Culture Care

conditions he chose to share. They rejected him again and p nounced him “unfit for the dignity of the priesthood.” proThe double rejection by the church of his desire to fully incarnate himself in the lives of coal miners must have been deeply painful. Little wonder that he, like Emily, came to reject “the God of the clergymen.” But he did not lose his awareness of God’s presence in the lives of the poor, nor his sense of God urging him to love others. It was while toiling in the Belgian coal mines that he began to draw portraits of the miners. He was not at that point formally trained in painting or drawing and yet, as he drew, he discovered that visually he could communicate more deeply about the compassion he felt for humanity than he could verbally in the pulpit. “I feel that there is nothing more truly artistic than to love people,” he wrote.” Art became a way for Vincent to capture, even by candlelight, the genesis moments hidden behind every darkened face a way to tap into the potential of each moment, to see afresh life’s struggles in the light of Christ’s presence

Our current culture, often called a “culture of death,” is full of pointers toward the first two gospel elements (creation and fall) but only rarely reflects, even in churches, the full story of God’s love and his ongoing work toward our full thriving. I have noticed, as an artist prone to looking on from the margins, that churches often present the middle two elements (fall and redemption) but rarely connect the whole story of the Bible-that begins in creation and ends in new creation with the stories of our present lives and communities. We often misuse this great book, reducing it to a book of rules, a checklist for earning our way into heaven, or a guidebook for 96 material prosperity or personal well-being. Many churches replace God as Artist with God as CEO of the universe and turn to business metrics to measure their “success” at meeting his “bottom lines.” Christian communities are thus often busy with programs but rarely seen as a creative force to be reckoned with, let alone as a power of good that affects whole cities and gives everyone a song to sing. But as we more and more become gatherings of diverse people journeying together, as we learn truly to love each other with all our differences, we may help prepare the conditions in which God’s good seed may bring forth new cultural life.

We will not agree on every definition or approach. A dandelion is a weed to some, while to others it’s part of their salad. But what is critical for our mindset is the care of culture. When we care for and love a parcel of land, we approach it very differently than if we simply consider it as a transactional commodity. Even if two neighbors don’t see eye to eye on the use of their fields, if each truly cares for their land, they can pursue the same larger goal-to leave the land for their children and grandchildren to enjoy. We can do the same as we tend our culture, albeit in slightly different ways.

It is the assumption of this book that a work of art is a gift, not a commodity. Or, to state the modern case with more precision, that works of art exist simultaneously in two “economies,” a market economy and a gift economy. Only one of these is essential however: a work of art can survive without the market, but where there is no gift, there is no art.

Among the questions worth asking: What degrees of cultural buffering and exposure are helpful at different stages of personal and communal growth? Can we find ways to keep our “oysters” healthy as they help filter cultural pollution? What connections are beneficial between kindred habitats? What critical mass makes for a generative habitat? Understanding what we do from historical examples, what can we begin to do today? Culture care begins with generative practice in our everyday lives. We need to create cultural estuaries, each abundant with diversity and providing safe harbor for the creatives journeying through them. Generative practices grow from generative principles. Are our communities open to different expressions

swallowed in the polluted river and lose our vision for making art-and possibly for living. Third, we need to take copious notes. Just like Fred Danback, we need to fulfill our responsibilities as custodians of culture-cleaning where we can. We can use our new keys to unlock the workrooms of cultural production. We can take notes to show people the flawed practices that flow out as cultural pollutants, so these can be identified and addressed. Fred was not an artist, but many readers of this book are. Our notebooks should be filled with drawings, with color and fantastic designs. We are gifted with creativity and expression. Our notes should be beautiful, good, and true

Often business practice and art making are seen as things at opposing poles on a spectrum of pragmatics and creativity. On one hand, business discipline requires convergent decision making, narrowing down to a particular focus and a bottom line in a highly

I am often asked, “How does one create a movement?” In order to start a movement, you need three elements: (1) An artist type with creative capital, (2) a pastor or community organizer type with social capital, and (3) a business type with access to material capital. To illustrate the point when I share this idea with others, I draw a triangle such as the one shown here. creative capital material capital CULTURE CARE Figure 1.1. Rehumanized capitalism social capital What is interesting about this triangle is that if you have two out of the three, you can make what you do sustainable. For instance, if you are creative and have an abundance of funding, you can continue to create. If you have many friends and are very creative, you will do fine too. But if you only have one out of three, you are in trouble. Imagine a rich person with no creativity and no friends.

Wi hat if each of us endeavored to bring beauty into someone’s life today in some small way? What if we, by faith, saw each moment as a genesis moment, and even saw the current problems we are facing as genesis opportunities? What if, instead of treating the independence and creativity of artists as problems to solve, we found in them opportunities for a new type of leadership in our current cultural flux? What if artists became known for their generosity rather than only their self-expression? What if art school became a place to train culture care agents rather than a filter that lets through only artists who can “make it”? What if we considered our actions, decisions, and creative products in light of five hundred years and multiple generations? What if we started to transgress boundaries by integrating our faith, art, and life—and speaking boldly about them

As I have thought about such creative microcosms, I have come to see that the image of a greenhouse is not strong enough for what is needed. Greenhouses imply a strongly sheltered environment where soil and plants are protected from the weather. They are also resource intensive, requiring careful monitoring for humidity, temperature, and other factors. And their produce, while visually appealing, often lacks in taste when compared with crops raised in the open. The garden concept is better. Open to the wind and rain, gardens are at the same time contained within walls, a planned space, with a limited scope or audience. In trying to create ideal conditions for artists, however, both greenhouse and garden concepts seem to fall into an emphasis on protection at the expense of gift to society. Both of these models will be appropriate at times to allow new artists to take root in a dry or poisoned climate or during a frigid season, but too much time in the greenhouse is counterproductive to work that is sustainable and generative. I suspect that implementing a garden or greenhouse environment for artists is more likely to result in “Christian art” than “art from Christians.

Western Christianity in the twentieth century fell into an “adjective” existence, with Christian music, Christian art, Christian plumbers, and so on. Even today artists are often valued in the church only if they create art for the church, or at least “Christian art.” We cannot “use” the arts for evangelism or discipleship any more than we can “use” a human being for utilitarian purposes. Culture care will mean moving away from such labels. There is no need to disown these terms absolutely, but we do need to realize that these categories in themselves are concessions to modernist pressures. They are a voluntary surrender to utilitarian pragmatism, and their use leads only to disdain and indifference. Ultimately, these terms undermine our mandate to infuse all of life with Christ’s presence. I am not a Christian artist. I am a Christian, yes, and an artist. I dare not treat the powerful presence of Christ in my life as an adjective. I want Christ to be my whole being.