TheoArtistry: collaborations with Sir James MacMillan and Michael Symmons Roberts

Bridging the divide between artist and theologian

Can the present-day distance between the realms of academia and the arts be overcome within the realm of theology? The relationship between artists and theologians has been complicated throughout church history, as the sacred arts – visual, musical, literary, dramatic, architectural – tend to prompt strong responses, positive and negative, within church communities and traditions. Regarding the question of reconciliatory partnerships between academic and artist, there has been a resounding ‘yes’ voiced from the TheoArtistry initiative within the Institute for Theology, Imagination and the Arts (ITIA), based in the School of Divinity, University of St Andrews. Indeed, ‘TheoArtistry celebrates the practice, making, performance, curatorship, and reception of Christian art. It also seeks to inform the scholarly and public perception of the role of the arts in theology and church practice.’ ¹ Abstract ideas about theological aesthetics concretize as theologians and artists partner on a common project. Overseen by ITIA lecturer George Corbett, two specific ‘schemes’ have manifested – one on sacred music and another on poetry – as well as a symposium/festival celebrating both endeavours.

As a theologian within the poetry scheme but not involved in the music scheme, I had the unique opportunity to both participate from within and observe from without, viewing the projects and festival as both contributor and spectator. This article presents my observations and considerations resulting from this distinctive critical perspective, first by examining the methodology of collaboration between theologian and artist from a broader perspective regarding the composers’ scheme, and then through a more concentrated view of the poetry scheme based on my subjective experience in partnership with a poet, Maria Apichella. I conclude with some theological reflections and practical considerations regarding this theologian–artist collaborative effort, particularly on what such projects may engender for theological studies.

The composers’ scheme and Annunciations

In the inaugural project, beginning in late 2016, six theologians from various disciplines in the School of Divinity at the University of St Andrews were partnered with six musical composers (out of nearly 100 applicants) to create six new choral pieces based on sacred texts. According to Corbett, the goal of the project was twofold: to ‘re-engage composers with the creative inspiration that can come from an encounter with Scripture, theology and Christian culture’ and ‘to show how an appreciation of the theological engagement, and/or profound spirituality, of composers can influence not only the creation of their music, but that music’s performance and reception’. ² Based on the theme of ‘Annunciations’, the theologians chose various passages from the Hebrew Scriptures exploring an interaction between God and humanity, where the latter experiences a call from the divine: God talking with Adam and Eve (Genesis 3); Jacob wrestling with the angel (Genesis 32); Moses and the burning bush (Exodus 3); the calling of Samuel in the night (1 Samuel 3); Elijah and the ‘sound of sheer silence’ (1 Kings 19); and the Song of Songs (3.6–11). ³ Through extensive research and exegesis, the theologians presented a research packet to their partnered composer, thus initiating an ongoing conversation between theologian, composer and biblical text. Under the mentorship of Sir James MacMillan, celebrated Scottish composer and part-time ITIA faculty member, the composers set to work crafting choral works based around the themes emerging from the scriptural narratives, with the theologians as ongoing sounding boards and dialogue partners. What ultimately emerged from this conversation were six final compositions that were recorded by St Salvator’s Chapel Choir as directed by Tom Wilkinson, resulting in an album, Annunciations: sacred music for the 21st century. ⁴

In his opening words at the festival, Corbett remarked: ‘What does the future hold for sacred music in the twenty-first century?’ The query raises a further question regarding the definition and boundaries of ‘sacred’ music. The focus of the festival and the TheoArtistry compositions remained primarily within choral music in the vein of the great British tradition. Yet what about more ‘popular’ music intended for Christian audiences, trading organs for electric guitars and choral harmonies for CCM (Contemporary Christian music) choruses? Indeed, the sacred–secular boundaries are progressively blurred as popular ‘secular’ music becomes incorporated into church liturgies and evangelical worship services, ⁵ even as the sacred choral tradition has increased in popularity with audiences outside a church community. ⁶ Is the sacred limited to only ‘high’ forms, certain traditional mediums, or artworks experienced within a church building?

