THE MESSAGE

By Ms. Dinorah

A friend of mine told me the other day I should at least write one blog a week. “Your site needs you,” my friend said. The question is…What am I going to write? Sometimes ideas come easily. Sometimes they don’t. Or, sometimes the ideas that do come are not the ones you would enjoy writing. As Joel Osteen says, “Be positive or be quiet.” Quietude may be very appropriate when you yourself recognize it as a vehicle for positivity. Assuming that positive ideas will come my way, I can make an effort and write down a few words. The question again is… What am I going to write?

There is more to writing than the message we wish to convey through words, like the sound of it, for example. What does your message sound like? What do your words sound like? I have discovered that sometimes it is a sound –I would call it a sound because It need not occur as a legible combination of words- what captures my heart. I could write about the song that has been playing in my head since yesterday. It made me smile and cry a little too. I could write about the book I am forcing myself to read, thus to imagine what its message sounds like. I could write about the peaceful view out my window, create a story, build two metaphors (his voice is my refuge, his love is my strength), express my feelings –sensations, awareness-, or wish him well.

I have no idea what to write. I guess I will try to write a sound, not a pretty one, a roar. When you have really nothing to say you start either roaring like a hungry animal or speaking in tongues through the Holy Spirit, or both. There were times, during trainings of physical theater in college, when you thought your body couldn’t resist training any longer, the professor said, “There, that is a moment of creation!” (And you just want to evaporate! But there is more to you than what you want). Your body starts acting on its own accord, or so you think, speaking in tongues through the Holy Spirit, or, again, both. This post is about producing a sound (imagine it with a strong Cuban accent if you can, almost incoherent), rather than a word, a combination of words, let alone making sense. Sometimes it’s just a bare sound what you need, a sound surpassing our own understanding, a flesh and blood feeling (I wonder if this could be possible to feel), a touch, a taste. The question is…What am I going to write?

Бременские музыканты

Can you guess who I am?

By Dinorah Pérez-Rementería

This essay is envisioned as a work in progress. It will be revised and expanded slowly but surely.

Stories of love, hope and faith occupy a very special place in a person’s heart. In particular, I like fairy tales. As a little girl, I loved to read the Russian folktales and the One Thousand and One Nights or listen to my grandmother improvise stories about my future life. Now, as a woman, I actually love fairy tales more than I did before, for despite what others may argue, I have found them to be surprisingly accurate and real. In a discreet way, fairy tales motivate us to believe we can triumph over the challenging passages of life by expanding our ability to sense (imagine, perceive, distinguish) the existence of a world that is of purer quality than our ordinary worlds. No, I am not suggesting that we rush into assessing our surroundings or the junctures that form our daily living by using “our feelings” and “assumptions” only. Countless misunderstandings and hostilities have arisen among and within countries, states, cities, neighborhoods, families, individuals as a result of it. “Feelings” and “assumptions” are unstable assessment tools which may change over time in response to new situations, practices and experiences.

But, the truth is that we can not avoid impacting people (their practices and experiences) with “our assumptions” and “feelings.” People’s feelings and assumptions are or have been continually coined and transformed into texts, philosophies, categories, governments, treaties, branches of knowledge, occupations, cultural traditions, art, private or public conversations, postures, and other visible, influential expressions. So, when I say “expanding our ability to sense the manifestation of a better world,” I think of the opportunity to willfully and carefully examine ours –that is, our own assumptions and feelings- in relation to past and current circumstances, along with other people’s experiences and opinions, in a more valuable search, to look for a condition of immanent purity that could be revealed to and through us despite discrepancies and insufficiencies. I am talking about seeking out and making room for an unshakable, reliable form of purity that may confront, embrace, and even draw on our ordinary “imperfections” –imperfect physical appearances, imperfect theories, imperfect philosophies and beliefs, imperfect governments, imperfect families- in order to release itself in us, with no reservation and without ceasing to be.

One can affirm that fairy tales like other stories of love, hope and faith emanate unwavering purity. Regardless of the medium through which they are delivered, whether it be a “cartoon,” or a play, or a picture book, fairy tales have a magical, lasting effect on us. Albert Einstein once said with regard to the revealing center of the fairy tale, “If you want your children to be intelligent, read them fairy tales. If you want them to be more intelligent, read them more fairy tales.” However, sometimes we – mainly grown up people- undervalue the content and/or the structural mechanics of these stories, which rationally may not satisfy our views about what a legitimate fictional work for adult audiences should be. Let us remember that the effect of these stories is intended to be “magical,” not “rational.” So, we can assume that the underlying principle of the fairy tale lies in magic instead of reason. Perhaps, Einstein experienced magic as possibility, an eloquent and useful agent that makes children develop an “enchanted eye” or, to say it differently, an “eye of faith” by believing in as well as meeting their brain powers through unbelievable quests.

Therefore, I believe that if we learn to approach fairy tales from an “enchanted eye,” we will discover how they can magically come true by turning into a sign, an invitation for individuals of all ages to begin learning and teaching and searching and fighting for their purest, albeit devalued, nature –that which we draw emotional, mental, and even bodily nourishment from, in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. Fairy tales can be interpreted as accurate spiritual devices that remind us of the power of Love, Hope and Faith in handling suffering and adversity in our everyday worlds. We may think of Love, Hope and Faith as the three main Substances or Subjects of our life curriculum as revealed to and through Jesus, the most faithful student, hopeful teacher, and loving fighter that will ever be. I consider Jesus to be the reason, I mean, the magic why we still possess an unfeigned aspiration of locating, if only a vestige, a fragile residue of the Main Substances within us when we really need to, for only having a factual, spiritual need for purity will cause people to pursue (and to find the treasures in) it. Nonetheless, we must highlight that while fairy tales, like many other artistic sources, serve as valid reminders of the value of Hope, Love and Faith, “the magic” solely takes place in the moment we agree to learn, to teach, to enjoy these Substances as real.

 In the next few paragraphs, we will see how the magical principle of the fairy tale can be perceived as an evocative, spiritual reminder conveying the meaning of Love, Hope and Faith. To illustrate my point, I will use one of the cartoons I dearly cherished as a child, the 1969 Soviet free animated version of The Bremen Town Musicians, a famous animal tale recorded by The Grimm Brothers in the nineteenth century. Created by Inessa Kovalevskaya, Yuri Entin and Vasily Livanov, with music by Gennady Gladkov, the film presents the story of a band of friends who are strongly committed to bringing people together by traveling from town to town with uplifting performances, joy and inspiration. The story line is displayed through very detailed and vivacious visual sequences, infused by melodies that stir us all. As we will see, viewers need not understand the Russian language, or be necessarily familiar with film-making technicalities, or recognize turning points, cinematic metaphors, resemblances, personifications, allusions, digressions concerning the original? source, or any other scholarly categories, features and constructions with regard to the animation, in the process of identifying with what the real Narrative is about.

The power of Love, Hope and Faith appears in the cartoon through feasible articulations and verisimilar expressions the whole time. First, we have the king’s jealous affection for his daughter, suggesting the protective and watchful embodiment of a Fatherly Love. The king does not immediately give his daughter’s hand in marriage to the musician. Only after the player has shown a sample of what he could do for her, the king accepts him. We see another representation of Love in the devoted friendship among the players -four personified animals and a man- who support, fight and deeply care for one another. Notice they all engage in battle together, with the purpose to make the king award his daughter’s hand in marriage to the master of the band and seem very pleased when the wedding is finally approved. As expected, the animals look brokenhearted as they leave the castle, thinking that their leader would have abandoned them. Next, we shall mention the visually explicit and implicit bond between the princess and the master of the band, a symbolic and lively depiction of a veritable, fulfilling, and undying spiritual Love. The audience literally sees the princess and the player blush the moment they meet and how he imagines her singing and dancing on the moon. Thanks to the character of the player, we can also distinguish the ways Love successfully endures both rejection and challenges while strengthening, developing and enriching the frame through which it is released. One last important element must be mentioned: a viewer persuaded by faith in the magic and inspirational nature of fairy-tales will know that apart from any current struggles, temporal afflictions, and future inconveniences, the princess and the master of the band will live happily ever after.

  The Bremen Town Musicians unaffectedly builds upon the value of Faith. For instance, we can recognize Faith reflected throughout the moving picture in the musician’s determination to be united with his bride. Recall that although he is violently thrown out of the king’s domain for disturbance and commotion, the player manages to return for her, after taking on a fairly risky expedition and assuming a fictitious identity that unexpectedly allows the audience to better empathize with his core being.  By learning to develop an “enchanted eye,” viewers may become accomplices of the groom-to-be, in spirit and truth. As a result of trusting in the immanent purity of his actions, we too can have a taste, a more certain estimation of the magnitude of his love. There is also an earnest, and at the same time, very delicate manifestation of Faith in the princess’s attitude with respect to the master of the band. Note she waits on him, and right after they get married, the princess leaves the castle, without hesitation, to join the band. It looks as if the princess herself had developed an “enchanted eye” through which she sees that even though she may not fully understand all things in her new life, she will certainly be in good hands.

