Art as a commodity
The first thing artists are accepted as in the church setting is as artisans who make things for the purposes of the church. This can be songs, music, architecture, graphics–or anything where the crafts of these servants are utilized. Film clips are used as sermon illustrations and graphics to help promote church events. Songs support a theme. We sing prayers. What we see creation at this level is not wrong. But, created content lives in this space as a commodity. There are exceptional people who sell clips, graphics, and other content. There is a place where we need creative content to help our purposes as a church. Art as a commodity, however, leaves us stuck.
Artists are often asked to donate their time or assumed that if given opportunities to create for the church that the “exposure” is what they really need. Exposure does not pay rent. And, good stuff is not cheap. If funds are low, a church is likely to do what it can to get the message out of the service planned with as much efficiency as possible. This tension leaves us myopically scanning for the lowest fruit. Google makes it easy to source a sermon or find a song. We buy what we need. This is celebrated because what works is what wins. What can get it off my desk gives me value. Exposure also is no substitute for relationship.
With the extra time we may have or money we save from commodity creation, some might still be treading in deep waters. Running a church ministry is not easy for most, even if money is not as tight as the average parish. In a Netflix world, the glut of creative content bathes us with the idea that art is a commodity. We cannot put this genie back in the bottle, even if convinced we have dehumanized the act of creation. But, the larger issue is that we have indeed removed our contact with people from the content we consume. Social media’s power is that we can have a partial connection with people. However, creating in community requires presence. Presence costs too much money and time if we value it little.
Homegrown creation, like craft beer, fills us better.
Our hometown brewer is someone whose presence matters. There is one local brewery around the corner. To pop in and drink what he makes for me fills the belly far better than buying a beer from the refrigerator of the local 7-Eleven. In a time in history when we don’t even meet our neighbors, hanging out there connects us. It matters to be present–to sit at a table together, to drink a newly brewed creation, and to go filled. The church is such a place, we hope. We invite people to sit at Christ’s Table. The Word fills us, and we leave to live our mission. Artists in our churches like the local craft brewmaster offer homegrown presence.
We live in skin. If we want our creative elements to touch people, how they are made might actually make a difference. Some ask, “But, what if they are not the same quality as what is out there?” Mom’s cooking feels good going down because it is made not only for us but by someone who loves us, who knows us. If our church only offers cut-and-paste music, we might sound “professional” using tracks behind a band, but are we creating in our own skin? Do we eat fast-food because it looks uniform or because it’s healthier? Do we play music for our worship that looks uniform or that feeds us?
If we learn that those who create may actually be in our pews as well as behind apps, we download content from, the mystery of participating in something authentically homegrown arises. Creating at the church means we have space in our buildings and in our calendar that allows artists to paint for us, write songs for us, or design spaces for us. But, they can do this as one of us. They not only create a work that is useful, but it is present. This presence means we get to tell our story through people we know and who know us! The barrier here is that it is not efficient. You just can’t tap and download stuff like this. Relationships and patience build the foundation for creating at the church. Instead of blindly being limited by the offering of a website, we have the opportunity to be a more whole community–with artists that help our community of faith reach deeper in worship and further in evangelism.
Creating in our skin is life-giving
When we get in our own skin, we finally begin to discover that being present is life-giving. It is inefficient, not-uniform, unpredictable, and even not-so-cheap to build creators in your midst and set them free to help tell the story. Perfection, if sanitized, actually sends the wrong message to the world. Cookies that are packaged perfectly don’t match the homemade chocolate chip ones grandma used to bake. The experience of watching them rise through the oven window and the smell of the kitchen was like incense. If we lose this in our church, we lose creating in our own skin. We lose part of our humanity in our story and in The Story.
In a society that is becoming less text-driven and more visually savvy, we lose if we are unable to communicate beyond crafting of sermons and theological tomes. Since the Reformation and the printing press, words rule. But, words are meant to be part of people. Incarnation is the final level of our creation as Christians. We create as the church. We embody our values, our lives telling the story of the love of Christ. From seeing creation as a commodity for the church to building a community of creators, the final step in metamorphosis releases our flight as we embody our story. The Story. Christ. If the church is the body of Christ, we then should embody Christ in our creation. Creating as the church is far better than just creating for the Church.
My pastor reminds me from time to time how churches look like books! There are rows of pews that match the look of the printed pages post-printing press. Our worldview has moved from hearing words with the vibration of the voice of a person we know to old fonts on a page, static and silent. While spoken word sends sound waves that I feel, reading a bunch of words skips that tactile experience. One of the best things my wife encouraged me to do was to read to our kids when they were small. My daughter loved to sit on my chest as I lay on my back on the floor as I read to her as a baby. She felt the words. Snuggled by my son and daughter, we read through C.S. Lewis books on our sofa when they were grade-school aged. Words come from someone in skin.
So, why not let what we create for the church be at the church? Why can’t we create as the church, telling the story? Money. Time. I don’t think these are the real issues. The main thing we have to ask is this: Do we need to? I say we must.