The Celebration of the Arts
Acts 10:44-48
Chichester Psalms: 108; 100; 23; 2; 131; 133
Chichester Psalms: 108; 100; 23; 2; 131; 133
1 John 5:1-6; John
15:9-17
We are surrounded today by beauty: by the beauty of this
building, of the extraordinary art work that is in it, of the music we have
heard – the voices and instruments. We have seen all this beauty framed by an
astounding spring weekend: in the words of the hymn we will sing at the
Offertory, God has tempered “fair with gentle air the sunshine and the rain,”
and the “kindly earth with timely birth” has yielded “her fruits again.”
In the old traditions of the church, these are the Rogation
Days: the time when we “rogare”, in Latin – when we ask God to bless the fields
we plow and the crops we plant, when we pray for seasonable weather and a good
harvest. In these less agricultural times, we ask God to bless all those who
labor, and today, especially, all those artists and craftsmen and musicians
whose work is to produce beautiful things.
This church sits in a garden, and this weekend, as most
weekends, this church is filled with flowers – God’s most ephemeral bits of
beauty are captured for a few hours. We live in a part of the world blessed by
fertile soil and ample water. I find it amusing that in “fancier” cities,
further away from fields and gardens, locally grown food is all the –
high-priced – rage. We here in Central New York can take some of that “farm to
table” bounty for granted. It is almost as though Jesus himself were our next
door neighbor, our good friend who would share with us out of his great
abundance all that we could want, or need, or enjoy.
The bountiful earth, this extraordinary art show, this
beautiful music – these are all signs of God’s love. Our lessons today tell us
over and over how much God loves us, and shows us this love in an over-flowing
and spirit-filled way.
How contrary those lessons are to the lessons the world
tries to shove down our throats. How often are we made to feel NOT loveable? Let
me count the ways: through advertising that reminds us we will never be as
beautiful, or as thin, or as elegant that THAT girl; through hateful words that
remind us that our skin color or family background or country of origin will
prevent us from every REALLY BELONGING here; through economic disparities, reinforced
generation after generation, that tell us that some people will always be poor
and stuck in a rut and others will have the red carpet rolled out in front of
them wherever they go.
Imagine two streets in our community. Imagine … this one,
for example. Well tended lawns, bright blossoms, pavement swept clean, weeds
kept at bay. Imagine another street, in downtown Syracuse, say. Broken
sidewalks, weeds growing through cracks, trash collecting in corners, the
once-lush canopy of elm trees that protected that street a long-faded memory.
These streets are a few miles apart. Both of these streets
are in God’s garden. Both of these streets are loved by God. On both of these
streets, live God’s friends. For the people who live on both of these streets,
people who are told by the world in a variety of ways that they are maybe or
maybe not loved – for all of these people, Jesus laid down his life. Jesus
demonstrated that this love, this friendship is far more powerful than any of
the negative messages, the cold shoulders, the violent rebuffs that the world
can ever dish out.
Jesus loves us, yes, but Jesus also expects some things from
us. “Abide in my love,” Jesus says. “Keep my commandments. Love one another as
I have loved you.”
I once read of a Quaker biblical scholar, who lived in a
time and a place wracked by violence and discord. There are “… two kinds of
people in the world,” he said to his Quaker community:
… there are therefore people, and there are however people. Therefore
people say, ‘There are children going to bed hungry in our community. Therefore
…’ and they proceed to devise and define the ways in which they can meet the
need in their community. However people make the same beginning statement –
‘There are children going to bed hungry in our community’ – but they follow it
with, “However …’ and they explain why nothing can be done about it.[i]
We have experienced some extraordinary things this week.
Artists have talked about how much they appreciate being able to show their
works here – that they are asked to show their new, adventurous work, the new
places where the spirit of their art is calling them. We, then, who view these
works are not mere passive observers but witnesses, cheerleaders to these new
and exciting expressions of risky creativity. We have listened to three amazing
performances – and here again, those performances have been enriched, enhanced,
made even more exciting by our being there to applaud them.
This week, in this Celebration of the Arts, we have seen
what it means to be “therefore” people. We have experienced these flashes of
the beauty of God’s creation, channeled through the work of these very talented
artists. We hold these gifts in our hearts – and THEREFORE we can take them
into the world that very much needs them. We know these gifts cannot be hoarded
at the end of Jamar Drive. We know that God’s love and friendship spills out
all around us, and that the more we share that love and friendship, the more we
have, and will always have. As Jesus assures us, we CAN love one another. There
is more than enough to go around: more than enough art, music, beauty, joy,
connection and grace. More than enough flowers and rutabagas and sweet corn and
apple pie. More than enough cookies and more than enough champagne.
Dear friends, if you are here for the first time, welcome.
If you have been here before, welcome back. Thank you for being part of this
Celebration of the Arts. Help us to take some of the blessings we have all
received here out into all of the streets and all of the gardens that God
loves.
[i]
Henry Joel Cadbury (1883-1974), Professor of Divinity at Harvard University.
Quoted in Synthesis: A Weekly
Resource for Preaching and Worship in the Episcopal Tradition (May 8, 1994)
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