What if the princess always hoped for a loving, committed, inspiring journey? If we watch her first reaction toward the ensemble, we will notice beyond doubt that she delights in the magic they bring to town. Not only can we find Hope intangibly communicated by means of the princess’s expressions of enjoyment but in each and every action carried out by the music group. We must remark the band’s ultimate goal consists in using melodies, the performing arts and other imaginative tools to link people of different backgrounds together, to bridge the gaps that separate the rich from the poor, the adult thinking scheme from the child-like faith, the fruit seller from the scientist, the extrovert from the timid, and even the magical Russian spirit from any other types of language in the world. But, most importantly, the band itself represents Hope as it brings joyfulness, freshness and a little, favorable disruption into lethargic communities. We should pay attention to sequences where social disparities seem blurred, transgressed, in the animation such as the scenes in which a desperate king asks the master of the band for help after being “kidnapped” by the supposed bandits. The character of the king, languid, apathetic and lazy, may be thought as symbolizing the general feeling of the city on an ordinary day. So, for all practical purposes here, the musicians offer their extra-ordinary performances -including dance, circus, singing, instrument playing, and masquerade- in the streets rather than inside the king’s castle or any other private setting, in a hopeful attempt to restore all inhabitants to life.

As we have briefly seen, The Bremen Town Musicians becomes a reliable spiritual means that releases -through accessible and veracious signs- the unlimited power of Love, Hope and Faith. Fairy tales are needed as are the people who believe in fairy tales. At the end of the day, we must surely have a persistent, enchanting Force operating in our lives in the face of all the harmful energies that each of us has been trained to familiarize with; a Force we can learn (and invite others) to see bit by bit by simply cultivating an enchanted eye. If we did, we would also take pleasure in recognizing the magical principle of the fairy tale in a good poem, or a real marriage, an inspiring sermon, an enlightening paper, a help-giving project, or an enduring friendship. Needless to say, for adult people, the fairy tale may come true in the very act of believing again in the value of Love, Hope and Faith. As for me, I do believe in magic. I believe in fairy tales and happy endings. I believe the Word can unexpectedly become Flesh. I believe I will learn to ride a horse someday and that I will see Jesus face to face. This is who I am…I am a believer. Will you care to do the math?

To Whom It May Concern:

(One very special reader with enchanted eyes)

Thank you… for teaching and learning me little by little, for creating time and space to venture through my world, my soul, for bringing magic and delight back into my life, for becoming a living reminder of Faith and Hope and Love. I find you in every fairy tale.

JOHN ELDREDGE: A BEAUTIFUL OUTLAW

Denisse Luna: Caution

By Dinorah Pérez-Rementería

I have written this review with the purpose of introducing Jesus to the casual reader, in the same way John Edredge does in Beautiful Outlaw or Pastor Joel Osteen accomplishes in his sermon each week. But, I like to play with and dissolve myself into words. So, please be aware: if Jesus is not here, between you and I, then run away, without guilty feelings, like my little brother did. He could not get past the second page. As Eldredge says, “Jesus is infinitely creative,” and he will find another, more effective way to capture you.

 

 

“An artist is revealed in the work he or she creates, and in the abundance of the work created,” says John Eldredge in Beautiful Outlaw, his book on the personality of Jesus (57). Very few things can be as life-giving and fulfilling as discovering –how to know and see- God through his creations. Having received eyes to see and ears to hear (him), one is inevitably drawn into an appealing search –a search for deeper connections and elements that help us deal with the unpredictability of the ocean as well as the complex mental, physical, emotional design of a human being.

An essential of life, these connections encompass the power to awaken curiosity and stimulate a natural inspired impulse in each of us. The forms, orders and patterns, from which our intellect and perceptions are nurtured, have been somewhat inspired by them, serving as interactive channels enlarging, enriching, and, most of all, facilitating the emergence of connections as such. Indeed, (external) patterns, orders and forms are needed insofar as they might help provoke in people a spontaneous inner glow –that is, an intimate desire to navigate connections free from pressure and be smoothly permeated by them. Very often, however, our experience of patterns, orders, and forms is not fruitful. We recite, memorize, and follow through. We might become used to take patterns for the truth. Instead of approaching patterns as they truly are –substantial venues pointing our way to greater treasures- we unconsciously learn to adopt them, without realizing that patterns of thinking and behavior sometimes can be reductive or even distorted. Thus, they may turn into an obstacle for us to find pleasure in exploring the connections.

A similar episode happens with regard to the question of who God is and how we relate to him. Many associate God with the idea of being religiously affiliated to church or certain ritual practices. Unfortunately, while these individuals learn to accommodate their searching to a specific pattern or religious methodology, they may not experience a free desire to navigate God. Nonetheless, others seem impregnated with some of God’s essential qualities –goodness, creativity, pure (uncorrupted) spontaneity and Life. John Eldredge from Ransomed Heart Ministries is one of these people. By reading his books, one comes into an effortless, engaging experience of God. God created the heavens and the earth, and he also created man in his own image: caring, resourceful and ingenious. God’s spirit reminds us of those deeper connections that, of their own accord, emerge out of nowhere –or perhaps, everywhere- fueling our brains as well as our heartbeat.

Can molds or patterns ever confine, encapsulate creativity, spontaneity and Life? Well, a pattern in itself can portray the religious, or the theological, or mathematical, or historical…Still, it can never imprison God. On the other hand, God can surely permeate a human pattern. After all, humanity was created in his image. Despite man’s failure to recognize that he had been naturally, generously, empowered by God to act and think in caring, resourceful, ingenious ways from the beginning –a crash which somehow set up the arena for a long list of frightful events, orders and archetypes that have facilitated the spreading of inaccurate and very poor interpretations of God among the people-, he has faithfully assumed/infiltrated fantastic shapes inciting us to recuperate his humane spirit. As a matter of fact, God appeared on earth in his most beautiful form two thousand years ago, determined to uncover himself as he is and rescue a deluded mankind once and for all.

Author John Eldredge calls Jesus a “beautiful outlaw.” His love for God filters through the pages of the book like an ocean wave, like a burning bush. In the introduction, as he invites us to delve into the major adventure/finding of our lives, he writes: “More words about Jesus are helpful only if they bring us to an experience of him” (x). A humorous, alarming, abundant Jesus emerges from Eldredge’s words as he does from the Gospels, our memories, our sufferings, our visions -when we see him as he is. As Eldredge suggests, “Our experience of Jesus is limited most often by the limits we put on him” (154), which means that patterns, orders, and archetypes, whether religious, academic, historical, social, moral, or any others, that may have fed (and possibly codified) our perceptions but have become a barrier preventing us from navigating God after a while, can dissolve in him. In Romans 12:2 in The Bible, the apostle Paul asks us not to conform to the pattern of the world but to be transformed by the renewing of our mind. Ironically, as the stagnant (flower?) arrangements of the world melt away in Christ, other deeper, shape-free connections transpire, permeating us like the Holy Spirit, or a Thunder Storm, or a Loving Eye, or an Open Sea.

Throughout the book, Eldredge beautifully recovers the unadulterated humanity of Jesus, in its entire fruitful and assorted features: his playfulness and intelligence, his trueness and ardent intention of restoring mankind, his profuse generosity and troublesome honesty, his beauty and humility, and his scandalous freedom. For Eldredge, writing about Jesus essentially becomes a passionate, enjoyable, and surrendered encounter with the love of his life, and the author welcomes us to partake in -and be pervaded by- it, as any generous man (or woman) would, in the same way Jesus does. Eldredge says, “An intimate encounter with Jesus is the most transforming experience of human existence. To know him as he is, is to come home. To have his life, joy, love, and presence cannot be compared. A true knowledge of Jesus is our greatest need and our greatest happiness. To be mistaken about him is the saddest mistake of all” (11).  Life, joy, love, the presence of Jesus is, in the midst of agonies and pain, an event that energizes us to imagine, to dream of fertile connections among all patterns we see, to open up to a new appreciation of what it means to be a human effortlessly immersed in the spirit of God.

One can’t help but feel easily attracted to the unpolluted, transparent character of Jesus. Why couldn’t we be/act more like him? Jesus’s qualities must have served as inspiration for the creation of the human race, though, as Eldredge notices,“the ravages of sin, neglect, abuse, and a thousand addictions have left us all a shadow of what we were meant to be. Jesus is humanity in its truest form. His favorite title for himself was the Son of Man”(48). Sharp, playful, an alluring man, Jesus splendidly portrays the compelling dynamics of genuine humanity, intended by God since the conception of mankind. Eldredge recalls how, after “having conquered death, ransomed mankind, been restored to his Father, his friends, and the world he made,” a happy, disguised Jesus shows up before his disciples in an informal way instead of choosing to announce, as both religious people and scholars would have expected, “his risen presence on the beach with radiant glory,” mischievously recreating their very first encounter, as narrated in Luke 5, and taking his devoted followers by surprise (3).

