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Being a designer I tend to think in a more abstract way than most people. But for me that is more satisfying. So when I was asked to do this reflection I instantly turned to the blogs that I follow to try and find an image that can express what I feel in regards to the reading. Many of the photographers that I follow are surrealist photographers which means their work centers more around the hyper natural state of things, the images have an other-worldly quality to them. I connect with that type of imagery more so than some paintings and abstract artwork.

What stood out to me in the reading this week was the question posed of "what does it mean to be the servant of the LORD?" That question became very personal when I applied that question to how I try to be a servant to God and others. For others it is easy because of their presence in my life physically, but for God it is a little bit different. After reflecting on that and looking through some photography I found an image that communicated what I thought about being a servant (See the image here). The image is of a man and woman carrying a cross through the water. The symbolism within the image is very powerful, the cross representing the life of Christ, his death and resurrection, and the water representing the baptismal qualities of Christ's life. Relating to me personally it communicates the need to be as "Christ-like" as possible to be his servant. Trying with his help to be the best representation possible, and by representing Christ we are sharing his story with others that we encounter and empower those around us.

I hope the image had a meaning for you and is a fun different perspective to see from!

Here’s the thing about me: I am a planner. It’s how I function and it’s what I do, often to overwrought and borderline obsessive detail. During autumn quarter of my freshman year, I walked into my faculty advising appointment with all four years of college planned out -- down to what quarter I would take so-and-so class required for my major and fully aware of which courses were only offered every other year. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. We haven’t even touched my extensive lists or penchant for color-coding information -- all done via cloud computing to easily sync multiple devices and provide cross-platform compatibility. Of course.

Why exactly am I disclosing this? Because I want you to be able to gauge what it means when I say this week’s Lectio -- on subverted messianic expectations and plans going awry in God’s upside-down kingdom -- resonates with me. With its many doubts and re-evaluations, I feel like this past year has been an exercise in ruined plans and unanticipated changes. Transitions like graduating can do that to you. This summer, in particular, was all sorts of unexpected.

For one, I moved around a lot. Over the span of four months, I finished out a lease, sub-letted, house sat, couch surfed, and then returned home. For another, I was still job hunting. Given that most of my fellow accounting majors had received job offers six or more months ago, I was rather frustrated. Working at my internship took up more space than intended, and many life-giving relationships weren’t given space at all. So on and so forth. It wasn’t a terrible or overly tumultuous situation, by any means, but it’s certainly nothing I would have chosen for myself. I like steps falling neatly into place and, needless to say, post-graduation goals didn’t involve such steps as living with my parents.

And yet -- this was the summer I needed. Oh, don’t get me wrong; I resisted and resented being caught in suspension. But having my expectations broken was a slow revelation, a begrudging transition that led to its own remarkable transformation. Remarkable, really, because it basically happened in spite of me. Remarkable, yes, in that way deserts look like coarseness and desolation until you look again. (That’s a lesson I keep learning -- always look again.)

Look again, and it turns out displacement can be a space for generosity. It’s the strangest feeling to house-sit for people who manage, even in their absence, to extend the warmth and hospitality of their home. It’s a wonderful and curious thing.

Look again, and y’know that whole job thing? There might be biases to confront and ways to re-imagine your context. For me, putting aspects like business networking (which I was inclined to decry as thinly veiled self-interest and disingenuous conversation) in terms of pastoral ministry (i.e., “What does it look like to minister and serve someone I’ve just met?”) shifted my entire perspective. After all, networking involves meeting real people who have real qualities about them if you’re willing to honestly engage.

Look again, and there’s reason enough to be thankful for family. Car problems and a series of doctor appointments taught me -- as much as I fuss about being independent and having everything under control already, gosh -- young adults still need their parents. What ever the shape or scope of our (sometimes strained) relationship is, I am knit to my family.

