So I googled Joseph Arthur a while ago, trying to find out more about his music after hearing his sweet, simple “In the Sun.” My google quest led me to a site called “A River Blue,” a project with which Arthur was involved, that brought the arts to Ugandan refugees in displacement camps. The refugees, youth in particular, were provided with artistic materials and given the freedom and opportunity to create and express to their hearts’ content.
My initial reaction to this was one of disdain. It just seemed silly. These people had been deprived of their homes, families, food, and basic quality-of-life necessities. Many had been witnesses to or victims of unspeakable violence and horror. And their friends from the west want them to paint pictures?
It didn’t make sense to me, until I heard the song Arthur recorded with Ugandan children from the camp, and saw the art that had been created. “The glory of God is man FULLY ALIVE.” That quotation, which has been my anthem since reading Waking the Dead by John Eldridge several years ago, suddenly shook me again with a new realization. FULLY ALIVE.
Survival is important. Food and shelter and safety is important. But experiencing beauty and expressing creativity is the key to being FULLY ALIVE. Art not only comes from the heart, but speaks directly to it. The heart is the “wellspring of life.” So why should these refugees who have lost so much be deprived of the experience and healing that creativity can offer?
A person is a spiritual being as well as a physical one. All persons, victims of crises or not, should have the chance not only to live, but to be FULLY ALIVE. And that’s why A River Blue isn’t silly. It’s a quality-of-life necessity, too.
by the way, I have to add that in my obsession with Queen Esther I was super-excited to see the movie “One Night with the King.”
American accents. A mystical ring that illuminates a hidden symbol. Please. It was ridiculous.
Even James Callis (Baltar!) managed to butcher (not literally) Haman, even with his normally gorgeous british accent. What the heck was up with the raspy voice? Somebody get him a Riccola.
The more Bible I read, the more I connect with it.
I mean, take away the kings and kingdoms, prophets and princes, donkeys and Pharisees, and there’s me. My life. Now.
I first began to notice it when I read Psalms, straight through, for the first time. Not “sunday school” reading, but real think-about-it-soak-it-in-wrestle-with-it reading. Suddenly the glorious hero of sunday school days who killed the giant Philistine with a sling shot and a single stone between the eyes is either throwing himself a perpetual pity 
party in the depths of despair or flying high in a euphoria of triumph and thanksgiving for all God has done for him. It’s almost comical, if it weren’t so typical! Hell-o… that is SO me. And david was chosen by God.
Then there’s Peter. Pathetic Peter. A chosen disciple who managed to screw up just about every chance he got to prove himself. Couldn’t stay focused long enough to walk on the water with Jesus. Freaked out under public pressure and betrayed Jesus THREE times, despite his passionate protests some hours earlier that he would never do such a thing. Lashed out in anger at Jesus’ arrest and was rebuked by Christ himself. And yet, in the book of Acts, the Holy Spirit inhabits him, and Peter preaches a sermon that inspires so many people to follow Christ that Christianity soon becomes a major world religion. I absolutely LOVE that part of the story, when Peter the screw-up becomes Peter the Rock, upon which Christ will build his church.
Then there is Esther, the righteous queen who risks her life on behalf of her people. She is the woman I want to be.
There is so much for us in the Bible. So much to learn. So many real people to identify with, not just characters in sunday school stories and cartoons. Archaic though it may seem to others, the stories and the lives in the Bible continue to inspire me toward pursuing a higher purpose. My mood swings, my screw-ups, my betrayals cannot separate me from it.
a couple musings of the kindergarten variety…
“Man! There’s womans all over in the police!”
“I know what kid jail is called–it’s called jubie!”
“My dad’s a burglar. He’s always stealing my toys.”
