Sometimes, neighbors can be annoying.
But what do you do when you believe your new neighbor is destroying your own property?
Well, in this case, perhaps "destroying" is a bit harsh. But the world-famous architect whose small museum is being marginalized by the luxury apartment tower rising next to it would probably agree with the term.
He's already gone on record as describing his museum as a "victim" of the "aggressor" skyscraper. And it's all because of something we get plenty of here in north Texas: bright, hot sunlight.
What Could Go Wrong?
When celebrated architect Renzo Piano was commissioned by the late Ray Nasher to design a jewel box of a museum to hold the shopping center mogul's modern sculpture collection, a prime site in downtown Dallas, in the middle of the city's fledgling arts district, was chosen.
At the time, this location seemed to make sense, since the Dallas Museum of Art would be a neighbor for the new Nasher Sculpture Center, and I.M. Pei's wonderful Meyerson Symphony Center already anchored an expanding performing arts community just down the street. To the Nasher's immediate south, a high-rise office building owned by one of Dallas' most prominent families flanked the edge of downtown's commercial skyscrapers, and to the Nasher's immediate north, an existing freeway was about to be covered over so a new, elevated park could be constructed.
Apparently, however, nobody gave much thought about what was planned for the property just to the east of the Nasher; property that for years had been a lowly parking lot.
So the Nasher was designed and constructed to considerable local acclaim, featuring glass ceilings that filtered natural sunlight to bathe sculptures on display with as little artificial lighting as possible. Piano's design featured an expansive walled garden, where larger sculptures could be displayed amongst lush lawns and trees, like its own secluded park. One outdoor piece consisted of a concrete shell large enough for a few people to walk inside, look up through an open-air oculus, and see nothing but the changing sky framed by a dark rim. Maybe it sounds boring - and a bit silly - to construct something that frames the same sky we can gaze into on our own, but the actual effect when you're inside the artwork, stripped of distractions, can be kinda cool.
Except that now, a 42-story glass tower partially obstructs your view!
Not only that, but the still-to-be-completed Museum Tower apartment building is clad in a reflective glass that incessantly refracts piercing sunlight into every nook and crevice of the Nasher from noontime until the sun goes down. Those skylights Piano designed to capture and diffuse sunlight tilt to - guess! - the east, so glare from the far stronger western sun isn't as prominent. But now, to the east of the Nasher is where the objectionable skyscraper rises.
Oops.
Shine Some Light On It
At least for Dallas, this poses an unprecedented dilemma. Sure, other conflicts between notable neighbors have existed before, but most of those have had to do with aesthetics, design philosophies, or even sagging foundations if excavation next-door undermines an existing structure. But aesthetics and design philosophies don't literally render a structure worthless, and repairing damage to a neighbor's property during construction is party of the reason developers have to take out insurance. In this case, the developers of the high-rise apartment building have violated no zoning laws, construction principles, or even aesthetic considerations. Granted, Museum Tower looks like any other glassy skyscraper, and hardly worth the prices developers are charging for its apartments But as far as glitzy skylines go, Dallas' is already fairly eclectic, so a building's designer would have to go pretty far off the deep end to make a new tower a complete eyesore.
And Museum Tower is no eyesore.
Art purists in Dallas insist that it's still an inferior building to Piano's Nasher, however. To which it's easy to respectfully disagree. Yes, the Nasher is elegant and pleasant enough, but an irreplaceable treasure for the city? No. A timeless piece of art all its own? No. One of Renzo Piano's best works? No.
And the artwork housed in Piano's Nasher? Some of it is pure junk appreciated only by those who crave attention from hallowed art snobs. Nasher developed Dallas' beloved NorthPark Center, one of the nation's first enclosed malls, and despite competition from newer, bigger, and more gaudy malls, NorthPark remains the top retail shrine in the shopping mecca that is Dallas. Indeed, when Dallasites talk about "going to the mall," they mean NorthPark. If they're going to any other mall, Dallasites will name that mall specifically, and usually defend their decision not to go to NorthPark by complaining about it's incessantly notorious traffic.
Nasher and his wife, both of whom are now deceased, fancied themselves as experts on modern art, and modern sculpture in particular. For years, NorthPark has featured works from their extensive collection throughout their facilities, and it's hard to deny that they make the mall quite unique in terms of ambiance.
But most of these sculptures are made of stone and metal - elements hardly at risk of damage from sunbeams from the western sky. Officials at the Nasher claim that refracted sunlight from Museum Tower is forcing curators to relocate some sculptures considered more fragile and susceptible to fading. Which, yes, isn't a desirable problem to have, but is hardly calamitous. Then there are claims that grass and trees in the Nasher's outdoor sculpture garden are getting scorched from the refracted sunlight, but wilting and browning vegetation is part of everyday life here in Texas, even despite an abnormally wet spring like the one we just finished.
Officials and Piano insist it's not their responsibility to try and accommodate the sunlight glaring from their new neighbor. Suggestions of retrofitting the Nasher with screens and blinds of some sort have met with stiff resistance from both the museum and well-connected arts patrons who bristle at the notion of crass commercialism like that of some petty capitalist apartment developers forcing changes to something as sacred as a sculpture museum.