When you don’t get to choose for yourself, you are put in the incredibly humbling place of learning to receive. When I am stripped of my tools in desert exile, I cannot fashion the image I most like -- human plans with human forms and human beauty; I cannot twist my creative capacity to cast my own limited visions. (Or, at the very least, it’s much more difficult to do so. I’m pretty good at mucking things up and finding ways to build a golden calf or two in the wilderness -- all the while thinking myself terribly resourceful for melting what gold rings and material I do have -- but that illusion gets thrown down rather quickly.) If I respond faithfully, it is posture of dependence. It’s waiting like a baby bird to be fed, open need and all.

A friend once put it for me like this: sometimes God makes confetti out of our big plans for ourselves and uses it to celebrate God’s greater design for the kingdom. On my part, I am learning how to not be a party-pooper when the time calls for it -- how to celebrate when the barrenness of the desert becomes a source of renewal, how to see divine glory when pagan kings are used as instruments for deliverance, how to rejoice when dead has come to life and what was loss has been found.

Now that we are nearly two months from the construction and installation of “Paradigm Shift,” there are several things that continue to surface in my mind as important ingredients to this installation.  The first has to do with process.  As our team went away for the summer, we had each read and re-read the book of Mark from beginning to end, multiple times to prepare for our conversations in the fall.  During fall quarter, we met weekly and found points of overlap in our communal understanding of the narrative.  What surprised me was not the sense of certain scriptural accounts standing out, but rather the themes that surfaced.  One of those themes was how events were repeated, and the disciples still didn’t get it. Moving by boat on the Sea of Galilee from one place to another, the wind and waves arise and the disciples fear for their lives as they wake Jesus.  Jesus rebukes the storm and the disciples are amazed.  (Chapter 5) Jesus says “ Do you still have no faith?”  In chapter 6, Jesus tells his disciples to take a boat and go ahead of him.  Again, he walks on water and they are terrified when they see him in the storm.  He got in the boat with them and the wind died down.  Mark’s account says “they were completely amazed.”  This repetition of similar events, including the feeding of 5,000 and 4,000 point to Jesus’ sovereignty over normal reality, normal paradigms associated with the way things work.  And the disciples lack clarity to see what is going on.  So repetition became a theme that acted as a visual element to be included in the piece.

“Immediately” is used over and over again in Mark, and provides short-segmented glimpses in the narrative.  This idea of glimpses became an element reflected in the way walls were lifted slightly (16”) to allow viewers from the outside to get glimpses of others moving through the piece.  There is an awareness of engagement from the outside, but one doesn’t know what is being “engaged” unless they enter in themselves!  Christianity from the outside is only as good as engaging what is “inside.”  Throughout Mark, the outsiders seem to be more perceptive than the insiders.  Inside/Outside became an important ingredient.

There are two possible entrances.  One is a triangular door, and many people have tentatively poked their head in to see what might be inside, then chose not to enter.  (These are all metaphorical actions, by the way).  The other opening is a small doorway with an angular top. (4’6”)  In fact, inside, there are two more short doors, requiring one to duck low to gain entrance.  Through humility, one can enter the semi-circular space through this door to come into a confining space and move through two more humbling entrances.  It is this humility that brings one into a tall semi-circular space that cannot be experienced or understood unless one enters in.  By the time the viewer enters and leaves this space,  they have changed direction, they have “repented.” As a group, we saw this as the “Holy of Holies” space.  After talking with a number of people who have experienced the piece from the inside, this tall space seems to have done it’s job.  People come in, look up, and often spend more time in this space.  When Jesus breathed his last (Chapter 15:37) the next line says, “ …the curtain of the temple was torn in two, top to bottom.” (v.38).  The sail that hangs down references this event, recorded in three of the four gospels.  Immediately, across town, the curtain in the temple ripped from top to bottom, signaling a “Paradigm Shift.”

Finally, the beam across the top connects the tall curved wall with the tall-slim leaning wall creating the triangular entrance.  This beam acts as a continuum and serves as a support for the sail-curtain in the Holy of Holies.  The Holy Spirit continues to guide, reveal, and enable each generation to see the larger reality that we attest to.  Mark had the courage, foresight, and tenacity to put forth his collection of encounters with Christ, and led the way for the other gospels.  Indeed, Mark is a “Paradigm Shift” for the early church and for us.

