A Christian’s Art in the World

Through inspiration, James writes “Do you not know that friendship with the world is enmity with God? Whoever therefore wants to be a friend of the world makes himself an enemy of God.” James 4:4. Before we can proceed, it is incumbent upon us to define what James meant by “the world.” In His priestly prayer recorded in John 17, Jesus laments to God, “O righteous Father! The world has not known You, but I have known You…” v 25. Earlier, in John 14:30, Jesus states that “…the ruler of this world is coming, and he has nothing in Me.” So we clearly get the impression that to be “of the world” isn’t a good thing—certainly not by God’s standard. And an exploration of the original Greek word kosmos is of little help, giving definitions of “orderly arrangement, décor, adorning, beauty, symmetry, etc.” (Strong’s #2889)—not helpful in light of the fact that rarely in the New Testament is there a positive reference to “the world.”

You may be asking yourselves, “So, uh, what does this have to do with art?” The true answer is nothing. And everything.

[For the purposes of this article, I’ll adopt the biblical definition of “the world” as denoting those outside the Body of Christ, i.e. non-believers.] As an artist, creative output—secular or Christian—is offered up to both God and the world. To God as a fruit of the gift(s) He has given you; to the world as something simply to be beheld. And there’s the challenge: As a Christian, how do I make sure that my art is both pleasing to God as a full offering of the talent He has given me and to the world as something that they will regard aesthetically? Even more challenging is having the discipline to ask yourself “will this piece/picture/article/photograph/story/song draw someone of the world closer to God, at least point them in a spiritual direction, or will it reinforce an already steel barrier that Satan has spent millennia constructing?” I must confess that I’ve not always asked this question, and even when I do, it’s usually after I’ve written something. However, as an artist, this isn’t necessarily a bad thing. One of the worst things an artist can do is create to please an audience. On the surface, this might seem contradictory to what I’ve just written above. But it’s not. Sure, regardless of the angst-ridden, modesty feigning poseurs we see shrugging off praise or criticism, all artists want folks to appreciate their art. But a true artist creates because he or she must. It isn’t something we do, it’s something we are. And we create what pleases us—“pleases” not necessarily being synonymous with “pleasant.” Some of the stuff I write disturbs me. But I’m pleased by the honest expression, not the pleasantness of the actual piece. And honest expression in art is the foundation on which my following arguments rest.

In 1995, I wrote a conceptual piece entitled “The Robbery of Murder.” It was inspired by a real tragedy that one of my co-workers had experienced. She had to deal with the double loss of her husband being killed by a drunk driver and the emotional strain of the psychological brokenness of her little boy who, from the passenger’s seat, witnessed his father’s death in the accident. You can read through the text of my story and readily realize that there isn’t an overtly “Christian” theme to the piece. In one song, I even use some mild profanity to convey the boy’s anger. And after I’d written and recorded the album, I found that the above question begged to be answered. Does this piece—secular in any definition—glorify God or simply build upon the girders of worldliness?

In 1997, I wrote another conceptual piece entitled “Catatonia.” This album was certainly more overt in its “Christian” themes. However, these weren’t the typical “feel good-praise God” sentiments one comes to expect from so-called Christian rock. The first half of the album deals with the protagonist making his case for turning away from his faith—the world is corrupt, I’m numb by the monotony of everyday existence, etc. Halfway through the album, he actually declares to God, “I turn my back on You.” The album ends with a realization that regardless of his lot, our protagonist is always in God’s presence. Still, I didn’t tie the story up with a happy ending. The album closes without the protagonist having taken action on the epiphany he’s experienced. The question still stands: Did I glorify God by not taking the step and showing a proverbial prodigal son repenting and returning to the Fold?

For Salem Hill’s “Not Everybody’s Gold” album, I wrote a simple song called “We Don’t Know.” The premise of the song is that humans don’t fully know what love is. In the arranging of this song, all the members of Salem Hill had gathered. My three Christian colleagues in the band were upset that the lyric of “We Don’t Know” contained “the queen mother of all cuss words.” I argued that it most accurately conveyed my thought. They countered that it would ruin the overall impact of the song and offend the majority of our fans. They ended up winning the argument (with the help of my wife), and I rewrote the offending verse. Two questions: Is it possible to glorify God through vulgar means? ––and—should an artist who calls himself a child of God even be using vulgarities in his art?

Forgive me, but I leave it to you to answer the questions in the three examples above. The reason is simple: My answers would have little or no meaning to you. These are questions which must ultimately be answered by every member of the audience. And that’s as it should be. The aesthetic response to art should be different from individual to individual. Many will be offended by Andreas Serrano’s controversial “Pisschrist.” I respect the rights of those people to be offended. However, I also respect Mr. Serrano’s honest expression in his art. I’ve known people who converted to Christianity due to the powerful depiction of Satanic horror in “The Exorcist.” Personally, I feel that the recent movie “Dogma” is a masterpiece, deftly examining Christianity in our modern world. However, the movie also contains relentless swearing and crude humor. These are, perhaps, extreme examples, but I cite them because I see in them successful art. That is, they succeed in eliciting an aesthetic response. As a Christian, I may bristle. But I also imagine someone who’s not a Christian is bristling too. And I am encouraged by that. For perhaps they’re scratching their head after the experience and thinking about spiritual things. I’d be willing to wager it’s more likely to happen from provocative and “controversial” offerings than from the latest sterile, homogenized, and (dare I say it?) pleasant “contemporary Christian” record.

So, to summarize, the challenge for me as a Christian artist in creating fare for my Brethren and for the world is not so much in the content, but in the craft. I don’t think I can glorify my Creator or positively impact a lost and searching soul by offering less than my best. Likewise, it is anathema to God and transparent to the world to submit dishonest art. And I want to make it clear to both my believing and unbelieving audience that to be in the world does not necessarily mean to be of the world. Art—good art—will do that.