Another appealing moment that allows us to perceive Jesus’s operative sense of humor happens when the tax collectors intercept Peter to ask whether his personal coach pays the temple tariff, in Mathew 17:24-27. Here, Eldredge notices that even though Peter confirms that his instructor adheres to the “legal” duties in the village, the disciple could have doubted the righteousness of Jesus, as the Master senses an urgent need to rescue him from subsequent thoughts by posing a very ingenious question, along with a ludicrous four-drachma coin story inviting Peter to go fishing until a deeper understanding of (or connection to) “the Law” materialized from the inside (23-24). The customary rigidity and officially permitted two-dimensionality of God, which had been experienced and “enforced” by religious practitioners for so long, appears torn from top to bottom like the curtain of the temple in the projection, incarnation of Jesus.

“The incarnation is one of the greatest treasures of our faith,” Eldredge writes in Beautiful Outlaw, for it may cause in us a natural and unaffected desirability for the personality of God (47). The author corroborates that when Jesus came, “he came as presented in the Gospels –very much human, a person, a man, with a very distinct personality (…) This is how he chooses to make himself known” (Eldredge 51). Undeniable evidences can be found in the Gospels that testify of Jesus’s organic human nature. Eldredge mentions, for instance, the passage in which Jesus went to Gethsemane and prayed so intensely that his sweat looked like dropping blood (44). In addition to enduring a severe perspiration that, together with the dust of the roads he walked, might have possibly provoked serious acne breakouts on his face, Jesus ate, drank, rested when he felt tired, openly confronted the two-faced individuals who tried to prevent others from freely experiencing the curative power of God and, all the while, warned the “restored ones” against making the healing sessions a theatrical affair, as well as withdrew to solitary places to express his deepest sorrows. Eldredge also emphasizes, “Jesus enjoyed people” and had the opportunity to feast with “a rowdy crowd” in numerous occasions (49). “His longing for companionship” breaks the surface in the moment Jesus asks Peter and the two sons of Zebedee to simply stay awake while he prays in Gethsemane, revealing how much “He who created love and friendship” desires to build a true, affectionate connection with us (Eldredge 49-50).

Building undiluted connections would grow to be one of Jesus’s utmost projects. As we learn from the Gospels, he looks intrinsically detached from the inconsistent politics, paradigms and “orders” of the world surrounding him, though Jesus ingeniously intervenes (in) them, with the purpose of rescuing people from falling, yet again, under affected religiosity or anarchist deception. As John Eldredge highlights, “Jesus’ three years of public ministry are one long intervention (…) He is on a mission to rescue a people who are so utterly deceived most of them don’t even want to be rescued” (68). The author calls our attention, for instance, to the occasion in which a certain man who occupied a position in the synagogue invites Jesus to share dinner with him. In contrast to the behavior pattern standardized by the rule-making system, Jesus chooses not to wash his hands but go straight in and seat at the table. When he notices the surprised man’s face, Jesus replies, “Now then, you Pharisees clean the outside of the cup and dish, but inside you are full of greed and wickedness” (Luke 11:37-39). In this regard, Eldredge reminds us that “whenever you are watching Jesus, you are watching love (…) in action,” a love that does not necessarily have to be interpreted as “polite” but rather an honest one (67). “When a soul is encrusted with pride, bigotry, self-righteousness, and intellectual eliticism –as was his dinner host- then the shell does need to be struck hard at times in order to cause a crack that might allow some light in. Jesus strikes with the precision of Michelangelo,” the writer argues, inviting us to approach Jesus’s attitude from an unsettling perspective (Eldredge 68).

A disconcerting Jesus appears to be constantly defying the schematizations and convictions of our cultural politics. As Eldredge affirms,

The spirit of our day is a soft acceptance of everything –except deep conviction in anything. This is where Jesus will suddenly confront the world as a great rock confronts the river flowing ever downhill. He is immovable. The cry used to be for “tolerance,” by which we meant, “We have very strong differences, but we will not let those be the cause of hatred or violence between us.” Now it is something else, where all convictions are softened to second or third place while we all agree to enjoy the world as much as we can. But truth is not like conviction. Conviction might be a matter of personal opinion, but truth is like a great mountain, solid and immovable whether we like it or even acknowledge it. Christianity is not a set of convictions –it is a truth. The most offensive thing imaginable. (Eldredge 79)

An example of Jesus’s holy defiance becomes visible in many of his spontaneous healing sessions. After Jesus finishes sharing “the Sermon of the Mount” with his followers, a man with leprosy approaches him, in hopes of being made clean. Although Jesus could have healed the leper from a distance, for as Eldredge recalls “there are many accounts where all he does is say the word and people are healed,” Jesus touches him because “this is the one thing the man needs” (82-83). The writer notes, “To be starved for human touch is far worse than to starve for bread” (Eldredge 83). In order to help us gain a better understanding of Jesus’s action, Eldredge creates an opportune linkage between what “being a leper” meant to the Jewish society and the public reaction toward those suffering from AIDS during the early years of crisis. Touching the leper would make Jesus socially and politically “desecrated” before the official Jewish agencies. But, it is none other than his simple, caring gesture itself that transforms into a desecrating act. By touching the leper, Jesus strategically (and almost invisibly) tears to pieces the vicious politics of abjection that had expanded like weed within the religious Jewish culture.

Indeed, throughout the entire account of the Gospels, we can perceive the unquestionable impact Jesus’s faculty of discernment –consciousness, sensibility and knowledge- has on accomplishing the mission. Eldredge emphasizes, “He is no fool. He knows full well he is operating behind enemy lines. Oh, he intents a revolution, but he knows timing is essential. He must outwit his enemy, circumvent the religious authorities without seeming to do so, and train his followers to carry on after his departure (…)” (94). In the book of Mathew, Jesus openly declares to “the discarded” as well as the political advocates of the system that he has come to fulfill, not to abolish the Law or the Prophets. As opposed to establishing (a new set of orders and norms that would eventually be enforced upon the people), Jesus argues that he will fulfill –complete, accomplish, imbue, permeate, satiate- the established pattern of the Law, which essentially liberates us from the burden of guilt. But, later, the man adds, “Anyone who breaks one of the least of these commandments and teaches others to do the same will be called least in the kingdom of heaven (…)” (Mathew 5:19).

While Jesus’s words comprise a releasing force, they seem to apprehend us on deeper level. As John Eldredge says, “Without his teaching on genuine holiness, the crowd could shift to anarchy” (95). Is Jesus instigating us, in an indirect way, to recognize -to remember- that we have always been released by God to act and think caringly, not so much by circumscribing ourselves to a secular or a religious archetype but by means of sustaining a closer connection with him? While we may use (religious, theological, historical, mathematical, scientific…) paradigms as facilitating channels for tracing, classifying, assimilating the abundance of Creation*, we would be terribly deceived if we take them for the source/fountain of experience per se. The words of Jesus have the power to deactivate any external pattern, or format, or deception scheme as they, in basic terms, awaken us to him. For only Jesus brings us (back) into a fulfilled, complete, accomplished, satiated experience of God, as happened in the beginning of mankind, as so generously still occurs in our early childhood years. The weight of Jesus’s presence comes to light through his words, a true and uncompromising way to live and love.

Eldredge recalls that Jesus “doesn’t force anyone to follow him. He seems rather reluctant to do his miracles. He never overwhelms anyone’s will with a fantastic display of his majesty,” living out the most unobstructed view of God, displaying an entrancing sense of holiness, and letting people walk away from him if they want (103). In Philippians 2:6-7, the apostle Paul expresses about Jesus, “being in very nature God, did not consider equality with God something to be grasped, but made himself nothing, taking the very nature of a servant, being made in human likeness.” As Jesus neutralizes all archetypes constructed by men trying to encapsulate, domesticate, and ultimately accommodate God’s spirit into their own thinking model, he entirely satisfies the human pattern.

To empathize with the beautiful humility of Jesus, we need to consider several factors that are often overlooked. First of all, by becoming human, Jesus learned how to derive his life –the needed fuel for his actions- from the Father, surrendering his inherent influence over Creation, in order to teach us to do the same. He had to learn to walk, talk, tie his shoes, use a hammer and a saw, and nail two boards together (Eldredge 108-109). Eldredge observes, “God –who is in all places at all times –has to get from one place to another like a guy who can’t even come up with bus fare,” calling our attention to the fact that “we pass right over phrases such as ‘Jesus went up to Jerusalem’,” as if he had merely crossed the street to purchase some milk at the public store, when the real distance between Bethany and Cana is nearly sixty miles (109-110). At the time people go out to the Jordan River to be baptized by John, Jesus does so as well, patiently waiting his turn in line. As Eldredge says, “Nobody gives him a second glance. He’s just another sun-baked Jew in robe and sandals” (111). Contrasting Jesus’s ordinary, unimposing appearance with the attitude of a few leaders who believe “they’ve come to change the world,” Eldredge offers the following comment,

When Saddam Hussein was ousted from his dictatorship, a good deal of coverage was given to public places in Iraq. What I found particularly disgraceful were the massive idols he had erected in his honor. Murals and statues of Hussein the Magnificent were plastered all over the country –a handsome and dashing military hero, bold, a man for the people, forty years younger than he actually was. A demigod. Many dictators have done the same. Hitler did it. Chairman Mao too. It’s just creepy –the self-obsession, self-exaltation, the desire to be worshiped. Yet the only king who ever had a right to be worshiped shows up riverside (…) and waits his turn. (111)

Drawing substantiation from the Father frees Jesus to be true humanity for us –that is, as Eldredge says, “to be entirely free of false guilt, free from pressure, from false allegiances” (129). The writer makes a point of arguing,

It is what enables him to be so scandalous. This is the secret of his ability to navigate praise and contempt. Neither success nor opposition has power over him. One day the crowds love him, the next day they are shouting for his crucifixion. Jesus is the same man –the same personality- through the whole swirling tempest. Jesus is free from the fear of man. It is something more than integrity, though it certainly encompasses that. He is true to himself, true to his Father, true to what the moment most requires, true to love. In this forest of fig leaves, where you are never sure you are getting the true person, there is nothing false about Jesus. (Eldredge 129-130).

