The Church has failed to embrace artists

If you walk around Europe and stumble into an old church, you’ll see priceless artwork. For centuries the Catholic Church commissioned artists to paint, sculpt, and manifest the biblical stories in their chosen medium. These artists were brought up in a world where the strength of religious belief was limited by a number of factors, including Church hierarchy, politics, preaching, literacy, imagination, and the availability of visual aids for communal prayer. There were no screens, pictures, or mass-produced illustrations–God lived in people’s minds. That is, until artists were commissioned to depict how these ancient stories unfolded.

When in the Sistine Chapel, it is said the purpose of artwork is self-evident. Entire scenes exist in unchanging, realistic depictions, reminding the faithful of the most important aspects of their faith: be good and fearful of God and his ordained ambassadors or end up in Satan’s grasp. Such a masterpiece as the Sistine Chapel could never have been created unless the Church worked closely with the greatest artists alive.

It was a mutual relationship–the Church supported artists, and artists used their gifts for the spiritual good of God’s people. But Michelangelo wasn’t alone when painting the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel–several high-ranking clergy remained on the ground, ensuring his work did not deviate from doctrine.

Though limits surely existed, the Church embraced the arts as a way to demonstrate not only their power but the beauty of human handiwork. Through these co-creative efforts performed by artists on earth, in time and space, God meets humankind. There remains to this day magnificent power in the artwork of this time period.

So, where did all the great Catholic artists go?

In his book Art for Church: Cloth of Gold, Cloak of Lead, our late friend and teacher, Dennis McNally, SJ, explores this question. Dennis, who worked as a painter and art professor at Saint Joseph’s University for half a century, felt this tension personally.

Dennis accounts that, in the modern American Church, the arts are secondary to the intellectual tradition. Churches built today are mostly devoid of art. Modern architects favor empty spaces, sometimes dark, other times a white-box. Modern liturgical spaces resemble no longer resemble the great Gothic, Baroque, Romanesque, and Renaissance cathedrals of the Middle Ages. Instead, modern church architecture are places of respire, devoid of stimulation from the constant imagery of the world.

Rather than be led by images, the faithful are led by lectures, meditative hymns, and creeds which tell them what to think, believe, and do–not feel. Just as Jesus was removed from the crucifix during the Reformation, so, too, do modern churches remove the opportunity for masterpieces.

Even if there were a desire for paintings and sculptures to enter these spaces, who would make them? Where are all the Catholic artists? Many have left because the Church has not accepted, welcomed, embraced, encouraged, uplifted, or commissioned them to create work for God.

Instead, expression is stifled. Modern art is far too dangerous and distasteful to be displayed in Church. It’s better to mass produce copies of the most famous pieces than embrace any new, unique art. Surely, the art of today is not inspired by the Spirit as those great pieces from the past were. Let’s make sure there is very little art in the sanctuary, and that Jesus is always clothed.

The reality is the Church is suffering because it has lost its artists, and with them the inspiration to see things in a new way.

The Church needs the arts, and we need people to be patrons of the arts. We need your inspiration, your heart, your fire, your soul, your gift. And we need those church politicians with no artistic proclivities to take a back seat. This is not your jurisdiction.

When Dennis passed away, he left behind hundreds of paintings. I am the sole patron of Dennis’ remaining, unsold work. His paintings, some of which were painted to be displayed in churches and prayed with, are available for sale.

To view the catalog of available paintings or get in contact with me, click here.

What a Way to Start the Year

Northbound on I-95, there was a black matte G-Wagon parked on the left shoulder not a half mile from the service station. I drive a little further and see a man looking like he was ready to golf–white quarter zip and all–walking back to the car with a half-full red gas tank and fully red face.

What a way to start the year.

“Yikes, dude,” I said, then promptly pulled out my notes app to say this:

We all have empty tanks we’ve avoided for too long. Who’s to say we won’t break down on the side of the turnpike, too.

Aaron Lemma, Northbound on I-95

I hope your year is better than his, though I do hope he laughed about it on the ride home.

Please Do Not Subscribe

Nobody:
Me: Who wants a new newsletter?!
Nobody:

If Big Newsletter hasn’t saturated your inboxes by now, congratulations! You’re part of the select few who have dodged the consistent, daily bombardment of marketing, solicitations, and panicked senses of urgency, expertly designed to get you to click through and make a purchase–right now! You are probably experiencing great amounts of peace and clarity as your empty inbox echoes neither wind chimes nor bings, bep-bops, ding-dongs, or buzz-buzzes. If you’ve achieved this level of sophisticated siloing, I suggest you keep it that way.

So please, don’t subscribe this biweekly, nonspammy newsletter my team and I put together about the community development work we’re doing in Kenya. I’m sure your inbox is full enough as it is.

Sincerely,

Aaron
WILK Wednesday Writer

New Year Resolutions

Last night, masses of humanity around the world gathered to celebrate life, accomplishments, music, and love. Most of those who went out returned home, dazed and dirty after sufficient drinking, toasting, and, hopefully, camaraderie.

This morning they woke up in a hungover stupor, ready to hold to the promises they made yesterday–but starting tomorrow.

Every year we make and break resolutions. So, why keep trying? What’s the point of improving? We will all be dead in a short time, anyways. So why the strong, ubiquitous urge to capitalize on an arbitrary “fresh start”?

Our resolutions will break, but the desire to be people we’re proud of is a valuable intention.

Here I think of David Whyte’s powerful verse in Santiago (this hyperlink leads to his Ted Talk, which is worth the watch):

So that one day you realized
that what you wanted had already happened,
and long ago and in the dwelling place
in which you lived in before you began,
and that every step along the way, you had carried
the heart and the mind and the promise
that first set you off and then drew you on
and that, you were more marvelous in your
simple wish to find a way than the gilded roofs
of any destination you could reach…

David Whyte, Santiago

Your resolutions to “improve” come from a place already of great worth–you. You are marvelous, merely in that you have a “simple wish to find a way.” Perhaps that is resolution enough, for what already exists in you cannot be broken.