Along the lake’s edge, a ruffled group of people were searching for some lost chord in an apparent attempt to connect with Gaia. Tousled, sun-freckled kids were playing amongst the rushes as a sinister layer of weed smoke slunk across the tepid water. It seemed like some sacred welcome mat rolled out to usher this worship into the night air. The alternating legato chants of Shanti ‚ Om‚ and harmony made their way into my sodden ears.

I did not expect this expression at the lake I call home. The strange beauty of the music continues even now as I write, though almost every song has been in the same key. There is a near dullness to this music. The object of this worship is untethered to The Divine Being. Rather it is yearning to connect with elusive divine-ness in us all. The strains of these melodies seem on a futile search. As I’m lulled to consider the divine-ness in me, I find it deeply muddled, jammed back into dark, scarred corners of past traumas. Somehow, through this foreboding, Jesus emerges. I wonder if He is emerging to these well-intentioned worshippers. Perhaps.

It’s eerie hearing this reverie after most of a life listening to Christian hymns, contemporary and worship songs. There is a sense – as I have sung these many songs in appreciation for God – of connection, renewal, remembrance and grace. But not always.

Even with music that has the Creator of the Universe as its object, I am at times distracted by the saccharine, the commercial, and the trite. Somehow, even so, I connect with something that is far beyond my understanding. Even when dumbed down and trivialized, this music sung and played to God contains shreds of beauty that tease the hunger of my soul and brings to light the pains of my past. The music I still hear now floating across the humid night air does not provide nearly the same solace.

Even so, a primal creative urge is being expressed by these people. Even in the dullness I feel in their music, there is the DNA of the Creator, who is the Source of every note, brush stroke, word written, line delivered, aria sung, and mantra uttered. Perhaps these earnest people are misguided in the object of their worship. But I’d like to think that God is above and amidst them smiling as they utter His very impulses. Maybe in this tainted goodness, they will see True Divinity in the midst of the contrived, tarnished idols of themselves. Maybe, just maybe, God has grace enough to imbue the strains of their music in ways He can only redeem. Perhaps these timbres will ultimately remind them of the only One that perfectly, and wildly, loves them.

I can still see the faint fires flickering across the placid lake. The music is dying down in synchrony with the flames. An errant duck duck squawks in the distance and softly flapping bats punctuate the air as they go about their nighttime meal. And God longingly smiles…

Alexander Seidel is in his final year of the MACP/MACS programs at The Seattle School. To dissociate from the impressive emotional workload of school, he loves to paint pictures with words, drink hop-saturated beverages with friends, and find the deeper meaning in the gum wall at the Pike Place Market. In his off time, he interns at Meier Clinics and seeks to understand the impact of pathology on ecclesiology.

I went to the Ballard farmer’s market today to buy asparagus and honey. I’ve been reading about food lately and thought it to be the peak of growing season for this vegetable I counted on to announce Spring.

Spring.

It’s been a long Winter for me and as I entered Lent I felt I had been observing this season of grief and hope-drained nights for months already. I welcomed a season of the Church calendar that actually suited the shape of my soul. One night at our weekly Sacred Space meeting, I listened to Katie Jensen read words by Soren Kierkegaard: “How shall God in Heaven be able to dry up your tears when you have not wept?”

“Well,” I thought, “I’ve wept.” What I wasn’t sure about was when God was going to get around to drying up my tears.

I asked to do an installation for Lent—a way for my hands to build hope that my tears might find the compassion of God. A longing for my tears to create something that would invite the MHGS community to believe their grief was worth voicing before each other and before the Holy One Who Weeps. Jars, water, broken glass: all assembled to remind me and, hopefully, many of you, that tears and wounds are not lost or hidden from the face of our Christ, who entered into death that our tears might be a weight we do not have to bear forever.

