Art accomplishes this by naming the human condition. Jack London wrote,
That man of us who seizes upon the salient facts of our life, who tells us what we thought, what we were, and for what we stood— that man shall be the mouthpiece to the centuries, and so long as they listen he shall endure.” Labor, Earle (2013-12-24). Jack London: An American Life (Kindle Locations 2274-2275). Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Kindle Edition.
Art names what is salient. It gives us scaffolding for our soul. Art reveals knowing in the life we’re living. This only happens when we are unsettled by questions and possibilities, when we’re forced to compare or to consider something against our own conventional wisdom.
But can art do this when it is “Christian”?
For starters, it depends on what I mean by “Christian.” To ask such a question begs a deeper question of identity.
Identity #1: Christian = Doing
Maybe it’s from growing up in a conservative/evangelical type home and being in proximity with conservative/evangelical type people, but when I think of something being “Christian,” I still hear a set of values and ethical principles. In this kind of thinking, “Christian” is a philosophy of life, a set of practices and principles. It’s a way of living, a culture. In other words, it’s something I participate in. Something I do. Further, built into this worldview is a sense of propagation.
The problem is, if I do Christianity, then when I create art, I find myself trying to do Christianity in my art – to inject my art with the same ethical principles that shape my life. Being bound by this obligation is self-defeating to the artist, or at least to me, because anytime I find myself trying to say something specific and directed, then I am not free to allow what is truly honest to peek out from my soul. The timid expressions of my soul are constantly trampled under the domineering ideas in my head. I move from artist to teacher.
This inability to shake the do may be at the root of why most Christian art stinks. Usually, when we label art as Christian, we’re embedding within it a sense of do. We’re not telling stories, we’re teaching, and often pedantically.
As Christians, we often feel a burden to help others. We hope that by knowing Christ they will know life. And, if we’re Protestants, we believe the best way to do this is through teaching Scripture. With this mindset, when we make art, we unintentionally end up using art to service Scripture, the way one person might use another – not respecting art or giving art its rightful reason for being, but making it serve other, specific purposes.
Not that art can’t serve Scripture, of course, but the problem is that we don’t let art form its own connections and meaning. We create an agenda whose goal is to deliver a specific belief or outcome. We want to answer questions, not raise them. If the goal of our art is to answer questions, then it is no longer art, no matter how well done, but design.
Identity #2: Christian = Being
If what I described above sounds a lot like what we in the church call “works righteousness,” then you and I are on the same page, my friend. Grace is a radical concept, difficult to accept without reciprocation, so we gussy up the deal with conditions of our own making.
But if we drop all of the shoulds from the ownership of faith, we’re left with a different philosophy on life that doesn’t require works. In the be philosophy of life, a work of art can be Christian just as it can be Randian or socialist or nihilistic. It is what it is, not because we use it to teach anything in particular, but simply because it is a true expression of the artist who makes it. Prerequisite to art, in fact, is the agenda-free expression of the artist.
It takes courage to just be, both as an artist and as a Christian. It requires a sense of spiritual confidence. It suggests that when I create art I don’t have to worry about whether it’s Christian or not, or what values or ethical principles might emerge from my work, because I am Christian, and if I’m creating art that is true and authentic, as all art must be, then my creations will naturally reflect me, and therefore they will be Christian.
Christian Artists / Artists Who Are Christian
Bob Dylan accepted Christ in 1978, took five months off to study the Bible at a Vineyard school in California, then made a really good album called Slow Train Coming. Wikipedia shares an anecdote from the period:
Slow Train Coming (1979) featured the guitar accompaniment of Mark Knopfler (of Dire Straits) and was produced by veteran R&B producer Jerry Wexler. Wexler recalled that when Dylan had tried to evangelize him during the recording, he replied: “Bob, you’re dealing with a sixty-two-year-old Jewish atheist. Let’s just make an album.”
Bob, who of course is an artist, felt compelled to share the story of his transformation with his fellow artists. And while his producer wasn’t interested, Bob was still able to make art.
What’s interesting is what happens next. Wiki says,
The second evangelical album, Saved (1980), received mixed reviews, and was described by Dylan critic Michael Gray as “the nearest thing to a follow-up album Dylan has ever made, Slow Train Coming II and inferior.”
Perhaps in his follow up album, Dylan stopped asking questions. After these two albums, none others were explicitly Christian.
As Christians, we sometimes believe we have found the answers to our questions – not some of them, but all of them. This is both false and destructive to making art. It’s the questions that serve art, not the answers. U2, for example, admits that while they believe in the cross, they still haven’t found what they’re looking for. This is a beautiful place for a Christian artist to be. They may have answers, but they’re still asking questions.
Therein lay the rub. U2 are Christians, or most of them, but are they making “Christian art”? Or, are they Christians who are making art? Because there’s a big difference.
So, I wonder- is “Christian art” impossible?