Carol and I went to the Museum of Modern Art last Friday night, when it stays open until 8:30. When we decided to go, we did not know Friday nights are free for New York residents. The line was longer and louder than usual — lots of teenagers, children, strollers, scooters, hoodies, fatigues, baseball caps and football jerseys.
We saw a T-shirt I do not think we would have seen in the museum on a Tuesday morning. It said, “I will cut you.” A 9-year-old girl was wearing it.
When we showed the ticket taker our proof of residency, I asked, “Do you like Friday nights?”
Brett Younger
He said: “I love this crowd. Some of the museum staff thinks they’re a little rowdy, but it’s fun, once a week.”
Some were there to get out of the cold. Some were looking for a cheap date. Some 19-year-old boys pretended to know more than they do, “My favorites painters are Claude Monet (Mo-NET) and Paul Cezanne (Ce-ZANY).”
Fourth graders were confused by Picasso, “Why are there so many triangles?” Eleven-year-olds were unsure why they were being allowed to look at pictures of naked people. Many liked “Campbell’s Soup Cans” more than they like actual soup. They asked good questions like, “Can I sit here, or is it art?”
Some of the adults said embarrassing things: “I don’t get it,” “I could paint that,” “My cat could paint that.”
Some fathers kept Googling “restaurants near MoMA.”
The museum guards had to say, “Would you back up just a little?” every 30 seconds instead of every 30 minutes.
They got tired of being asked: “Where’s the restroom?” “Is there a snack bar?” “How much does that one cost?”
The guards’ faces suggested the barbarians had invaded the castle.
But there also were thoughtful visitors who wanted to get it. They said things like: “That’s amazing.” “How did the artist do that?” “It’s so beautiful.”
“Starry Night,” Vncent Van Gogh, 1889
A big crowd was taking selfies in front of Starry Night. They heard about van Gogh (van-GO is how we pronounce it on Friday night) in 1889, at the window of his room in an asylum in Southern France just before sunrise writing his brother, “I can see an enclosed square of wheat, above which, in the morning, I watch the sun rise in all its glory.”
In creating this image of the night sky — the bright moon on the right, Venus in the center, and the constellation Aries— van Gogh celebrated creation beyond what was right in front of him. The village in the painting could not be seen from his window. The night sky is dominated by bright blues and vivid yellows. The cypress tree is glowing. Starry Night is what he sees, and it is beyond what he sees. We need moments when we feel, imagine and see beyond what is in front of us.
Theologians talk about two books, the general revelation of God we see in nature, and the special revelation of God we see in Scripture and the church. They are not in tension but help us understand the other. We have moments when our souls see something out of the corner of our eye and we light up inside.
“We need moments when we feel, imagine and see beyond what is in front of us.”
Albert Einstein said: “There are only two ways to live your life. One is as if nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.”
We have lived both those ways — spending whole days as though nothing is a miracle, and experiencing amazing moments when we see that everything is a miracle. We need to see miracles that are obviously miracles — sun, moon, stars, art, music, poetry.
The wind wakes us when we step outside. The snow makes the world look like Monet painted it. When we walk in the park, it is easy to imagine we are in a painting.
If we pay attention, we fall in love with the world, because we are surrounded by miracles. (We can listen to Beethoven and Beyonce on Spotify for free.) The people doing truly important work are often those who recognize miracles, know how to look out the window, watch rain fall, notice birds that forgot to go south and dogs who understand they were not meant for this climate.
When we pay attention to creation, we live better lives. Nature wears down the anger we feel on bad days. There are so many things we do not have to do and only a few things we definitely have to do. Nature slows us down when we are in a hurry. Nature heals us from the foolishness that surrounds us. Nature speaks of hope beyond the politics that break our hearts.
We understand there is evil, so we have to work to give our attention to what is lovely. We can become people who love art, notice trees, pet dogs, cook food, enjoy people and share what we have.
God helps us become the people who say things like: “That’s amazing.” “How did the artist do that?” “It’s so beautiful.”
Brett Younger serves as senior minister at Plymouth Church in Brooklyn, N.Y.