As a musician and artist, I often struggle with how much I allow others into my private thoughts on a piece of music I have written. How much do I explain? How much do I leave open to interpretation? How much do I want to remain hidden? It is documented that Beethoven always had a story in mind when he wrote his music, but he never revealed those stories to the public. Biographer Jan Swafford comments that Beethoven kept these stories close to his chest because he knew what gave music its power: namely, its mystery. I know that many artists struggle with whether or not to write program notes for their artwork, and if they do, how explicit they should be. On the one hand, there is the danger of alienating your audience because they do not understand. On the other hand, there is the danger of saying too much, such that the audience begins engaging with the explanation of your art rather than the art on its own terms. In other words, how much should we conceal and how much should we reveal?
This tension is not unique to the arts; it is part of the mystery of God’s own self-disclosure. I believe exploring this idea will help artists as they wrestle with the same tension in their artwork. The Christian Scriptures consciously explore the tension between concealing and revealing. Some theologians refer to this reality as the mystery of God’s hiddenness. Proverbs 25:2 says, “It is the glory of God to conceal a matter; to search out a matter is the glory of kings.” Evidently, it is to God’s glory that he not reveal everything. It is part of the prerogative of his being God to hide things from us. Conversely, kings reveal their wisdom, their plans, and their works. To hide those things from their subjects would be to their shame. Revealing is what brings them honor. And if wisdom or justice requires diligent effort in the search for it, then revealing that wisdom or justice is all the more to their honor.
But suppose that God and humans worked together? In Genesis 1, God makes human beings his divine images, where he calls them to rule creation as kings and queens. If God’s rule is expressed through human rule, would these rulers conceal or reveal their wisdom, plans, and works? More pointedly, if God came to earth in the person of Jesus, would Jesus’ work conceal God from us, or reveal him to us? We must come to terms with the fact that a divine-human partnership requires both hiding and disclosing. This dual nature of hiding and revealing is seen most clearly in the life of Jesus. On at least one occasion he said, “I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children. Yes, Father, for this is what you were pleased to do” (Mt. 11:25-26; Lk. 10:21). Jesus, the human king, and his Father the heavenly king, are in partnership. And they together are delighting in both realities: hiding who they are from the wise, and revealing who they are to vulnerable children.
This divine-human partnership and its dual nature of concealing and revealing comes into striking focus when we consider the parables of Jesus. I remember growing up and learning in Sunday School that the reason Jesus used parables was to make his moral lessons understandable. Interestingly, Scripture explicitly tells us why Jesus used parables, and they are not what I expected based on my growing-up years. The purpose is two-fold: first, Jesus used parables so that people would not understand what he was saying (Matthew 13:10-17); second, Jesus used parables to reveal what God had hidden from the foundation of the world (Matthew 13:34-35). Again, we see the pattern of concealing and revealing. What’s more, this double purpose was intentional. Is there a rationale for this double-edged, paradoxical purpose to conceal and reveal?
There is a reason for this two-fold purpose of the parables. The parables sift the listeners into those who are open to God’s message, and those who are not. It is a spiritual test. Jesus explicitly labels it as a kind of test by repeatedly using the fascinating phrase, “He who has ears to hear, let him hear.” Additionally, in the literary designs of Matthew and Mark, the writers are careful to note when Jesus is speaking to crowds “outside the house” as opposed to when he explains the meanings of things to those “inside the house” (Mt. 13:1, 36; Mk. 3:20-35; Mk. 7:17, 24). The question is, are the words of Jesus so compelling to you that you press past the first experience of confusion and follow him into the house where he will explain? In other words, will you submit to being his disciple and apprentice?
Notice that Jesus achieves his purpose to conceal and reveal by means of an art form—telling stories, or parables. His parables do mean something, but they are opaque and difficult to understand. They demand long reflection, patience, and an open posture that keeps you coming back. This mode of communication was long in coming, because the Hebrew Scriptures reflect the same pattern. They are humans partnering with God. As such, they conceal and reveal simultaneously. How does it achieve this? The same way Jesus achieved it—through art. Almost all of the Hebrew Scriptures are art. Every third page is explicitly poetry. And the parts which are not poetry, namely narrative, are nevertheless filled with exquisite literary design and intentional repetitions for the sake of telling interconnected stories. Art, then, is a kind of test that demands spiritual openness and a disposition to keep coming back for further insight. It is God’s chosen means of asking human being the question: “Will you walk away from what you see? Or will you press in to understand?” Partnering with humans to hide himself always means he opaquely reveals himself.
For artists, this theology has enormous implications. For starters, it means that we should not be embarrassed that other people struggle to fully grasp the meaning of our art. It’s a feature to exploit, not a bug to solve. Pedantic program notes may help some people, but part of what makes art so powerful—spiritual, even—is its elusiveness. Art must demand something from its audience. If it does not, then it is not far from sermons, lectures, or propaganda. If Jesus designed his art to be opaque, why can we not design ours that way? Might it be our way of partnering with God to conceal his presence from those who don’t want it, and reveal his presence to those who do? I invite you into the hard path of creating art with jewels buried deep—too deep to skim off the top—which demands patience and skill to unearth. Like Jesus rejoicing with his Father, it will produce great joy in you.