But the Nasher isn't sacred. Neither, for that matter, is the capitalist trophy tower next door, which will soon be home to some of the city's most expensive - and loftiest - apartments. City leaders have arranged for a mediator to help forge some sort of compromise on this issue, but so far, no agreement has been reached. In fact, it was rather surprising for Piano to speak out so publicly this week, since supposedly some sort of gag order is in place. Yes, a gag order - after all, Dallas takes both its art and its construction projects very seriously.
Much Ado About Sunlight
So, what's the big deal, you ask? Egypt is on the brink of anarchy, Greece and Spain may soon short-circuit the whole of Europe's economy, Russia still thinks it should have the right to sell arms to the merciless Assad regime... and Dallas is bickering over two ephemeral buildings in its pretentious arts district?
This debate isn't about art. It's not even about property rights. It's about ego. Piano and Nasher officials are sore because the Dallas citizenry, on behalf of their beloved museum, hasn't risen up in fury against the skyscraper's developers. They're frustrated because nobody - not even themselves - thought to more closely evaluate the effect the glass walls of a nearby tower would have on the Nasher. After all, had the tower featured a conventional brick facade, or even balconies to break up the mirror effect of the glass, it would just be a tall neighbor, not a blinding one.
As far as the developers of Museum Tower are concerned, downtown Dallas is primarily a neighborhood of tall buildings. City planners and arts patrons who mapped out the redevelopment of downtown's near north side for museums and concert halls had even included skyscrapers in their proposals, so the Nasher and its fans knew full well what the future held for the properties around them.
Personally, I'm a bit surprised at the attitude of Nasher's rich patrons. Where has the enigmatic imagination that used to so pervade the city of Dallas gone? If y'all hadn't fawned so much over Piano's building to begin with, and admitted it wasn't all that remarkable, you could have viewed this latest challenge as an opportunity to finally make a signature architectural statement out of the place.
Besides, Piano is one of many current architects known for their white sail motif, which would make a perfect addition to the roof of the current Nasher structure. Strategically-engineered sails rigged over the Nasher could deflect the intense light from the tower next door, leave the current structure relatively intact, and lend their warmly dramatic aesthetics to helping make it the landmark building it currently isn't.
How much would it cost? Please! Since when has the inferiority complex which motivates arts patrons here ever fussed about cost before?
Frankly, Dallas, this whole episode doesn't show you in a good light.
_____
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Friday, June 15, 2012
Wednesday, June 13, 2012
Dallas as City, Soap, and Survivor
Do you pay much attention to what's on television these days?
I don't. But living here in the Dallas area, even I can't avoid the hoopla over the return of one of television's most iconic shows. After twenty years, the soap opera named after north Texas' largest city is bustin' out in prime time, replete with Larry Hagman as J.R. Ewing and his ol' southern homestead, Southfork Ranch.
And no, I'm not going to watch it.
For one thing, it's on cable, and I don't have cable. And the fact that cable produces shows like Dallas' remake are one of the reasons why I don't have cable.
Big D, Big Hair, Big Egos, Big Deals
Not that I'm knocking Dallas for being wildly popular, at least back in the day. I suspect one of the reasons it was so popular for so many years - basically all of the 80's - involved its remarkable ability to capture the aspirations of that yuppified, designer logo, blow-dried decade not only here in north Texas, but across the United States. Some TV shows become legendary despite not relating well to their time and era, but it was hard to tell how much Dallas reflected the 80's, and how much the 80's were reflecting Dallas. Say what you will about the quality of the show, but to be so synonymous with a culture isn't something that happens much on TV these days.
Whether this new show will be able to capture our new era remains to be seen, of course. The '80's were still a period of growth and enthusiasm in the United States generally, and Texas in particular. Whereas, these days, our society has ossified into three dreary camps: hard-core liberals, hard-core conservatives, and those of us in the middle who seem to be at the mercy of those two extremes. Whereas President Ronald Reagan had us feasting on American hubris during Dallas' original run, Barak Obama has us starving for hope. How do you model a popular TV show on today's socioeconomic angst?
Of course, even back during the original Dallas, I hardly ever watched the show. For one thing, my parents didn't consider it proper viewing material for young, impressionable boys. Fortunately for my brother and me, the Dukes of Hazzard was also on Friday nights, although the sight of Daisy Duke in her namesake denim shorts, coupled with the show's constant mockery of the police and other authority figures, likely didn't make it any more wholesome than what was being shown on Dallas.
In high school, I started working nights at a mens' clothing store here near Dallas, so my Dukes of Hazzard days ended. We had a TV in the employee break room, but Dallas ruled Friday nights outside of my house, and for some of the more anticipated episodes, even management would join us clerks for brief escapes from the selling floor to catch up on the action. After all, customers would ask us if we had any updates from the show, right? Remember, this was way before cell phones, Hulu, and ubiquitous flat screen TVs kept everybody wired to entertainment.
One of my co-workers was married to a woman who worked at a fancy department store across the hall, and I recall her saying that their management considered closing early on Friday nights when Dallas aired because business would evaporate and their stores would be deserted.
