A New Chapter

Image courtesy of Willet Hauser Architectural Glass: http://www.willethauser.com/

"What profit has the worker from that in which he labors? I have seen the God-given task with which the sons of men are to be occupied. He has made everything beautiful in its time. Also He has put eternity in their hearts, except that no one can find out the work that God does from beginning to end. I know that nothing is better for them than to rejoice, and to do good in their lives, and also that every man should eat and drink and enjoy the good of all his labor—it is the gift of God" (Eccl. 3:9-13).

God is so good. Things are about to change so quickly, I hardly know where to begin. The short of it is that I was recently offered, and accepted, a job as a stained glass artist at Willet Hauser Architectural Glass in Winona, MN. Willet Hauser is the largest stained glass studio in North America, as well as one of the oldest and most prestigious, producing and restoring windows for a national and international market. In other words, I feel a bit like Charlie winning the chocolate factory. I can hardly imagine a more fulfilling way to use my gifts to God's glory.

The Lord always provides, and Scapegoat Studio has been blessed with steady growth these last several years. I am especially grateful for my partnership with Ad Crucem. I've been blessed with clients who appreciate my work and spread a good report to others who are in the market for sound theological artwork. Thank you all, and I look forward to your ongoing support. I will continue operating Scapegoat Studio to provide liturgical art for Lutheran churches, but the changes will require that I shift gears a bit.

The freelance life leaves much to be desired in the way of security, especially when supporting a young and growing family. Living month-to-month is fine for a single artist, but it adds stress to daily life with kids. Even though I work from home, the long hours are difficult to reconcile with a family that also needs my attention. Our initial move to Seward was in the hope of securing a long-term teaching position. That hope never materialized, but now the Lord has opened another door—certainly more promising than any I had imagined for myself.

Scapegoat Studio fills an ongoing need that is still present, and for that reason its continued existence is guaranteed probably for as long as I am living. But I am thankful that I will now be able to provide those services to churches without the urgency of necessity. I'll be working from the studio two days per week instead of six. The other change this new job affects is that I will unfortunately not be able to provide stained glass designs on a freelance basis, since that would put me in competition with my employer. (There may be exceptions—e.g., if we already have initiated some sort of arrangement, but that only applies to a few clients.) On the other hand, once my apprenticeship is completed, I'll be designing windows for a steady stream of clients on a national scale, and that mostly makes up for it.

My commission status will be on hold for a while to give us time for the move to Winona. That will happen God-willing within the next month or two. Your support and prayers are always appreciated!

Did Luther Stifle Lutheran Art?

For Lutherans who have a high regard for the arts, I’ve found that Lucas Cranach is also usually held in high esteem. I noticed this at the Luther exhibit in the Minneapolis Institute of Art, which I was able to attend in December. Works by Cranach, including many portraits of Luther and other Reformation personalities, are among the highlights of the exhibit. Tour guides took special care to give lengthy explanations for his larger works. Among pastors and theologians, Cranach’s paintings embodying Lutheran theology (e.g. The Law and the Gospel) are held up as an ideal, it would seem, for the creation of contemporary works of liturgical art.

My reaction is usually conflicted. As a Lutheran, I'm happy for any praise Cranach receives. As an artist, I wish he had left us a body of work worthy of emulation.

Lucas Cranach the Younger - Weimar Altarpiece

To clarify my intentions, I don’t want to short Cranach for any of the credit that is due him. The Lord in his wisdom called Cranach to be an artist for the church in that particular place and time. And the task set before him was herculean—to create a Lutheran artistic tradition virtually from scratch. Meanwhile, the followers of Karlstadt, Zwingli, and Calvin were condemning and destroying it. Even Luther was not wholly supportive of the arts in his early years, warming up to them only after seeing the damage done by the iconoclasts. That Cranach created any kind of an artistic legacy is nothing short of a miracle.