To our amazement, the human pattern filled by Jesus thoroughly reveals the spirit of God. The apostle John insists, “No one has ever seen God; the only Son, who is at the Father’s side, he has made him known” (1:18). One can say that Jesus becomes a building block, the authentic, deeper connection among all the elements created by God, and through which we can learn of the Artist himself, from lightning to sweat, to an unruly heartbeat, to desire and wisdom, to the person of our dreams. Eldredge explores Jesus from an unfastened perspective,

He is the playfulness of creation, scandal and utter goodness, the generosity of the ocean and the ferocity of a thunderstorm; he is cunning as a snake and gentle as a whisper; the gladness of sunshine and the humility of a thirty-mile walk by foot on a dirt road. Reclining at a meal, laughing with friends, and then going to the cross. That is what we mean when we say Jesus is beautiful. But, most of all, it is the way he loves. In all those stories, every encounter, we have watched love in action. Love as strong as death; a blood, sweat, and tears love, not a get-well card. You learn a great deal about the true nature of a person in the way they love, why they love, and, in what they love. (137)

Jesus is, as Eldredge says, “the missing essence of our existence” (200). “We need Jesus like we need oxygen,” writes the author, letting his life be impregnated by the dynamic strength of God. If we are willing, we can actually find Jesus incarnated everywhere, in an open friendship or a corrective word, in our most faithful high school students, in spontaneous acts of kindness, in my brother and my grandmothers, Eldredge, Joel, Andrew, Peter, Nancy, Paul, and the apostle John. How could I introduce Jesus to the young adults living in the South West area? (Ms. Dinorah hammers on the bathroom door in holy anger, wondering why her students have abandoned her in the classroom.) “Jesus is your pill, el cigarro, a faithful lover, the means for us to gain access to The Trinity, a most heroic, fear-provoking gang, a friend we can trust with our lives…” I bet Jesus would tenderly whisper in my ear: “too many complicated words,” as he’d simply show up among them, shake their hands, and say “hello.”

http://updates.ransomedheart.com/replay/

Note

*It is important that you experience the word Creation as you naturally would. Feel free to adjust, generate, expand, negate, interact with the term according to what the moment most requires.

Bibliography

Eldredge, John. Beautiful Outlaw: Exploring the Playful, Disruptive, Extravagant Personality of Jesus. New York, Boston, Nashville: FaithWords, 2011.

Schökel, Luis Alonso. La biblia de nuestro pueblo. Bilbao; Quezon City: Ediciones Mensajero, 2006.

UN HERMOSO FORAJIDO

Foto: Isabel Pérez Lago

Por Dinorah Pérez-Rementería

Breve nota al lector: La idea de este texto es simplemente presentarte a Jesús, como hace John Eldredge en Beautiful Outlaw o los cuatro evangelistas bíblicos, o el joven pastor Joel Osteen en su alocución cada semana. Si Jesús no aflora aquí, en ti y para ti, nada de culpabilidad, escapa, corre, pon pies en polvorosa: a mí me gusta jugar, diluirme en las palabras. De hecho, mi hermano pequeño no pudo pasar de la segunda página. “Jesús es infinitamente creativo”, dice Eldredge y puede pescarte de cualquier otra manera.

“El artista se revela a sí mismo en su trabajo y en la abundancia de la obra creada”, dice John Eldredge en Beautiful Outlaw, su libro sobre la personalidad de Jesús (57). Muy pocas cosas en la vida lo estimulan a uno como el acto de descubrir –aprender a ver y conocer- a Dios a través de sus obras. Luego de haber recibido ojos para ver y oídos para escuchar(lo), resulta imposible aplacar el ardiente deseo de búsqueda, una búsqueda de conexiones y elementos más profundos que nos ayuden a lidiar con la imprevisibilidad del océano y el vehemente diseño emotivo, físico y mental del ser humano.

En tanto se comportan como motivación esencial de la existencia, las conexiones mencionadas tienen el poder de estimularnos, impulsarnos, despertar en nosotros la curiosidad. De aquí que puedan inspirar la conformación de patrones, formas y órdenes que nutren nuestro intelecto y percepción en general, y que, a su vez, sirven como canales o medios interactivos para acrecentar, enriquecer, facilitar la emergencia de asociaciones como tal. En realidad, podríamos decir que uno requiere de formas, órdenes, y patrones externos siempre y cuando éstos nos provoquen un resplandor interior –el anhelo de navegar y de disponerse a encontrar conexiones espontáneamente. Sin embargo, no siempre logramos deshacernos de nuestro apego al patrón. Preferimos recitar, memorizar, santificar los métodos de percepción que -en lugar de invitarnos a interpretar las conexiones por lo que realmente son: rutas, sendas, caminos que conducen a riquezas más considerables- las reducen, dividen o simplemente distorsionan, convirtiéndose en obstáculo que nos impide explorar.

Algo similar ocurre en lo concerniente a Dios y la manera en que nos relacionamos con él. Muchas personas asocian la frase “creer en Dios” a la idea de afiliarse a (o involucrarse religiosamente en) una iglesia o práctica ritual, sin tener en cuenta que, aun cuando hayamos aprendido a acomodar nuestras inquietudes psicológicas, académicas, rituales, dentro de ciertos patrones o cánones, únicamente a partir de un deseo espontáneo, podríamos animarnos a buscar, a navegarlo. Por otro lado, hay individuos que parecieran haber sido impregnados con la bondad, energía, y creatividad de Dios sin proponérselo, como John Eldredge, de Ransomed Heart Ministries, por ejemplo. En sus libros, uno encuentra un espacio de atractiva comunión, comunicación con Dios. Dios creó el cielo y la tierra, y también al hombre, compasivo, ingenioso, emprendedor. Su espíritu emerge, como aquellas profundas conexiones, de ningún lugar, o de cualquier lugar, avivando nuestra mente y el latido del corazón.

¿Acaso pueden los patrones o los moldes confinar, encapsular la vida, la creatividad, la espontaneidad? Los patrones representan escasamente las tendencias rituales, teológicas, matemáticas, históricas; nunca podrían aprisionar a Dios. Y sin embargo, Dios sí puede permear el patrón humano. Como dice La Biblia, la humanidad fue creada a su imagen y semejanza. A pesar de que el hombre no reconoció desde el principio que poseía la fuerza e inteligencia necesarias para pensar y actuar humanamente –lo cual devino en la imposición de sucesos y modelos repelentes y por ende la propagación de interpretaciones desajustadas e imprecisas sobre la naturaleza de Dios-, él nunca ha dejado de asumir/infiltrar fantásticos perfiles para incitarnos a recuperar su proyección humana. De hecho, con el propósito de descubrirnos quién es él en realidad y liberar al hombre del arquetipo engañoso, utilitario en que se había convertido,  Dios adoptó nuestra “estructura” y apareció (como si nada) entre nosotros dos mil años atrás.

El escritor John Eldredge considera a Jesús “un hermoso forajido”. Su amor por Dios se filtra en las páginas del libro, como una zarza ardiente, una ola de mar. En la introducción, Eldredge nos invita a sumergirnos en la aventura más significativa de nuestras vidas: “Necesitamos más palabras sólo si nos permiten experimentar a Jesús,” dice el autor. Un Jesús alarmante, abundante, travieso aparece en su palabra, como en la Buena Noticia, o un recuerdo dulce, un sufrimiento, una visión. Aprender a verlo como realmente es. Eldredge sugiere, “A veces nuestra experiencia se reduce debido a los límites que elegimos” (154). Los patrones académicos, religiosos, históricos, sociales, morales, que alimentan (codifican) nuestra facultad de percepción y que se convierten al final en un estorbo, pueden disolverse por medio de Jesús. En su carta a los romanos, el apóstol Pablo pide que no nos acomodemos al mundo sino que nos dejemos transformar interiormente a través de la renovación de nuestra mente. Irónicamente, cuando los arreglos (florales) estancados del mundo se evaporan una vez que lo encontramos, otras conexiones más libres se abren paso, y nos salpican, nos permean como la lluvia de verano, un ojo apasionado, o el Espíritu Santo.

