Settled in?

Two months ago a friend and I were having this great conversation in which we were talking on the phone and sending links from the internet back and forth to one another. He's an artist and I fancy myself sort of into art too, which is fine because I'm a writer but he fancies himself sort of into writing too. Whenever I find something interesting in the art field, whatever medium, I send the link to him. Appreciation is only half the fun if you can't share it with someone.

Anyway, we were talking about hard work, sweat on your brow sort of stuff, he in regard to painting and I in regard to writing the next great memoir, but we both were really talking about it in spiritual terms. Art is spiritual to us. As it should be. He sent me this link to one of our favorite musician's blogs and directed me to this section:

Music and art and writing: extravagant, essential, the act of spilling something, a cup running over... The simultaneous cry of, You must change your life, and Welcome home. I've been trying to write songs again, and I've been hitting a maze of dead ends. I want the songs to reveal something to me, teach me something. It's slow going. I'm not sure where I'm going. Uncertainty abounds. But the writing works on me little by little and begins to change me. That's why I would recommend not putting off writing if it's something you feel called to: if you put it off, then the writing can't do the work that it needs to do to you. Yes, I think there's something there. If you don't do the work, the work can't change you. (No one expects to change overnight.)

And I love that. I said it to my friend that night, I love that. I made him read it out loud to me twice, that section. Because I loved it so much.

Here I was thinking that I was the one scraping two pennies together in the act of writing, writing out of my poverty, squeezing drops of creativity out of an empty, sweating brain. But I love what Linford said here: if you put it off the writing it can't do the work it needs to do to you.

I've seemingly taken the hard route spiritually, working out my salvation with fear and trembling. I like the works gospel, I'm not going to lie. I like knowing that if I mess up there's penance to be done and I can handle it. Read my bible a little more, throw in a few good repentant-like prayers, stir and walk on. But the truth is, that's actually the easy route. The truth is that grace isn't something we do, it's something that's done to us. And it can't do what it needs to do unless we work on letting it.

That's the only work the gospel requires.

And I find that when I actually do get down to it and write, write, WRITE, that I don't put out a bunch of stellar writing. What I get is a heap of life and strength and a hope for tomorrow. I find that the work it requires to make myself write isn't really all that much compared to what the work accomplishes in me.

This morning I skipped the sermon. I did. I sat in a chair in my office across from a friend and we pervaded our conversation with the gospel. We talked about how it's not at all about us and that if the work of grace were only for us individually it would be a sorry gospel. The truth is that what is worked out in us is for others. It reaches in, squeezes our innards, works us over, and does what it needs to do to invoke Change. That's what the gospel is about: Change. New Creation. Spilling over on all creation.

I love that.