Unfortunately, that goal of creating a new artistic tradition went unfulfilled. The equally gifted Cranach the Younger carried on his father’s work, creating the Weimar altarpiece and a handful of other familiar works. And though Cranach the Elder and Younger both were successful enough to employ workshops of artists, they left no successors. After Cranach the Younger’s death, no other Lutheran artist would leave his mark on history.

Hopefully, the question of “why” is as troubling to you as it is to me. The decades following the Reformation were tumultuous indeed, and there are several possible factors that contributed to the decline of art in the Lutheran church. Certainly the peasants’ uprising and the Thirty Years’ War might have played a role, and we actually know of a handful of artists that were executed or killed in battle due to religious conflict. But the more intriguing answer, and the one that matches my own suspicions, is summarized by Carl Christensen.  In Art and the Reformation in Germany, he addresses the assertion that “early Protestantism was excessively utilitarian and didactic in its approach to art.” He writes, “It has been said that, because of a basic ignorance of and insensitivity to the limits of successful artistic expression, Luther and his fellow reformers made subject-matter demands upon Protestant artists that could be met only at the expense of aesthetic integrity. A preoccupation with doctrinal content led to tragic consequences in the area of artistic form.”

Lucas Cranach the Elder - The Law and the Gospel (detail)

Christensen acknowledges some validity to the claim, writing, “...[C]ertain of Cranach’s religious paintings, e.g., The Law and the Gospel compositions, do attempt to present rather complex allegories or schematic renderings of abstract theological doctrine. The extent of the resulting aesthetic failure will be estimated differently by different observers, although few probably would bother to deny that, from a purely formal point of view, these panels do not place among the most satisfying of Cranach’s works.”

This is where the argument struck home with me. I have never understood the rapture of a Lutheran pastor explaining a Cranach painting that, to me, was cluttered, uninteresting, and burdened with an abundance of symbolism. When all was said and done, I thought, “Yes, yes, I get it. But why did it take so long to get to the point?” It isn’t that I’m bored with the theology. I actually quite enjoy it. But if you try to force a work of art to perform the role of catechism, you’ll get something that is not very effective as either.

I don't suppose the issue is a simple matter of looking at it through modern eyes that are accustomed to immediacy and high impact. It’s true that the part of me that was trained as an illustrator follows the K.I.S.S. rule religiously: Keep It Simple, Stupid. It’s better to paint one truth boldly and confidently than a dozen that compete for attention. Sure, medieval Europeans had longer attention spans than the average American today. But even compared to those of his contemporaries, Cranach’s altarpieces don’t measure up. None of his panels can hold a candle to the power and presence of Van Eyck’s Ghent Altarpiece, or Grünewald’s Isenheim Altarpiece (see below).

Matthias Grünewald - Isenheim Altarpiece (first stage)

If works of art are sermons, then Grünewald gives us a ten-minute sermon that knocks us out of a daze and demands our thoughts for the rest of the day. Cranach gives us a dryly-delivered, hour-long sermon, which garners enthusiastic nods from a few theologians and puts the laymen to sleep.

And while I admit to having amused myself a little too much with that comparison, the fact that we often compare church art to “visual sermons” is perhaps in itself misleading. It’s a sermon only in the sense that it should tell us something true about God; it’s not a sermon in the sense that it needs to set forth all the teachings of scripture. Luther was right to praise music for its ability to expound on scripture, as many of his hymns beautifully exemplify. But while the visual arts may indeed be didactic, they are not didactic in the same way as music that incorporates sung texts. The visual arts are rather poor at explaining abstract theological truths. Their strength is an aesthetic beauty that is recognized almost at once, but that demands contemplation, and maintains a longer-lasting impression.

Playing the “blame game” is usually not helpful. But perhaps in this case it may be instructive. Was Cranach so overly enthused about the evangelical theology that he decided to cram all of it into every single painting? People more knowledgeable than I am have said, “Not likely.” The body of Cranach’s work suggests that he knew a thing or two about design and composition. I imagine that making a painting for Luther was a bit like making concept art for Star Wars. Maybe Cranach wanted to follow his instincts, but that would have been like telling George Lucas that you think an alien with floppy pink ears and eye stalks who talks like a racial stereotype is a terrible idea. (Good luck with that!) It would have taken an artist of tremendous talent and stature to push back against Luther.

