The Artisan Soul (6 page)

I quickly realized that it was essential for me to do the basic work of helping people solve the real problems of their daily struggle. I needed to help them find a place to live, a job that would pay their bills, and the skills necessary for a better life. But most important, it was critical that I somehow find a way to help these individuals, whom I had come to care so much about, learn to dream again. People only become slaves when they have lost their dreams. I am certain that every master knows this. You may have people in chains, but you don't own them until you have stolen their souls. If they dream of freedom, your power over them is an illusion. Even Paul makes this nuanced distinction in his letter to the Galatians, when he says that even if the son is an heir, as long as he is a child, he still lives like a slave. Until the voice that guides us declares our freedom, nothing and no one in the world can make us free. As long as the voice that defines who we are declares our freedom, no one and nothing can hold us captive. Which leads to the critical question: What is the narrative that guides us?

I imagine most of us are familiar with the opening chapter of the human story in Genesis. To make sure we are all up to speed, in the opening scene we find God creating man. This was the beginning of the first conversation. God brings Adam into the creative process, inviting him to name every animal on the face of the earth. It simply tells us that whatever the man named them, that's what they were called. What an exhilarating moment, for man to walk side by side with God and know that his voice was heard, that what he said mattered and in fact defined reality.

Then we are told that God saw it was not good for man to be alone, so he put the man into a deep sleep and created woman. Have you ever been in such an extraordinary place that you thought to yourself, it can't get better than this? That's what Adam's life was like just before he went to sleep. It can't get any better than this—or can it? Quickly Adam discovered that, yes, it can. He awoke to Eve, and the world that was already paradise became better still. I love how God meets a need that Adam had no language for. It is a beautiful picture of the intimate concern of God.

But as we know, the story continues and a serpent enters the scene. And this manifestation of evil introduces a new narrative. God has been very clear: “You are free to eat from any tree in the garden; but you must not eat from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, for when you eat from it you will certainly die” (Genesis 2:16–17).

The serpent, of course, questions the truth of God's story. He becomes a conflicting voice. He convinces the woman and the man that God is not telling them the whole story, that the voice of God is not the one who would guide them to life—that he is, in fact, holding out on them, keeping the best for himself. Adam and Eve silence the voice of God and choose a lesser narrative for themselves. The moment they eat the fruit of this tree, they find themselves in a painfully dark story. And as it always happens, company arrives when you least want it—God shows up on the scene. Aside from everything else that is about to happen, I love the question God asks the man: “Who told you that you were naked?” Whose voice did you replace my voice with? What story did you embrace? Who gave you this new narrative that now guides you and leaves you empty?

When I was about ten years old I had the bad habit of forgetting my towel when I would shower. I will never forget one occasion when after asking for a towel my shower was suddenly interrupted by two family members who broke into the bathroom and dragged me out of the shower naked. They proceeded to throw me out of the house, locking me outside for the world to see. All I could think to do, after my pleas to let me in went unanswered, was to run and hide behind a bush. It was a bare bush with nowhere near the amount of leaves necessary for cover.

I remember cars driving by and people on bikes going by slowly pointing in my direction. I was humiliated and ashamed. I don't know why I was ashamed or who told me I should be. It was instinctive.

It makes me think of the woman caught in the act of adultery, brought naked before Jesus, cowering in her shame. They wished to trap Jesus and stone the woman at the same time. He lays out a piercing gauntlet to those eager for “justice.”

“If any of you is without sin, let him be the first to throw a stone at her.” Easy enough, right? One by one, from oldest to youngest, they dropped their stones and their accusations. After Jesus drove away all who would have her stoned to death, he simply asks her, “Has no one condemned you?”

“No one,” she answers.

“Then neither do I condemn you. Go now and leave your life of sin” (John 8:7–11).

I'm struck that Jesus never mentions her nakedness. Neither does he move to having someone cover her. It's almost as if he never sees her nakedness. I began to wonder if the woman who was dragged there in her shame was strangely able to walk home naked, free from the shame that had previously covered her. Is it possible to be naked and unashamed?

It made me think of David when he was king of Israel returning from battle. We are told that he danced naked before the Lord as he worshiped, to give God thanks for all of His goodness. David's wife was livid (I empathize with her) that he had humiliated himself before the servant girls and, of course, his wife.

He responded, “I will become even more undignified than this” (2 Samuel 6:22). This was his declaration that he fully intended to live a life of shameless love for God. David knew his voice. He knew his story. He knew the narrative that guided his life. For him it all began with the voice of God who had spoken deep within his soul.

Looking back I wish I had handled my dilemma differently. I wish that when they dragged me outside in my nakedness I had realized it wasn't my shame to bear. I wish I had instead danced in my birthday suit until my heart knew only joy. I wish I had known how to dance like David did. I wish I had heard the voice of the one who speaks into our nakedness and teaches us to dance naked in the rain. Somebody told us we were naked and that we should be ashamed. Ever since we have lived in fear of being our true selves and have remained hidden. We live hidden from ourselves, from one another, and from the God who made us.

He sees us not in our nakedness but in our shame. He comes to free us from the fear of being truly and fully seen. To find our voice we must stand naked and unashamed.

This is the question God asks us all: Who told you that you were naked? Who have you been listening to? Who has led you to where you are right now? What voice did you embrace? What story corrupted your soul? Why would you choose a narrative that only leads you to death?