Several years later, when I was in college, I took a friend visiting from New York City to see Southfork Ranch, which proved to be a huge disappointment to both her and me. It was much smaller in real life than it was on television, and far less representative of where Dallas' real millionaires lived. If the show's Hollywood producers had wanted accuracy, they'd have placed the family in a genteel Highland Park mansion or sprawling Preston Hollow estate, and had them spend weekends on their ranch a couple hours outside of town. Well, at least they got that last part partly right. Southfork isn't even in Dallas County; it's miles from Dallas. It's the most non-Dallas part of Dallas.
For Both Dallas and Dallas, the Image was the Message
So, OK: we knew Dallas wasn't real, but it was real enough. The show featured all of the usual soap opera dramatics: nefarious business deals, backstabbing relatives, adultery, alcoholism; all the bad stuff. Yet the show still revolved around family and some semblance of family honor. And it celebrated a city that didn't know the meaning of the word "no." Back in the 80's, Dallas grew so fast and so wealthy it was dizzying. It seemed like a new luxury mall opened every year, and a dazzling new skyscraper every month. Corporations were relocating here from other parts of the country like flocks of birds, and to hear our business leaders tell it, cities like New York and Chicago were going to be empty before long, since everybody was moving here.
Those were the best of times for Dallas, just like the popularity its namesake TV show was enjoying. Soon after the 80's were over, and Dallas was off the air, corporations began moving again - out of their glassy towers in and around downtown, and into even newer office parks in the suburbs. Developers kept churning out new subdivisions like farmers plowing dirt, and before long, the lure of new construction drew hundreds of thousands of middle-class Dallasites out of the big city into sprawling suburbs with ever more modern homes with even better luxuries - luxuries that definitely made Southfork look dowdy.
All of a sudden, the streets which Dallas laid out so hurriedly during the 80's had aged, with potholes and empty storefronts and blocks and blocks of rental homes whose owners had moved on to the more prosperous suburbs. For a while, wide swaths of Dallas languished, until America's unprecedented interest in re-discovering central cities began to take hold, and more and more families committed to moving back into marginalized neighborhoods. Trees that earlier residents had planted over twenty years ago were now full and lush, far bigger than those in the suburbs. Homes that up-and-coming families once considered small and dated now appealed to new owners who appreciated their solid construction and retro aesthetics. Then there came the McMansion phenomenon, where perfectly good homes are torn down on central city lots and replaced with towering new luxury homes. The allure of Dallas' centralized neighborhoods makes sense when you consider how living closer-in to the city's core means that more jobs are more accessible. By now, of course, nobody counted on working for the same employer in the same place for their entire career, and being stuck out in some exurb when the only job you can find is clear across the city can make your remote house surprisingly less attractive.
And the traffic! Dallas' population may have leveled off, but the population all around it has continued to explode. And those wide freeways they built around Dallas have now became obsolete. Yes, Dallas has a fledgling mass transit system, but it's not even as reliable as sitting in gridlock, nor is it as safe. Back in the 80's, Dallas leaders were planning massive construction projects to widen two of the city's most popular freeways - the LBJ and Central Expressway - and provide the driving public with years of easier driving. Yet today, one small fender-bender can soon snarl any local freeway, and the state has begun another multi-year expansion project for the LBJ. Now, however, nobody really expects such grand plans to solve much of anything.
Not that Dallas has become some awful place to live. Like anywhere else, it is what you make of it, with its good neighborhoods and bad. Some of the glossy pockets of stunning wealth that remain scattered across the city make the Ewing fortune look downright humble. And hipsters flock to redeveloped neighborhoods carved out of urban blight around downtown. We call them the thirty-thousand-dollar millionaires, because they work mostly in entry-level jobs but act like they're made of money, driving around in sleek foreign luxury cars and renting high-dollar apartments - all paid either with credit or indulgent parents. Still, despite the sheen, it's hardly the metropolis of swashbuckling enthusiasm and 1980's glamor of both its own history and its portrayal by the original TV show.
Dallas has matured, and developed big-city problems common among much older municipalities; municipalities that have had their heyday at one time, and are now learning to get by in our brave new world of marginal public schools, a stagnant tax base, outdated infrastructure, incessant competition from suburbs which are also aging, and even competition from cities half a world away.
Hopes were running high when AT&T moved its international headquarters downtown from San Antonio, but the euphoria didn't last long when the corporation announced it was a temporary home while they built a new corporate campus in - where else? - one of the city's suburbs. These days, the only new construction downtown has been a high-rise hotel for the struggling convention center and some luxury apartment towers which sit half-rented.
Yet streets and freeways in and around downtown are still almost always choked with traffic.
TV critics may be anxious to see if the new Dallas will be even a fraction of a hit its predecessor was.
I care more about today's Dallas reinventing itself to be even better than it was back during the old Dallas.
_____
I don't. But living here in the Dallas area, even I can't avoid the hoopla over the return of one of television's most iconic shows. After twenty years, the soap opera named after north Texas' largest city is bustin' out in prime time, replete with Larry Hagman as J.R. Ewing and his ol' southern homestead, Southfork Ranch.