So am I blaming Luther for the decline of art in the Lutheran church? Yes, maybe a little. It’s at least plausible, and at most likely, that Luther’s penchant for sermonizing had unintended consequences on the visual arts. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say that the pieces Cranach came up with on his own were artistically superior (if theologically deficient) to those made after Luther came into the picture. Cranach was a good artist. Although not a genius, his expertise with design ought to have been sought and heeded. I’m not saying that if Luther hadn’t been so restrictive, we might have had a flourishing artistic tradition. But I do think the evidence points to Luther having more to do with Cranach’s work than he ought to have, and the result was that Cranach’s altarpieces were famous only because Luther commended them, and not because of any outstanding artistic merit. But in any case, Cranach’s ecclesiastical art did not inspire any great imitators or successors. While other factors were probably at play, the fact remains that nothing resembling a visual tradition was ever established in the Lutheran church.

So here’s why I think finding fault might be instructive concerning long dead artists and reformers. Whatever the cause, the visual arts in the Lutheran church have been dormant for a long while. I think they are waiting to be woken. The only productive reason for finding fault is to see that fault in ourselves. We can learn from the mistakes of our predecessors. Given that, a revival of ecclesiastical art would require three important things:

1. Pastors and theologians should be instilled with a deep appreciation for the visual arts (even more than Luther did), without overemphasizing ‘art as sermon.’
2. Artists should have a solid understanding of theology, symbolism, and the Western tradition.
3. Artists, pastors, and laymen need to see liturgical art as a collaborative process and trust in the other’s vocational duties. 

In a way, we all face the same herculean task that Cranach did in the 16th century—that of creating a Lutheran artistic tradition virtually from scratch. The difference is that we are without excuse. We don't have Luther looking over our shoulders. We don't have wars ravaging our homeland. The Roman church isn't trying to kill us, and no one is going to start a riot if we erect a statue of Christ in a church. Let's take opportunity of these blessings and work while it is day!

An Artist's Vocation in All of Life

The following was written as a feature article for Lutheran Forum, an independent theological quarterly for clergy and laity, with contributing authors from the ELCA and LCMS. It will appear in the spring 2016 edition.

It may seem cliché, but it was like being on a different planet. I stood underneath the massive dome of Sta. Maria del Fiore in Florence, gazing up at one of the greatest engineering feats of the last two millennia. I marveled at the scale of Vassari’s "Last Judgment" fresco, which covered the dome’s interior. The cavernous void between the vaults and the smooth marble floors was enough to induce vertigo. The whispers of awed visitors carried through the space with crystal clarity. I wondered, why was this place of worship so completely alien to the experience of an American Lutheran?

I know that I’m not the first Lutheran artist to visit magnificent churches in Europe and to be astonished by them. But for me, it wasn’t just a romantic escape f
rom the rural American landscape—it was a burning bush experience. It’s hard to imagine seeing works by Giotto, Michelangelo, Raphael, and Carravagio, and not being utterly transformed by them. They are beautiful, to be sure. And for a student of art history, visiting Florence is like making a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. But gazing at those old masterpieces, I felt the uncanny urge to remove my sandals for a different reason. They weren’t just individual “expressions” of faith—they were more akin to a divine collaboration. God was indeed present there, in more ways than one.

I wanted to make art like that. I wanted to roll up my sleeves and produce the kind of work that would transform a bland, Lutheran landscape into the kind of sublimely spiritual experience that Europeans had produced more than 500 years ago. But first I would have to make Lutherans want it. They seem to be happy with the status quo: white walls, plain glass, a steep roofline and a couple of empty crosses. Why had the visual arts, which once had flourished in the Lutheran church, almost disappeared? Whatever the reason, I was resolved to remedy it.

