An Ocean of Repose

An Ocean of Repose

Abram Johnson

An admired filmmaker once described a children’s film of his as his “response to the uncertainty of our times.” The first time I read this quote, several years ago, I did so dismissively- I’m not sure whether I thought the sentiment was silly, naive, or outrightly pagan. In any case, as much as I appreciated the film, a heartwarming love story between children regarding love, trust, and responsibility, I did not understand the cosmic significance it seemed to have for its creator.

Yet, as with all of us, the year 2020 has changed a lot of things for me. In addition to COVID-19, the untimely death of George Floyd, and the political and social havoc following the advent of both events, the Year of Our Lord 2020 saw the birth of our daughter. In a time of tremendous joy for myself and my family, we witnessed every faithless act that 2020 brought us (hatred idolatry! dehumanization! dishonoring of parents! families divided! sexual immorality! twisting of Holy Scripture! rebellion against God! MAGA! BLM! lies upon lies upon lies!), and in them we saw a dying society consumed by mob rule (no faction is innocent.) In light of this, a cultural response akin to the film in question has gained a significant relevance in my thought, simply because the sense of existence it promotes has been by-and-large abandoned; of simple faith, hope and love, of loving one’s neighbor, and even of a transcendent reality that we are a part of.

The exhibition you see before you is titled An Ocean of Repose, and is done so because the height of human existence is repose in God. This is the end of the Christian life, as St. Maximus the Confessor proclaims: “If reasonable beings are thus to be carried about and no have no place to rest and cannot hope to have any abiding steadfastness in the good, what could be greater reason to despair?” And this in opposition to “the crowd,” the moblike entity of human will that progpagandizes itself and does what is right in its own eyes. The crowd, referring to any mass of human opinion without regard for its individual members, determines its own truth, its own agenda, and its own will, and in doing so denies God and its neighbor. As Søren Kierkegaard boldly declared, “the crowd is untruth.”

“And to honor every individual human being, unconditionally every human being, that is the truth and fear of God and love of ‘the neighbor’; but ethico-religiously viewed, to recognize ‘the crowd’ as the court of last resort in relation to ‘The truth,’ that is to deny God and cannot possibly be to love ‘the neighbor.’”

This exhibition makes its case by way of contrast, particularly with the two featured installation pieces. The crowd and Christ are contrasted as opposing arbiters of truth. The noise of the crowd and prayer are contrasted as opposing ways of life. The senselessness of a world of death and Christ, the incarnate and eternal God-man are contrasted as opposing perspectives of the universe. The rest of this exhibition continues the thread of faith, prayer, and quiet living, for how many times has prayer been slain by the crowd? Yet we must be faithful. This culminates in a meditation of death, paradoxically an exultation of life, by way of Christ’s conquering death on the Cross.

Truth and lies, faith and the crowd, and the movement from the life to death; these are the themes that tie this exhibition together. You’ll find other themes embedded throughout: transcendence, prayerfulness, and loving one’s neighbor. Make no mistake, this exhibition is not an entry into the canons of the “Culture War”, nor is it a helpless shrug that expresses “Why can’t we all get along?” Rather, it is a call to repentance, insofar as we must constantly repenting of our worldly cares and ideologies, and returning to the loving arms of Christ in prayer.