Relevant to this question, the final session of the TheoArtistry festival highlighted the collaborative book from David Brown and Gavin Hopps, The Extravagance of Music, ⁷ which provides a scholarly exploration of music’s broad-reaching theological significance. Brown’s section focuses on how classical instrumental music absent of words can still have rich theological resonance and content, suggesting that words are not necessarily required for music to ‘do’ theology. Similarly, Hopps argues that pop music and kitsch cannot be relegated to the dustbin of triviality, but should be considered as musical sites for potential transcendent encounters and imaginative, poetic theological reflections. Indeed, in their very partnership within the book’s structure, Brown and Hopps suggest a fresh approach to music as theology, deconstructing barriers between a sacred/secular and high/low art even as they maintain a scholarly reverence for the divine. ⁸

The poets’ scheme

Poet Andrew Rumsey writes:

Though not always affable flatmates, the poet and the Christian theologian essentially share the same living room. Conversation between them is crucial, for if the latter is to get to grips with the slippery shape of the incarnation he [sic] must employ a medium which excels in the small glories of particularity. ⁹

Having examined the composers’ scheme from a broader extrinsic view, I shall narrow the focus to a singular experience, namely my collaboration with poet Maria Apichella ¹⁰ on Elijah’s encounter with God in 1 Kings 19. In her choral piece The Silent Word Sounds, composer Lisa Robertson focused on the theophany on Mount Horeb, particularly the presence/absence of God in the ‘sound of sheer silence’ in verse 12, an enigmatic phrase that literally means ‘a voice/sound of small/low silence’ in Hebrew. As the climax for the theophany, it is quite a paradox – how can silence make a sound? Robertson’s piece beautifully utilizes wind and breath noises mixed with quiet vocalized whispers to create a musical piece inspired by both silence and theologian Mary Stevens’ emphasis on the Carmelite tradition of contemplative prayer. ¹¹

Despite the provocative imagery of the presence of God in silence, Apichella and I took a divergent approach. In our first conversation, I introduced the passage via a version of lectio divina, reading the entire passage aloud and reflecting upon it in silence before reading it again, listening for key words and phrases to emerge in a spiritually laden discernment process. What manifested itself to Apichella was not the silence but rather the spiritual burnout and burden Elijah carried following his clash with Ahab, Jezebel and the prophets of Baal, as recorded in 1 Kings 18. Despite his apparent triumph – his literal mountaintop experience of victory – Apichella and I noticed his panic and paranoia, the fear and insecurity that can emerge following such spiritual and emotional highs. We also noticed the concrete details included in the sparse story – Elijah’s shelter under a singular broom tree, the divine provision of a cake and a jar of water, the emphasis on time and distance passing. Within the supernatural events of angelic beings and divine demonstrations, the quotidian, realist elements stood out in illuminating contrast.

Following our initial conversation, Apichella and I both went to work, she on the poem and I to do specific research on questions she raised about the story. What could the phrase ‘I’m no better than my ancestors’ imply (cf. 1 Kings 19.4)? Is there significance in the broom tree? What might speech-act theory contribute to understanding this narrative? Weeks of drafts, emails, phone calls and more drafts resulted in the narrative poem ‘Belle’s Curse’, a contemporary reimagining of the Elijah–Jezebel conflict as female singers in a pub song competition, where the faithful Eliza’s choice of a Christian worship song surprisingly overcomes the diabolical Belle’s ‘spirit of Baal’. Despite winning the contest, Eliza experiences a series of catastrophes that result in her wandering the Welsh countryside without home or security, longing for God to take her life. At the brink of despair, she stumbles upon a lone caravan and is welcomed by an eccentric elderly woman who greets her with Welsh cakes and a warm foam mat for rest. Eliza awakens the next morning with renewed strength and spirit, prompting this last stanza of the poem:

Only when I’m face-down with boots, carpet dust, having no bed, will I sing authentic prayers. I have become un-translated, red, raw, dangling as a butcher’s window. I’m a brittle skull. I will flower flushing skin, blink open clear eyes, a new mouth, sing a foreign strength. The Lord is here holding my gaze. No more will I cringe under curses. I will not die but live. ¹²

Such a reimagining of the biblical text is a noteworthy outcome of this interdisciplinary collaboration. Although Apichella expressed some initial hesitancy about changing elements of the story in her adaptation (such as the gender difference between Elijah/Eliza and the ‘angel’ character portrayed as an elderly dreadlocked woman), her capacity to grasp the essence of the narrative while fully utilizing her ‘poetic licence’ for her aesthetic hermeneutic is impressive. Anchored within the boundaries of the narrative structure, her poetry provides a fresh exegetical reading of the biblical text that may have remained overlooked by traditional approaches. As Paul Ricoeur suggests, ‘Is it not the function of poetry to establish another world – another world that corresponds to other possibilities of existence, to possibilities that would be most deeply our own?’ ¹³ Indeed, the acts of reading and writing poetry are acts of faith, risk-filled ventures into the linguistic realms of mystery and paradox, ripe for theological consideration.