Since that hallowed Italian experience, I’ve come to understand my own artistic vocation much more deeply. It didn’t come to me in a flash of inspiration in the Duomo. It came by reading Holy Scripture, by the instruction of wise mentors, by reading the works of studied men of faith, and by personal experience.

The Word of God is always the best place to begin and end. For many years, I was ignorant of this passage from scripture (if I had read it before, I had probably glossed over it as many do with those tedious Levitical laws): “Then the LORD said to Moses, ‘See, I have called by name Bezalel son of Uri... and I have filled him with the Spirit of God, with ability and intelligence, with knowledge and all craftsmanship, to devise artistic designs, to work in gold, silver, and bronze... And I have given to all able men ability, that they may make all that I have commanded you’” (Exodus 31:1-4,6). God called Bezalel by name. For any artist struggling with whether or not art can be a “legitimate” vocation, the answer is there in holy writ. Add to it that Bezalel is the first person in the Bible of whom it is said that one was “filled with the Spirit of God.” If that doesn’t light a fire under you, what will?

Unfortunately for me, Bezalel wasn’t on my radar in graduate school, and I was deeply conflicted. I was attending a secular school for the first time in my life, because I felt this need to make my artistic abilities into something “productive” for a career. I found myself suppressing my desire to make overtly Christian works of art. On some level, I didn’t want to face criticism from my faculty and peers of various faiths. I never denied my Christian faith, but I was trying to compartmentalize my faith life and my vocation. It took a devout Catholic mentor to talk some sense into me. James Langley is a liturgical artist working and teaching in Savannah, Georgia. I interned with him as a studio assistant, where he saw in me a suppressed desire to make sacred art. He nurtured that spark, and advised me to do my Master’s thesis on resurrecting liturgical art. The paper practically wrote itself, and to my surprise, my faculty advisers were thrilled with it. In time, I realized that Langley was the latest in a long line of teachers, mentors, and family members who had been gently encouraging me in this direction from my childhood. I finally grabbed it by the horns.

As it turns out, fulfilling one’s vocation is not as simple as just accepting it as a reality. It took a good deal of wrestling with disappointments—one after the other. I did manage to get a teaching job at a Lutheran college shortly after graduate school, but rewarding though it was, it wasn’t the “big break” I was hoping for. I kept at it, working part-time jobs, pushing mops and doing whatever it took to pay the rent. With a wife and kids, I was less willing or able to put everything on the line to go and chase that dream job—even if it is the one I thought God wanted me to have. Things just seemed stagnant. Had I not paid my dues? I kept asking myself. Then I would mentally slap myself. You don’t earn God’s grace. “It is the gift of God, not of works, lest anyone should boast” (Eph. 2:8,9).

Be patient. God knows best. My parents had recommended Gene Edward Veith’s God at Work: Your Christian Vocation in All of Life to me. When I read it, it was my second big wake-up call. It opened my eyes to my other vocations—in the home, as a husband and father; at my workplaces, as an employee; and as a Christian, to my church, and to everyone around me. Whether or not I was making a living with my artwork, I had opportunities to show Christ’s love to countless people. I had no right to despise those everyday vocations simply because they were not the one vocation I felt most passionate about. This helped to take the anxiety out of waiting for something big to happen. When the fog of self-pity had cleared, it allowed me to see that God was working small things for my good all the time—and my business was steadily growing. Every year I was getting more clients, more opportunities, and more exposure.

