The Art and Incarnation of Protest
Indianapolis First Friends Quaker Meeting
Pastor Bob Henry
August 31, 2025
Good morning, Friends and welcome to Light Reflections. This morning I am concluding my series on Creativity. The scripture I have chosen for this message is from John 1:14, from The Message,
The Word became flesh and blood,
and moved into the neighborhood.
We saw the glory with our own eyes,
the one-of-a-kind glory,
like Father, like Son,
Generous inside and out,
true from start to finish.
I had a professor once who opened his class by saying, “This afternoon we are talking about incarnation.” He then said, “Most of you have theologies, dogmas, beliefs, about incarnation in light of Jesus, but I want to look at it in light of us.” He then gave some definitions of incarnation that helped us see what he was talking about from a slightly different perspective than we were all prepared for. He began by defining incarnation this way:
Incarnation is about that which is divine becoming real in what is natural, banal, human, or secular.
Then he continued with another query for us to ponder: What is the Divine? He went on to say this:
I think the divine is the virtues that bind us together as one in loving, peaceful, just, sustainable, and harmonious community where all are respected and cared for as equals.
It is seeing reality not from the position of self (me vs. you) or tribe (us vs. them) or specie (humanity vs. the rest of creation), but as one (we or all of us as family — including all species and creation).
The divine therefore is not a being external to us, but both within and between us. There are ancient words in Greek and other languages that convey this within/between nature of incarnation for which we have no English equivalent.
By this understanding the divine is incarnated whenever we individually and collectively live by virtues like compassion, kindness, forgiveness, mercy, peace and nonviolence, caring and responsible stewardship, egalitarian justice for all, generosity, beneficence, magnanimity, etc.
When these virtues live in us, it changes both our perspective and behavior. When we see and treat all reality as one, where we work for the good of all things (rather than from a position of competing interests and self-centeredness), then the divine has been incarnated…
To me this sounded very Quaker, I was attending a Quaker Seminary at the time, so that made sense. But for us Quakers, we explain “incarnational living” as a way of life that finds the divine Spirit, or the "Light," made manifest and visible through the actions and existence of ordinary people in their daily lives. What I find interesting is that it is not a theological concept separated from daily experience but a lived reality that erases the dividing line between the sacred and the secular.
Jesus was one (and probably one of the best) examples of this incarnational life. But when we study it in more depth, I believe Jesus embraced an incarnational life to be first and foremost an example for you and me (not to be debated for centuries in theological huddles).
We are the ones whom he says his Spirit resides within.
We are the ones that he says will do even greater things than he did.
We are the ones that must understand this incarnational life to fully understand our place in our world.
So, what does this all have to do with our creativity and art?
At our recent Western Yearly Meeting Annual Sessions at Quaker Haven, I was asked to help facilitate a workshop with a representative from Friends Committee on National Legislation on “Advocacy and Art.” FCNL had been focusing for several years on what Advocacy and the Arts looked like, but in our workshop, we were lightening up the conversation by both talking about creative advocacy and utilizing our talents and artful skills to make our point.
I was asked to bring several of the signs that I have made to hold up at rallies or protests at the State House as examples. As well, everyone who came to this workshop was offered a plethora of art supplies, blank signs, and discussion starts to artistically make their own signs for their meetings, homes, neighborhoods, and local rallies and protests.
As the FCNL representative shared about the condition of things going on in Washington, our country currently, and what all was happening globally, we transitioned to talking about where she saw hope. She was quick to point out the hope was sitting in that very room, and she said each of us brings a unique voice, our own creative spirit, and ultimately hope to our situations. And we need to be advocating for that hope and sharing it in creative ways.
After talking we spent the rest of the workshop letting our creativity flow and sharing where we saw those signs or other creative expressions bringing awareness and really making a difference in our communities.
Now, what brought all these thoughts on incarnation and sharing in creative ways together was a blogpost I ran across in 2023 as I was preparing for the Christmas season. I dropped it in a file on my computer only to come across it again this week.
The blogpost was by Ryan Bonfiglio and it dealt with a very sensitive topic for our world still today – Palestine and the Israeli West Bank.
I want to read Ryan’s words as I believe they get to the intersection of both our incarnation and our artful, creative expressions of hope. He says this,
Within a mile of the traditional site of Jesus’ birth stands a massive 30-foot-tall concrete wall that was built to separate Israel from the Palestinian controlled West Bank. Whether understood as a necessary security measure or an instrument of racial segregation, the Israeli West Bank barrier stands as an unsettling symbol of the discord, violence, and sectarianism that is tearing apart this region today.
But there is more to this wall than hate.
On the Bethlehem side, the wall’s concrete slabs double as a canvas for protest art. From end to end, the wall is graffitied with images and words that are equal parts provocative and prophetic. Some images hold a mirror up to the reality of everyday life, bearing witness to the trauma and grief that accompanies a walled-in-city. Other images dare to visualize a world transformed and healed. Still others seem to function as an invocation to prayer.