Conclusions and considerations about collaboration

What are the benefits of such partnerships between artists and theologians? First, it is worth noting the artistic relationship – indeed, friendship – between the TheoArtistry mentors, MacMillan and Symmons Roberts, whose alliance may serve as a model for such collaborative efforts. Beginning with MacMillan setting Symmons Roberts’ collection of poems to music in Raising Sparks (1997), the pair have since created a number of other poetic–musical works, such as Parthenogenesis (2000), The Sacrifice: three interludes (2005–06), and Clemency (2009–10). As Corbett observes, ‘Although their roles as poet-librettist and composer are clearly delineated, it is apparent, then, that MacMillan and Symmons Roberts see themselves as part of the other’s creative process.’ ¹⁴ Indeed, this collaborative spirit was quite apparent in a Q&A with MacMillan and Symmons Roberts at the TheoArtistry festival, as the two reflected on their many projects, and MacMillan has publicly expressed his indebtedness to Symmons Roberts as a theological and artistic inspiration. ¹⁵ Similarly, the scholarly collaboration between David Brown and Gavin Hopps as co-authors may also act as a pattern for theologians exploring and publishing on difficult philosophical or theological questions in the future. Although these two examples are artist–artist and theologian–theologian partnerships rather than theologian–artist, they nevertheless exemplify the relational ethos necessary for such pursuits. Collaboration itself is an art more than a science, requiring a willingness for each party to risk their sense of security and autonomy for the sake of the work before them. Such theologian–artist partnerships challenge the modernist elevation of an individualized oeuvre by fostering a communal engagement with both theology and the arts.

One complication that arose for both the composers and the poets was a sense of being overwhelmed by the initial influx of theological research presented by the theologians. Where artists are intrigued by exploring the mysteries and paradoxes of transcendence and human existence, those trained in theological scholarship may be tempted to fill in such gaps, giving too many answers to the questions artists wish to investigate. Such theological research, being so thorough and marked by a tone of certainty, may actually close doors to inquiry if not presented with an open-handed posture of grace.

Similarly, the inclination towards hierarchy is pervasive in such composite works, with one discipline potentially taking the primary role in the creative process and thus subjugating the other. Should the theologian impose his or her research too heavily upon the artist, it can become a fetter, binding the artist to a singular extrinsic vision. (Ask any artist if they enjoy being told by an outsider exactly how to do their artwork, and you can imagine the answer.) On the other hand, should the artist abandon the theologian’s input, the collaborative spirit is diminished and the resulting artwork may not be truly representative of either the biblical text nor theological tradition. Yet constructive conversation marked by humility and a genuine back-and-forth ethos may yield unique theological–artistic works like those within the composers’ and poets’ schemes, as well as a mutual expansion of knowledge and understanding.

For future models of collaboration, I would suggest that theologians turn to the most collaborative of artistic mediums: cinema. Film’s unique combination of artistic forms – visual, literary, musical, dramatic, fashion, architecture – as well as its inherent cooperative production (just notice the myriad credited names at the end of a film) engender a mosaic of visions and disciplines working together on a particular artwork, one potentially rich with theological significance. Even supporters of auteur theory in film studies and criticism concede that the film medium itself is inherently collaborative; even if the directorial vision and style are most reflected, it is still an artwork involving numerous actors, producers, screenwriters, editors, cinematographers, makeup artists, etc. who work together to see the directorial vision come to fruition. ¹⁶ Film is also a rich site for theological inquiry and exploration, and both theological scholars and film theorists have recognized the potential sacramentality of cinema. ¹⁷

In conclusion, there is a subtle resonance with Elijah’s ‘sound of sheer silence’ in Rowan Williams’ observations about the purpose of poetry:

I certainly don’t think poetry is interested in ideas, and I’d go along with those who say that ideas kill poetry. You don’t write poetry because you want to get your ideas into verse. Surely the interesting thing about great poetry is the silence it generates. This is a complex area, but the great holy silence at the heart of things is not just an absence or a cessation. It’s what happens when you’ve been led to this point. ¹⁸