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Engaging public theology through art

Bethany Peerbolte shares how her TikTok, YouTube and Instagram ministry uses art to provide lessons and comfort, and that art comes in many forms.

Screenshots from Rev. Bethany's videos on social media.

“Jesus laughed?”

Jackie, a member of Our Tapestry, asked me this question after worship one Sunday. Our Tapestry is the New Worshiping Community I founded two years ago, and Jackie has been a member from the beginning. Like most members of Our Tapestry, Jackie joined with a lot of religious trauma. Her church experience included more than 30 years of threatening theology, abusively restrictive behavior expectations and manipulative evangelism. It also apparently included a Jesus who always had a stern face.

When I met Jackie, she vowed to “never walk into a church again.” The more she told me her story, the more I agreed with that boundary. The years, however, have brought healing; and when Jackie visited me recently, we went to a worship service at a church I knew would be safe for her first time back. Her question about Jesus’ emotional range came after she saw a picture in that church’s bathroom. The painting depicted Jesus with his head thrown back and mouth wide with laughter.

For Jackie, that picture was like meeting Jesus for the first time. Her whole life had been saturated with serious Jesus. Images of miserable Jesus on the cross hung on the walls. When her previous leaders taught about Jesus’ teaching of the crowds, Jesus was always somber and earnest. A Jesus who laughed was outside the realm of possibilities for Jackie.

I could relate to her disoriented state. While watching “The Chosen” TV series, I had to rewind a scene that showed Jesus playing hacky-sack with the disciples. The sight of Jesus playing a game took my breath away. For days after the episode, I wondered why it had never occurred to me that Jesus probably played games. That world-upending experience Jackie and I went through came courtesy of the power of art.

Art can express truths that words fail to convey.

Art can express truths that words fail to convey. A single work of art can have as many meanings as the number of people who encounter the work. Art can make us uncomfortable and empower us to ask questions we never would have considered otherwise. The church has historically been a leading patron of the arts, commissioning pieces illustrating the theology being preached in pulpits to make it accessible to an audience. Grand stained-glass installations tell any passerby the values that a specific church community holds sacred. Art has long been a way for the church to engage in public theology. Unfortunately, at some point, the resources used to commission art were reallocated to different budget lines — probably building maintenance and marketing campaigns. Wherever that money went, it’s time that we reclaim the tradition of using art in our public theology.

Talking theology on the socials

I must have skipped the class where public theology was taught. I know I tuned out whenever the word “evangelism” was said. But I’ve come to understand public theology as the act of presenting one’s theology to the public to help an outsider understand a Christian perspective on current issues. Public theology is notably different from evangelism and public witness because of its commitment to open dialogue and the way it embraces criticism.

My awareness of public theology began when I started making video content for social media. I have come to believe public theology is necessary for the survival of the mainline Protestant church.

My journey as a content creator started a few months into the pandemic lockdown. I was a shiny new pastor serving the youth at a church in the Detroit metro area. While struggling to stay in contact with these young people, I suddenly got multiple texts from youth concerned that they were “lukewarm Christians.” I knew they hadn’t heard that term from any resources our staff had sent. So I was curious where they had heard that evangelical phrase. Then parents began calling with concerns that hell was becoming a regular topic of conversation during dinner. Again, I was sure our church’s messaging was not causing these fear-filled conversations.

It’s time that we reclaim the tradition of using art in our public theology.

After some investigation, I found the source: TikTok. The youth started sending me videos that raised questions within them. The theology in the content they shared sickened me. The videos were emotionally manipulative to the point of being abusive. The theology was heavily behavior-focused, with hell being the main motivation to follow Jesus. I can still feel the vice that tightened around my lungs as I watched video after video of this brutal theology. My inner Mama Bear Pastor came out, and I began making my own videos in response.

Posting as @RevBethany on TikTok, Instagram and YouTube, I began engaging with current issues and adding a progressive Christian perspective to the theology already accessible on social media. Doing public theology was terrifying at first. I worried the youth would think my videos were “cringy” (the Gen Z word for embarrassing). Despite my fear of creating content to express my theological perspective, I noticed that whenever I posted a video, people appreciated the message and followed my account to hear more. I was surprised people still wanted to hear about the Gospel. What I realized was happening was the same thing that happened to Jackie when she saw Jesus laughing. People were meeting Jesus again, and they really liked the Jesus that progressive theology knows him to be.

