The Stirring, Teresa Carter

"Israel believed that the prophetic word pronounced, which came from God, was an event, a three-dimensional event, and not merely indifferent sounds issuing from the throat. Such an event set other events in motion, moving in a way they would not have moved without that word."

Jeremy Driscoll, A Monk's Alphabet

Artist's are an odd lot. I know because my wife and I are both artists. It's okay to be odd, sometimes. Besides, I don't want to be like everyone else. Here's a thought I've been chewing on for some years now- artists are bridges between the classes, drinking beer with a house framer one moment and having wine with a bank VP in an art gallery the next. Michelangelo is a good example. Of course, with this privilege comes responsibilty.

The language of art...a picture is worth a thousand words. Imagine the vocabulary required of the Louvre. So, here's another thought- if prophetic words set events in motion, what about prophetic art? What happens when a prophetic utterance occurs on canvas? Every generation is filled with those who impact culture with their words, music, paintings, sculpture. Those working within their time speak to their time. The prophetic transcends time.

"Creation is the language of God, time is His song, and things of space the consonants in the song. To sanctify time is to sing the vowels in unison with Him. This is the task of men, to conquer space and sanctify time." Abraham Joshua Heschel

Back To School

"The line between reality is my door."
John Baldessari

Back to school... the words bring new crayons to my mind, the big box with the built-in sharpener. There is something beautiful about a new box of crayons. Perfectly flat tops. Pristine paper labels. That 'waxy' smell when you first open the box. The creative possibilities of pigment and paraffin are enormous. Of course, Crayola makes the best. No other crayon even comes close. Ask any kid.

The past couple of years have been like going back to school, with every day being the first. That's how it is in the life we call walking with God. His school is filled with surprises, excitement, drama, tension. His creative possibilities are new and fresh. He is a good teacher. And, He doesn't mind repeating a lesson until I get it. (His patience astounds me). Recently I've had a couple of 'aha' moments, the moment in time when the light bulb comes on and I get it. Here's one of my aha's- God has entrusted all of us with precious gifts called time and imagination. I want to be a good steward, of both. I'm working on it. Yesterday I walked to WalMart and bought a box of crayons.

A Good Day

"How are you today?" The expected response is, "Fine." It is an American greeting, not a question. An honest response is not expected, nor is it desired. Time does not allow for honest responses. For years now my response has been, "It's a good day." My wife tells me I am 'copping out'. I explain, "It is a good day because God made it. The way I respond to the day is up to me." My response is, in fact, one of the few things I actually have control of. If I am going to answer a question the least I can do is speak truth. Words matter, they have meaning. There are certain words I guard and protect. One of them is the word good. One day a man came to Jesus and asked, "Good teacher, what must I do to be saved?" Now, any respectable evangelical Christian lives for such a moment. The response is planned, prepared and practiced. Jesus looked at the man and asked, "Why do you call me good? Only God is good." Jesus understood that words matter. He used words to create matter. He chose words carefully. Culture chooses words randomly, creating context to fit the need, or sell a product. Last Spring I spent several Sunday mornings walking the grounds at Bethabara, the site of a Moravian community established in the mid-1700's. One such morning I walked the hill to God's Acre, the cemetery. Dogwood blossoms bowed over an iron fence row. I traced the hand-tooled lettering of a gravestone with a finger. Mockingbirds and sparrows provided audio. The dew reflected the sunrise. It was Sunday morning and it occurred to me, "It's a good day."