And no, I'm not going to watch it.
For one thing, it's on cable, and I don't have cable. And the fact that cable produces shows like Dallas' remake are one of the reasons why I don't have cable.
Big D, Big Hair, Big Egos, Big Deals
Not that I'm knocking Dallas for being wildly popular, at least back in the day. I suspect one of the reasons it was so popular for so many years - basically all of the 80's - involved its remarkable ability to capture the aspirations of that yuppified, designer logo, blow-dried decade not only here in north Texas, but across the United States. Some TV shows become legendary despite not relating well to their time and era, but it was hard to tell how much Dallas reflected the 80's, and how much the 80's were reflecting Dallas. Say what you will about the quality of the show, but to be so synonymous with a culture isn't something that happens much on TV these days.
Whether this new show will be able to capture our new era remains to be seen, of course. The '80's were still a period of growth and enthusiasm in the United States generally, and Texas in particular. Whereas, these days, our society has ossified into three dreary camps: hard-core liberals, hard-core conservatives, and those of us in the middle who seem to be at the mercy of those two extremes. Whereas President Ronald Reagan had us feasting on American hubris during Dallas' original run, Barak Obama has us starving for hope. How do you model a popular TV show on today's socioeconomic angst?
Of course, even back during the original Dallas, I hardly ever watched the show. For one thing, my parents didn't consider it proper viewing material for young, impressionable boys. Fortunately for my brother and me, the Dukes of Hazzard was also on Friday nights, although the sight of Daisy Duke in her namesake denim shorts, coupled with the show's constant mockery of the police and other authority figures, likely didn't make it any more wholesome than what was being shown on Dallas.
In high school, I started working nights at a mens' clothing store here near Dallas, so my Dukes of Hazzard days ended. We had a TV in the employee break room, but Dallas ruled Friday nights outside of my house, and for some of the more anticipated episodes, even management would join us clerks for brief escapes from the selling floor to catch up on the action. After all, customers would ask us if we had any updates from the show, right? Remember, this was way before cell phones, Hulu, and ubiquitous flat screen TVs kept everybody wired to entertainment.
One of my co-workers was married to a woman who worked at a fancy department store across the hall, and I recall her saying that their management considered closing early on Friday nights when Dallas aired because business would evaporate and their stores would be deserted.
Several years later, when I was in college, I took a friend visiting from New York City to see Southfork Ranch, which proved to be a huge disappointment to both her and me. It was much smaller in real life than it was on television, and far less representative of where Dallas' real millionaires lived. If the show's Hollywood producers had wanted accuracy, they'd have placed the family in a genteel Highland Park mansion or sprawling Preston Hollow estate, and had them spend weekends on their ranch a couple hours outside of town. Well, at least they got that last part partly right. Southfork isn't even in Dallas County; it's miles from Dallas. It's the most non-Dallas part of Dallas.
For Both Dallas and Dallas, the Image was the Message
So, OK: we knew Dallas wasn't real, but it was real enough. The show featured all of the usual soap opera dramatics: nefarious business deals, backstabbing relatives, adultery, alcoholism; all the bad stuff. Yet the show still revolved around family and some semblance of family honor. And it celebrated a city that didn't know the meaning of the word "no." Back in the 80's, Dallas grew so fast and so wealthy it was dizzying. It seemed like a new luxury mall opened every year, and a dazzling new skyscraper every month. Corporations were relocating here from other parts of the country like flocks of birds, and to hear our business leaders tell it, cities like New York and Chicago were going to be empty before long, since everybody was moving here.
Those were the best of times for Dallas, just like the popularity its namesake TV show was enjoying. Soon after the 80's were over, and Dallas was off the air, corporations began moving again - out of their glassy towers in and around downtown, and into even newer office parks in the suburbs. Developers kept churning out new subdivisions like farmers plowing dirt, and before long, the lure of new construction drew hundreds of thousands of middle-class Dallasites out of the big city into sprawling suburbs with ever more modern homes with even better luxuries - luxuries that definitely made Southfork look dowdy.
All of a sudden, the streets which Dallas laid out so hurriedly during the 80's had aged, with potholes and empty storefronts and blocks and blocks of rental homes whose owners had moved on to the more prosperous suburbs. For a while, wide swaths of Dallas languished, until America's unprecedented interest in re-discovering central cities began to take hold, and more and more families committed to moving back into marginalized neighborhoods. Trees that earlier residents had planted over twenty years ago were now full and lush, far bigger than those in the suburbs. Homes that up-and-coming families once considered small and dated now appealed to new owners who appreciated their solid construction and retro aesthetics. Then there came the McMansion phenomenon, where perfectly good homes are torn down on central city lots and replaced with towering new luxury homes. The allure of Dallas' centralized neighborhoods makes sense when you consider how living closer-in to the city's core means that more jobs are more accessible. By now, of course, nobody counted on working for the same employer in the same place for their entire career, and being stuck out in some exurb when the only job you can find is clear across the city can make your remote house surprisingly less attractive.
