I Corinthians 9.16-23: Marketing Jesus

Every marketing website, consultant, handbook, and tip sheet will tell you: Know your own message. Know your own audience. You can't be all things to all people. Apparently no one told Paul. Or Jesus. Because Paul, talking about his calling to preach the gospel, says (or writes) out loud, "I have become all things to all people." (I Corinthians 9:22). 

Wow. No pressure. And to be honest, I don't know that Paul really was all things to all people, though he could certainly reach out to particular audiences because of his own experiences. He could talk about being a Jew. He could talk about being outside the law (now). He could talk about being inside the law, actually. But all things to all people? I think Paul might have been optimistic. 

Jesus is another story. The history of art has shown us that Jesus can, pretty much, be all things to all people. Books like Jaroslav Pelikan's Jesus Through the Centuries show us that Jesus has been rabbi, king, monk, sufferer, prince, poet, liberator, and more. Jesus has been triumphant and tragic, universal and particular. All things. Jesus has been perceived (and depicted) as "like us" by all the "us-es" with a pictorial tradition. 

And it hasn't stopped. We continue to find the Jesus we need: Jesus who stands up for the oppressed, Jesus who can love the unloveable. Jesus who bridges gaps, even gaps we didn't know we had. That's the miracle of the gospel. Humans may be (are) wiser not to try to be all things to all people, but Jesus isn't as limited as we are. That's good news.

Romans 10.5-15: Beautiful?

Approximately one in a thousand people would disagree with Paul as he wrote to the Romans. In the section for this week, Paul declares that the feet of those who bring good news are beautiful (Romans 10:15). But approximately one in a thousand people are affected by podophobia, and those people probably wouldn't find any feet beautiful.

Podophobia is defined as a persistent, irrational fear of feet (podos "feet" + phobia "fear). For some, their podophobia means they will not touch their own feet. For some, the sight of any feet is disturbing. Some do not want anyone else to look at their feet. Bringing good news or not, those feet would not be appreciated.

My day job is teaching high school art. In the classroom next to mine, my colleague has beginning art students do a graphite drawing either of their hands or of their feet. The year when "feet" are in the syllabus results in many more comments by students. The students are "creeped out" by feet as they (or the photography students in my class) take photos of their feet to serve as reference photos (left above). One family has had multiple children in that beginning art class during "foot year". We've suggested they should frame and hang all the feet drawings as some kind of weird family portrait.

My teaching colleague knows what Albrecht Durer knew: hands and feet are demanding subjects for students, but they are also subjects that are very helpful as students are learning to draw. While podophobes (and beginning art students) may be "creeped out" by feet, Leonardo da Vinci is credited with describing the human foot as a masterpiece of engineering and a work of art.

Durer's study of two feet (left bottom) is a study for a now-missing altarpiece. In an interesting intersection, these feet will become the feet of Paul. Durer has made the feet of Paul into a work of art. Perhaps Paul's math would say that engineering + art + good news = beautiful.

(Bottom) Albrecht Durer. Study of Two Feet For the Apostle Paul in the Heller Altarpiece. c. 1508. Brush and grey ink, grey wash, heightened with white, on green prepared paper, Museum Boijmans Van Beuningen, Rotterdam, Netherlands. 

Romans 7.15-25a: Two People

We should have no problems understanding polarities: the extremes of...well...almost anything. The north and south poles are as far apart as anything can be on the earth. We can be sleeping, or at the other extremity, awake. Optimism and pessimism. A full inhale and a complete exhale. The things I want to do and the things I don't want to do. Or, as Paul says it: the good things I want to do and the evil things I do instead (Romans 7:15-25a).

Paul's cry is probably universal. We've all probably found ourselves doing things that we knew were wrong (and not really what we wanted to do), but somehow we just couldn't stop ourselves. An angry word. An unkind response. A decidedly un-Christlike judgment. It's as if there were two people in us: one who lives to be faithful to Jesus, and the other who looks out only for Number One. One part of us that is spirit. One part of us that is flesh. Polarities.

Frida Kahlo. The Two Fridas. 1939. Mexico City: Museo de Arte Moderno.

Frida Kahlo's painting called "The Two Fridas" puts two self-portraits side by side. One portrait shows the artist in European clothes; the other shows the artist in Tehuana garments. Both figures have visible hearts: one is broken and damaged, the other whole and beating. The figure on the right holds a childhood portrait of Diego Rivera, the artist from whom Kahlo had been recently divorced. An external vein connects the portrait to the object in the other Frida's hand - a hemostat that clamps the flow of blood that has soaked spots on the white dress. Two Fridas sitting in front of a stormy sky.

Anyone trying to reconcile different versions of themselves or diverse elements within themselves can feel the tension in the painting and understand the significance of the stormy sky. The differences between the two portraits are many, but each figure's inside hand clasps the other's, securely connecting them despite the differences.