Eldredge recupera los rasgos más sobresalientes que componen la atractiva humanidad de Jesús: su sentido del humor, su inteligencia, su ardiente intención de rescatarnos, su generosidad y honestidad profusas, y su espíritu libre. Para Eldredge, escribir sobre Jesús se convierte esencialmente en un apasionado, disfrutable y entregado encuentro con el amor de su vida. El autor nos invita a compartir, dejarnos inundar por su alegría, como lo haría cualquier hombre desprendido, de la misma forma en que lo hace Jesús. Dice Eldredge, “Un encuentro personal con Jesús resulta la experiencia más transformadora de la existencia humana. Conocerlo a él es encontrar el camino a casa. Dejarse llenar con su presencia, su energía, su alegría, su amor no se puede comparar. Conocer verdaderamente a Jesús constituye la necesidad más imperiosa y la felicidad más completa de nuestra vida. Tener opiniones desacertadas sobre su persona es una gran equivocación” (11). La presencia de Jesús, en medio del dolor y la agonía, produce la energía necesaria para estimularnos a imaginar, soñar enlaces furtivos entre patrones, órdenes, sucesos, comenzar a experimentar qué significa ser humano a partir de la visión de Dios. 

El carácter transparente de Jesús atrae desde el primer momento. ¿Por qué no podríamos actuar/ser como él? Si los rasgos distintivos y el impulso transformador de Jesús pueden haber inspirado la creación de la raza humana, como anota Eldredge, “los estragos causados por los vicios, el abandono, el abuso y otras miles de adicciones nos han convertido en sombra de lo que pudimos ser. Jesús es humanidad en su forma más pura. De hecho, su título favorito era ‘Hijo del Hombre’”(48). Agudo, juguetón, fascinante, Jesús muestra al ser humano que Dios imaginó. Eldredge nos recuerda que, “luego de haber conquistado la muerte, rescatado la raza humana, regresado al mundo que había creado, al Padre, a sus amigos”, Jesús se presenta ante sus discípulos informalmente, haciéndose pasar por un desconocido en lugar de anunciar “con bombo y platillo su gloriosa presencia en la playa”, burlando el pensamiento elitista de los intelectuales y religiosos de la época, para así sorprender a sus seguidores, re-creando su primer/gran encuentro, como describe Lucas en su evangelio.

También observamos el operativo sentido del humor de Jesús cuando los recaudadores de impuestos detienen a Pedro para preguntarle si su instructor pagaba la tarifa del templo, en el evangelio de Mathew (17:24-27). Aquí Eldredge llama la atención sobre el hecho de que Pedro, quien confirma que su mentor cumple con las obligaciones legales establecidas, pudo haber dudado de la honestidad de Jesús. Jesús interviene sus pensamientos, haciéndole una pregunta ingeniosa, y enviándolo a pescar para refrescar su mente, lo cual le permitirá a Pedro alcanzar una interpretación más clara de La Ley (Eldredge 23-24). La proyección/encarnación de Jesús rompe/rasga códigos perceptivos obstinadamente rígidos y bidimensionales, como mismo Dios deshace la cortina del templo después de la muerte de Jesús.

“La encarnación de Jesús es uno de los tesoros más grandes de la fe que profesamos”, dice Eldredge en Beautiful Outlaw, nos produce un deseo libre, natural de descubrir la personalidad de Dios (47). El autor afirma que cuando Jesús apareció, “se presentó como lo describe el evangelio –un ser humano, una persona, un hombre con una personalidad muy característica” (Eldredge 51). Innegablemente, existen muchas evidencias en el evangelio que testifican sobre la naturaleza viva, humana de Jesús. Eldredge menciona, por ejemplo, el pasaje en que se narra la estancia de Jesús en Getsemaní, donde oró tan intensamente que el sudor caía sobre el suelo como enormes gotas de sangre (44). De aquí puede uno discurrir que Jesús padecía de una transpiración efervescente, y que unida al polvo del camino, pudo provocarle acné. Además, Jesús comió, bebió, tuvo que descansar cuando sus fuerzas flaqueaban, escapó a lugares solitarios para llorar sin molestar a nadie, desenmascaró a los hipócritas que obstaculizaban el paso a los enfermos, y al mismo tiempo nos alertó contra el impulso de teatralizar el influjo rehabilitador de Dios. Eldredge enfatiza, “Jesús disfrutaba a las personas”, y tuvo la oportunidad de compartir con una “turbulenta muchedumbre” (49). “Su angustiosa necesidad de sentirse acompañado” se materializa cuando Jesús le pide a Pedro y a los dos hijos de Zebedeo que permanezcan despiertos junto a él, mientras ora en Getsemaní, lo cual confirma cuánto “el creador de la amistad y del amor” añora construir con nosotros una sincera y afectuosa relación (Eldredge 49-50). 

Uno de los proyectos más importantes de Jesús radica en la construcción de verdaderas, más profundas conexiones. Cuando leemos los evangelios nos percatamos de que Jesús parece intrínsecamente desapegado a los órdenes paradigmáticos y políticas inconsistentes que le rodean, aunque sí l@s interviene, con el propósito de evitar que volvamos a caer en afectada religiosidad o la ficción anarquista. Como afirma John Eldredge, “Los tres años de ministerio público de Jesús son una larga intervención (…) Una misión para rescatar a un grupo de personas que está tan completamente sumergido en la apariencia que la mayoría ni siquiera quiere ser rescatada” (68). El autor destaca, por ejemplo, la ocasión en que cierto ejecutivo del templo invita a Jesús a cenar. Jesús rompe el patrón de conducta establecido por el sistema “religioso”, y se va directamente a la mesa sin lavarse las manos. Al ver el rostro sorprendido de su anfitrión, le dice “Ustedes fariseos limpian la parte externa del plato y la copa, pero por dentro están repletos de avaricia y maldad” (Lucas 11:37-39). Eldredge nos recuerda, “cada vez que veamos a Jesús navegar, tengamos en cuenta que estamos observando amor en acción, un amor que no se comporta “diplomática” sino honestamente (67). “Cuando el orgullo, el sectarismo, el elitismo intelectual y la ‘obligación’ moral se incrustan en el alma -como le pasaba a su anfitrión-, se necesita fracturar la concha para que entre un poco de luz. Jesús perfora nuestra coraza como lo haría Miguel Ángel”, escribe Eldredge, invitándonos a observar la propulsión ética/afectiva de Jesús desde una inquietante perspectiva (68).

La actitud de Jesús pareciera desafiar todas las esquematizaciones y convicciones que alimentan nuestras políticas culturales. Como afirma Eldredge,

La moda de hoy en día es aceptarlo todo –excepto las opiniones profundas sobre algo. De ahí que Jesús resiste al mundo como una gran roca afronta la imparable corriente de un río. Él es inamovible. Queríamos “tolerancia”, es decir, “llegar a aceptar nuestras diferencias y que éstas no se convirtieran en causa de violencia entre nosotros”. Ahora ocurre algo diferente, todas nuestras convicciones se han aplacado en tanto que preferimos disfrutar lo que nos rodea mientras podemos. Pero la verdad no tiene que ver con convicción. Las convicciones dependen de opiniones o doctrinas personales. La verdad se alza como una montaña enorme y sólida aunque no lo reconozcamos. La fe cristiana no se localiza en un conjunto de convicciones y doctrinas, radica en la verdad. El elemento más ofensivo que pudiéramos imaginar. (Eldredge 79)

Podemos encontrar una muestra de su intención desafiante en las sesiones de rehabilitación del prójimo. Poco después de terminar su discurso conocido como “El sermón del monte”, se le acerca un leproso pidiéndole ayuda. Aunque pudo haberlo sanado desde lejos, pues como recuerda Eldredge, “hay varios momentos en que él sólo tiene que pronunciar una palabra para sanar a la gente”, Jesús extendió su mano y lo tocó, sin importarle cuán enfermo estaba (82-83). El escritor hace notar, “una caricia resulta a veces más efectiva que darle al hambriento un mendrugo de pan” (Eldredge 83). Para que podamos entender la connotación real del simple gesto de Jesús, Eldredge conecta oportunamente lo que significaba enfermarse de lepra dentro de la sociedad judía y la atmósfera de terror que consumía a las personas durante los primeros años de la crisis del SIDA. La acción de tocar al leproso desacreditaría a Jesús social y políticamente ante los tribunales. Pero, a su vez, se convertiría en acto retador. A través de su minúsculo y desprendido movimiento, Jesús arrasa, casi invisiblemente, la política discriminatoria que se extendía como la mala yerba dentro de la cultura religiosa.

