Scenario 1:   A married couple—he a gospel singer and she a talented painter—describe to me the shared frustration of having the man's work regularly encouraged and applauded in their church while she has no place or artistic voice to express herself.

Scenario 2:   I receive an e-mail from a Christian artist frustrated and deeply hurt by the continual lack of support for his art throughout his life.  From a father who deemed his painting as sissy to a home church that disallowed creative expressions outside of music, he carries both childhood scars and adult wounds for being an artist.

Scenario 3:    A friend of mine is excited to bring an arts conference to a few churches he knows.  But as he dreams and plans about the opportunity, he also shares his wariness over a particular denomination that is suspicious about anything having to do with visual arts or dance in the church.

Scenario 4:  I meet with a woman after a conference who confesses that she is a semi-professional jazz singer who won't tell her pastor what she does on Saturday nights.  She is fearful that letting her church leadership know what she does musically will disqualify her from her praise team.

Four hundred ninety three years after the dramatic beginning of the reformation, and the evangelical church still seems to have an underdeveloped understanding of the arts—and the artists.  Outside of the narrowly defined genres of hymns and choruses, most musical styles are misunderstood.  Dance is frowned upon, except under the guise of "worship movement."  The visual arts are often limited to iconic representations (e.g., doves and crosses), or as backgrounds behind the lyrics of songs.  Drama is limited to Christmas and Easter, or demoted to children's ministries.  Other art forms, like poetry, sculpture and painting are noticeably absent in the expressions of our churches.  Even a most basic aesthetic of beauty is being stripped from our sanctuaries, as we adopt a utilitarian approach to architecture and stagecraft.

The bigger issue may be how the arts are understood.  There are a lot of artistically hip churches out there these days—with worship concerts, theatrical lighting, and moving abstract backgrounds on wide screens.  But I suspect that many of these churches are driven by style, not driven from a Scripturally-based theology of the arts.  The immediate danger of this is that we become flavor-of-the-month churches, grasping at the latest fashion or fad.  The larger danger is that the arts become simply relegated to be a medium for a message, not primarily an expression of the Christ-following artist.  In a crass sense, art becomes part of the show, not a reflection of the bride of Christ.

So.  Can you resonate with any of this?  If you are an artist, do you find that there is a place for you in your church to express yourself?  Is the only venue for artistic expression the Sunday morning service—and you don't fit into it?   How does that make you feel?  What can be done to change it?  And what is the role of the church in unleashing the arts—and artists—in the church, to the world, and before God?

I have met a lot of frustrated artists lately, as well as with those whose job would be to lead them.  I'd like to dialogue over these issues over the next few blogs, so I invite your comments.  I want us to share our thoughts together, think through some theology, and maybe talk about some practical ways that the evangelical churches among us can begin to better unleash and uphold the Christ-following artist. 

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An active participant in the Art and Shelter program since the beginning, Dan Callis has been the point of contact for many artists who have filled the empty walls of our housing programs. Professor of Art at Biola University, Dan is a prolific painter and curator.

In the last year, Dan has organized a series of exhibitions by local painters in multiple venues, building awareness in the community of an evolving group of artists. He recently mounted a solo exhibition at Bunny Gunner in Pomona. At the end of a sabbatical and recent residency in Barcelona Spain, Callis’s work is emerging from the studio with fresh energy and a complex layering of composition and meaning.

The work reflects an appreciation for the dynamics of the material, from the board the paintings is built on top of to the way layers interact across straight lines, curves, drips, and splats. The rawness of the work brings to mind the unconscious layering of abstraction that heavily gratified walls conjure over time.

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One of the Christmastime traditions my wife and I established with our children when they were young was looking at the Christmas lights around our community. Bundled up under blankets in our minivan (the twenty-first century version of the horse-drawn sleigh), the entire family would drive down one street and up another, seeing all the decorated houses in our neighborhood.

And people would go all out. Life-sized reindeer. Nativity scenes. Santas coming down chimneys. Snowmen with top hats and pipes. Candy canes lining people’s driveways. And lights. Lots and lots of lights. The more the lights, the more we’d “ooh” and “aah.”  Then we’d drive back to our house and have hot cocoa.

It was in their third Christmas that my twins, Rachel and Paige, were old enough to really appreciate the event. And that they did. Through their little three year old eyes, our neighborhood was a magical and amazing place. Every house glowed like fresh baked gingerbread. Trees glistened like the moonlight on fresh-fallen snow. And everywhere there were lights, Rachel and Paige announced excitedly, “Ommagosh, it’s bootiful.”