Realizing that vocation is not about finding the right “career” is incredibly liberating. It’s about serving God and one’s neighbor; it’s about providing for one’s family. How could I do all of those things, while exercising my unique gifts? That’s what vocation is about. Vocation is always in the present. When I saw a need that could be filled, I filled it. I started designing logos for Lutheran churches. I started teaching for Wittenberg Academy, an online Lutheran high school. I started creating church banner designs that have theological depth and artistic integrity. I even did a smattering of web design projects. Sure, those jobs are less glamorous than making an altar painting for a cathedral or being a consultant for an extensive church renovation project, but they are rewarding in their own right. I get to mold young minds with a Lutheran understanding of the arts. I get to help churches make a visual confession about who they are and what they teach. And most importantly, I have the joyous privilege of helping people focus their eyes and hearts on what God has done for us in Christ Jesus.

It’s all about Jesus. Christ lived for me. Christ died for me. Christ rose for me. If ever our work becomes about us, it will seem like drudgery. Worse, it muddies the water instead of clearly proclaiming Christ. When I paint for the church, I don’t set out to express myself. What inspired such awe in me when viewing the works of the old masters is that however great the artist’s talent, the work was most powerful when it was subordinated to Christ and his Word. It was as if God’s hand was moving in tandem with the artist’s, in order to show his love to generations of viewers. The painting or sculpture becomes a kind of veil behind which we can glimpse a portion of God’s glory, his artistry, and his reckless love for mankind. It’s humbling to think that God may choose to use my brush, my hands, to accomplish that.

As I said before, the Word is a good place to begin and end. “And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God.” (Heb. 12:1-2). Perseverance sums up the Christian life pretty well. Don’t expect glamor and riches and fame. Fix your eyes on Jesus. Run the race. Remember that Christ has already won it for you—and Christ himself is the prize.

Soli Deo Gloria

Jonathan Mayer

Artists are made, not born

The Redemption (detail)
- E. Riojas

"See, the Lord has called by name Bezalel the son of Uri, the son of Hur, of the tribe of Judah; and He has filled him with the Spirit of God, in wisdom and understanding, in knowledge and all manner of workmanship, to design artistic works, to work in gold and silver and bronze, in cutting jewels for setting, in carving wood, and to work in all manner of artistic workmanship. And He has put in his heart the ability to teach." (Ex. 35:30-34a)

I've often lamented the lack of good art in churches (I know: understatement of the year). Ultimately, the lack of art boils down to a lack of artists. Which isn't to say that God isn't distributing that gift as generously as he should—obviously, it would be foolish to find fault with the Almighty. But in my estimation, a good artist has equal portions of two things: God-given talent, and Godly training. A talented artist with no training may not even know he has a gift—it's untapped potential. When it comes right down to it, we aren't actively training artists. We're just waiting around for a harvest when we haven't planted any seed.

Martin Luther College, which trains all of our WELS pastors and teachers, doesn't offer any studio art classes. They offer two art-related classes: Art Survey and Art in Elementary and Middle School. The first must be woefully inadequate, and the second is geared toward teaching art to lower grades. But it leaves me wondering how people who have no artistic training themselves can teach it to others. If it seems like I'm being unfair—that I shouldn't expect our pastor-teacher training college to invest in art teachers and art curricula when synod resources are already stretched so thin—you're right. MLC isn't a liberal arts college. But it will always be the case that our resources are stretched too thin. Even if the synod had a surplus of resources, the visual arts tend to fall exactly at the bottom of their priorities. I'm not saying let's prioritize art above theology or hermeneutics or Hebrew. But is there room somewhere between music and basketball for that which our Lord and the church have valued so highly?

Based on the level of investment in the visual arts at our teacher training school, it's little wonder that the majority of our WELS schools don't have art programs beyond craft paper and popsicle sticks. What if our Lutheran elementary and high schools were even half as serious about art education as Luther was about music education? The worst that could happen is that within a few decades our laity would find themselves being less ignorant and apathetic about the arts. But the best outcome would be a steady crop of talented artists emerging, beautifying our churches, focusing our eyes and our worship on Christ, and instructing Christians through the visual arts.

Why should the devil have all the good artists?