And the traffic! Dallas' population may have leveled off, but the population all around it has continued to explode. And those wide freeways they built around Dallas have now became obsolete. Yes, Dallas has a fledgling mass transit system, but it's not even as reliable as sitting in gridlock, nor is it as safe. Back in the 80's, Dallas leaders were planning massive construction projects to widen two of the city's most popular freeways - the LBJ and Central Expressway - and provide the driving public with years of easier driving. Yet today, one small fender-bender can soon snarl any local freeway, and the state has begun another multi-year expansion project for the LBJ. Now, however, nobody really expects such grand plans to solve much of anything.
Not that Dallas has become some awful place to live. Like anywhere else, it is what you make of it, with its good neighborhoods and bad. Some of the glossy pockets of stunning wealth that remain scattered across the city make the Ewing fortune look downright humble. And hipsters flock to redeveloped neighborhoods carved out of urban blight around downtown. We call them the thirty-thousand-dollar millionaires, because they work mostly in entry-level jobs but act like they're made of money, driving around in sleek foreign luxury cars and renting high-dollar apartments - all paid either with credit or indulgent parents. Still, despite the sheen, it's hardly the metropolis of swashbuckling enthusiasm and 1980's glamor of both its own history and its portrayal by the original TV show.
Dallas has matured, and developed big-city problems common among much older municipalities; municipalities that have had their heyday at one time, and are now learning to get by in our brave new world of marginal public schools, a stagnant tax base, outdated infrastructure, incessant competition from suburbs which are also aging, and even competition from cities half a world away.
Hopes were running high when AT&T moved its international headquarters downtown from San Antonio, but the euphoria didn't last long when the corporation announced it was a temporary home while they built a new corporate campus in - where else? - one of the city's suburbs. These days, the only new construction downtown has been a high-rise hotel for the struggling convention center and some luxury apartment towers which sit half-rented.
Yet streets and freeways in and around downtown are still almost always choked with traffic.
TV critics may be anxious to see if the new Dallas will be even a fraction of a hit its predecessor was.
I care more about today's Dallas reinventing itself to be even better than it was back during the old Dallas.
_____
Monday, June 11, 2012
There Came a Still, Small Voice
Christianity can be a religion of loud voices, can't it? Especially today, in the brand of evangelical Christianity we Westerners deal with on a daily basis.
Well, they may not be "loud" voices, but they're prominent. They're people the evangelical community celebrates as the standard-bearers of our worldview and lifestyle. Like anybody who's popular in America, these Christian leaders generally possess the kind of charisma that makes a lot of us think we know them pretty well. And maybe we do. But that just helps convince us we need to listen to them all the more.
But sometimes we forget that in all of the noise that surrounds us in our Christian cocoons, with all of the voices clamoring for our attention, even with their valid concerns that God has placed on their hearts, God Himself doesn't always call with a loud voice. While He expects and demands our devotion, and even our very selves, He's not always "hitting us upside the head" for it, as we Texans might say in our Lone Star parlance.
Of course, it's hardly just evangelical Christianity that seems to be run these days by loud voices. Politics has always been saddled by loud voices seeking to foment a herd mentality amongst a hounded citizenry. Wall Street loves listening to loud voices because they convey an air of authority and success - whether they can really claim any authority or success or not.
But it's odd that we evangelical Christians so freely allow ourselves to be buffeted by loud voices. Especially since sometimes, it's God Himself who speaks in a voice that is still and small.
Remember the scenario from 1 Kings 19:11-12, when He spoke to the prophet Elijah?
11 And he [God] said [to Elijah], "Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the LORD." And, behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the LORD; but the LORD was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the LORD was not in the earthquake: 12 And after the earthquake a fire; but the LORD was not in the fire: and after the fire a small voice.
If you'll recall the context of this passage, Elijah had become so dejected, assuming himself to be the only person left who believed in God, and seeing no fruit from his proclamations of God's sovereignty, that he had decided he wanted to die. Jezebel, the nefarious namesake of all that is evil in womanhood, was out to kill him anyway, and being on the run with no friends to help him made his life that much less tolerable.
Well, yeah, he had God on his side, but he couldn't tangibly see God. God wasn't reaching down from Heaven and wrapping a celestial arm around the weary Elijah, commiserating with him face-to-face, or even giving him a hokey Joel Osteen-style pep talk.
Yet God knew and cared, preparing a sumptuous meal for Elijah out there in the middle of noplace. Maybe not the physical pat on the back Elijah thought he wanted, but plenty of essential nutrition for the beleaguered - and hunted - prophet to continue his escape from Jezebel's henchmen. It's the classic wants-versus-needs scenario. Sometimes God meets both of those, but other times, He knows all we really need are, well, our needs. Not our wants.
The meal God provides Elijah sustains him for a 40-day trek deeper into the wilderness. You and I, reading this story with the luxury of hindsight, might be tempted to think that a meal that lasts for 40 days is a pretty significant sign that God is with us and for us. But just as we'd have probably done, by the time those 40 days are done, Elijah is back where he started. Emotionally, anyway.
So our ever-faithful and loving God told Elijah to go stand on a mountaintop. And still, God did not show Himself to his prophet in a way we would expect. Neither a great wind, nor an earthquake, nor a firestorm provided a venue for God - at least, not this time. Sometimes God may use loud voices to speak to us, but this time, He used a still, small, voice.