Kahlo's struggles were not the same as Paul's, but both artist and apostle knew the effort required to manage opposing expressions/forces/wills/inclinations within themselves. Many of us also know the effort required. Paul's conclusion is this: I’ve tried everything and nothing helps. I’m at the end of my rope. Is there no one who can do anything for me? Isn’t that the real question? The answer, thank God, is that Jesus Christ can and does. He acted to set things right in this life of contradictions where I want to serve God with all my heart and mind, but am pulled by the influence of sin to do something totally different. (Romans 7:24-25, The Message).

In this time of polarities, may we remember that the answer, thank God, is Jesus Christ.

This week on Art&Faith Matters on Facebook, another way to see two views of a person in one portrait. 

Acts 7.55-60: Glass Houses

If you are an architect, the most famous one is probably Philip Johnson's. But Ludwig Mies van der Rohe did one, too. If you saw the film The Lake House (2006) you saw one that was designed and built for the movie in a matter of weeks and then disassembled at the conclusion of filming. There was one for sale, designed by a student of  Mies. That's right, you could have been one of those people who lives in a glass house.

Mies van der Rohe. Farnsworth House (view toward the Fox River). 1951. Plano, IL

And if you were one of those people, you'd know the truth that people have known since Chaucer first wrote it: Who that hath an hed of verre, Fro cast of stones war hym in the werre! If  your Chaucerian English needs an assist: The man who has a head of glass, should beware of  throwing stones, when he goes to war.  Or, as the proverb has come to us: People in glass houses shouldn't throw stones.

The point, generally, is that you shouldn't criticize others for particular faults and/or weaknesses when you have the same faults or weaknesses. That seems to share some commonality with Jesus' comment when he comes across a woman who is about to be stoned after being charged with adultery (John 8:1-11): Whoever is without sin throw the first stone.

Of course Jesus is long gone when Stephen faces the stones in the hands of other people. I wonder if he had heard the story of Jesus and the woman. As his life is ending he prays that God will not hold this sin against those with rocks in their hands.

I also wonder what happened when Saul - by then Paul - heard the story about Jesus and the woman. I wonder if he thought of that day when he watched over the coats of the people who pummeled Stephen with rocks until he died. On the day, of course, he would have claimed that the killing of Stephen was not a sin.  But later, I wonder how he felt Jesus' words to the crowd that was ready and willing to stone that woman.

By then Paul understood that he was one of those people who lived in a glass house and had no business picking up a pebble, much less a rock. The saying is sure and worthy of full acceptance, that Christ Jesus came into the world to save sinners—of whom I am the foremost. (I Timothy 1:15)

These days life might feel a lot like living in a glass house. We can see the outside, but we are removed from it. Life is happening out there, and we can see it, but we can't connect with it right now. It's worth remembering that everyone else is living in a glass house, too. So maybe we should keep our hands off the stones.

Is there a family resemblance? See thoughts about John 14:9 on Art&Faith Matters on Facebook.

Acts 9.1-20: So Ananias Went

Imagine Ananias' dismay. God has appeared to him in a vision (that's not the dismaying part) and has a job for him to do (that's not the dismaying part). He's supposed to go supervise the healing of the man who has been singlehandedly terrorizing all of Christendom (and there's the dismaying part) (Acts 9:1-20). Faithful Ananias has been waiting for God to call on him to do something. No doubt Ananias is ready, waiting, eager, even. Just let me know what you want me to do, God. Here I am. Send me.

And after hearing the work he has been called to do, Ananias says, "God, you have got to be kidding me." I'm sure each of us can think of someone whose name we could insert for "Saul" that would fill us with dread and horror at being called on to heal and baptize. We can only assume that Ananias remembered that God does not see as humans see (1 Samuel 16:7).

And, sure enough, Ananias is remembered for this act. The one that he essentially tried to talk God out of.

Baptism of Paul. 12th century mosaic. Palatine Chapel, Palermo, Sicily.

In this mosaic, Ananias completes his assigned task by baptizing Paul. The text is "Praecepto Christi baptizator Paulus ab Anania" ("At Christ's command, Paul is baptized by Ananias."). In this version, Paul is baptized in a water-filled chalice-shaped font, a shape popular in Romanesque churches, as the Holy Spirit in the form of a dove descends from the hand of God. To Ananias' right a liturgical assistant holds a lit candle.

This mosaic probably tells us more about baptisms in 12th-century Sicily than it does about Paul's baptism. But regardless of font shape or lit candles, what we really learn about in this story is the faithfulness and obedience of this Ananias...not to be confused with the other Ananias in Acts 5.

For thoughts on the charcoal fire on the beach (John 21:1-19), see this week's Art&Faith Matters Facebook post. 
For additional thoughts on John 21:1-19, click here.

Exodus 34 and II Corinthians 3: The Reasons for Veils

What is the purpose of a veil? Is it to conceal? Is it to reveal in part? Is it to protect? Is it to hint? The story of the veil worn by Moses is told in Exodus (34:29-35) and then is referenced by Paul in II Corinthians 3:12-4:2. Over the course of those two texts, the veil is examined in a variety of ways.

Exodus reports that Moses wore a veil because the splendor of God reflected in Moses' face alarmed the people. Moses removed the veil when he went in to speak with God, so the veil does not screen Moses from God. Moses went before God bare-faced. The veil eases the relationship between Moses and the people. As did Moses, the veil stands between the people and God's glory.