In the past three weeks a lot has changed for my circumstantial life and the life of my soul. I can feel the Spring coming. Indeed, in many ways I believe it has come. But there wasn’t any asparagus at the market. The frost that keeps returning and preventing our flip-flopped bliss has also delayed the asparagus debut. We have tulips and daffodils, but it is not fully Spring in my mind until I can have fresh asparagus with my eggs, soft yolks blanketing the crisp, bright spears.

It also isn’t Easter yet. We have a few  more days of Lent – the week of Last Suppers, betrayals, indictments, and bloody death. We have yet to travel to Friday, much less through the confusion and fear of Saturday.  Resurrection is approaching, but we have some grieving still to come.

May we cry as we need, surrendering our hands, that Resurrected God may dry our tear-stained cheeks.

Dana Mitchell is a second-year MACP student from Georgia. She recently moved to Fremont with two lovely women who also attend MHGS. She is great at both losing and finding her neighbor’s chickens, making sweet tea, and cracking jokes. This summer term you’ll find her studying at the beach and hopefully starting her first backyard vegetable garden. All green thumbs invited.

As per the typical experience at Mars Hill Graduate School, my first semester was a challenging one. Yet I have discovered that out of the dark mystery of the unknown is birthed the creative rawness of glorious new beginnings.

Though I still feel often lost in the darkness, I’m learning to close my eyes, listen for the music, and am gaining to courage to sing along.  I’ve been on a journey of voice: discovering my voice, using my voice, and loving my voice. This road stretchesout before me to the horizon, and I am, for now, set upon it. Joining Sacred Space at MHGS is for me a step of faith in this direction. For I believe that I have something of value to bring and am putting myself in a position to offer it.

Of the four realms of MHGS Student Leadership, I chose Sacred Space because cultivating and nurturing the Spiritual atmosphere of the school and inviting students into interaction with the Holy taps into a yearning in my spirit that I’m just beginning to put words to. I have often pondered the concept of “dwelling” and noticed how an atmosphere can shape the people in an environment. I want to be a part of this at MHGS, and use my voice to shape and bless an institution that has so greatly shaped and blessed me. So for this season, I’m compelled to open my mouth, to not let fear of going off key keep me from singing, and journey forward as I walk through Sacred Space.

Katie Jensen is a first-year MACP student who is learning what it looks like to wrestle, rest, and play with God and others through the perilous and invigorating journey that is Mars Hill Graduate School. In glorious moments of indulgence she enjoys White Chocolate Mochas, fireplaces, writing music, and hearing good stories.

A different 3rd year MDiv student facilitates our time every week.

It’s always different and always a little clumsy and very heartfelt. I’m a crier so I usually cry. We sit on the floor or on benches.  We put a prayer in the wall or light a candle. We gaze upong the icons and breath deeply.  We exchange the peace and read outloud. We talk or listen, drink and eat.

Then we leave.
We walk downstairs and heat up our lunch.
We head to the classroom or library.
We go on about our day.

Leanna Ramsey-Corrales is a 1st year MACP student. She craves sunshine almost as much as she needs soup.  The soup she can make but the sun has been hiding since October.  She is a bi-cultural foodie with a dangerous book addiction.  She tries to practice showing her camera the beauty of Seattle every day.

Lately I’ve been giving much thought to the wise men who followed the star to baby Jesus. I’m deeply moved by the fact that the wisdom of this world, embodied in the wise men, came and bowed to Wisdom personified–before he could deliberately minister to them. Before the wise men could get much out of Jesus.

The wisdom of big-better-more recognized that ultimate Wisdom was breaking into the world; and the universe, illustrated in the star, was moving toward this Wisdom. Captivated by the celestial movement, these Movers & Shakers were compelled to follow. Wise guys coming to submit their wisdom to Wisdom incarnate. The wisdom of this world coming to worship Wisdom, himself, Jesus Christ.