Intimate. Precious. Focused.
God didn't think it important for us to know what He said to Elijah in that still, small voice. Apparently, it wasn't enough to snap Elijah out of his depressive state anyway, because two verses later, Elijah is complaining and feeling sorry for himself again.
But isn't that just like us? Okay, so at least it's just like me. A witness to the mercies of God one minute, and moaning about my circumstances the next. But that still doesn't negate the value of God's still small voice, does it?
In his epic oratorio, Elijah, Felix Mendelssohn dramatically crafts this scene in a dichotomy of crashing power and stunning eloquence that has helped preserve the memory and imagery of this passage for me ever since I first heard it performed years ago.
You'll find, below, the text Mendelssohn used, and your choice of two videos to watch. For you musical perfectionists out there, here's a link to a video featuring the usual technical precision of St. Olaf College's Chapel Choir and Orchestra, conducted by Christopher Aspaas.
Personally, however, I prefer this less technically perfect rendition by Singapore's Hallelujah Oratorio Society, which I think - despite some aesthetic licenses taken by its conductor - provides a more satisfactory interpretation of the still small voice that is of primary importance in this piece.
Whichever performance you choose, I invite you to worship our God in the splendor of holiness as you contemplate this classical masterpiece, no matter the despair you may harbor today, or the problems from which you feel like running.
Sometimes when I don't hear God in the loud voices of our evangelical religion, I remember Mendelssohn's "Behold, God the Lord." And I stop still.
And listen for that still...
...small...
...voice.
_____
Behold, God the Lord passed by! And a mighty wind rent the mountains around, brake in pieces the rocks, brake them before the Lord. But yet the Lord was not in the tempest.
Behold, God the Lord passed by! And the sea was upheaved, and the earth was shaken. But yet the Lord was not in the earthquake.
And after the earthquake there came a fire. But yet the Lord was not in the fire.
And after the fire there came a still small voice. And in that still voice onward came the Lord.
Well, they may not be "loud" voices, but they're prominent. They're people the evangelical community celebrates as the standard-bearers of our worldview and lifestyle. Like anybody who's popular in America, these Christian leaders generally possess the kind of charisma that makes a lot of us think we know them pretty well. And maybe we do. But that just helps convince us we need to listen to them all the more.
But sometimes we forget that in all of the noise that surrounds us in our Christian cocoons, with all of the voices clamoring for our attention, even with their valid concerns that God has placed on their hearts, God Himself doesn't always call with a loud voice. While He expects and demands our devotion, and even our very selves, He's not always "hitting us upside the head" for it, as we Texans might say in our Lone Star parlance.
Of course, it's hardly just evangelical Christianity that seems to be run these days by loud voices. Politics has always been saddled by loud voices seeking to foment a herd mentality amongst a hounded citizenry. Wall Street loves listening to loud voices because they convey an air of authority and success - whether they can really claim any authority or success or not.
But it's odd that we evangelical Christians so freely allow ourselves to be buffeted by loud voices. Especially since sometimes, it's God Himself who speaks in a voice that is still and small.
Remember the scenario from 1 Kings 19:11-12, when He spoke to the prophet Elijah?
11 And he [God] said [to Elijah], "Go forth, and stand upon the mount before the LORD." And, behold, the LORD passed by, and a great and strong wind rent the mountains, and brake in pieces the rocks before the LORD; but the LORD was not in the wind: and after the wind an earthquake; but the LORD was not in the earthquake: 12 And after the earthquake a fire; but the LORD was not in the fire: and after the fire a small voice.
If you'll recall the context of this passage, Elijah had become so dejected, assuming himself to be the only person left who believed in God, and seeing no fruit from his proclamations of God's sovereignty, that he had decided he wanted to die. Jezebel, the nefarious namesake of all that is evil in womanhood, was out to kill him anyway, and being on the run with no friends to help him made his life that much less tolerable.
Well, yeah, he had God on his side, but he couldn't tangibly see God. God wasn't reaching down from Heaven and wrapping a celestial arm around the weary Elijah, commiserating with him face-to-face, or even giving him a hokey Joel Osteen-style pep talk.
Yet God knew and cared, preparing a sumptuous meal for Elijah out there in the middle of noplace. Maybe not the physical pat on the back Elijah thought he wanted, but plenty of essential nutrition for the beleaguered - and hunted - prophet to continue his escape from Jezebel's henchmen. It's the classic wants-versus-needs scenario. Sometimes God meets both of those, but other times, He knows all we really need are, well, our needs. Not our wants.
The meal God provides Elijah sustains him for a 40-day trek deeper into the wilderness. You and I, reading this story with the luxury of hindsight, might be tempted to think that a meal that lasts for 40 days is a pretty significant sign that God is with us and for us. But just as we'd have probably done, by the time those 40 days are done, Elijah is back where he started. Emotionally, anyway.
So our ever-faithful and loving God told Elijah to go stand on a mountaintop. And still, God did not show Himself to his prophet in a way we would expect. Neither a great wind, nor an earthquake, nor a firestorm provided a venue for God - at least, not this time. Sometimes God may use loud voices to speak to us, but this time, He used a still, small, voice.
