Nicholas Paul Wolterstorff

I would guess that some readers of RW will find the theme of this issue, namely, worship and justice, a bit exotic; rather like yoking together a horse and an ox! Perhaps the editors were at their wits’ end to find a topic that had not already been treated. Some may even find the topic worrisome: if we aren’t careful, the social activists will take over!

On these pages you will find photos of works displayed in an exhibition of liturgical art at Calvin University in Grand Rapids, Michigan. The show, entitled “Art in Worship—Clay and Fiber,” featured the works of two artists, Carl J. Huisman of Calvin University and Lynda L. Oren of Wheaton College in Wheaton, Illinois. The words that accompany these photos—an introductory essay by Nicholas Wolterstorff followed by brief descriptive statements from each of the artists—are excerpts from a catalog distributed to those who visited the exhibition. The liturgical artist is a priest of sorts. He takes mud and molds and dies it; she takes sheep’s fleece and dyes and stamps it. Thereby mud and fleece are offered back to God on our behalf. But not before they have been transformed. Here, at this point, earth’s muteness is given voice, its groans transposed into a song.Thus is the circle completed. Not counting equality with the Father a thing to be grasped at, God the Son emptied himself and became a servant salve—born of an obscure girl in an obscure village, not admired for his appearance, poor, one of the voiceless ones, sharing in our “dustly” existence, but with a radiance never seen before. In response, the artist takes up that same stuff on earth—here mud and fleece—and makes it glow in offering back to God. The cosmic circle is completed. We, companions of the artist, are in the circle too. Liturgical art is the offering of the artist to the liturgical community for its praise and confession and intercession. Liturgical art is art on our behalf, art enabling us to complete the cosmic circle. In liturgical art the liturgical community finds its artful priestly hands and voice. There are tensions. There have always been tensions. But perhaps they are worse in the modern world. Our artists are schooled to think of themselves as free, independent, and autonomous, expressive individuals. To be liturgical artists, they must humble themselves and become servants. They must offer to us what we can use and what will nourish us. And we have been schooled to think of art as a luxury—as something that does not come to us, to nourish our daily lives, but as something to which we go, for delight, if we have the leisure and a taste for it. So we are suspicious of this intrusion. The calling of the liturgical artist is to make clay and wool glow in ways they have not glowed before. The newness takes getting used to. We must humble ourselves. What emerges from this mutual submission is something beyond what either artist or community envisaged. This dignifying of the earthy enhances our worship in ways hitherto not known. We have never before worshiped in the presence of “banners” quite like these of Oren; we have never drunk from chalices quite like these of Huisman. Our worship will be different and better, in ways not guessed at. Enjoy looking at these works, the hard weighty ones of Huisman and the soft fleecy ones of Oren. Enjoy the contrasts—hard against soft, container against hanging, symbol against image, sheen against mat, small against confrontational…Study them, meditate on them…Imagine these works in the midst of the gatherings of the people of God. Imagine them caught up in the people’s reception of the Word of God and in the people’s celebration of the Supper of the Lamb. Imagine them caught up in the remembering and the blessing of God that constitute the Christian liturgy. That’s where they were meant to be; that’s where they are at home. Carl. J. HuismanWhen I began to think about what to include in this brief statement, I experienced two feelings—one of gratitude and one of apprehension. The ability and the opportunity to create forms such as these are gifts. At the same time they are responsibilities for which I give thanks…I trust that the works pictured on these pages largely speak for themselves. I will however share a few ideas which are not explicit. Many of my communion vessels include symbolism which points beyond the body and blood in the death of Christ. They speak of the glorious resurrection. It is Christ’s victory over death that gives us cause to celebrate the Feast. His victory assures ours! Thus, three fish or a triangular base speak about death having sway for only three days. Crosses with flowered ends are resurrection symbols of new life. Crosses which seem more like flaming rivulets anticipate his coming again as Spirit at Pentecost. We can go from his table filled again as his servants. Surely we come with sorrow that our sins nailed him to the tree but even more we leave rejoicing in the depth of such love. In the use of my communion vessels, I plead for function beyond the visual. The return to the use of the common cup can add much to the expression of our “oneness” in Christ. It is that “oneness” that is being celebrated by the body at communion. Lynda L. OrenThe evidence of God made manifest, glimpses of his Spirit, are in my opinion, available anywhere we care to take the time to look and ponder. The Genesis Series explores the creation in a series of six panels made of wool felt. Most of my work in the past decade has been produced in handmade felt, a process similar to the ancient nomadic technique of beating dampened wool into a cohesive (non-woven) matted fabric. More recently I’ve been exploring ideas which require the incorporation of different materials. This latest work places the human condition into a spiritual context. Examining the concept of servanthood initiated the small, media-mixed work Servant’s Basket. The broken, earthy exterior, painful handle, and inner vessel of gold suggest that though there is a sacrifice for the bearer, the result is of lasting value. 

When the Swiss Reformers rebelled against the liturgical traditions of the Roman Catholic Church, they did so in terms of a coherent, controlling idea, a new vision. They had what we now recognize as a distinctively “Reformed” view of what we should do in liturgy and how we should understand it.