In II Corinthians Paul appropriates Moses' veil as a recurring image in discussing the relationship between Jewish law, Jesus, and Christian understanding. He reinterprets Moses' veil as something that conceals a dying light. Certainly the law had a glory when it was given, but that glory, Paul asserts, like the law itself, is not the last word. It fades in the presence of a greater light. Paul goes on to announce Jesus as glory even greater, and also given by God. Jesus removes the veil from between the people and God's glory (notice that the veil is now worn by the people rather than Moses), allowing them to see God's undiminishing glory in Jesus.

For Moses, the veil was a necessary addition in his relationship with God's people. For Jesus, the veil must be removed so that people can see the full glory of God. Does that make the veil about concealment? Protection? Accommodation? Hindrance?

(Left) Rafaello Monti. Veiled Lady. c. 1860. Minneapolis, MN: Minneapolis Museum of Art.

(Right) Giuseppe Sanmartino. Veiled Christ. 1753. Capella Sansevero, Naples. 

For a group of sculptors - mostly Italian, but not all - the reason for veils was none of these things. For these artists, the reason for covering a face with a veil was to demonstrate virtuoso carving. These artists crafted images of women with their faces and heads veiled. Through the skill of the carver, one could "see" through marble, a decidedly non-transparent material.

Though these veiled sculptural  images are usually women, Italian artist Giuseppe Sanmartino was commissioned to create a full-length figure of Jesus Christ in death, wrapped in a transparent shroud. Through the sheer veil, the viewer sees the face of Christ, peaceful yet showing the signs of his painful death.

The veils in these sculptures don't obviously echo any of the uses described by Moses or Paul. But they may speak to a God who does not see as humans see, but who sees beyond and sees through and sees into humanity, which sometimes may seem as opaque as marble. Perhaps these sculptural images can remind us that though the people used a veil to add one degree of separation of themselves from God's glory, nothing - not even an attempt to hide our own faces - can separate us from the love (or glory) of God.

This week on Art&Faith Matters on Facebook, a veil where a face is revealed.
 For Transfiguration Sunday, click here, here, and here.

Philippians 3.4b-14: Paul Says 'Not This'

The Epistle reading for Proper 22(27)A/Pentecost 18A is a familiar section of Paul's letter to the Philippians (3:4b-14): Beloved, I do not consider that I have made it my own; but this one thing I do: forgetting what lies behind and straining forward to what lies ahead, I press on toward the goal for the prize of the heavenly call of God in Christ Jesus.

It's a truth that saying 'yes' to one thing means saying 'no' to other things. If we say 'yes' to Paul's example, then (I regret to say) we must say no to emulating one in the pantheon of Roman gods. Paul's focus on the goal that is ahead renders us unable to follow the model of Janus, the two-faced god who looks forward and backward. While there are often equivalents in the Greek and Roman pantheons, the Greeks had no parallel for Janus.

Usually shown with two faces - with one he looks forward and with the other he looks back - Janus is the god of transitions and beginnings. January has a linguistic root with Janus, though the question of  whether the month is named for the god has not been definitively answered. Nevertheless, January, the first month of our year is at a moment of transition.

The presence of ceremonial gateways (jani) throughout Rome reinforced the opportunity to make favorable beginnings by walking through these janus gates. A shrine to Janus was located in the Roman forum. The two doors to the shrine were open when Rome was at war and closed when Rome was at peace.

Italian Renaissance sculptor Donatello included a two-faced, Janus-type figure in one panel of the so-called Passion Pulpit in the Basilica of San Lorenzo. The pulpit is covered with bronze relief images of the episodes of Christ's passion. In this panel Christ appears before Pilate. As Pilate sits on his raised throne, the servant offers him a bowl of water with which to wash his hands of Jesus. The figure may symbolize Pilate's inner conflict or perhaps it is a reminder that Pilate will not be able to separate past and future: his reputation in the future will, for Christians, be defined by his actions here. Jesus said it before - no one can serve two masters - but perhaps Pilate is trying to do just that.

Paul is having none of this. Forgetting what lies behind, Paul presses forward, his eyes only on the goal of the call of God in Christ Jesus. There is no room for Janus in Paul's faith.

Top image: Janus head on Roman Republic coin. 225-214 BCE. Gold. Kunsthistoriches Museum, Vienna. http://www.ikmk.at/object.php?lang=en&id=ID88317
Second from top: Bust of Janus. Vatican Museums. http://www.museivaticani.va/content/museivaticani/en.html
Bottom two images: Donatello. Christ Before Pilate (full panel and detail of area in white circle). Relief sculpture from Passion Pulpit. 1460-1465. Basilica di San Lorenzo, Florence, Italy. http://www.operamedicealaurenziana.org/restorations/1263-2

For thoughts on the reading from Hebrew scripture for Proper 22(27)A, click here.

This week on Art&Faith Matters' Facebook page: a look at vineyards in Israel. Click on the link below.