Posted at 02:52 PM in Leadership, Mission, Religion | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
I don't know if Vibert was a balanced respected social critic. Probably not. Artists should stick to the visual and maintain their imbalance of right-brainedness. But I understand that he served up plenty of back talk on social and religious themes in the France of his day. When I think of putting the words "France" and "social critic" together, I imagine a target whose bull's eye is power--the abuse of it or the apathy of those who have it to use it for good. Back to Vibert.
I'm speaking about French painter, wit (...I think so...) and social critic Jean-Georges Vibert (1840–1902) and his painting below, titled, “The Missionary’s Adventures.” Inserted into the body of his own interpretation is a copy of the painting. Let your eyes dart back and forth from language to light. See if you share the painter's same disappointment.
"Missionary's Adventures" is like a visual parable to me. It "speaks" to me at many levels; I find myself in the painting (that's what a parable is supposed to do). So, a copy sits on my study desk together with other objects of reflection (a compass, two crosses, three nails, and a family portrait) as signal reminders of my call, who I am, what I want to be, and what can endanger all three: identity, vocation, and aspiration. In a series of entries to follow I would like to unpack some reflections on the painting. Because over the last several years I've been on an adventure of my own. Check back if you want. I'm calling it... the "Adventures" series.
For now, pay attention to Vibert's own interpretation of Vibert (imagine Picasso putting into words what he had put together on the canvas). Because some of his paintings tell a bit of a story; they are micro-narratives. A story is captured with detail and light in a paused moment of breathless time (the way digital cinematography holds a scene of a motion picture in mid-air). His own words illuminate this work of oil on wood. Look at what he says:
The scene is a great salon, sumptuously furnished, but severe in appearance. It is lighted from above with diffused daylight, subdued, like that of a chapel. One brighter ray, coming from without, pierces the curtains of the only window, and by contrast renders the room still more mysterious. At the end, on the great marble mantelpiece, is a portrait of Cardinal Richelieu, like a bloody specter appearing in the shade, old, broken, and pallid, but the more terrible for being near death. On another panel you see the tragic picture of the martyrdom of St. Bartholomew.
Is anything very dreadful about to take place in this apartment? On the contrary, something rather pleasant, as we shall presently see.
Several prelates, who have left the table, come into the salon to take coffee, and take possession of the sofas and arm-chairs, ranged in a semicircle. In the midst of them, on a stool, is seated a priest dressed entirely in black. His somber figure stands out clearly from this brilliant group of white, violet, purple, and scarlet. His soldierly head, which breathes courage, bears on the forehead a deep and recent scar.
He is a missionary. He recounts his adventures, and shows upon his wrists the still gaping incisions of his crucifixion; for he has been crucified, like St. Bartholomew, like Christ. In his agony he has made to God the supreme vow that, if he is delivered, he will return to his executioners, to bring them again the divine Word; then (as it seems) he dies, praying for his torturers. An armed force, which comes too late, takes down his lifeless body, thinking they have to carry back a corpse; but by a miracle he returns to life. Today, faithful to his vow, although scarcely convalescent, he is about to return. He asks to return.
As the holy man speaks, his inspired head becomes more and more beautiful among those faces that express only egotism and indifference. The first personage, seated on the divan, who holds his cup in one hand and his cigarette in the other, a younger son of a noble Roman family, and a cardinal by right of birth without, however, doing anything to merit that honor, approves in his heart the poor priest’s resolution. He finds it, indeed, needful to send him back to his sufferings. Religion must have martyrs, and the best are still those who fulfill the office with hearty good will.
The second cardinal, in rose silk, who leans back on the cushions in the attitude of a Caesar, is also thinking that such a man should go back. He is too extravagant and spiritual a person to be left in Rome. With his eloquence and his words he could move the world, and popes have been made of lesser men than that missionary.
The third, who seems to take more interest in the recital than the others, is perfectly deaf.
The fourth talks in a low voice with a young neophyte, and we may be sure that he is not advising him to emulate the missionary.
As for the fifth, leaning back nonchalantly in his arm-chair, he is interested only in the antics of a small yellow dog with large ears who is sitting up gravely on his curly tail.
Since every dog may look at a bishop, there is nothing to prevent these two from conversing with their eyes; and in that case they would no doubt be saying. “How tiresome he is, that missionary, who will not let little dogs show off their accomplishments so as to get some sugar!”