A lo largo del evangelio podemos percibir las maniobras cognitivas de Jesús y su  marcado impacto en el desarrollo de la misión. Eldredge hace notar, “Él no es tonto. Sabe perfectamente que está circundado por las tropas enemigas. Ah sí, él quiere hacer una revolución, pero también sabe que tiene que esperar el momento propicio. Debe burlar a sus enemigos, tratar de esquivar las restricciones impuestas por las autoridades religiosas sin llamar la atención y entrenar a sus discípulos para que puedan continuar después de su partida (…)”  (94). En el evangelio de Mateo, Jesús declara abiertamente ante los que lo escuchan que él ha venido a consumar, no a abolir la Ley o los Profetas. Tampoco le interesa establecer un nuevo conjunto de órdenes o normas que terminarían aplastando a las personas, dice que ha venido a consumar –cumplir, completar, satisfacer, saciar, permear- el patrón establecido, liberándonos esencialmente del peso de la culpa. Más adelante, añade, “El que desobedezca alguno de los mandamientos y anime a otras personas a hacer lo mismo será considerado insignificante en el reino de Dios (…)” (Mateo 5:19).

Las palabras de Jesús redimen y parecieran querer aprehendernos al mismo tiempo. John Eldredge señala, “Sin un entrenamiento de santidad genuina, la multitud terminaría en la anarquía” (95). ¿Nos instiga Jesús a reconocer –recordar- que Dios puede equiparnos para pensar y actuar responsablemente mediante una conexión abierta, un enlace espontáneo, directo, sin tener que circunscribirnos siquiera a un prototipo suyo? Podemos utilizar los paradigmas como canales que facilitan y nos ayudan a adentrarnos, a rastrear la infinita variedad, abundancia del conocimiento y la Creación* de acuerdo a prácticas “establecidas”  pero nos engañaríamos si creemos que los patrones en sí mismos constituyen la fuente real de donde mana la experiencia. Las palabras de Jesús desactivan esquemas engañosos, patrones y formatos externos. Su presencia nos devuelve alegría y satisfacción, sabiendo que existe Dios, como sucedió al inicio, como milagrosamente ocurre aún en nuestra infancia. El carácter de Jesús aflora en su palabra, su obsesión imperturbable, su inquebrantable deseo de vivir, amar.

Eldredge resalta, “Jesús no obliga a nadie a seguirlo. Más bien, se muestra reacio a realizar milagros. No le gusta abrumar a las personas con muestras fantásticas de su poder”, prefiere descubrir su/nuestra humanidad como efectivamente podría ser, nos ofrece una atractiva visión sobre Dios y el concepto de santidad, y –aunque pudiera sentirse invadido por una inmensa tristeza- no retiene a quien decide elegir otro camino (103).  En la Carta a los filipenses (2:6-7), el apóstol Pablo dice “a pesar de su naturaleza divina, nunca alardeó de ser igual a Dios, sino que renunció a ella para tomar nuestra condición humana”. Jesús neutraliza todo patrón superficial erigido por el hombre con el propósito de “encapsular”, aprisionar, domesticar su espíritu/el espíritu de Dios, no obstante él sí puede satisfacer el patrón humano.

Para lograr vislumbrar el alcance del carácter humilde de Jesús, vamos a considerar algunos elementos que pasan desapercibidos en muchas ocasiones. Al adoptar nuestra figura humana, Jesús tuvo que aprender a extraer/asimilar energía –el combustible necesario para atravesar e intervenir el entorno- del Padre, desprendiéndose de su consustancial dominio sobre la Creación, para así enseñarnos a hacer lo mismo. Aprendió a caminar, hablar, amarrarse los zapatos, usar el serrucho y el martillo, y unir dos tablas con un clavo (Eldredge 108-109). “Dios –que está en todos los lugares a cualquier hora- tiene que desplazarse de un lugar a otro como el individuo que ni siquiera puede pagarse la tarifa del ómnibus,” señala Eldredge, haciendo énfasis en que la mayoría de las veces “leemos frases como ‘Jesús se fue a Jerusalén’” y nos lo imaginamos cruzando la calle camino al puesto de leche, cuando en realidad entre Betania y Caná hay cerca de 60 millas (109-110). Vale mencionar además el pasaje que recoge las andanzas de Juan el Bautista, y que presenta a Jesús esperando su turno pacientemente en la larga fila de personas que recibirían el bautismo. Como afirma Eldredge, “Nadie le presta atención, es un judío más, con toga y sandalias (111)”. Comparando la modesta presencia de Jesús con la actitud de algunos líderes que creen que vienen a “cambiar el mundo”, Eldredge ofrece el siguiente comentario,

Cuando la dictadura de Saddam Hussein fue derrocada, se les dio mucha cobertura a los lugares públicos en los medios de difusión. Los ídolos masivos que había erigido en su honor me parecieron degradantes. Una ola de estatuas y murales de Hussein el Magnífico inundó el país –un héroe galante y seductor, imponente, un hombre del pueblo y para el pueblo, cuarenta años más joven de lo que era en verdad. Un semidios. Muchos dictadores han hecho lo mismo como Hitler y Chairman Mao. Es sencillamente espeluznante –la auto-obsesión, la auto-exaltación, el deseo de conquistar admiración. Y sin embargo el único rey que siempre tuvo el derecho de ser venerado se presenta en la ribera (…) y espera su turno. (111)

Jesús recibe su validación del Padre y por ende puede revelar, manifestar libremente su sensibilidad, como subraya Eldredge, “sin culpas, ni presiones, ni ataduras falsas” (129). El autor argumenta,

Por eso Jesús nos escandaliza, su secreto, una habilidad que le permite navegar el menosprecio y la aprobación de la gente. Ni el éxito ni la oposición pueden doblegarlo. La muchedumbre lo ama un día, y a la mañana siguiente está gritando a voz en cuello para que lo crucifiquen. Jesús sigue siendo el mismo a través del remolino, de la tempestad. No tiene miedo al qué dirán. No puedo siquiera resumir su proyección usando la palabra “integridad” aunque Jesús es un hombre íntegro. Jesús no se engaña a sí mismo, ni al Padre, hace lo que debe en cada momento, y sobre todo ama verdaderamente. En este bosque de higueras sin higos, donde no se sabe si existe alguien sincero, podemos decir que en Jesús no hay falsedad. (Eldredge 129-130)

El patrón (humano) permeado/consumado por Jesús nos permite conocer el carácter de Dios. El apóstol Juan expresa en su evangelio, “Nadie ha visto jamás a Dios; el hijo único, que habita junto a él, nos lo dio a conocer” (1:18). Uno podría decir que Jesús se convierte en el bloque que vincula los elementos diseñados por la mano de Dios: sabiduría, sudor, relámpagos, el hombre (o la mujer) que amas, latidos, anhelos; su invisible conexión. Eldredge lo explora sin reservas,

Él personifica la creación, bondad escandalosa, la generosidad del océano, la impetuosidad de una tormenta, la alegría de la luz, y una humilde caminata en el camino polvoriento; es astuto como una serpiente y gentil como un susurro; reclinado sobre la mesa; riéndose con sus amigos; y luego en la cruz. A esto me refiero cuando digo que es hermoso. Pero, sobre todo, me llama la atención la manera en que ama. En todas las historias, en cada encuentro, tenemos la oportunidad de observar su amor en acción. Amor tan fuerte como la muerte; un amor impregnado de sudor, de sangre y lágrimas, no una tarjeta de buenos deseos. Uno puede conocer la verdadera naturaleza de las personas poniendo atención a lo que ama, por qué ama, y cómo ama. (137)

Jesús es, como Eldredge dice, “la esencia que debemos recuperar en nuestra vida” (200). “Necesitamos a Jesús como el oxígeno”, escribe el autor, dejándose infiltrar por su fuerza y dinamismo (Eldredge 200). Si nos lo proponemos, podemos encontrar a Jesús encarnado en todas partes, en una relación honesta, en un oportuno halón de orejas, en maestros y estudiantes que desafían el sistema educacional frecuentemente, en pequeños actos de amor, bondad y fe, en mi hermano, mis abuelas, el propio Eldredge -que se esfuma del dominio público como el Espíritu Santo-, Jim, Joel, Andrés, Pedro, Pablo, Nancy y Juan. Me pregunto, qué diría Jesús a los adolescentes que viven actualmente en la zona sur de Houston. Si fuera yo, les gritaría sin piedad (Ms. Dinorah se prepara para irrumpir como un huracán en el diminuto cuarto de baño donde sus estudiantes shuffle): “Jesús es la píldora, el cigarro, el amante, el único medio de acceso a la pandilla más heroica del universo, un amigo que nos abrazará para siempre, inspirándonos a atravesar el reino de este mundo corroído, carcomido, destruido, y a intervenirlo/nos, abiertamente”. (En lugar de usar tantas palabras, apuesto a que Jesús aprendería a bailar.)

* Sería refrescante que nos diéramos la oportunidad de experimentar la palabra Creación como lo haríamos naturalmente. Podríamos entonces ajustar, generar, expandir, negar incluso, interactuar con el término libremente, de acuerdo a lo que en verdad se necesita.

Bibliografía

Eldredge, John. Beautiful Outlaw: Exploring the Playful, Disruptive, Extravagant Personality of Jesus. New York, Boston, Nashville: FaithWords, 2011.

