Trying to re-find Paradise generated arts-based theology

During a summer ministerial job when I was in theological school, I led a weekend retreat for young adults and older teens.  It was a good group experience, with shared recreation, group-building exercises and thoughtful conversation.   A short time afterward, I was talking with a guy about my age who had participated.  He began to delve further into my being a seminary student.   Being skeptical but searching, he asked me the inevitable question: “Who or what is God?” 

I thought for a few moments and remembered one of the more significant exercises we had done on the retreat.   Each person takes a turn lying face-down on the floor while others tap firmly but gently on them, head to toe for a minute or so.  They press down, then roll the person, who remains limp, over and raise them high above their heads.   The feeling that one gets up there is beyond explanation.   One experiences many things, including complete trust. You know that — no matter what — those people won’t drop you.  That works even for certified acrophobes such as I.   So, I said, “You remember how you felt when you were up in the air in that exercise on the retreat?”  (And it’s worth noting he was the largest participant.)   He smiled and said, “Yeah.”   I replied, “That’s God.”   His response: “Dig it.”   

This guy is one of countless individuals I’ve encountered who are trying to know God.  I’m in this group, and I’m confident the ones I’ve encountered represent a small sample of those on this journey.   Often this search is for a limited God, not unlike one maybe heard about in Sunday School and/or John Milton’s “Paradise Lost.”   This search is, at best, incomplete; at worst, disillusioning.  

My religious upbringing was not completely fundamentalist but still quite “orthodox.”  It was slightly altered along the way though never shaken for 19 years.  But then one night during the spring of my freshman year in college, I was reading “Paradise Lost” for an English class.  Ironically, it was this that started a chain reaction in my mind, so that in about 10 minutes, the beliefs I had held my whole life to that point were wiped out.  Milton’s picture, so similar to what I had learned in Sunday School, was just so nice, that I suddenly realized it couldn’t be that way.  No three-level universe, no war in heaven and, to my horror, no Ruler in heaven.  The image this experience still brings to mind is that of a sandcastle disintegrating in the rising tide.  It just shows how shallow my faith really is, I thought at the time.  I’ve since learned it wasn’t shallow, just immature. 

I immediately began to try frantically to piece my theology back together and/or rebuild it.  I figured if there were a God, I’d better find “him” PDQ.   So, I directed a lot of attention and energy to trying to define “God.”  Every now and then, I would come up with some very systematic, step-by-step theory of what it was all about, just what “God” meant.  And the very moment I got the theory all spelled out in my head, I immediately realized it was baloney.   

This miserable time of being an atheist-wanting-to-be-a-theist went on for two or three years.  In my quest, I fell into some patterns that I suspect hinder a lot of people in the same situation.  I was trying too hard.  Yes, we do need to be diligent in trying to figure things out, but there’s a point of diminishing returns.  Sometimes we may be searching so hard for “God” (or the meaning of life, or Shalom or whatever term works for you), that we miss a small but significant clue that is right there.  Often, we base our search on a narrow concept of God.  Again, incomplete and potentially disillusioning.   

Finally, I resigned myself to the fact that I did not understand what, if anything, the term “God” meant and might not ever.  In this process, I subconsciously made the decision to affirm what did have meaning for me, rather than constantly being uptight about what didn’t.  That was the first positive step I had taken in some time toward rebuilding my personal theology.

I didn’t even realize at first that these affirmations were helping me understand the concept of “God.”  That realization developed slowly.  I continued to participate in many of the same “religious” activities, including Sunday morning worship at church and various gatherings of a student organization.  The rituals felt rather empty, but I got something out of being with the others.  There was a human connection that was more than human. 

Gradually, I came to understand that the connection with others – in religious and other settings, as well – was an experience of love.  It was real and beyond the physical realm.  I believed in this spiritual connection, whether or not I could define it or give it a name.   

And there was art.

Art in all forms, though especially music and poetry, has always appealed to more than just my five senses.   During that miserable time, I had no trouble continuing to affirm artistic expression and experience.  I didn’t feel miserable when hearing good music or reading a meaningful poem.  I came to appreciate that art has more than a physical dimension.   This reality helped me realize I wasn’t an atheist after all.  

The spiritual nature of human community reinforced this notion.  Finally giving that connection a name – “love” – led to understanding, at long last, the scriptural phrase “God is Love.”  To get to that understanding, I had to flip the phrase.  Reasoning that “if A=B, then B=A,” I said, “Love is God.”   Another piece of the puzzle.   

The arts helped me begin again to rebuild my personal theology.

I think that one way of understanding how we are created in our Creator’s image is that we too can be creators, albeit imperfect ones.  I am not suggesting we can all paint masterpieces, write quality poetry or compose fine music.  But we do have the potential to be creative.  Different individuals have potential that is developed further in particular areas.  We have the potential fully to appreciate art in any of its expressions, be it visual art, music, drama, poetry, etc., even if we are not blessed with the ability to produce it.  Yet, further, creativity, as given to us by our Creator, is not confined to what we think of as art.  Our Creator’s image within us, like our Creator, transcends boundaries and limitations. 

We can and should be creative in our occupation, in our relationships with others, in all aspects of our lives.   That is, we need to be open, innovative, aware of all the possibilities, conscious of what is going on inside and outside of our heads.  We need to utilize all our senses as well as components of our thought processes, without getting stuck in any particular one.   Stated overly simply, we need to avoid operating “in a rut.”  

If we truly become conscious of what is involved in a good poem, a moving piece of music or any other art form, we become aware of something more than this physical world.  To create music or poetry or any kind of art takes a power not of this realm of existence.   Experiencing this art – listening to or performing a song, reading a poem – allows us at least a glimpse of this realm.

Ultimately, what worship is all about is transcendence – not as a means of religious intoxication, but as an impetus and aid to active Christian (or substitute the name of your religion) living.   Through art, through creative expression, through utilization of God’s gift of creativity, we commune with our Creator. 

This understanding of theology evolved for me concurrently with my deepening understanding of the spiritual nature of human community, leading me to be more interested in and dedicated to worship renewal.  

Just as a side note, it is thus impossible for me to see any difference between “sacred” and “secular” when we talk about art.  Begin by looking at the genesis of classical music. Many of the fine pieces used for preludes and postludes were written without words to convey a sense of the presence of God.  Stained glass was put in the church windows not only to tell Bible stories, but also to evoke a sense of the Divine presence via their artistic quality and multicolored light shining through.   Songs don’t have to include “religious” words to connect us with God.

I do think, however, that we do at times need the use of traditional religious symbols.  For while it is good to experience the presence of God, it is even more joyous when we realize more fully that that is what we are doing.  These symbols can do the reminding.  But our dependence on them is due to our limitations.  It certainly isn’t due to God’s.  My spiritual journey over these decades has included redefining virtually every religious symbol, as well as many words and phrases I’ve heard quoted freely in church all my life. 

When I was a student at “the oldest Protestant graduate school of theology in the nation,” one of my favorite and most influential professors was Rabbi Murray Rothman.  In one class discussion, he reminded us – most eloquently – that God is infinitely greater than human understanding.  Any ‘god’ that you can understand could not possibly be God.

As noted earlier, accepting my limitations was a positive step forward.  We do not have to make God be there by searching frantically through the hymnal or the latest version of the Bible.  Nor is the Rock of Ages going to crumble because some people rest on it in “unorthodox” ways.