If, however, at the story of the martyr’s sufferings any pity might be awakened in the hearts of these prelates, the soul of Richelieu, who is always near to the minds of churchmen, haunting them, would say, “No one is a ruler of men who does not know as well how to sacrifice the innocent as to punish the guilty; and whether you sacrifice or punish, you must shed blood.”
That seems, and no doubt is, a horrible doctrine. Yet every one of us, without the least remorse, sacrifices to his necessities, to his pleasures, even, some poor living beings. It is true we have the excuse of believing these to be our inferiors, but the same feeling no doubt exists toward an equal. It is enough to have the consciousness of being his superior to make it seem quite natural to send him to his death. Besides, here below, all depends on the point of view one takes, and everything on earth may move you either to laughter or tears. –J.G. Vibert
Wow! Like the painting, the last paragraph takes my breath away. How does that shift from servanthood to rulership, missionary to ruler occur in the "hearts...of churchmen?" How does the twist happen, that the "soul of Richelieu" haunts churchmen to sacrifice others instead of themselves? Cynicism aside, many of us have had our disappointments with church and Christendom-style Christianity too, haven't we? But what puts it into the heart of "the missionary" to go back with goodnews to the very people who harmed him? What vision keeps his passion alive? If you want, check back.
Posted at 10:37 AM in Leadership, Mission, Religion, Wisdom Quest | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
--Larry
Posted at 09:47 PM in Books, Community, Leadership, Mission, Religion, Wisdom Quest | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
Check out this book by Eric Metaxas and listen below to Chuck Colson's rave review on his broadcast, BreakPoint.
It's true! You need a sense of humor and you need to know how to approach people. Christian witness is serious stuff; it's up close spiritual direction. Eric will help you relieve the tension with humor that's real.
Get your own copy through Amazon.com. Give your faith away!
--Larry
Posted at 08:50 PM in Leadership, Mission, Wisdom Quest | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
When I was in college I actually took a semester of voice lessons. I didn't expect to learn so much! Getting the “feel” of supporting one’s voice from beneath the lungs and sending the vibrations of the vocal folds not out the neck or mouth, but sending the sound through the face via supportive core muscles. I did sit ups, but not for singing. I already “knew” how to sing. Or did I?
For most of the twenty-plus years I had been singing—singing along with Mitch (I am really that old), with Sheriff John (a west coast children’s show), with the Kingston Trio, with the Beach boys, with Peter, Paul, and Mary, with the Platters, the Drifters, Martha and the Vandellas, Diana Ross and the Supremes. With the help of crystal radio or transistor I sang along with the many invading British bands of the 60’s, then with John Denver, James Taylor, the Eagles, America, Bread, and The Carpenters. Hmmm…I even sang along with the show tunes from Oklahoma, South Pacific, Music Man Carousel, Westside Story, then came the fetching lyrics from The Sound of Music, Fiddler on the Roof, Camelot, and Zeffirelli’s Romeo and Juliet. I would even sing along with Barry Manilow, with the Captain & Tennille, and Barbara Streisand (whose passion I loved but whose politics, hmmm...she should just sing). I sang along with all of it unconsciously and without much discrimination. I "knew" how to sing.
In church I “knew” how to sing too. I sang in a mixed octet called “The Company” (well, it sounded cool back in ’72). I sang the great hymns of the church, revival hymns, and the new worship music of Cam Floria, Ralph Carmichael, and the Maranatha music emerging from the charismatic ministry of Calvary Chapel in Costa Mesa, California.
But, back to the voice lessons in my twentieth year: my voice teacher said I needed to relax some “interfering muscles.” I “knew” how to sing, but I was producing the sounds in “a most difficult way,” as she gently put it. There began a long semester that was short on learning to make sounds and long on unlearning the difficult ways I was producing them. (In fact, the sounds I was required to make for the sake of proper relaxation and strengthening seemed silly at first—counterintuitive. I spent most of those fifteen weeks unlearning what I had spent most of my conscious singing life learning to do unconsciously and in a “most difficult way.”