Schökel, Luis Alonso. La biblia de nuestro pueblo. Bilbao; Quezon City: Ediciones Mensajero, 2006.

ON PICTORIAL REPRESENTATION & INSTALLATION ART

By Dinorah Pérez-Rementería

Pictures as well as other kinds of representations have been analyzed by a great number of philosophers, who have developed theoretical and philosophical frameworks that help us differentiate not only systems of representation but also properties within one particular system. Perceptual, structural, ontological accounts that sometimes complete, complement or contradict each other invite us (writers, artists) to approach our disciplines from a more analytical perspective.

This essay will show how some of the concepts used in the process of constructing a methodological framework for studying pictorial representation can be effectively applied to other kinds of representation within the visual arts: installation works. We will start by presenting similarities and differences between the two systems (installations and pictures), illustrating with samples of real artworks. Next, we will discuss the resemblance theory, realms of representation, and art appreciation, concepts that are very much interconnected and sometimes overlap. We will also dedicate a special attention to the meaning and treatment of the “surface” and the “space,” their physical and symbolic properties as conditions for these systems of representation to be conceptually satisfied.

The perceptual/experiential account will be emphasized. In this respect, we will explore the viewer’s recognition of the representational content. Concepts such as illusionism and imagination will be seen as complementary entities and will be addressed together. In addition, we will leave some room for plenty of conjectures and theoretical assumptions that may assist us in understanding how theories situated within pictorial frameworks can be successfully transferred into another representational system. Here, we will name the “pictorial” to all conditions that refer us to pictures and paintings, and we will call the “installative” to occurrences that connect us with installation art.

  

Pictorial and Installative Conditions

What are the main conditions that situate a representational system within pictorial and/or installative frameworks? Both pictorial and installative works constitute schemes of representation, with visual and sensorial properties. Dominic Lopes suggests we should read Poussin’s description of pictures as “imitations in line and color,” as holding the idea that lines and colors make up a “picture’s surface,” resembling visible features of the depicted scene (Lopes 2006). Pictures, says Lopes, are well-suited to storing and conveying information, and they represent objects only in so far as they represent them as having some visual properties (Lopes 1996).

While installation art may convey some object-related information as well, such information does not have to be shown in an explicit way, which is due, more often than not, to the elusive nature of the installative work. Visual properties can be detected in installations but are not necessary for a representational system to be considered an installative one. As Mark Rosenthal has pointed out, an installation may be an assemblage of objects attached or not, but it also can consist of only a spatial experience (2003). Space and time are probably the most important conditions in an installation. Paintings freeze time whereas installation uses the time and space of the viewer (Rosenthal 2003).

For Kulvicki, structural transparency is one of the features that distinguish pictures from other kinds of representations (2006). We must understand transparency in terms of a special relation that representations have to one another (Kulvicki 2006).  In other words, “given a representation,” says Kulvicki, “the result of representing it is another representation that is just like the original representation. Representations of representations are about what the original representations are about” (Kulvicki 2006).

Can we think of installations as transparent systems too? Let us illustrate with The Ring, a mischievous artwork of the Argentinean artist Leandro Erlich. The Ring represents one half of a boxing platform painted in blue and red, facing a mirror. At first sight, we could not even say there is a mirror there, for the reflection carefully completes the figure. The presence of a mirror allows for transparency in an installation as it reflects, without providing imprecise interpretations of, an object. So we can argue that installative works are transparent in so far as there is a mirror placed in a certain position that guarantees the exact reflection of the object installed.

  

                                                  

Leandro Erlich: The Ring, 2006

                                
                                           

An account of depiction and installation can be found in the way the content is presented and how we interpret it. Haugeland, for example, distinguishes pictures from other representations in terms of their bare bones content (Haugeland in Kulvicki 2006). Among the six conditions laid out by Roberts Hopkins in reference to the pictorial system, at least three of them may be used to compare and contrast the content of depiction with the content of an art installation. Hopkins himself recognizes that the six features are also applicable to three dimensional models (Hopkins 2006). Hopkins affirms that a system is pictorial when there is a minimum of pictorial content, (what can be depicted can be seen), and competence with depiction of the appearance of the object suffices for the ability to interpret its depiction (1998).

Yoko Ono: Touch me iii, 2008

What if we were to utilize these criteria in the realm of the installative? Would they prove true? Let us try each proposal separately. First, in all installations, there has to be a minimum of “installative” content. In Touch me of Yoko Ono that presents the segmented body of a doll on a black table, the content of the work can be perceived without effort. But, sometimes content in an installation work is not as easily discernible as the content of a picture is, and it does not have to be. For example, The Light Inside by James Turrell created for connecting two individual buildings of the Museum of Fine Arts in Houston, Texas, is an environmental installation that recreates light in space, and the content is presented in an indefinable way.

James Turrell: The Light Inside, 1999

Secondly, what can be “installed” not always can be seen. Installations may contain representations of impossible objects or abstract entities, so we would be forced to consider those representations as physical objects themselves if we were to talk about their visual properties. (We already agreed that visual properties can be identified within but are not required to fulfill the concept of an installation, since other sensorial properties can be appreciated as well). With regard to the third suggestion, we may say that installations that have physical, real objects whose appearances are familiar to the viewer make themselves more accessible to be interpreted.

The Resemblance View

Resemblance is one of the basic notions that explain how we perceive things. We may say, for instance, that we are able to recognize certain objects because they resemble others with which we had contact before. An object can resemble another object. In art, we experience the represented object as being like the real object. Some theorists have said that we have to be able to say what counts as a relevant resemblance and how to weight this resemblance against what appear to be relevant differences between the artwork (pictures, etc.) and the paradigm case (Warburton 2003).

Let us see how these ideas justify our knowing of pictures, and how they would apply to our understanding of installative works. Pictorial similarity is placed by Peacocke in the spectator’s visual field (Peacocke in Lopes 1996). According to Dominic Lopes, resemblance theory explains the idea that the viewer understands “what pictures represent by recognizing their similarity to their subject” (1996). In other words, the representational capacity of a picture depends on its ability to generate a field of communication with the viewer in which he/she is allowed to identify what has been depicted by association. A resemblance theory of installation art would also explain how a similar communication field is created between the viewer and the work so that the latter can offer enough of the properties of the subject as to allow the viewer to understand it. Another version of the resemblance theory that will not be analyzed here in detail for its limited view is that made by Tolstoy –and cited by Lopes- which says that pictures represent because they replicate in the viewers the same experiences as their makers enjoyed (Lopes 1996).

How does the resemblance view account for the relationship between subject and picture in addition to explaining that of subject and installation art? “If pictures resemble their subjects, then knowing what an object looks like and how pictures resemble things contributes to our knowledge of what a picture of the object will look like,” says Lopes (1996). Even if all installation works do not represent tangible things, we can apply Lopes’s idea to installative works in a restrictive sense, that is to an installation that resembles a particular subject. We may say that if an installation resembles a subject, then knowing what the object looks like and how an installation may resemble it contributes to our understanding of what that object installed will look like. An interesting case is that of Marulho of Brazilian artist Cildo Meireles that resembles a bridge over an ocean made of hundreds of books with images of blue and green waves. Here, thanks to the hybrid nature of the installation –notice there is a considerable amount of pictorial content involved- we could think of a resemblance account of installation art similar to Lopes’s idea.

Cildo Meireles: Marulho, 1991-2001

 

However, the resemblance view has been also criticized by some philosophers. Hopkins, for example, brings up two problems. We will mention that which really interests us, with regard to the evident differences between resembled objects and the real ones. The represented objects and their “authentic” equivalents do not have the same shape, color, or texture. Moreover, the real objects can move by themselves or be moved while the depicted objects are frozen within a particular space.

Unless we were dealing with pictorial objects or abstract entities within an installation, a resemblance account of installative works should not generate such inconsistencies. First of all, the objects assembled in an installation are expected to have texture and to be both three dimensional and able to move. They are not thought as having a frozen nature as the pictorial objects are, except perhaps for the site-specific installation that has neither abstract patterns nor pictorial objects. Spiral Jetty by Robert Smithson, for instance, was intended not to move but to stay attached to the ground.

Robert Smithson: Spiral Jetty, 1970 

Hopkins proposes to approach the resemblance theory from another perspective, saying that pictures do not resemble their objects but that they can be experienced as resembling them. We would not have trouble formulating a similar account of installation art, for objects within an installation reach an extra-ordinary dimension, so even if they were to be contemplated as having the same properties as real objects, they can be experienced as resembling, instead of being them.  For Hopkins, the experience of resemblance must involve resemblance to something of a certain outline shape that has to be fairly determinate (1998).

The Experiential Account: Illusionism and Imagination

The viewer’s experience has to do with knowledge about the kinds of objects with which he has to deal. A viewer knows by intuition what objects require special attention and how he/she should experience them. Like art that has endured a severe transformation over the years, the viewer’s experience has been transformed as well. We could not expect that viewers of the XXI Century approach art like people did in the 50s or in the XIX Century.

