The Called Creative and Making Good Art in a Divided World

By Bre Strobel

The Called Creative and Making Good Art in a Divided World

 by Bre Strobel

1.

It was supposed to be one of the most exciting times of my life, but I was paralyzed with fear.

After graduating from a Christian university with a degree in English that emphasized creative writing, I couldn’t bring myself to write.

Already pregnant a month after graduation, I began looking for a job where I could “put my degree to work.” But we were moving in two short months for my husband to attend graduate school, so applying to jobs out of state with the added complication of impending motherhood made things impossible.

It also didn’t help that my complex educational experience—right at the intersection of faith and creativity—caused me to take a long five years before I could write a new piece of fiction or poetry.

I don't think it was the fault of my professors, though there were probably some unintended social dynamics that were affecting me. My dilemma was that I was picking up on some unspoken tension between institutional Christianity and the art world, one that I’m convinced every Christian creative confronts eventually.

My roadblock was the false dichotomy that I could either tell culturally relevant stories that were true (and entertaining), or I could make God-honoring Christian content. But I most definitely couldn't do both.

My college writing professors did their best—I can see now—to teach us to value our creativity as God-given without compromising artistry for “Christian integrity,” which is a euphemistic way of saying “sanitizing the story so that our faith and theology can't be called into question.” We talked a lot in our classes about how all art is Christian art, and how often “Christian” art isn’t very… well… good.

2.

The thing is—even though I participated in church most of my life, went to a Christian elementary school and college, and have a minor in Biblical studies—I am not a theologian.

Rather, I am an artist who happens to be a Christian.

But if I need to be “right” and “holy” in order to put my artistic work into the world, then my hands are painfully tied. I can't create. And really, no one can create under those impossible expectations.

And besides, sanitizing reality isn’t truth-telling, nor is it particularly good theology.

The truth is God is both the biggest idealist and the most practical realist, so we can show the world as it is—in all its beauty and brokenness while still honoring Him.

For writers in particular, our great cloud of witnesses includes the likes of C.S. Lewis, Madeleine L’Engle, and Francis Schaeffer. They were all scrutinized, sometimes heavily, in their day by Christian institutions and secular culture alike. They were criticized by other Christians because of the ways they failed to align with certain ways of thought and by the broader culture for whatever critique they had that chafed with the dominating social worldview.

Not Chrisitan enough for some.

And too Christian for others.

It is challenging to hold the tension in our artwork—and lives, for that matter—without alienating one side or the other. Jesus knew about this tension best as he spoke a Truth and Beauty that upset and upturned the sacred and secular world.

And so, there's no pleasing everyone. Catering to one crowd might seem the “safest” bet, but it also won't always produce the best art.

And then, what is the point?

3.

“Art is transcendent,” my English professor would say in my Fiction Writing class. “There is always something sacred in the secular.”

Louisa May Alcott explored this dynamic with her character Jo in Little Women. To support her family, Jo took on a tutoring job while she submitted work to publishers for profit. Sadly, in all of her hard work, Jo felt conflicted because the stories that found success in the marketplace were not the art she revered. But then, when Jo finally wrote something to atone for her “sensational stories,” Alcott writes that it was “a tale which might have more properly been called a sermon, so moral was it.”

“I don’t know anything,” Jo says. “I’ll wait till I do before I try again.”

The inner battle Jo faces is one most common to Christian artists, and I can only assume that it mirrors Alcott’s own experiences. I think Jo’s own struggle may have been the same point I had reached by the time I graduated from college, too: I didn’t know anything, and so I waited.

4.

Friends, we live at a unique intersection as Christian artists, thinkers, and leaders. We also live in a unique time, where art takes on new mediums for a hungry, searching audience quicker than we can keep up with its phenomenon.

We should be creating and aware of our ability to impact people's beliefs and values and honor that sincerely. It is a great responsibility.

We can do that by considering each person who may encounter our work as people worthy of love and then loving them whether they love us back or not. Fear of their critique cannot produce a work made in love, and therefore does not honor the responsibility we bear. Only love, beauty, and truth can produce more of it.

We may get on a soapbox from time-to-time, but may we all be discerning enough to not allow ourselves to be put on a pedestal. We need that boundary to take the audience on our contemplative journey but remain as faithful servants.

Theologians—even those we disagree with—are not our competitors. They are people of a different vocation doing their own meaningful work, and we can encourage people to defer to them for theological matters.

When it comes to spirituality, however, that belongs to all of us through the Holy Spirit. In that way, we are all everyday theologians because we think theologically: writers, artists, painters, dancers, poets, speakers, podcasters, and more.

5.

Now, I still face the same roadblocks when I come to the page to create. But I'm finding a creative community—through The Way Back to Ourselves and elsewhere—who are making Christian art that illuminates what is beautiful by acknowledging what's broken. From their courage, I am made less afraid to do the same: make beautiful, honest, hard, scary art that tells the truth about man and God. I'm inspired and encouraged not toward silence but toward sharing my own unique voice and perspective.

Made in the image of God, who is the Creator, we bear God’s image when we engage in our creativity. And when we do, we work out our salvation with fear and trembling, faithfully submitting to the work set before us.

When we trust Him with our work, it is inherently meaningful. Sacred, even.

BRE STROBEL

Bre Marie Strobel is a homeschool mom married to her high school sweetheart, writing from her home in St. Paul, Minnesota. She writes personal narrative and reflections on faith and culture on her Substack titled Being Beloved. You can follow Bre on Instagram where she writes actively about faith, creativity, culture, and being beloved: @brestrobel.