Immerse yourself in a weeklong study of Isaiah by learning the interpretive practice of a close reading of Scripture and exploring how this powerful and prophetic text can speak to today’s church. Then, in the fall, consider leading your congregation or small group through Isaiah with Lectio, our free online guided readings and podcasts.  Course taught by Old Testament scholar Bo Lim, Ph.D.

COST: $189; $250 with 3 Continuing Education Credits. 

Please inquire about receiving seminary credit.

WHEN: July 9–13, 2012, 9 a.m.–4 p.m., Cremona 201, Seattle Pacific University campus

WHO: Open to pastors and lay leaders alike.

Registration available by going online, or feel free to

contact our offices directly (cbte@spu.edu).

** Please note, if you're interested in signing-up for CEUs, this requires a separate registration.  Please inquire with us directly about CEU credit.

Going through Mark was the first step in beginning to conceptualize the art/theology installation. We were encouraged to look for and identify main themes that could serve as a foundation. While reading Mark, I couldn’t help but notice the stupidity of the disciples. I didn't expect them to be geniuses, but their shortcomings and lack of understanding seemed to jump out at me as Mark gleefully highlighted their collective ignorance. Jesus had to regularly repeat himself and break down parables in further explanation for them. The man was even driven to anger because of them! Going through the gospel, I find myself thinking, “How dense can these guys be?” Jesus Christ, the Son of God, is right there beside them, in the flesh, traveling and performing miracles and yet they are unable to make clear connections. The twelve had, unfortunately, fallen under my unforgiving and severe eye of judgment.

Well, God is never one to give up on an opportunity to open my eyes to a bit of empathy and insight. Little did I know, while working on this installation, I would experience a very humbling change of heart toward the twelve chosen men of God. As much as I hate to admit it, over the nine days building the piece, I found myself in very similar situations as the “duh-ciples.”

There I was, a visual communications major who had never built anything larger than a small box in her life, and I was expected to build 12 ft walls with intimidating power tools that could probably take my fingers off if I wasn’t careful. I was a bundle of timid anxiety from the first day out. While building the piece, I often found myself unable to comprehend the big picture of what we were doing at the moment. Even though Professor Feldman would patiently explain it to me multiple times, I could feel the look of complete and utter incomprehension plastered to my face as he explained why we were doing what we were doing. Thankfully, the man is a saint and kindly waited as my brain tried to wrap itself around the foreign concept of curved wall blocking. After repeated experiences like this, I found it was easier to stop asking why. I realized it was difficult for me to visualize the pieces while they were still naked 2 x 4’s and scattered bits of plywood. I found that if I was just obedient and patiently completed the task I was given, step by step, the walls slowly began to take shape and understanding began to dawn on me.

As we continued and became more familiar with the process, the work made more sense and was easier to grasp. Nevertheless, there would always be those times when we were asked to do something new and I would find myself completely lost without anything to hold on to except for the reassurance that Professor Feldman knew what he was doing. It was in the midst of this experience that I realized I was just like the disciples. I had thrown myself into a large project that I had no idea how to begin or where to start. I had no more skill of carpentry and architecture initially than the disciples had in public speaking and evangelizing. We were ordinary people thrown into situations beyond our comfort zones, but we were there because we wanted to be. We may not have understood everything that was going on, but we had a leader who knew what he was doing and whom we trusted in. Thus ended my brief reign as a superior being to the disciples. Now, I take comfort in having shared a similar fish-out-of-water situation. I feel that if the twelve and I were able to talk over a hot beverage, we could commiserate and bond over our common failings. Like the disciples, I may not always see and understand the big picture at first, but I try my best to remain obedient and keep the faith in the one to whom I have entrusted my life. As long as I take it step by step, it will be built.

What has been your interaction with the art installation in Martin Square? Have you spent time looking at it? Have noticed other people walking through it? Have you wondered about its meaning or had conversations about it?

One of my favorite parts of Mark’s gospel is the way Jesus’ arrival on the scene of 1^st century Palestine affects every person who encounters him and affects them differently. The presence of Jesus Christ in Mark prompts many paradigm-shifting encounters. I love the way Jesus loves outsiders who sometimes have the most poignant things to say about him and that Mark’s account of Jesus feels chaotic but masterfully planned. For those who encounter Jesus in the Gospel of Mark, things are not what one would expect.