The more people engaged, the more astonished I became at how poorly mainline Protestants have done public theology. Thousands of people commented in amazement that I could wear a stole that bore the colors of the transgender pride flag. Daily I assured people that I would not lose my job for saying the Bible supports reproductive rights. Yet the comments that solidified my commitment to do better public theology were ones like “I never knew women could be pastors.” Every time I got a comment like that, I would scream at the screen, “We’ve been doing this for over half a century!” I was astounded to learn how many people living in the United States had no idea that some Christian traditions ordain women.

The surprised comments and the outraged comments alike, however, show a severe deficiency in the way progressive Christians and mainline Protestant churches have been implementing public theology.

Of course, for every pleasantly surprised comment, I received another comment telling me I couldn’t be a pastor. I have the word “Timothy” blocked on all my accounts because I get tired of defending my existence multiple times a day. The surprised comments and the outraged comments alike, however, show a severe deficiency in the way progressive Christians and mainline Protestant churches have been implementing public theology.

To remedy our past deficiencies, we should reengage the church’s tradition of using art as a vehicle for public theology. In my own ministry, videos have been immensely impactful — but art has many mediums. My favorite artist practicing public theology goes by the name Naked Pastor. He creates single-panel cartoon-style images that express his journey of deconstruction.

My favorite piece is his traditional scene of Jesus carrying a sheep on his shoulders back to the herd of 99. His twist is that the wool of the sheep on Jesus’ shoulders is rainbow-colored. The rest of the herd has white wool and is obviously upset that Jesus is bringing this sheep back. No words are needed — just this image that proclaims for whom Jesus goes searching. Now picture that image with text underneath advertising the times of Bible studies and worship. That marketing strategy will cut through the thickest of assumptions. A rainbow flag may not catch someone’s eye anymore — but Jesus returning a rainbow sheep to the flock clearly says that the faith community that hosts these Bible studies is going to say something worth showing up to discuss.

Modern forms of art as public theology

As with anything, some examples teach us lessons on how not to proceed. In recent years a campaign called “He Gets Us” has focused its public theology on TV ads, notably spending millions on a coveted Super Bowl spot. Most of the criticism I hear is that those millions of dollars would be more impactful if spent on humanitarian efforts. While I agree, the money is not my main criticism of the campaign.

I admire the gutsy move to do some kind of impactful public theology. Television ads, after all, are modern forms of public art. I even find myself admiring the content of the campaign and the way it presents Jesus. Comparing Jesus to refugees and showing pastors washing the feet of queer individuals of color are scenes I can get behind. The part of the “He Gets Us” campaign that concerns me is that the theology its art professes does not match the theology of the faith community to whom they seek to connect people.

For humanity’s entire existence, art has been our favorite medium for communication

Someone who visits the “He Gets Us” website can sign up for a series of talks called Alpha. The space Alpha claims to create allows open discussion where “nothing is off limits.”

The space Alpha claims to create allows open discussion where “nothing is off limits.” After digging a little deeper, I found that Alpha is a curriculum developed by clergy at the Anglican (CofE) Church Holy Trinity Brompton and is used by any number of churches that support evangelical teachings. That realization awoke Mama Bear Pastor again — but this time my protective stance stirred, because the people I currently serve in ministry are members of the queer community and their allies. In the stories of church abuse my followers tell me, the Catholic church or evangelical churches are often the aggressor. For the “He Gets Us” campaign to connect interested parties to the Catholic church while presenting theological images that can be mistaken as progressive is the same bait-and-switch routine the public expects from churches.

If voices like “He Gets Us” go unchallenged by alternative public theologies, the only thing the public knows about Christianity is what the “He Gets Us” people tell them. We need more voices to go public.

We need more voices to go public. … if we don’t improve the impact of our public theology, much of the gospel the public hears is one filled with hate and damnation.

I am familiar with the terror that probably just overcame you. The idea of professing my own theology publicly still fills my stomach with bubbles. Yet the more terrifying reality is that if we don’t improve the impact of our public theology, much of the gospel the public hears is one filled with hate and damnation. The more that message is reinforced, the harder it becomes to reintroduce people to a Jesus capable of laughing. For me, art was the entry point for making public theology an integral part of my witness. For folks unsure of how to take up the calling to public theology, I recommend art as a catalyst.

Art as public theology could look like sharing one of NakedPastor’s drawings on your Facebook account. Instead of hanging flyers around the community advertising the time and date of Bible study, hang an image of Jesus laughing and encourage people to leave a comment about how the picture makes them feel. Any time we engage with the public is a chance to do public theology; and for humanity’s entire existence, art has been our favorite medium for communication. With art as our companion on the journey into public theology, we can cut through the assumptions and expectations people have about the church and reintroduce the world to Jesus.

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