Roundup: Mary Magdalene exhibition, “Grief Songs,” seeing God in Japan, and more

EXHIBITION: Mary Magdalene. Sin. Pray. Love., September 17, 2026–January 17, 2027, Städel Museum, Frankfurt, Germany: The first comprehensive art exhibition in the German-speaking world dedicated to Mary Magdalene, presented by the Städel Museum in collaboration with the Liebieghaus Skulpturensammlung, opened this month. It was heavily advertised throughout Frankfurt when I was there in August, and I regret that the timing of my visit didn’t coincide!

Gonzalez, Nieves_La sfida
Nieves González (Spanish, 1996–), La sfida (The Challenge), 2025. Oil on canvas, 116 × 81 cm. Private collection.

The poster image, The Challenge, one of over a hundred works on display, is an oil painting by Nieves González. It portrays Mary with her characteristic long, auburn-blond hair, dressed in an oversize red puffer jacket and holding a red skull.

Mary Magdalene is traditionally shown in red, a color representing her intense spiritual passion but also alluding to the legend of the first Easter egg. One version of the story goes that when Mary went to Rome to proclaim the Resurrection to Emperor Tiberius, a basket of hardboiled eggs in hand (she had brought them with her to Jesus’s tomb for sustenance), Tiberius scoffed and said that Jesus no more rose from the dead than those eggs she carried were red. Well, right then, the eggs changed color from their natural white.

I love the unexpected clothing choice in this painting. I bristle against a historical image type of Mary Magdalene, especially popular among sixteenth-century Italian aristocrats, that shows her only partially clothed, her breasts exposed, ostensibly to emphasize her stripping away of worldly vanity, and even her return to the innocence of Eden—but methinks the Renaissance and Baroque penchant for sensuality had more to do with this representation than did any kind of biblical or theological reasoning. González’s Mary does not bare her body for the titillation of viewers.

Nor is her gaze passive; it’s strong, assured, unashamed. “The challenge” of the title could be Mary’s defying her mischaracterization throughout history as a reformed prostitute—probably the number one thing your average person, whether Christian or non, most associates with her, but which comes from erroneously conflating her with other New Testament women. What the Bible tells us about Mary is that Christ delivered her from seven demons, after which she joined his movement, traveling with him and the other disciples and financially supporting his ministry, which suggests she was a woman of independent means; faithful in her devotion to Christ, she was present at his crucifixion and, two days later, was the first person to whom he appeared in his risen flesh, commissioning her to go and tell the others the news. Although church tradition presents her as the model penitent (which the skull symbolizes), we really don’t know what her former life looked like, nor her life after the events of the Gospels; only that Christ wrought a spiritual transformation in her, and that she boldly followed him. Her pose in The Challenge is one not of arrogance or smugness but of confidence, confidence in who she is, and in the Gardener who called her name.

Another challenge in Mary’s gaze could be for us to consider, if Christ chose her to be the first witness of his resurrection (an event of immense theological import) and ordained her to preach the same, why so many pockets of the church continue to restrict the ministry of women.

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ONLINE COURSE: Stories about the End with Dr. Mary McCampbell, October 13–December 8, 2026: Starting next month, my professor friend Mary McCampbell [previously] is teaching an online course on Tuesday evenings that will examine contemporary works of dystopian literature, film, and television. The reading/watching list includes novels by Don DeLillo, Douglas Coupland, Octavia Butler (in graphic novel adaptation), and Margaret Atwood; Alfonso Cuarón’s Children of Men; and a to-be-voted-on television series.

Stories about the End

“Why is our culture so drawn to fantasies of death and destruction that often provide no ultimate redemption or regeneration? To begin exploring this question, we will analyze how dystopian narratives are (typically) the result of the modern and postmodern secularization of the concept of ‘apocalyptic.’ We will then examine contemporary works of literature, film, and television to investigate how these stories are told and what they reveal about the contemporary cultural landscape. Through close reading of cultural products, we will look at the relationship between dystopian narratives and the centrality of Western consumerism, the practice of religious belief, the experience of grief and loss, the threat of sinister environmental factors, and questions about the presence or absence of a human condition.”

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LIMITED SERIES: The Lord of the Flies (2026), dir. Marc Munden: Speaking of dystopian fiction, the recent BBC adaptation (bought by Netflix) of William Golding’s classic novel is phenomenal. The script, the acting, the cinematography, the score, the costuming—perfect. A dark story about thirty-some British schoolboys aged six to twelve who attempt self-governance when they find themselves stranded on a desert island, it explores democracy versus autocracy, vulnerability and violence, and the dangers of groupthink, probing the savage instincts humans tend to possess.

The book was written during the Cold War and the threat of nuclear annihilation. It deliberately subverts the colonial narrative found in many books of the period that touted the “civilizing” authority of the British.