Many of us who have grown up in church culture “know” how to “do” church, how to work in the church; we know what’s important, and we know how to get the important things done. And if we have “done church” long enough in a certain way, those muscles for doing church are very, very strong. These muscles might be producing church, but producing church in a “most difficult way,” as the gentle voice teacher put it. Oh, there's so much more to unpack about the "most difficult way" people want to do church in the present culture of spiritual yearning but also institutional wariness.
For now, just this: every church has muscle and muscles. Learning to use the appropriate ones while relaxing the others is like kicking a habit you never knew you had. Sometimes learning begins with un-learning, before we really start to sing.
--Larry
Posted at 10:23 PM in Mission | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
James Martin fits the description of the mind Robert Coles has called "secular"--the secular mind. It's the mind that goes at the great human and eternal predicaments as if "the whole game" is in its hands (that was Bonhoeffer, really). Martin doesn't think much of religion; he kind of thinks of it on the level of the aesthetic--as enrichment, as accent. Religion, hmmm, religion...when a small number of men were pushing the world to the brink of nuclear war "the great forces of morality had nothing to say about it." Science and scientific sense promise solutions (if only "politicians would listen to the scientists"). So his book is a book of "solutions." Addressed to a generation of young people he calls the 21C Transition generation, Martin thinks this generation can, if it will, leverage "small, politically achievable actions" that can have powerful corrective results. He describes how the planet is 1) on an unsustainable and catastrophic course, what is 2) most likely going to happen (intensify) if we do not 3) do the right things (what to do).
You don't have to, and I'm not asking you to, agree with his analysis and solutions to these "high momentum trends" that are like huge deep "ocean currents" (not mere surface waves)--trends that threaten the human future. But if you're a Christian believer, as I am, why not give a listen to the voice you hear in this book? Let Martin challenge you as a Christian servant living on this same complex "isolated blue planet" suspended in "endless black emptiness." Give a listen without being put off by this man's go-it-alone
"secularity." Give a listen because you know this is a "visited planet," we are not hung in "emptiness," and because you know you are called to trusteeship of a "green beautiful sphere" which has had a Word delivered to it from the outside. Human destiny is much more interesting than either beyond our reach or in our hands alone. We have been given hands to do what we're made to do in a world loved and created by a God who acts like Jesus Christ to set the world to rights.
This "interesting" place to be is where some of you will recall Dr. N.T. Wright's recent apology for our day, Simply Christian: Why Christianity Makes Sense. Simply Christian is much more than apology, it's a stirring, sensible call to exuberant missional and evangelical life amid the threatening global momentums (if Martin is right). Christian believers can be confident (if you were not already confident) in our message and mission.
Here are two very different contemporary voices to stir in us again the Original Voice that long ago excited us to "go"--to get on with bringing light to the nations and to the world.
Posted at 10:34 PM in Mission | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)
We make disciples...we release them to follow Christ's call...
Here’s a real-life parable.
B.J. and I just sent our fourth son off to college. Yes, we dropped Daniel off at Covenant College on Lookout Mountain, Georgia. “Sent” is putting it too strongly, however. You could say he “went.” The time came for him to get out, move on, go off to college, and pursue his dreams. Maybe he sensed it was time to go before we did. And his going wasn’t like we shot him like an arrow to a destination of our choosing. Rather, we negotiated that with him (as with our other three: Rog, Drew, Bill). After the negotiations, off they went, we got out of the way, we released them.
The mission of the church has this pediatric sense about it.
A thriving church is not about programs or tactics or events that "work." This programmatic way of thinking believes certain programs and tactics are the elixir of a healthy, strong, and growing church. Instead, a thriving church has a focus and an attitude—call it a "spirit" that works, or call it an "atmosphere" that works. It works because everyone knows—from leadership, to pastor, to member, to staff—what we are about, namely, this "pediatric thing" to grow disciples of Jesus Christ and to release them to whatever Christ calls them to do.
United to Christ by faith in him, members of the church are invited to transformation, to discover their gifts, to discern Christ’s call upon their lives, to be equipped, and then to be released to do what the Spirit of Christ wants them to do.
This simple process is the way an ordinary home rears children: to wake up to life, discover their gifts, discern their calling in life, equip themselves for that calling, and be set loose to do it. Does all this sound too simple to say? Maybe, but how often the simple things are forgotten…in the home and in the church.
--Larry
Posted at 01:25 PM in Mission | Permalink | Comments (0) | TrackBack (0)