Perceptual or imaginative experiences are permeable to background knowledge (Lamarque 2007). Context and knowledge make us aware of when we should experience the object as a common object or as art.  In this respect, Kendall Walton studies how the perception of a work’s qualities varies in response to the category to which it is thought to belong (Walton in Lamarque 2007). An experiential account of any representational system must consider what sorts of significance the objects reach within the mind of the spectators. What matters for the identity of an experience is not what the experience is of in the sense of what causes it but what it is thought to be of (Lamarque 2007). An experiential account of depiction reflects how the viewer is able to perceive the transformation occurred in a two-dimensional surface showing the appearance of three-dimensional objects, their structural patterns and visual properties. On the other hand, the experiential account of installation works should be concerned with how viewers identify with the illusion of, or simply perceive the transformation of three dimensional spaces through their imagination.

Illusionism is one of the main concepts associated with art. One of the most important philosophers who have theorized about illusionism is Gombrich. He affirms that the relationship between viewer and image is not a passive one and that it involves the psychological phenomenon of projecting interpretations into the visual stimuli (Gombrich in Nanyoung 2004). Having an illusion in art is a matter of choice that involves imagination and consciousness at the same time, and it depends on the viewer’s level of commitment to the art work. Collingwood is another researcher who supports the idea that appreciating art relates to our imagination (Collingwood in Warburton 2004). For Gombrich, only the eye (not the mind) can be deceived (Gombrich in Lopes 1996). Hopkins sees in illusionism a powerful tool to approach depiction, but he calls our attention to the fact that looking at a picture is not like looking at the picture’s object itself. In this sense, illusion can be expressed at different stages, according to the kind of spectator having the experience.

The viewer can experience different degrees of illusion when seeing an installation work. Filled-spaces and site-specific installations offer us an opportunity to have a deeper sense of illusion than a marked two-dimensional surface. The very (restricted) nature of depiction prevents us from the possibility of experiencing a more profound connection with pictorial pieces. In reference to the nature of photographs, Roland Barthes has stated that from object to image there is a transformation that does not imply the need for setting up a code, as photos manage to display those properties of the object that are needed to be considered within the pictorial domains (Barthes 1977). While it is true that they show what they represent (Hopkins 2006), photos and paintings generally convey the sense of something that has happened in the past.

In contrast, installation art conveys a sense of immediacy, transforming the space and time in which the viewer inhabits. Both of these elements (time and space) allow for a closer communication with spectators. The viewer is invited to perceive his own space as having new (hybrid) properties, for the integrity of an individual work is abandoned in favor of a multiplicity of objects, images and experiences (Rosenthal 2003). Filled-spaces installations, for instance, may recreate environments enhancing the viewer’s perceptual experience. Rosenthal calls this kind of installations, “enchanted spaces”. An experiential account of installation art should study how the nature of installative works makes the viewer understand (and interact with) the space of representation.

Realms of Representation: The Surface and the Installation Space

The space in which the objects appear helps define the system of representation. Depiction is generally a two-dimensional system although it represents three dimensional objects, and pictures occur on a flat surface. Among those who have discussed the role of the surface are Greenberg and Wollheim (Matravers 2007). According to Matravers, Wollheim identified Greenberg’s mistake of confusing the surface of a painting with the surface of a physical thing. But, a picture is actually a physical thing, and Greenberg was interested in the surface flatness, which made the medium “more secure” (Greenberg in Currie 2007).

Theorists say that one can actually see a three dimensional image through the painted surface. How do the two dimensional properties of the surface correspond to the three dimensional properties of the depicted scene? Lopes has stated that a flat surface allows for a recognition of a three dimensional object only when the capacity to recognize that object has been extended so as to enable recognizing the object when it appears two-dimensionally (2006). So, some visual properties are needed for recognizing the three dimensional within the two dimensional. The spectator’s own ability to recognize things plays also a significant role. In this regard, Lopes highlights that the features we see a picture surface as having may depend on what we see in the picture (2006).

In pictorial representation the flat surface is transformed. As Hopkins has pointed out, the surface experiences a process of transformation before our eyes so that we can see all marks constructing a figure. To describe the result of this transformation, Hopkins uses the term “patterned surface” producing an experience, and then he argues that unless a surface has been altered within a framework of people’s actions, it cannot depict (1998). Marks on the surface become the objects in it; objects that need to be recognized by the viewer, in agreement with the visual properties provided.

Installations take place in three dimensional spaces. Artists transform and intervene in areas that do not present themselves as the blank canvas. These areas might have suffered previous processes of transformation, and yet they allow for the possibility of new changes without affecting the purity of their very own nature, which is in fact variable and hybrid. If we were to consider a concept like “surface” in installation art, we would mention, for example, the ground surface or a wall surface. Objects are installed on them, and their properties accommodate to certain spatial conditions. In return, the space contributes to enhancing and even particularizing the physical properties of the represented objects. A spatial account of installation art should explain how the objects are transformed and/or they themselves alter the settings in which they appear.

Recognition & Art Appreciation

Can we recognize items that change in space? Recognition is dynamic when features and objects are recognized under different aspects (Lopes 1996). A recognition theory focuses on how the viewer develops the ability to collect information from an object in order to recognize it even if presented under unusual conditions. Lopes defines two levels of recognition: the content recognition and the subject recognition. The first consists “in recognizing a design as the features making up an aspect of its subject,” and the latter conveys the idea of recognizing contents as of their subjects (Lopes 1996).

How can we see objects interacting with their spatial settings? Do we need background knowledge that helps us appreciate the content of a picture or an installative work in an easier way? According to Warburton, the only relevant knowledge the viewer needs to have is a sense of form and color and of three-dimensional space (2003). A theorist like Clive Bell would find irrelevant the issue of the context in understanding works of art (Bell in Warburton 2003). Other thinkers like Lopes say that no picture is seen with an innocent eye, because we come to pictures primed with beliefs, expectations, and attitudes (1996). A similar idea is supported by Gordon Graham who affirms that works of art can not be considered in isolation since they have a history and a context the spectator should be familiar with when approaching them (2006). Based on Shier’s view, what seems characteristic of pictorial representation is the way we interpret it, and what is distinctive about pictorial interpretation is the resources needed to do it (Shier in Hopkins 1998). By studying and deepening their interpretational skills, viewers can accumulate such resources over the years.

Do we access the content of an object within three-dimensional spaces more easily than in two-dimensional surfaces? Intuitively, one may say that viewers reach the content of the work more easily when looking at art installations since they show objects in the realm of the three dimensional. However, sometimes the assemblage of objects is delivered in an accentuated abstract mood that makes it difficult for the viewers to decipher what the installation is about. It is important to notice that a theory of depiction does leave some room for misrepresentation and abstraction, but it always emphasizes a minimum amount of pictorial content. Viewers understand what pictures represent when they are able to recognize pictures’ subjects (Lopes 1996). Although, as Hopkins says, very often one knows something is depicted but it takes a minute to identify what it is (1998). Another idea referring to the issue of recognition is offered by Kulvicki, “what makes a painting interesting is not its content, per se, but the way in which the painting manages to have that content” (2006). A similar event happens when viewers have to face contents or subjects that are not necessarily evident in an installative work. If anything, as Carolyn Wilde suggests, installations offer the viewer the possibility to grasp categories like “the abstract” or “the misrepresented” under a new sense of material reality (Wilde 2007).

How do we understand installations? Does the concept behind the artwork affect our appreciation of it? Some theorists affirm that “artworks never speak for themselves, but are always accessible only through the mediation of a narrative” (Davies 2007). That “narrative” in painting could be understood as what Lopes calls the “aspectual information” that allows for recognition. “A picture portrays an object or scene,” says Lopes, “if it embodies aspectual information from it that allows the viewer to recognize it” (1996). Narratives facilitate the spectator’s interaction with the artwork. Of course, pictorial representation allocates very limited interaction with the viewer, for the object represented is placed within a different time and space. Regarding installation art, Rosenthal has pointed out that no frame separates this art from its viewing context, and so the work and the space meld together into something that reminds us of life occurrences (2003). These occurrences may even involve the viewer’s action, which sometimes becomes an indispensable condition for the consummation of the art piece. As Davies affirms, the appreciation of an artwork is a matter of finding interesting things to do with the products of artistic activity by means of recontextualizing them so that they connect with the receiver’s concerns (2007). The installative object occupies the viewer’s time and space, allowing people to have a more active interaction with it and consequently, stronger sensorial experiences.

As we have seen, many theoretical concepts that are commonly used in studying pictorial systems can be also considered when approaching installation art. Similarities and differences between these two schemes go far beyond the agreement that they both are significant forms, as affirmed by Warburton, or the thought that painters transform the surface while installation artists transform the space, as pointed out by Rosenthal. There is much more to say about them in philosophical and conceptual terms. I have emphasized perceptual/experiential accounts in this paper, for it is my belief that the viewer as producer of ideas plays a significant role in the making of art occurrences.

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