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“Kin”, an exhibition of photographs that explore the dynamics of home and family, opened at the Art and Shelter gallery in November. On view through January, the collection of photographs gives the viewer the meditative opportunity to explore the visual breadth of family life.

Mud Struggle, by Kurt Simonson, is an intimate and dirty peek into the unfettered lives of children in the North Woods of our country. A classic composition of children playing in the mud, all work and play as the children search the surface and below for lost treasures or some unknown object of interest. For a photographer, the amazing composition of figures represents the rare moment of opportunity. Beyond its beauty, the image also invites us to participate in the moment, leaving the viewer checking their shoes for traces of mud.

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David Bayles and Ted Orland, in their book Art & Fear, suggest that the artist needs two things from their audience: acceptance and approval.  They assert, “acceptance means having your work counted as the real thing; approval means having people like it.”  In other words, we crave the acceptance of our critics and peers and opinion leaders to validate our work.  And we crave the approval of others to validate us.

I think this is normal for any artist, to seek not only approval but also acceptance.  We ask ourselves the deep questions of being. Does what I do have merit?  Am I touching people with my song, my book, my poem, my painting?  Is there some significance to my work, beyond my own skewed self-perceptions?  Is there some significance to me?  These are all valid and deeply felt questions that strike at the very heart of who we are and what we do as artists.

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I recently participated in the Christian Musicians Summit at Overlake (Seattle area).  During this two-day conference, I shared concepts on the arts and faith from my book to scores of artists—musicians, painters, actors, dancers, and technical artists.  It was a blast.

One of the things I look forward to as I speak more in this context is watching the imaginary light bulbs that start to turn on over people’s heads.  This time, there was a definite corporate “aah!” moment as I shared the idea that we don’t have to be message-oriented in our art.  Christian evangelicals in particular operate under the paradigm that the arts are to be used as a vehicle for a message, and of course, the message is “the Gospel,” however you may define it.  (Note: I originally derived this concept from Francis Schaeffer in his seminal book, Art and the Bible.)

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"Sing to the Lord a new song; sing to the Lord, all the earth."    Psalm 96:1

Recently, Worship Leader Magazine asked me (among others) to respond to two questions that they will be focusing on in an upcoming issue.  The questions they posed were quite thought-provoking and, upon further reflection, essential for the worship leader.  I look forward to the January 2010 issue and what others have to say.  Meanwhile, here are their questions and my extended response to them.

WL:  What is New Song?

Before I came to Christ, there were three kinds of songs I typically wrote: “I love you” songs, “You left me” songs, and “You can leave now” songs.  (I think I wrote a song about the circus once too.

I know.  I don’t typically do this kind of blog. Usually I am trying to tackle issues of theology and the arts, or sharing some insightful life lesson that I’ve happened upon, or summarizing a recent gig or artistic adventure.  If you’re looking for that today, this ain’t it.

I stumbled upon a an internet video of one of my favorite music movie scenes, and it got me thinking about the movies us musicians quote, especially before, between, or after a gig.  We’re a bit of a weird breed of cat, and the things that make us laugh are often left of center.  So here’s a really short list, in no particular order, of movies that rock, blues, and even jazz musicians I play with refer to.  (Note that my mentioning it here is not an endorsement of the movie!)  But if you want to add to the list, please let me hear from you.  And make sure you check out the links!

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Opened in 2000 and designed to accommodate up to 2 million visitors each year, the Tate Modern in London is now visited by over 5 million people a year.One of its most spectacular destinations is the Turbine Hall, the cavernous center of the former power plant.

A 2003 Turbine Hall installation was The Weather Project by Olaf Ureliasson. An artificial roof of mirrors cut the hall in half vertically and a semi-circle of light illuminates the hall with a hazy gold accentuated by a fine mist drifting through the hall.

The Weather Project is an incredible example of how an architectural space can be transformed by an awarness of how design and lighting interact. A similiar principle applies to many of the Europe's Cathedrals, and is a creative tool for worship often lacking in contemporary church design.

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Typically, this blog waxes eloquent on the deeper theological points of faith and the arts. But today, I thought I would just be goofy and share a story about my wife about a dozen years ago.  It is a reminder that we, as artists, should strive toward the greater art—and often, it comes with a price.

In our family, this story is folklore, the kind of tale that has been retold over the dinner table over the course of more than a dozen years.  Or to paraphrase the words of Kung Fu Panda: "Legend tells of a legendary bread maker whose bread making skills were the stuff of legend..."

Day 1: My wife, Debbie, finds a book on baking bread in the bookstore.  She buys it, thinking that she'll save the family money in the long run.  "After all, after a few loaves, it should pay for itself."

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