On the team that designed and built the installation, I am the only student who has never taken a formal art class. Art has a distinct way of intimidating me. Thus, it is understandable that I had a bit of a difficult time contributing to the artistic process. I avoided saying anything that might betray my artistic ignorance. Perhaps this is a feeling you resonate with—fearing that the meaning of the installation will be over your head. It is a feeling quite familiar in the Gospel of Mark.

From that intimidation, I focused my artistic experience on meaning. I now relate this experience to that of a parent. I helped create something that is from me but utterly independent from me. During the process, I wanted a clear concise meaning for the installation: a thesis statement to solve the question of meaning. But just as a mother prepares for the birth of her child with hopes and intentions for who that child will become, she cannot control every aspect of her child’s becoming. Instead of tight fisted control, she must open-handedly embrace the mystery of her child becoming independent. I, like the mother, am learning that what I labored over for weeks has become its own entity where meaning cannot be dictated by the hopes and intentions of the artists but rather, new meaning is discovered with each new encounter. Even as one of the artists the layers of unintended meaning I have discovered since the completion of the installation surprises me.

The process of creating Paradigm-Shift has provoked a paradigm-shift within me just as Christ caused paradigm shifts within many who encounter him. I hope that you would risk engaging Paradigm-Shift with the Gospel of Mark in hand so that you might physically experience the way something can prompt a paradigm-shift that reverberates Christ.

In our weekly discussions approaching the construction of “Paradigm Shift,” the seven of us had many decisions to make about what sort of experience we wanted our audience to have, and importantly, what implications that experience would have about the book of Mark. One of the most significant decisions we discussed and made as a team centered on this question: “Do we want it to be a journey or a destination?” Did we want this reflective piece to have a destination, an obvious point of completion after which the viewer would turn around and leave? Or did we want a sense of journey, an ambiguity of whether the end had been reached and whether there even was one at all? We opted, unanimously and rather quickly, for the latter. In my reflections since the completion of the project, this aspect stands out to me and speaks to my life and faith loudly.

In the construction process, as I attempted to line up each block just right and get each screw in precisely the right spot, my perfectionist tendencies were quickly exposed. I love having an end in sight, a clear distinction of where I stand, a to-do list to check off. The past year I have been learning that what is sometimes most frustrating about life is also what makes it most beautiful– it is a journey. Maybe this is not something that everyone has to make him or herself consciously aware of, but I did. We enter in with our individual context and baggage, we walk through slowly, we speed up, we get lost in the crowd, we encounter, we grow, we heal, we move on, we look back, we learn. Sometimes we are unsure of where we are in the process or whether we are doing anything right at all. Christ is not someone we encounter only to check off our to-do list. In Mark we watch Jesus himself constantly moving from one place to the next, inspiring awe, faith and sometimes fear, but the people who encountered him weren’t content with that. They entered into the journey.

“Paradigm Shift” provides me, personally, with a space that allows comfort and beauty in ambiguity. As I stood within the installation’s enclosed semicircle, I heard two girls as they exited the piece and smiled:

“I think we went in the wrong way.”

“Did we?”

“I don’t know.”

Hopefully, those who are a part of the Seattle Pacific University community have had an opportunity to see and walk through the installation in Martin Square. Many of you might have asked yourself a simple question, “What is this thing?!”

I might reply to you, “This is an installation that was part of a group’s reflection on the Gospel of Mark.” But this answer doesn’t necessarily give you any more information. Why? Because an answer to this question, “what is it?” is not simply a question about the installation, but also about art and about the Bible.

What is art? What are the Christian Scriptures? Do these questions have anything to do with one another? The relationship between art and Christian Scriptures depends somewhat on how you define Christian Scriptures. For many, Scripture is a veritable “answer book,” an encyclopedia of living that points us to the answers of our daily and lifelong questions. If understood this way, art that is done in conversation with Scripture is simply material that expresses some underlying idea. Put differently, art is a riddle to be “figured out,” deciphered so that we can get to the real meaning.