Guess who is doing a great job producing artists? The Latter-Day Saints. I don't know what they are doing right, or where they are all coming from, but if you're searching for high-caliber biblical illustration, chances are about 1 in 3 that it's by a Mormon artist. (Full disclosure: I made up that statistic.) After the illustrious Arnold Friberg, there seems to have been a steady stream of realists coming from Utah ever since (e.g. Walter Rane, Jeffrey Hein). And, frankly, some of it is kitsch (e.g. Greg Olsen). But kitsch or not, it's talent largely wasted, as the LDS church buys the copyright for those beautiful works to use as propaganda for its teachings. There are few artists in the world (let alone in the Lutheran church) who possess the technical mastery of some of these artists. To me, that's a little embarrassing.

Just so you don't get the wrong impression, I don't judge artists purely by technical skill. Nor is realism the ultimate measure of artistry. The Lutheran artists I know of are more creative, are better at symbolism, and teach pure theology with their art (e.g. Edward Riojas). Which, in my estimation, makes them better artists all around.

Triptych (closed) - W. Bukowski

So to be fair, we need to see the positives, too. Lutherans are not doing poorly across the board. Bethany Lutheran College is doing an incredible job training artists. (Full disclosure: it's my alma mater.) I can't say exactly where I would be artistically if I had gone to school elsewhere, but I give Bethany much of the credit for the artist that I am today. BLC has a small but passionate art department that is making a perceivable impact within our fellowship. More than that, Bethany's Trinity Chapel includes stained glass and a huge altar painting by Bill Bukowski (even before altar paintings became cool). To me, that says that they don't just encourage artists to act out their faith—they put their money where their mouth is. The chapel embodies the idea that art can be as valuable a contribution to worship as music. In short, Bethany molded, taught, inspired, and pushed me to be the artist I am today.

Learn 'em young.

This isn't intended to be a commercial for Bethany. Because frankly, if you wait until you're an adult before you decide to pursue some kind of formal artistic training, you've already lost precious years. If you're a parent who sees artistic potential in your child, let him pursue the gifts God has given him, and don't worry about whether you think he'll be able to support himself. That's God's job. Besides, in hard economic times, I think we place far too much emphasis on a four-year degree. A private liberal arts college isn't exactly the most cost-effective way to get artistic training.

I think a major part of the solution to the artist shortage is to start providing artistic training at a young age. Not just for those who think they want it, but for everyone. Make it a standard part of your curriculum, and invest in it the same way you would in math, history, or science. And at the very least, get children into an honest-to-God art program by the time they're in high school.

LYA Triptych - J. Jaspersen

Minnesota Valley Lutheran High School has the talented Jason Jaspersen in their employ. Jason, another Bethany grad, has been teaching art classes there for 14 years. I envy his students; I wish that I had had an art teacher of his caliber in high school. As much as young artists need a skilled and experienced teacher, they also need a wise mentor. Jason has those qualities, and it's not hard to see in him the kind of traits ascribed to Bezalel in Exodus 35. Under Jason, the art program at MVL has blossomed into a program that, for some students, is the highlight of their high school education. Some would say that the art program is one of MVL's strongest suits. I say, good for them! Go and do likewise.

Parents and students have a lot of pull at schools—probably more than they think. Make inquiries, talk to your school administrators. Talk to other parents, and make a coordinated effort to get art programs established in our schools. Not just because your child may have a gift—which would of course be wonderful—but because our synod desperately needs your child. Even if he doesn't turn out to be the next Jason Jaspersen, we need laymen who have an appreciation of the arts. And by that, I mean a hands-on, historically informed appreciation. As opposed to "Oh, yeah, I liked that picture of a beach I saw at a hotel once..." Your child is our only hope! Take charge of the future of our church. Invest in your children, and God's kingdom will reap the benefit.

Operation (Body of Christ Edition)

In Lutheran churches, it has become relatively commonplace to have a lay-led worship committee. Personally, I think it's a good practice. Historically, it performs some of the functions that were often carried out by the cantor. The cantor was not only responsible for conducting the choral music program,  but was himself a competent performer. He also enjoyed responsibilities such as chief music instructor, and planning the entire musical program for the liturgy. It was a very prestigious position, second only to the clergy, and was awarded only to the most skilled musicians. In some modern Lutheran parishes, they still employ a cantor.

