. . . it is fraudulent to pass from a great artistic moment felt by one or more persons at a certain time and place to Art in general. Art does not consist only of masterpieces. Not all masterpieces overwhelm everybody equally, nor do they hold their magic invariably, eternally, and universally as the litany of religious adverbs pretends.29
As problematic as this attitude might be for those who profess no other religion, such sanctification of art presents even greater challenges when it is imported unreflectively into the church. Barzun is not addressing the church, but rather society at large. Nevertheless, his admonition regarding how to speak (or, more properly, not speak) about art applies to those within the church who want to advocate for the arts. He continues,
Because Art is not a singleminded power, it cannot fulfill the requirements of a religion. The priest speaks with authority to all believers, no matter what his personal failings; the artist speaks with authority only to some and only when his happy condition or theirs will permit. I know that each of us, from proprietary feelings, would like to say that my chosen artist, this divine work moves all mankind. It is simply not so. All the epithets of immortal, timeless, self-sustaining, and autonomous applied to any work are but brave lies, when they are not merely partisan publicity.30
John Witvliet notes in his preface to Frank Burch Brown’s Inclusive Yet Discerning that the values and assumptions about good and bad art, the function that art plays in human life, and how such art may affect our own lives, are formed outside of an institutional Christian context. Witvliet notes that when these assumptions are brought into our worship, they
. . . may help God’s people worship faithfully and vibrantly. They might, for example, help us to appreciate an artwork from a culture other than our own, or to discern the pathos or energy of a given work and its significance for Christian prayer and proclamation. At other times, however, these assumptions can erect barriers to faithful and vital worship. They might tempt us to worship artists or artworks instead of God, for example, or to fall into the kind of elitism or pragmatism that erodes our experience of grateful awe that is inherent in the act of worship. They might even prevent us from discerning how emerging forms of cultural expression might genuinely revitalize and deepen worship practices.31
Such assumptions lead to what is often termed the worship wars, in which different groups within a congregation argue over what kind of music is best for worship. Often, such differences of taste and opinion lead to separate services for those who prefer to sing the hymns they have known since childhood and those who find joy and comfort in praise choruses that sound more or less like the popular songs heard on the radio every day.
Elitist notions of what constitutes good music (or good art of any kind) can be especially pernicious, as when an organist or choir director’s taste is in conflict with that of the majority of the congregation. In an earlier book, Frank Burch Brown describes Methodist theologian Tex Sample’s report on the struggling, hard-living, working-class people, noting that they
relate to songs that other classes tend to scorn . . . . They don’t respond favorably to imported organists and choir directors insistent on using Bach and Brahms to “lift” the musical tastes of the congregation. They don’t much like musicians who feel compromised by the so-called musical debauchery of contemporary, gospel, and country music.32
Such assumptions also carry over into a more generalized notion that art is good for people, without much attention to what is meant by art, or what that good might consist in. Thus, the very real benefits that might accrue to people who practice an instrument, for example, are conflated with the quite different experiences of individuals who attend chamber music concerts, listen to rock-and-roll or rap, go to galleries that exhibit interactive digital art, or participate in a weekend retreat that encourages participants to make collages to explore their understanding of a biblical passage. While any of these activities may, in fact, be of benefit to participants, and all of them do fit loosely into the category of art (or the arts), it is not at all clear what either the activities or their benefits have in common.
Such assumptions also lead to the growing practice of designating the church organist or choir director as the Minister of the Arts. While in principle I am glad that such a ministry is recognized at all, it is unlikely that a person who is a proficient musician will also know how to address the issues involved in fostering an art gallery or studio, dance and drama ministries, or poetry workshops, just to name a few possibilities. In Voicing Creation’s Praise, Jeremy Begbie rightly cautions against allowing the visual to become the paradigm of an understanding of the arts. However, it is equally problematic for the specific concerns of music production and performance to dominate our understanding of the arts generally. Not all arts are equal in congregational life. While the type of music that is appropriate for worship is often a matter of contention, very few contemporary Christians would argue that there ought not to be any music at all. The other arts have varying levels of acceptance, and pose their own, particular production and performance problems.
I am not arguing here that a wide range of art activities have no place in Christian life. Rather, I am asking that those who advocate that the arts are integral to Christian life be more clear about how the various arts and differing levels of participation may lead to a fuller, richer, more authentic life in Christ. Rather than simply lumping all the arts, and all arts activities, together under one banner, I believe that it is important, at some level, at least, to make distinctions.
A Sanctified Art
In this chapter, I have looked at five general ways that the church, and society at large, misunderstands and misuses the arts. Whether we instrumentalize art, reducing it to a single meaning; commercialize it, turning it into a commodity rather than an experience; demonize it, seeing only its potential for idolatry or as an invitation to sin; trivialize it as child’s play or something to while away a free hour; or spiritualize it as a pathway to the Divine regardless of the specific theology or worldview embedded in a particular work, we lose track of the genuine, concrete benefits and dangers inherent in bringing art into our lives.
In the chapters to follow, I will explore the complex relationship between art, beauty, and truth as these terms are understood colloquially, theologically, and in the world of art criticism and theory; propose some ways that the church might speak more constructively about art, inviting both Christian and non-Christian artists into a dialogue that can enrich both our theology and our aesthetic experience; and consider how the arts might genuinely address our aching need for meaning, for communication, and for genuine worship of the One who calls us into relationship with one another and with God.
Finally, I will move towards a theology of art that is both sanctified and sanctifying. John Wesley taught that, while each Christian is justified by faith, we spend our entire lifetime moving towards Christian perfection, which he called sanctification. Art, like any human activity, is not perfect, nor does it have the ability to make us perfect. What it can do is carry the tune when we are off-key and keep the beat when we are out of step. A sanctified art is like a mirror that always tells the truth, even when we would rather it lie. A sanctified art can show us both who we are and who we are meant to be as we journey together towards perfection.
2. Reinhardt, “25 Lines,” 90.
3. Wolterstorff, Art in Action, 5.
4. Begbie, Voicing Creation’s Praise, xvi.
5. Dyrness, Reformed Theology and Visual Culture, 59.
6.