Intimate. Precious. Focused.
God didn't think it important for us to know what He said to Elijah in that still, small voice. Apparently, it wasn't enough to snap Elijah out of his depressive state anyway, because two verses later, Elijah is complaining and feeling sorry for himself again.
But isn't that just like us? Okay, so at least it's just like me. A witness to the mercies of God one minute, and moaning about my circumstances the next. But that still doesn't negate the value of God's still small voice, does it?
In his epic oratorio, Elijah, Felix Mendelssohn dramatically crafts this scene in a dichotomy of crashing power and stunning eloquence that has helped preserve the memory and imagery of this passage for me ever since I first heard it performed years ago.
You'll find, below, the text Mendelssohn used, and your choice of two videos to watch. For you musical perfectionists out there, here's a link to a video featuring the usual technical precision of St. Olaf College's Chapel Choir and Orchestra, conducted by Christopher Aspaas.
Personally, however, I prefer this less technically perfect rendition by Singapore's Hallelujah Oratorio Society, which I think - despite some aesthetic licenses taken by its conductor - provides a more satisfactory interpretation of the still small voice that is of primary importance in this piece.
Whichever performance you choose, I invite you to worship our God in the splendor of holiness as you contemplate this classical masterpiece, no matter the despair you may harbor today, or the problems from which you feel like running.
Sometimes when I don't hear God in the loud voices of our evangelical religion, I remember Mendelssohn's "Behold, God the Lord." And I stop still.
And listen for that still...
...small...
...voice.
_____
Behold, God the Lord passed by! And a mighty wind rent the mountains around, brake in pieces the rocks, brake them before the Lord. But yet the Lord was not in the tempest.
Behold, God the Lord passed by! And the sea was upheaved, and the earth was shaken. But yet the Lord was not in the earthquake.
And after the earthquake there came a fire. But yet the Lord was not in the fire.
And after the fire there came a still small voice. And in that still voice onward came the Lord.
Thursday, June 7, 2012
Whose Impact Do You Pursue?
For those of you who regularly read Tim Challies' eponymous blog, you'll be familiar with my essay topic today.
And if you do read Challies' blog often, as well as mine, allow me to thank you for considering my material at least as worthy of your time as you do his. Unless, of course, you only read mine to remind yourself how good Challies' is...!
One of Challies' regular features is called "A La Carte," in which he provides links to articles, books, and products unaffiliated with his own ministry, and in today's A La Carte, Challies provides a link to a World Magazine interview of Phil Vischer.
Vischer... Vischer... Vischer... where have you heard that name? From his wildly popular Veggie Tales videos, of course! Or at least, they were his Veggie Tales, until they went bankrupt and he left to form a new company. Vischer's interview is noteworthy not because he practically created the whole Christian video animation genre, but because of what he says about his life now that he's no longer part of the company that made him famous.
You'll want to read the entire interview, of course, but here are a few key segments that made me stop and think:
"Rather than seeking God and asking Him, 'How do you want me to move forward?'" Vischer says, regarding his methodology for expanding his production company and the Veggie Tales brand, "I did some spiritual math and said, 'OK, how could I have more impact? By just making my films or by building the next Disney?'"
In other words, he knew that he had a hot commodity, but at the time, he understood his purpose to be broadening the impact of his Bible-themed commodity so more people would be touched by it Isn't that what most of us would assume his purpose to be? After all, we're taught that our Christian "impact" is important.
"Though I couldn't have pinpointed it at the time," he explains, "it was enormously influential in my thinking of, 'OK, sure this is great, but how do I make it bigger? How can I do more faster?' Unfortunately, the question I ignored was, 'How did God wire me?' Because He didn't necessarily call me to see how big an organization I could build."
That's not the way most of us think, is it? We assume that making our efforts for Christ bigger and better is what God wants. But is it?
"Today when I talk to people, I spend a lot of time trying to get them to consider what is driving them. Why do you want to do what you say you want to do? Do you have peace in your life? Because if you're stressed, if you're worried, if you're anxious, something ain't right. Those aren't the fruits of the Spirit."
Wow. The Fruit of the Spirit. Something that God has been reminding me of lately, too. Love, joy, peace, patience, gentleness, goodness, meekness, and self-control. They're how we demonstrate the Gospel. But if they're lacking in our life, what does that say about how we're obeying God? Obviously, some amount of stress is going to exist in everybody's life. But should we be anxious about the impact we're making for God's Kingdom?
"My new company is called Jellyfish Labs because jellyfish can't locomote. They can't choose their own course. They can't go from point A to point B. They can only stay in the current and trust the current to carry them where they need to be... I only get my form when I stay in the current of God's will and allow Him to carry me where He wants me to be."
Did you get that? I had to re-read it a couple of times.
"That was such a huge shift for me from the American Christian ideal," Vischer continues. "We're drinking a cocktail that's a mix of the Protestant work ethic, the American dream, and the gospel. And we've intertwined them so completely that we can't tell them apart anymore. Our gospel has become a gospel of following your dreams and being good so God will make all your dreams come true."