The advantage of having a lay-led worship committee (or cantor) is that it allows one or several people to give the worship service the attention it deserves. Ideally, the result is that the liturgy, hymns, readings, and sermon become a coherent whole, rather than a patchwork. The pastor does not have to divide his attention between service planning and his pastoral duties, and the chances of an incoherent service being thrown together at the last minute are eliminated.

I've been to churches that suffered from the lack of any worship planning. In one situation, a pastor adopted a policy to let the organist pick a "wild card" hymn every Sunday, while the remainder were picked seemingly at random from the appropriate section of CW. In another, the pastor used a hymn chart that recorded how many times the congregation had sung each hymn in CW, with the policy that the congregation should never sing more than one "unfamiliar" hymn on any Sunday. The result was that they sang certain "favorite" hymns far too often, while entire sections of the hymnal remained unfamiliar to them.

But I've also been to churches where the practice of having a worship committee was torpedoed by the insistence that one person with no musical experience sit on the committee. The intent was to give the uneducated congregation a "voice" on the worship planning. But for all practical purposes, an individual who couldn't find middle C on a piano had veto power over musical selections. The result was that some beautiful Luther hymns were deemed "creepy" because they were in a minor key.

So what's the big deal? Aren't you being an elitist? Well, sort of. There are places where democracy is wholly inappropriate. Imagine if the fans determined the calls in a baseball game by means of vote. Whichever team had more fans present would obviously win every call. Or imagine making someone umpire who knew nothing about baseball. Now, this individual might claim that because he has no experience with baseball, he has no biases and is therefore more likely to make fair calls than a seasoned veteran. While that makes some sense at first glance, without any experience, he has only his instantaneous whims and emotional reactions to guide his calls.  Besides that, this person actually has no idea what a fair call is if he doesn't know the rules of baseball.

Insofar as Jesus insists that every part of the Body do the work he designed it to do (1 Cor 12:15-18), sure, I guess some might call that elitism. We aren't all called to be worship leaders, just like we aren't all called to be pastors or teachers. But anticipating the elitism objection, St. Paul continues, "On the contrary, those parts of the body that seem to be weaker are indispensable, and the parts that we think are less honorable we treat with special honor" (1 Cor 12:22-23). He further argues in Rom 9:21, "Does not the potter have the right to make out of the same lump of clay some pottery for special purposes and some for common use?"

It is not our place to ask why God didn't give us this or that talent, much less to surgically implant ourselves into a different part of the Body of Christ. Our vocation is to serve with the talents he has given only to us, in the particular niches in which he has placed us. We are not all called to be worship leaders—but we are all called to worship. Whether or not we have a "voice" in the choosing of worship music, every one of us has a voice in the worship of our Redeemer. Believe it or not, we are perfectly suited to that and every vocation by the people and circumstances that God has placed in our lives to shape and form us into his special creations. Thanks be to God! He has not only redeemed us and asked for lives of worship, but he gives us the gifts, the motivation, and the grace to perform those acts, and sanctifies them by the work of his Holy Spirit!

Ecce Homo and the American Idol Complex

"Ecce homo" by Elías García Martínez left; the damaged fresco, center;
and the botched restoration by Cecilia Gímenez, right.

The story isn't news anymore; pretty much everyone has heard about the Spanish fresco, Ecce Homo (Behold the Man), which was ruined when amateur artist Cecilia Gímenez tried to restore it, without the knowledge or consent of the church. The story went viral about five months ago, appearing on comedy shows and even inspiring some Halloween costumes. The fresco has been jokingly referred to as Ecce Mono (Behold the Monkey) in the blogosphere. Now the painting was not a masterpiece by any means, and the artist was barely known except in this small Spanish town. But still, the story is so horrifying from an art historical standpoint that if we didn't laugh, we'd have to cry.

