, enjoy a friend, love our children well, praise and pray.
“Such actions are about far more than recharging our batteries. Beauty, rest, and celebration don’t get just refresh us. They reshape our goals and vision. There is intrinsic good…
“There is no guarantee that these small seeds will take hold and grow into something beautiful for all the world to see… We plant in hope, not certainty. But we plant because we know it is true and right and good… We are learning that hope is the patience to work and wait for a future not yet seen.”
It is easy to recognize how we are in a world that hopes in human activity, but it is just as easy to find the edges of our capacity and, beyond them, the pits of despair. So often, we heap ourselves with shame for our temptation to tune out and turn on Netflix, but there is a radical hope we can demonstrate in doing so. Choosing storytelling instead of self-reliance is a sign of humility.
Artists exist to draw attention to beauty. We carry the unique call of valuing inspiration, and we must, even more than the average person, be disciplined about not working. We must lay aside productivity and choose, instead, attentiveness; we must lay aside all fears and choose hope outside of ourselves.
This is no easy task—working and waiting for a future not yet seen—but the good news of Jesus is, such a future is secure.
Having community with other creatives—having you guys—sure can make remembering this a lot easier!