As I sit with others in spiritual direction, I’m learning to watch. Look. Listen. To pay attention to what is moving and shining before me, like the star that moved and shined before the wise men. And I follow…

Captivated by the present incarnation of Christ in the directee’s life, I often cannot speak. It is enough for my soul to genuflects in the presence of God Almighty  – sweet and tender like a baby. The invitation and space is present for the directee to bow as well, to join me in bending toward transcendent, immanent Wisdom. The God who has so much to offer both of us.

Amen.

For the second year in a row, the Food Course is being taught at MHGS. Co-taught by Counseling Psychology Professor Stephanie Neil and Biblical Studies Professor Jo-Ann Badley, the Food Course addresses the topic of food as a place of conversation about embodiment of Christian thought and practice. In this Selected Readings course, students examine the role of food for wholeness as human beings in society, from both a psychological and theological perspective.  In the following post, 2nd year MDiv student Kira Elliot shares some of her experience of the Food Course in the midst of this season of harvest.

Dear Reader,

Reflecting on today’s Food Class, the intersection of psychology and theology, and our world’s eating habits, there is a line that repeats itself in my head: “God saw everything that God had made, and indeed, it was very good.”  I want to hold this, sit with it, take it, meditate awhile, stick it in my pocket and share it as I go on my way.

The article about female eating disorders that we read for class this week talked about balance.  I disagree, I think.

Reading in Ecclesiastes last night, the often quoted, “For everything there is a season,” leaned into me.  Perhaps it is because summer has faded into autumn and my bones know its wind.  Perhaps not.  Either way, it affirmed a thought I’ve been fingering: there are times of fasting, there are times of feasting, there are ordinary times.  The point is not balance, rather it is to rest and live into the turning seasons knowing that in each we are beautiful and we are loved. As the Beast knows, when we begin to believe that we are loved, we change.

Autumn is my favorite season, and it always has been because it’s when the leaves change.  In class today, we were asked to write down a first memory of being in our bodies, and so I wrote about bringing a bag full of raked leaves to kindergarten for show and tell—to know my body and my world through the nose and crackle of fallen leaves, to know there is love and there is change.

Reader, I hope this finds you well, with a nose and bright wings.  Let us eat, be satisfied, and change as we remember this: in all, we are seen and ah! we are very good, indeed.

Paix,
Kira

Kira Elliott likes to think of herself as a gypsy; however, she spent the majority of her life dreaming in a yellow house on Larimore Avenue in Omaha, Nebraska.  She remembers her years spent teaching in Asia by eating Thai food whenever possible and then promptly washes it down with a good local brew in honor of her new found love for Seattle ale houses.  Kira forever wants to dance, fill her pockets with small treasures, collect and share the world’s stories.

Artemis, Tina Guldhammer Frei

Sacred Space is the realm of Student Leadership that tends to the artistic and ordinary spaces of Mars Hill Graduate School in hopes of opening up space for our community to rest, wrestle, and play.  A practical manifestation of this work is found in the art galleries on the second and third floors, which highlight the work of local artists as well as alumni and current students.  Our second floor gallery currently features the work of Tina Frei in a collection entitled Re-Placing Nature: Visual Art And the Recovery of Sacred Space.

Tina is a native of eastern Washington.  She grew up in the Walla Walla valley, a landscape that has greatly influenced her artistic vision.  Frei recently completed a Masters in Theology and the Arts at Fuller Theological Seminary.  This collection is a part of her Masters Thesis project, which examined the loss of sacred natural space in Western culture.

Sacred Space had a chance to ask Tina about her artistic process and her current show at MHGS:

Sacred Space: How do you begin and how do you know when it is done?

Hidden, Tina Guldhammer Frei

Tina Frei: I usually begin by drawing.  Often times I’ll find a photograph that has lines or forms that interest me, so I start with those and layer paint over top.  Sometimes the drawing gets completely covered and other times the piece ends up more a mix of the two. One of my challenges is knowing when to stop and when to keep going.

SS: Do you get stuck?  What do you do when that happens?

