Works of Art

 I received a surprise this Christmas when I flew to Colorado to be with family: my brother Andi has become an artist. Admittedly, he has only completed paint-by-number masterpieces so far, but they are stunning. The vibrant colors of the sunset or the lonely boat moored on a remote lake both make me wish I could climb into the canvas. My favorite one, however, is this one:

It could be any number of places I wish I could be at right now. The scene looks serene and peaceful, a far cry from the last couple of years we have had. I've been a part of multiple conversations of late in which someone has expressed the wish for such a calm moment away from the mayhem of fires, depression, cancer, and COVID. But I think sometimes we fall into the trap of thinking a remote mountain scene like the one in the picture comes about without cost.

Andi says it took him somewhere in the range of 60 hours to complete the first painting, and even this one is probably upwards of 40 hours. That is a lot of time to be bent over a piece of fabric, trying to distinguish greens and spot the right numbers. And then there's the setting itself - really, if you think about it, you're looking at cold waterfalls over jagged rocks, which are probably a result of snowstorms in harsh mountain conditions. To have been present when this scene was being formed could have meant hypothermia or worse.

Yet, isn't that precisely when hope comes in? As I reflect on 2021 and how it did not see the end of a global pandemic nor the end of my neighbor's cancer while it did hold the death of a beloved grandmother, it could be easy to see only the harshness. Hope rests in the knowledge that beautiful things are never rushed. Psalm 103 says, "The Lord knows how we are formed; he remembers that we are dust. But from everlasting to everlasting, the Lord's love is with those who fear him, and his righteousness with their children's children" (v. 13, 17). 2021 may have been awful. Or it may have been wonderful. Either way, we are being shaped by a patient God who uses time (even more than 60 hours) and all kinds of conditions, both violent and serene, to shape us into beautiful works of art. I dare to call it love.

Rights or Gratitude

In the past month, restrictions have tightened across Germany, so it was with finger-gnawing trepidation that we approached this last weekend of basketball games and the annual Christmas concert. Would they be cancelled last-minute? Would all that hard work never be showcased? But the school needn't have worried; while strict measures had to be observed (only vaccinated and recovered family members WITH a rapid self-test no older than 24 hours), both events were able to happen. The school posted pictures under the caption "with times like these, we are choosing to be grateful."

I've been encountering a lot of war metaphor lately with regard to a loss of rights or maintaining of freedoms. Whether it's the colleague who believes "war is happening on our rights as parents and citizens, so we need to fight back vociferously" or the sweet friend who takes the stance "war is happening on our rights as Christians, and I need to prepare myself well for the coming persecution," the sentiment is similar: don't merely stand by on the sidelines with your head in the sand.

That contrast - whether to be ready to fight or to say Thank you - has struck me again and again in these weeks. I think whichever philosophy we lean toward can end up shaping much more than just our fight for rights or our willingness to surrender them. I see it in my classroom, for instance. One student is mad at me for not giving him his seat preference or for forgetting that he needs his notes printed in a certain way to best suit his learning style; the other thanks for me for the quick turn-around of feedback on his essay or for the Christmas chocolate that he figured out came from me. In one view, every good thing needs to be claimed and comes about through the efforts of us in tandem with the Spirit; in the other every good thing is an undeserved gift from heaven that came about entirely because of God's goodness.

And I'm certain the way I just phrased that last sentence reveals which end of the scale I want to live on. The thing is, while I believe in times of righteous anger and that (at least in the West) we have the privilege of being granted many rights which we shouldn't just hand over, I find the "gratitude" stance to be more Biblical. James 1:17 says "every good gift and every perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of lights." In 1 Cor 8-10, Paul speaks of a willingness to lay aside rights for the sake of the gospel. E.g. "Nevertheless, we have not made use of this right, but we endure anything rather than put an obstacle in the way of the gospel of Christ" (9:12). He speaks of a willingness to be wronged if it means the gospel can advance, and of course I can't help but see the image of the bloodied Savior on the cross undergoing a total loss of rights because he could see the bigger picture.

Naturally, I can find verses to support the "war" stance as well. Galatians 5:1 says "For freedom Christ has set us free; stand firm therefore, and do not submit again to a yoke of slavery." And of course all of Ephesians 6 supports the imagery that we are engaged in a battle. Here's the thing though: the war that Scripture shows us fighting is never about preservation of our rights. It depicts our struggle being against "the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly places." It's a war over souls! And for those souls that already belong to God, it's a war on that relationship with the Father, an attempt to remove our joy of salvation or trust in his sovereignty. 

I have zero doubt that my friends who are living in the war narrative are strong believers. They love Jesus with their whole hearts and daily seek his face in prayer, probably more consistently than I do. There is so much I can and should learn from them, and I want to listen diligently. For myself, however, I can think of no greater weapon against the enemy than to respond in gratitude. As demonstrated in my students, gratitude fosters joy, an open relationship with others, and an attitude in line with Christ, who made the ultimate sacrifice of rights. "For the joy set before him" (Heb 12:2), "he did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, by taking the form of a servant. ... He humbled himself by becoming obedient to the point of death, even death on a cross" (Phil 2:6-8). I want to be like HIM: fighting the war in sacrifice and joy.