Can you see how we believers in Christ have adopted the ambition of the world and applied it to our faith? Making an impact with our faith may now be one of those subtle fallacies many of us in our goal-oriented culture assume to be an important component of honoring God.
Then Vischer drops this bizarre insight: "I realized I'm not supposed to be pursuing impact, I'm supposed to be pursuing God."
What? He goes on to say, "when I pursue God, I will have exactly as much impact as He wants me to have."
I don't know about you, but I fuss all the time about whether or not I'm "impacting the Kingdom" for Christ. Am I doing all I can? Are you? How much of our quest for impact depends on what we do, and how much of it depends entirely on God?
Might it be a finer line than we realize between works-based efforts, and faith-based trust? Maybe all of the things we see God accomplish really isn't so much "through" us as it is "despite" us.
If we release our plans and aspirations to God, and we change our hope of affecting change upon our world to a single-focused commitment to Christ, shouldn't that provide us with sufficient purpose for the life we're granted on this Earth?
It may not make us rich or famous or influential.
But if we think we need to be any those things, that might be a sign that we're not trusting God to use us well.
____
And if you do read Challies' blog often, as well as mine, allow me to thank you for considering my material at least as worthy of your time as you do his. Unless, of course, you only read mine to remind yourself how good Challies' is...!
One of Challies' regular features is called "A La Carte," in which he provides links to articles, books, and products unaffiliated with his own ministry, and in today's A La Carte, Challies provides a link to a World Magazine interview of Phil Vischer.
Vischer... Vischer... Vischer... where have you heard that name? From his wildly popular Veggie Tales videos, of course! Or at least, they were his Veggie Tales, until they went bankrupt and he left to form a new company. Vischer's interview is noteworthy not because he practically created the whole Christian video animation genre, but because of what he says about his life now that he's no longer part of the company that made him famous.
You'll want to read the entire interview, of course, but here are a few key segments that made me stop and think:
"Rather than seeking God and asking Him, 'How do you want me to move forward?'" Vischer says, regarding his methodology for expanding his production company and the Veggie Tales brand, "I did some spiritual math and said, 'OK, how could I have more impact? By just making my films or by building the next Disney?'"
In other words, he knew that he had a hot commodity, but at the time, he understood his purpose to be broadening the impact of his Bible-themed commodity so more people would be touched by it Isn't that what most of us would assume his purpose to be? After all, we're taught that our Christian "impact" is important.
"Though I couldn't have pinpointed it at the time," he explains, "it was enormously influential in my thinking of, 'OK, sure this is great, but how do I make it bigger? How can I do more faster?' Unfortunately, the question I ignored was, 'How did God wire me?' Because He didn't necessarily call me to see how big an organization I could build."
That's not the way most of us think, is it? We assume that making our efforts for Christ bigger and better is what God wants. But is it?
"Today when I talk to people, I spend a lot of time trying to get them to consider what is driving them. Why do you want to do what you say you want to do? Do you have peace in your life? Because if you're stressed, if you're worried, if you're anxious, something ain't right. Those aren't the fruits of the Spirit."
Wow. The Fruit of the Spirit. Something that God has been reminding me of lately, too. Love, joy, peace, patience, gentleness, goodness, meekness, and self-control. They're how we demonstrate the Gospel. But if they're lacking in our life, what does that say about how we're obeying God? Obviously, some amount of stress is going to exist in everybody's life. But should we be anxious about the impact we're making for God's Kingdom?
"My new company is called Jellyfish Labs because jellyfish can't locomote. They can't choose their own course. They can't go from point A to point B. They can only stay in the current and trust the current to carry them where they need to be... I only get my form when I stay in the current of God's will and allow Him to carry me where He wants me to be."
Did you get that? I had to re-read it a couple of times.
"That was such a huge shift for me from the American Christian ideal," Vischer continues. "We're drinking a cocktail that's a mix of the Protestant work ethic, the American dream, and the gospel. And we've intertwined them so completely that we can't tell them apart anymore. Our gospel has become a gospel of following your dreams and being good so God will make all your dreams come true."
Can you see how we believers in Christ have adopted the ambition of the world and applied it to our faith? Making an impact with our faith may now be one of those subtle fallacies many of us in our goal-oriented culture assume to be an important component of honoring God.
Then Vischer drops this bizarre insight: "I realized I'm not supposed to be pursuing impact, I'm supposed to be pursuing God."
What? He goes on to say, "when I pursue God, I will have exactly as much impact as He wants me to have."
I don't know about you, but I fuss all the time about whether or not I'm "impacting the Kingdom" for Christ. Am I doing all I can? Are you? How much of our quest for impact depends on what we do, and how much of it depends entirely on God?
Might it be a finer line than we realize between works-based efforts, and faith-based trust? Maybe all of the things we see God accomplish really isn't so much "through" us as it is "despite" us.
If we release our plans and aspirations to God, and we change our hope of affecting change upon our world to a single-focused commitment to Christ, shouldn't that provide us with sufficient purpose for the life we're granted on this Earth?
It may not make us rich or famous or influential.
But if we think we need to be any those things, that might be a sign that we're not trusting God to use us well.
____