TF: I do get stuck sometimes.  When this happens it’s usually because I’ve started to over-think things and edit too much, and it feels more like work than play.  When this happens I usually just need to stop and come back to it later, or start on something else. Sometimes I never come back to a piece.

SS: How does your process intersect with other parts of your life?

Red Fence, Tina Guldhammer Frei

TF: I create pieces based on what’s around me. Because photography has become such an integral part of my current process, my art tends to reflect things that are interesting and meaningful in my life. Lately I’ve been reflecting a lot on the meaning of place and land, so my process has actually taken me to places I might not have ventured out to otherwise.

SS: Why do you paint?  Given that this is your doctoral work, how do your words and your images relate to each other?  Does one or the other hold more meaning for you?

TF: I’ve been drawing and painting for as long as I can remember. It’s the best form of expression I have.  My words are the second-best form. Of course, not everyone experiences my pieces the way I do, so sometimes words are necessary. Something I like specifically about the act of drawing and painting is how physical and primal it is.

SS: Tell us about this body of work.  Does it represent a certain period of time?

Shed On A Hill, Tina Guldhammer Frei

TF: This work represents a period of time in which I was living in the LA area.  I grew up in the Northwest, and I felt greatly displaced moving down there in a way that affected even my spirituality. I realized how much of this feeling had to do with my displacement from the physical landscape of the Northwest. I wanted to explore the idea of sacred places in the land, and how our relationship with the land affects us as human beings.
You can view Tina Frei’s work during MHGS business hours throughout the Fall trimester.

One way that this vision-crafting has happen is through my process of blogging. I began blogging a few years ago with some sort of idea that I had something to offer to the world (which I still believe). I had no idea, though, how much I would be shaped through this writing process. I assumed I would be the one doing the shaping through my insightful thoughts and witty rhetoric, but I quickly realized that I was being transformed far more than I was transforming others. I was being changed.

Blogging has developed within me a heightened sense of awareness to the world around me. When I am consistent and regular in my writing, the world becomes a potential post. In some ways this could compare to a sort of spider-sense (borrowing from the comic world), as I am increasingly and acutely more alert to my surroundings. Each encounter on the bus has potential to teach. Each conversation with a friend is an opportunity for transformation. Each movie I watch or song I hear has potential for deeper understanding. Blogging has helped craft my eyes to better see the world around me. It has altered my hermeneutic. It has changed me forever.

—

Jason Bowker is a 3rd year M.Div. student at Mars Hill Graduate Student. He is passionate about the church and preaching and plans on pastoring or church planting following graduation. In his free time, Jason enjoys rock climbing, camping, playing sports, and playing guitar. He and his wife live in Capitol Hill and serve as worship leaders at a small, Episcopal church in Maple Valley, WA.

“How much time have we wasted trying to make ‘bigger and better’ or ‘slicker and sweeter’ messages instead of just being the messengers?” – Play Time: Finding the Freedom to Imagine and Explore by Betty Spackman, author and installation artist.

Awhile ago I was asked to submit a proposal to a publisher for a set of short films. As I sat down to write the proposal, I became acutely aware of the fact that what I was creating was very quickly going to be turned into a product. All of a sudden I was thinking about demographics, marketing, target audiences. Before I could even get started I was paralyzed, knowing that what I was writing would be subject not only to the scrutiny of my own creative process, but also to whether or not the publisher thought she could sell it. Sitting at my desk, I knew I had a choice. I could write what was inside of me. In other words, be the messenger. Or, I could write for the publisher, giving them something that might not be from my heart, but I knew they could sell.

I thought to myself, certainly there must be a place that lies somewhere between these two extremes.

How many times a week does this happen in our organizations? A creative person sits down at their desk with an idea. But before they can put pen to paper, they realize their idea will soon be critiqued, not only for its inherent artistic value, but also for its potential appeal to the audience – will the leader like it, will it move people to do good, will it change lives? There is no easy answer to this dilemma. For it is not an easy task to live in the tension. We want an either, or’s. And yet the art of tension lies somewhere in the middle. A third way, if you will.