This is a tragic reminder that we humans have the strange capacity to live a soulless life. Our inner voice was never supposed to be simply an echo; our inner voice was always to resonate with the voice of God. Every other voice will either make us less than we were intended to be or convince us that we are more than we really are. Neither self-loathing nor self-worship helps us find our authentic voice. It is only when our inner voice responds to the voice of God that we begin to truly find our own voice.

As critical as it is for us to understand that art is always an extension of ourselves, the creative act is also an expression of our essence. It is equally important for us to realize that our guiding narrative determines the story we tell through our lives. Our inner voice not only informs us of who we are but affects everything we touch and in the end becomes the driving force through which we strive to shape the world around us. The principal creative act, described in Genesis 1, begins with God speaking the universe into existence. God speaks out of who he is, and everything in creation is a declaration of his glory and an expression of his personhood.

The Scriptures remind us over and over of the power of the spoken word. The story of all humanity came into being from the voice of God. He is the master storyteller. He was always intended to give to us the narrative that guides. The voice that spoke light into existence is the one we need to expel the darkness within and bring us to light, to life, and to love. Working on us like an instrument that is out of tune, God masterfully tightens and loosens the strings until the notes resonate properly and reflect the most beautiful of sounds. We find our voice when we find his voice. It's here that we experience our most authentic selves and find our true voice. In the end every artist creates only art that reflects the inner voice.

Years ago, I spent an entire semester studying the work of Vincent van Gogh. His is a tragic story filled with extreme beauty and overwhelming sorrow. His paintings reflect the tormented soul of a man whose dark imagination weighed more heavily than his hope. The progression of his work is a direct reflection of his aspirations, his struggles, and eventually, his tormented inner world. His artistic genius is undeniable, which allows us to glean a keen insight into the struggle we all have within us. Even when there is talent, there is always self-doubt and inner uncertainties.

Van Gogh once wrote, “If you hear a voice within you say ‘you cannot paint,' then by all means paint and that voice will be silenced.”

You can replace the word
paint
with any dream we might pursue. There will always be conflicting voices within us—those that whisper about the great dreams waiting to be realized and those that scream that we lack the talent or capacity to achieve them. Part of that process is deciding which voices will inform us. I love how Claude Monet, a French impressionist who brought us an entirely new way of seeing reality, literally turned his back on the Louvre to put his focus on nature. During his early years in Paris, while other painters would go to the Louvre to imitate the paintings of the greats who had found their way into this gallery, Monet would go to the window and begin to paint what he saw outside. Monet's internal narrative was deeply rooted in the wonder and beauty of nature. He brought with his perceptions an astonishing use of color and movement.

Monet was mesmerized by the beauty around him. His work is the expression of a man drowning in a universe of overwhelming beauty. He saw the beautiful everywhere. He once wrote in his journal, “Every day I discover more and more beautiful things. It is enough to drive one mad.”

While van Gogh's narrative was a journey of inner turmoil, Monet became a translator of beauty. In both artists, we can easily see how the internal narrative directly informs the process of the creative act. It is easy enough to see the connection between our inner voice and how that translates not only in the creation of art, but more importantly when we realize that our lives are our most significant works of art.

Perhaps the most poignant example of an artist whose inner voice shaped his outer world was Pablo Picasso. Picasso is one of the best-known figures of the twentieth century and arguably the most influential artist of that era. Picasso's art was more than groundbreaking; it was revolutionary. His extraordinary talent was matched only by his fearless exploration and extraordinary creativity.

More fascinating than his view of art was his view of humanity. In an era when no one held such a high view of the creative nature of each person, Picasso wrote, “Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.” He confounds expectation when he says, “It took me four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child.”

Picasso understood that the artist is also a work of art, that the one who creates is also in a sense being created. He makes clear in his description of the artistic journey that we are being informed and formed long before we begin to express ourselves as artists and creators: “The artist is a receptacle of emotions that come from all over the place—from the sky, from the earth, from a scrap of paper, from a passing shape, from a spider's web.”

Picasso's narrative is characterized by a drive for human uniqueness and a strong sense of his own personal genius. One of Picasso's earliest memories is the internal narrative passed on to him by his mother. “My mother said to me ‘If you are a soldier, you will become a general. If you are a monk, you will become the Pope.' Instead, I was a painter and became Picasso.”

Could there be a clearer connection between a person's internal narrative and the expression of his life as a creative act? Pablo had nowhere else he could go, no one else he could become but Picasso.

My mind begins to reel when imagining what this world would look like if all of us believed our lives could become masterpieces. What would the world be like if each of us had an inner voice that awakened within us our greatest self? I am reminded of those moments in biblical history when unique individuals suddenly hear the voice of God, that moment when they are undeniably called out to live a life bigger than themselves.

Quite often God marries that encounter with a new name. Abram becomes Abraham; Sarai becomes Sarah; Jacob (which means deceiver) becomes Israel; Simon becomes Peter; and Saul becomes Paul. I suppose the only question that remains is: Who do we become when we stop allowing all the voices in our head to crowd out the one voice we must hear to come to life?

I have joked on occasion that the difference between a sane man and an insane one is that the sane man can identify all the voices in his head and the insane man thinks all those voices are his. Whether we realize it or not, our souls are overcrowded with voices demanding attention—more than that, demanding allegiance, adherence, submission. If we're not careful, we will live our lives as echoes, an imitation of our authentic selves. When we hear the voice of God or heed Jesus's invitation to follow him, it leads us out of captivity into freedom. When we hear God's voice, we finally find our voice. When we find our voice, we discover we finally have something to say, and that when we speak, our words have power. We bring voice to the hopes that have long been lost to a world trapped in a noisy silence.