A few years ago I was invited to participate in a weekend conference out in the middle of nowhere. I was the ‘music’ guy and there was a keynote speaker. I was so looking forward to getting away from all the hustle and bustle of full time ministry and soak in some much needed R & R. Tucked away in the woods, I looked forward to retreating into some kind of ‘aimless’ bliss. I had had my fill of all those ‘sermons’ and lectures that I had heard or even taught. I just wanted to rest. I didn’t have much interest in sitting and listening to yet another speaker. I did my thing. Sat down. And in came the speaker carrying a large frame. He placed it on an easel and began to set the stage for the weekend. “We are going to talk about you this weekend, but not in the way you might think or are used to.” He turned to the easel, pulled back the covering and unveiled Rembrandt’s “Prodigal Son.” It’s a striking image of pain and love. A son having wandered and squandered, a Father deeply delighting in the return of his son and a contemptuous brother. It just oozes emotion. For the next two days our speaker called us to the details of the image- the intimate details. He called us to look at the condition of the son, his broken sandals, his tattered clothes, his mangy head. He called us to scrutinize the posture of the Father- gentle and embracing, quiet and comforting. Both the father’s hands embrace his lost son. He stoops down to him. The Older brother is calloused and distant, unapologetic- hands folded, clothes are meticulous- he is not amused.
As the speaker talked I found myself breaking on the inside. Tears welled up as he showed me the love in the Father’s hands. It came alive to me in the details of the image. I could identify with the tattered body of the wayward son in ways I hadn’t before. What was happening? I had heard this all before many, many times. Why now? Was it because my guard was down being so far away, or was the Great God of the universe speaking to me in ways outside of my orthodox box? My heart was being accessed through a very unfamiliar avenue. My guard had been dismantled by the unexpected: the power of art.
Art is an interesting phenomenon. Michelangelo said, “The true work of art is but a shadow of the divine perfection.” True and enduring artists always speak of their ‘connection’ to higher power be it God or whatever they choose to call Him. The reality is that they experience union with a power not of themselves. Some have explained the experience of creativity as an uncontrollable force that must have its expression. For the artist, their art is the expression of their communion with the ‘divine perfection,’ or the irresistible movement of the Holy Spirit, whether they recognize Him as such or not.
Most of us reduce art to forms and their substance- paintings, sculptures, photographs, music, poetry, etc… But the true purpose of real art is to reveal, or at least to point to a deeper reality- to engage us in a deeper life. Art, in its truest essence, has as its central purpose the revelation of God- the ‘divine perfection.’ Francis Schaeffer said years ago, “Wherever God is there will be music, laughter and poetry.” Why? Because the celebration and expression of the divine perfection is manifested most authentically in art. Art is in its essence the only true creative endeavor of man- it is to imitate God Himself in His essence. Art has much to teach us about God if we will but have our eyes open to it. He is our Masterpiece. He is Beauty. And art is the revelation of beauty. The revelation of God.
So….those hands on the Prodigal’s back…the hands…they belong to God. The Prodigal’s back….that’s my back…maybe even yours. And it is in my darkest moments, when I feel haggered and broken, ashamed and obscene…when I humble myself to my God, that is when I experience the tenderness of my Father’s love… It is not just a story…it is ART.
Walking Points 