For me, the art of holding the tension between being the messenger and being a producer begins by creating environments of safety. Pastors and priests: if you want great visions, you must take good care of your prophets.

While not the case for everyone, some of you know all too well that your church is not a safe place for your messengers, artists, and prophets. The reasons vary from not having enough to time to create something from the heart, to the direct dismissal of creatives as disorganized weirdos. Regardless of the reason, these unsafe places have created communities deprived of the deep, complex, and beautiful mysteries of the faith that cannot always be spoken of in a sermon.

The artist is the pastor of the 21st century whether we like it or not.

Spackman writes: “Whether one is an artist or not, I think as Christians we are all implicated in the horrendous deficiency of imagination, the visual illiteracy, the dispassionate celebrations of ‘the joy of our salvation,’ the uncaring lamentations of our sorrow for the oppressed and wounded, our lack of protest for the destruction of our ecosystem and the consumerist kitsch that is the predominant expression of faith in most of the Christian community.”

If the above is news to you, know that the creative professionals in your organization have long been aware. They have felt the deep pain of working and volunteering in places that are lacking in creativity and imagination for sometime now. Those of you who are leaders have an incredible opportunity to revitalize your community by beginning the difficult work of trusting and affirming the visions and dreams of your creative professionals. This process, however, will not be easy, nor will it be quick. But, if you are willing to live in the tension of letting your artists free and not micro-managing the creative process, you will begin to experience some amazing things.

The following is neither an exhaustive list of how to accomplish this, nor a step-by-step plan. Instead, what follows are a few things I think might help your team along.

Leaders, my challenge to you is to gather your creatives and ask them what they dream about. Ask them about the art they create. Ask them to share with you their vision of your community. Ask them to tell you what it is they find mysterious about following Christ. Ask them to dream of a place where they would be free to experiment and make mistakes. And then (here is the tough part), work tirelessly to create that place for them.

If you want to grow the mystery of Christ in your church, you must first foster mystery among your staff.

Creatives, my challenge to you is to be honest to yourself, your leaders, God. Perhaps the most tragic part of your calling as prophets and visionaries is that you will not always be understood. In fact, most of the time you will not. Be careful, however, that being misunderstood isn’t something you carry as a badge of honor. Simply know this: more often than not, the prophet will be called into the court to share her vision; she will be lauded and praised, and then she will quickly be dismissed.

Do not be discouraged and do not lose heart. You are desperately needed.

While your leaders might only now be able to ask you questions, it will be your task to gently guide them into your world. Give them grace when you are dismissed and offer strong words when you have more to say. The art of holding this tension will be largely in your hands.

So, how will you hold it?

If we are truly carrying the gospel with us in our daily experiences, through breakfast, and meetings, and coffee breaks, and creative brainstorming sessions, then it should spill out quite naturally into the art we create. It is inherently marked and stamped by the truth we hold in the center of ourselves. If this is true, then our offerings do not need to be big, better, slick, or sweet. They need only to be honest.

And yet with this honesty comes the great and difficult tension that we have been speaking of. It is the tension that comes from our deep desire to create work that serves the community we are a part of, affects the hearts of people who refuse to be touched, and provides a path toward redemption and restoration. It is the tension that comes from creating something from the center of your being that is neither product, nor production, but an outward pouring of beauty.

Again, there are no simple or easy answers to offer. Instead, I say this:

May you simply be kind to yourself and may you hold the tension well.

Blaine lives with his wife, Margaret just outside of Chicago and works as an Experience Engineer at Willow Creek Community Church. He blogs regularly at www.blainehogan.comand tweets @blainehogan.

Donald, Dan, and Tremper also team up for a conversation on marriage and relationship. You can watch more videos or learn more about the Convergence DVD Series.