He goes on to say,
My favorite image is that of a woman in the orange silhouette. From her outstretched arms flutter doves, traditional symbols of peace. Behind her one can discern not only the outline of the town but what appears to be an eye that surveils the activities of the woman – and seemingly all who pause to gaze upon her. Who is this woman? Does she represent lady wisdom, who in Proverbs 8 speaks words of peace and righteousness at the crossroads of the town? Or are we to imagine her as the embodied Spirit of God that descends upon the disciples in Acts 2? Or do we see in her the outlines of teenage Mary, who yearns for a more peaceful world for her newborn son?
In the midst of interminable conflict, the wall in Bethlehem has become a public art installation. The creation of professional artists and lay people alike, this protest art is varied in substance and style. Image is layered upon image on what has come to be a living, evolving canvas that bespeaks what is otherwise unimaginable in that place: hope.
What if we began thinking of the Incarnation as a form of divine protest art? The Word made flesh, much like the art on the Israeli West Bank barrier, was intended to form social consciousness and bear witness to where healing is needed. Protest art is not meant only to be admired for its aesthetics. It is meant to mobilize responses of peace building and conflict transformation.
So, it is with the Incarnation. That the Word became flesh is not just an interesting fact of history to ponder or sing about during Advent. It’s a call to action. This is evident in the way in which reports of Jesus’ birth immediately cause magi and shepherds to drop what they are doing and flock to Bethlehem to see with their own eyes the installation of God in flesh.
Further, protest art is, at its core, democratized art. Rather than being the work of a single famous artist, the images on the wall in Bethlehem are the work of the people – quite literally, a “liturgy.” Protest art is dynamic and responsive to evolving realities. It has the capacity to inspire hope even when (or especially when) such hope is beyond imagination. Perhaps this is exactly how we are to understand the song of the heavenly host who responds to the image of the Incarnation with the words, “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace among those whom God favors”.
That Jesus was born in a place like Bethlehem is not insignificant. For all we know, God could have had Jesus born in a far more significant or “holy” city, such as Rome, Jerusalem, Nineveh, or Alexandria. Each of these places would have been perfect…if the point of the incarnation was to tether the Gospel to political influence, power, wealth, or cultural cachet.
But that’s not our story.
God risked proximity with humanity in a place that was deeply broken. As it turns out, the Bethlehem of the 1st c. CE was not all that different from the Bethlehem of today. It, too, was a place in which poverty, political strife, sectarianism, and violence abounded. The Word became flesh in this sort of place as an expression of protest against the ugly realities that tear apart our world, then and now.
Much like the image of the woman described above, the Incarnation is not only meant to grab our attention; it’s meant to unsettle us, to compel us to puncture the pretense that everything is as it should be, to bear witness to the possibility of hope and healing. This has always been the function of protest art, whether human or divine.
Folks, what if you and I began thinking of our incarnation as a form of divine protest art?
As my professor said, “…the divine is incarnated whenever we individually and collectively live by virtues like compassion, kindness, forgiveness, mercy, peace and nonviolence, caring and responsible stewardship, egalitarian justice for all, generosity, beneficence, magnanimity, etc.”
In our world today, just trying to live those virtues means embracing a protest mindset. Our lives must become a real-time, visual representative, and expression of these virtues. Whether that means we hold a sign we made, sing a song, write a speech, bake some bread, crunch some numbers or raise some money, paint a mural, or as I like to do paint a painting.
The painting I brought with me today is one that speaks to everything I have talked about in this sermon. The title of the piece is Incarnation: The Word Became Flesh. I was asked by my last meeting’s fellowship committee to create a painting that would be a focal point for our Christmas season. I am sure this was not what they were probably thinking.
At the time, our Yearly Meeting in the Northwest was in the midst of a battle over same-sex marriage and I and our Meeting was trying hard to stay in the conversation and not get removed. We had several people in our Meeting who identified as LGBTQIA+ and I wanted them to know they were seen and heard through this piece of art.
It was my way of protesting through art but also having those see who needed some hope. I never explained the deeper meaning of this painting out loud to my Meeting, but in private conversations I shared the deeper meaning of love for all and hope for the world. And today it helps me remember those words I shared earlier from my professor,
When these virtues live in us, it changes both our perspective and behavior. When we see and treat all reality as one, where we work for the good of all things (rather than from a position of competing interests and self-centeredness), then the divine has been incarnated…
Now, as we enter a time of waiting worship, will you ponder with me the following queries:
· Where do I recognize the Divine becoming real in the natural, banal, human, and secular?
· Where do I struggle with treating all realities as one and work for the good of all things within my community?
· What would it look like if I began thinking of my incarnation as a form of Divine protest art?