But let's take a moment to consider this issue seriously, especially as it relates to liturgical art. The obvious question that this raises is: who is qualified to make art for the church? I'm not trying to be an elitist. I think that art is wonderfully democratic in the sense that everyone can view and appreciate it—but not in the sense that anyone can make sacred art.

So if you're asking yourself what American Idol could possibly have to do with liturgical art, here it is. The American Idol phenomenon has sparked dozens of spinoff talent competitions and reality shows, all of which seem to have the effect of fueling the belief that anyone can be a millionaire pop star. When my wife Emily taught voice lessons in Savannah, she had at least a dozen teenagers who were taking lessons to prepare for Idol tryouts, or to start their pop music careers. One 23-year-old with no musical experience whatsoever apparently thought that she could take piano and voice lessons for a month or two and then play and sing at a professional level. When my wife informed her that this was probably not a realistic goal, she asked, "Well, how long do you think Alicia Keys has been playing piano?" Emily answered, "Probably her whole life."

The disappointment was palpable. The student's dreams hit the floor like a wet sandbag.

While I don't think American Idol had any effect on this 81-year-old woman's attempt to restore a damaged fresco of Christ, I can't help but feel that Idol (and shows like it) have contributed to a feeling that talent is irrelevant, and that all that is necessary is the will to act. That's the American dream, right? That anyone can pick up a violin or a brush or a microphone and become the next big hit? Well, here's one opinion to the contrary, and I think Miss Gímenez is exhibit A. However well-intentioned she might have been, and however well we appreciate love, determination, and the will to act, an ear cannot will itself to be a hand.

This brings us to the doctrine of vocation. 1 Cor. 12:12-17 explains that the Christian Church is the body of Christ—one unit with many different parts. We celebrate our variety in Christ. We are not all pastors, teachers, musicians, or artists. We are not all contractors, homemakers, engineers, or administrators. Each of us has a calling that is specific to only himself or herself, and for which God has bestowed talents upon each individual. St. Paul addresses the necessity of each part, as well as the attitude of each part to another.

But God has combined the members of the body and has given greater honor to the parts that lacked it, so that there should be no division in the body, but that its parts should have equal concern for each other. If one part suffers, every part suffers with it; if one part is honored, every part rejoices with it (1 Cor. 12:24-26).

So here's where I often find myself standing on a soapbox. I believe this problem has two causes. I often feel as though artists within the church have been marginalized, to the point where the eye says to the hand, "I don't need you." This is unfortunate, because Christian artists are members of the body of Christ just like anyone else. The second cause is the "American Idol Complex," which grants the first person who volunteers the occasion to do whatever it is he desires. Thus, choir is led by people with no experience in directing or in church music, anyone with a guitar and a few months of lessons can lead worship, and banners and vestments are made by the ladies' group with scissors and leftover felt. (Typically, it seems that Lutheran churches expect these positions to be volunteer-only, so there's also an argument that you get what you pay for.)

I don't think anyone should feel guilty in saying, "I thank you for your earnest desire to help, but this doesn't appear to be your calling," as long as it is done with love and not with condescension. Perhaps we can encourage these people to rally support for whatever job it is they feel needs to be filled. Being a "helper" is certainly a fine vocation in itself (Gen. 2:18).

You will probably say that some churches are too small to have talented artists, musicians, etc. contributing to worship. This is true. But we are not islands existing apart from the other members of Christ. If a church really values the vocations that it is missing, it can find the means to obtain them. Where is it written that if a church wants artwork, it has to be provided by a member of the congregation? Or that it has to have a choir, even if there is no one qualified to lead it? I think reexamining our assumptions about ecclesiastical artwork in light of the doctrine of vocation should make us embarrassed of the way we have treated the talented members of our fellowship in past decades.

Holy Spirit, help each of us to build up the body of Christ! Amen.