St. Louis Art Museum

In commemoration of a spectacular year, I eagerly packed my bags for a couple mini-vacations during the month of December. Here are a couple of activities you should include on your 2012 list of resolutions: attend a Trans-Siberian Orchestra Concert, ice skate at Crown Center in KC, spend time in the St. Louis Art Museum, and find your inner child by visiting a Zoo! I really appreciate the time I've spent with family and friends and I look forward to another exciting year together.

I would like to share three of my favorite pieces from the St. Louis Art Museum. As you can imagine, my iPhone camera is unable to capture the detail of these incredible works of art. So, go see them yourselves!

Giovanni Paolo Panini painted the "Interior of St. Peter's, Rome" in 1731.  I'm convinced that, even as you read this, the building continues to inspire visitors today as it did previously with this artist. 

My favorite piece in the museum was painted by Marc Chagall in 1912.  Chris Ahrens and I stared intently at this work for multiple minutes until the figures suddenly became apparent. If you look closely, you will observe Chagall's interpretation of Adam and Eve standing on either side of the Tree of Life. Chagall's cubist technique fascinates me, especially as he shows Eve's bifurcated focus on both the forbidden fruit and consequence of her action.

Corrado Giaquinto's "St. Helena and the Emperor Constantine Presented to the Holy Trinity by the Virgin Mary" pictorially illuminates the belief system of 18th century Catholics. Although I disagree with the strict separation of believers from Christ, the degree of awe and respect attributed to Christ is sobering. I think Giaquinto and Catholic theology can easily remind evangelicals about the holiness of God that often falls neglected.

I would love to hear thoughts on any of these breathtaking works of art. Also, I encourage you to resolve to add unexpected and thrilling experiences to your growing list. You won't regret it. I promise.

A Different Kind of Dickens Christmas

In the classic novel A Tale of Two Cities, Charles Dickens depicts the aristocracy and peasantry of pre-Revolutionary France as a people saturated in secrecy. His imagery is as masterful as it is symbolic. During the darkest hour of a cold winter night, fellow travelers know one another only by a small exposure surrounding their eyes while the rest of the person remains hidden beneath layers of clothing. Likewise, he describes every household as an enigma to the next. Residents live in total seclusion from their neighbors, and even the members of each family - mothers and fathers, sons and daughters - keep tight the lock on their respective rooms to avoid being known by their closest loved ones.

Dickens's fictional world isn't difficult for me to imagine. In fact, scenes like his are all around us. I believe that his imagery fits twenty-first century America equally as much as pre-Revolutionary France. Yet, I question why secrecy seems so inherently attractive, especially in the face of accusations like those facing Monsieur Manette. Is it coincidence that the guilt of sin drives us to solitude, but scripture clearly teaches the value of confession within the community of believers? When asked by the pharisees "Teacher, which is the great commandment in the law?," Jesus' response intimately intertwined one's relationship with God to one's relationship with others. It is as if Christ believed that when we choke out our relationships here on earth, our relationship with the heavenly Father suffers too.

Soren Kierkegaard explicates the connection between our relationships to God and to others perfectly: "To love God is to love oneself truly, to help another person to love God is to love another person; to be helped by another person to love God is to be loved." Perhaps this winter we will remember that every person wrapped securely beneath layers of clothing, whether woven wool scarf or soiled jacket, has a story worth knowing and is of utmost value to the only one whose opinion really matters.

Choosing Sides

Eliminating bias is essential to counseling. Objectivity is the goal. Even more, it is the foundation of science, medicine, and the rational mind (supposedly?). According to this logic, the most capable counselor is a blank slate who may “put on” the private logic of a client and demonstrate how to negotiate the issues of reality. However, if a client’s broken logic yields an unfortunate outcome, how can a therapist operating from the same perspective yield any other result?

In 1960, E. M. Jellinek crowned his career with the publication of The Disease Concept of Alcoholism. Based on this influential work and the research that followed, the public’s perception of individuals with addictions changed from the morally corrupt to patients in need of a doctor. But the disease model doesn’t quite fit. For example, those with diseases are made victims against their will; while, true addicts desire to continue destructive behavior even when facing severe negative consequences.

Until recently, it appeared to me that a better alternative to the disease model was to view an addiction as entirely the result of one’s own choices. This perspective not only forced the addict to take responsibility, but it empowered the individual by ascribing the ability to make changes that will effectively change one’s present condition. Although an attractive theory, I believe it to be misled. The appeal of this view lies in its ability to explain a very complex problem (addiction) in a very simple way (choices – especially those that we control!!).  But, this view ignores both the ability of addictions to become enmeshed in a family system (codependency & enabling) and the power of the family system to assist in a recovery effort. I believe the core of this view rests on a questionable western concept of identity – a person is the total sum of what he or she chooses to be.

During a recent study of the apostle Paul, I observed contrasting beliefs of personal identity that existed in the 1st century Mediterranean world and today among dyadic cultures across the globe. In Paul’s world an individual was defined by the groups to which one belonged rather than one’s choices. Thus, Paul identified himself as “a Jew, born in Tarsus of Cilicia, but brought up in this city." His audience understood the weight an authoritative claim delivered by a man rooted in power. We might say that this view could cast addiction as a disorder of a system (the addicted family as opposed to the addicted individual).  Likewise, family systems models of therapy maintain that members of the system work to maintain the homeostasis of the system, even if it means maintaining destructive behavior. Therefore, the counselor must rehabilitate the family system and not solely the substance user.

I see in myself an identity composed of both choices and groups. For this reason, I wonder if the “objectivity” we pursue will ever yield the healing we desire. It isn’t as if the therapist must choose one side or the other (choices v. groups); its all the same side (I hear whispers of Paul’s voice in Eph 6:12). Thus, the most capable therapist may not be the blank slate, or even the therapist who has mastered the world, but the one who is always willing to learn.