"It is an appeal to Christians who aren’t artists to benefit from the contemplative life of the artist, to slow down, lower the volume, and experience what life and faith consist of below the surface. It is not a call to the life of an ascetic, one withdrawn from the life of the senses; the purpose of contemplation and reflection is to strengthen us for a productive life in society and culture."
- from Performing the Sacred: Theology and Theatre in Dialogue by Todd Eric Johnson

Six years ago, I walked across a stage, shook hands with deans and presidents, accepted a piece of paper that claimed I’d earned my Masters of Theology, and slipped my tassel from one side of the mortarboard to another. I said my goodbyes to friends off to save bodies and souls across the world, moved apartments, and began my highly lucrative and influential job as a receptionist in a surgeon’s office.

You’ve heard this story before. I’d given up a position with a church-planting team in Italy to see where this thing was headed with a certain man. (Spoiler alert: Certain Man became Husband, and I have never doubted nor regreted my decision.) I went from all-night exegeticals and all-day school and church work to a boring life. Suddenly, I had evenings free. I didn’t have to study at lunch. I didn’t have to multitask during my sleep.

In the United States, and in the evangelical camp of the United States, that meant I was wasting my life.

During this time, I learned the beauty of the contemplative life. I rediscovered my journal. On Saturday mornings, I filled my mug at the coffee house underneath my apartment, walked to the park across the DART tracks, and doodled. Or wrote meaningless sentences. Or prayed. Or sometimes just watched.

I have to work these days to maintain this pace of life, and I’m blessed to have a husband who supports this, even though it means I don’t make as much money as I might otherwise. Even though it means my house may not be spotless (I’ve made friends with the spiders). Even though it means sometimes I don’t have dinner ready until 8:30 or 9:00 at night.

Lately I’ve been considering the postures of an artist. People call me a free spirit, by which they mean corporate life makes me red (and I don’t mean Bolshevik). But this term doesn’t mean much to me because I depend on daily routine, daily gestures or postures. To many, my life is mundane. But it is only in this mundanity that I can create.

Mundanity requires discipline. It’s easier to fill my schedule with all these other good things. It feels selfish to say no. But trust me, you get used to it. Addicted to it. Because in that no is the time to contemplate. And contemplation is a necessary posture of an artistic life. Nay, contemplation, I’d venture to say, is a necessary posture of the Christian life.

Different stages in life demand different responses. There are times when we have to forego the time to contemplate for one reason or another. But too often, we succumb to filled calendars because this seems better to us. A full calendar means a productive life, importance, meaning. I’ve discovered, though, that a full calendar means lack of creativity.

Over half of the year in the liturgical calendar is devoted to ordinary days. We have times and stages for the celebrations and fullness of Advent, Christmas, Lent, Easter. But most of our days are meant to be spent between these times in the mundanity of life.

In that mundanity I find contemplation. And only through that contemplation can I be the artist I want to be.