The group that designed and built this installation began with the book of Mark. We read through it several times over the summer, reflected upon specific parts, prayed diligently and gathered together in September to share the ideas, impressions and passages that we saw, felt, and read. What we discovered was not only a variety of similar themes, but also that these themes were understood in different ways. We grabbed onto hope in similar places, but for different reasons. It could be said that the “answers” we saw, put different questions to us that we then had to re-approach the text with.

In the process of talking and reflecting we came to find that the book of Mark was not a puzzle to be figured out, but a living thing that seemed difficult to pin down, that brought us into something, encountered us with someone. This idea of encountering is another way of thinking about what Scripture is. Scripture is, itself, something that arose out of a people’s attempts to understand and share the significance of an event, of a person. In many ways, we could say that the gospel of Mark arises out of an encounter. While written after Jesus’ death, the book attempts to make sense of his life, death and resurrection and re-encounter people with Jesus’ life.

This process of narrating Jesus’ life was not the singular task of one man, but a communal process of stitching together various stories, teachings, and accounts of this man’s life in order to faithfully tell who Jesus was and what he means for the world. What our group came to find was that this communal process of discerning our encounter with the gospel of Mark was not much different. The patching together of observations, connections, impressions, and themes all served to create a space where Jesus and his work could begin to be discerned and lived within.

If Christian Scriptures are about proclaiming this encounter of God and the world, about giving voice to a community’s discerning of what they saw in this particular man Christ, perhaps we can also begin to see the connections, in fact the necessity of art as we interpret the Word of God. In art, the visual (the aural too) work to encounter the viewer with beauty or pain, anguish or peace, or all of them together. Art confronts the viewer with something about the world and ultimately requires the viewer to ask something of themselves and their place in the world.

When we read Scripture we might come to find its truthfulness more profoundly when we stop seeking from it “answers” and become open to the encounter beckons us to. This truth of this installation (or Mark?) is not to be puzzled out or deciphered, but comes only when one sits with, looks upon, prays with, not once or twice, but returns again and again each time spotting new shadows, seeing new lines, listening for the shifts of sound. But even more its truthfulness comes when we are not satisfied with our perceptions or lines of vision, but offer them to one another and allow ourselves to be surprised in the process.

The book of Mark opens not with Jesus, but with John the Baptist. John was one who heralded the coming of something new. John himself declared this not from the center of Judaic power, but from the wilderness. Beginning with the witness of John the Baptist, the gospel of Mark leads us into the frenetic and powerful ministry of Jesus, into the wondrous and unmistakable presence of a man who seemingly came out of nowhere, and could simply not be ignored.

From June to December, Professor of Art, Roger Feldman and I (Brian Bantum, Professor of Theology) with five students (Esther Cho, Kaelyn Handsel, Mandy Hough, Tracey Ige, and Lara Musser) ventured into this world of Mark with the aim of encountering the Christ of Mark as well as to express that encounter to the community of Seattle Pacific University. The culmination of this process, an art installation entitled, “Paradigm Shift“ now sits in the middle of Martin Square.

What will follow in the coming weeks is a series of reflections about the installation by those of us who participated in its creation, from reflecting on the book of Mark, to prayerfully sharing themes, conceiving shapes, and thinking about what it means to “stand” inside the gospel of Mark. In these posts it is not our intention to give “the meaning” of the installation. While the installation certainly represents certain ideas that we, as a group struggled with in our communal readings, we are also struck by a troubling and incredible reality. We are all continuing to learn from this installation as we walk through the space, look at it from different vantage points, and see it in varying light. In doing so, we begin to see both the gospel and the installation in new and surprising ways. Perhaps most disconcerting as well as miraculous, the installation is now speaking without us and to us as the people who built it.

It is our hope that the community might be drawn into this process of reflection, that we might learn from what you see and that we might all gain better insight into the God that Mark witnesses to in those blessed pages. Above all, we hope that the installation stands as an invitation. It is an invitation into an encounter, it is an invitation into the wonder that Mark attests to, that God became flesh.

Next week: “What is this thing?”