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KICKSTARTER CAMPAIGN: Grief Songs, an album by the Porter’s Gate: Last year, a group of roughly sixty scholars, pastors, and musicians gathered to share personal stories of loss and, out of that, wrote songs “meant to be sung by congregations who are willing to sit, to wait, to watch, and to pray with those who grieve.” The Porter’s Gate [previously] has selected a handful of these to record onto an album, and although most of the work has been done, they need some additional funds to bring the project across the finish line. “May these songs give voice to what has been wordless, and may they help our communities become places where the brokenhearted can bring their whole selves and still find themselves held.”

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FILM: Space and Time (2024), dir. Keone and Mari Madrid: Keone and Mari Madrid [previously] are a Filipino American husband-wife duo of hip-hop choreographers, dancers, and directors. In 2023, they suffered a series of losses, one of which they interrogate and transfigure in this forty-three-minute dance film, which shows the couple traversing the landscape of grief after a miscarriage.

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PODCAST EPISODE: “Seeing God in Japan” with Roger Lowther, The Purpose of Beauty, July 31, 2025: Podcast host Anna Gardner Herren interviews organist Roger Lowther [previously], an American missionary to Japan (for over twenty years) and founder of Community Arts Tokyo, about the role of beauty in missions. They discuss the popularity of Bach in Japan, and how Bach has opened up in many Japanese people a curiosity about and receptivity to Christian truth (he has stories about his language teacher attending one of his concerts and having an emotional connection to how it elucidated hope; and about his conductor for the St Matthew Passion asking him to explain the significance of the text being sung, since he was the only Christian in the room!). They talk especially about the necessity of beauty to combat despair after the 2011 Tōhoku earthquake and tsunami.

Lowther then goes on to recount stories from the ethnodoxology (“praise of the nations”) movement, which seeks to discerningly use indigenous art forms (musical, dramatic, visual, etc.) in Christian worship; he tells of the professional koto (traditional Japanese zither) player Chieko Ozawa (see this short film), who, when she became a Christian, initially thought she had to quit her instrument because of its association with Shintoism but soon realized it could be used for God’s glory.

(Read the transcript.)

C’mon, people, let’s stop phubbing each other

Mobile Lovers by Banksy
Banksy, Mobile Lovers, 2014. Graffiti on wood on stone wall, Clement Street, Bristol, England. Photo: Paul Green. See also Dan Cretu’s The Kiss (after Brancusi).

Ever been phubbed? It’s annoying, and it can hurt.

To “phub” someone is to snub them in favor of your smartphone. I’ve never owned a smartphone, so I can’t say I’ve been a perp of this particular act, but I have been a victim on many occasions. Thankfully, my husband is rarely guilty; he has above-average self-control when it comes to phone use. I love that he loves me enough to be present to me when we’ve intentionally set aside time to be together. When we disconnect from our devices, we connect more meaningfully with each other.

I’ve made dates before with friends or family, only to be subjected to regular disruptions as nonurgent text threads or Facebook pop-ups are attended to or, even worse, they feel the need to Internet-surf or scroll through social media feeds. This interferes with the sense of connection I feel with that person and immediately dampens the quality of our conversation. It’s no surprise that multiple studies have shown that phubbing can be detrimental to relationships. It’s something I think we all know, and yet we’re unwilling to break our excessive attachment to our phones.

I’m not a technophobe. I really appreciate technology, and smartphones are useful tools. But when they start controlling you rather than the other way around, something must be done. For a book-length treatment of this topic from a Christian perspective, see 12 Ways Your Phone Is Changing You by Tony Reinke; I’ve heard nothing but good things about it.

But sometimes art can give us a bigger kick in the pants than discursive prose, circumventing our defenses to show, not tell, what is (exposing our faults) and what could be (directing us toward a better alternative). And thus I present two artworks, a dance and a poem, each one exploring what an undisciplined use of one’s cell phone looks like. (This in addition to the Banksy street art above!)

Keone and Mari Madrid are creative visionaries specializing in hip-hop dance and choreography. They are also a Christian married couple. Last summer they competed on NBC’s World of Dance with, among other numbers, “Like Real People Do.”

The first half of the dance expresses how routine it has become to reject face-to-face interaction in favor of screen time. Each partner glances sideways to assess the other’s desire, but at different times, so their gazes don’t meet, and they return to their devices. Though they move in step with each other, they lack any kind of interpersonal connection. It’s not until they lower their phones simultaneously that their eyes lock and intimacy becomes possible. They can play and converse and kiss and grow together “like real people do.”

For an uncut version of the dance filmed outdoors, click here. Also check out their audition, which is one of the most adorable, most joyous performances I’ve ever seen! (Dare you not to smile.) And there’s plenty more where that came from on their YouTube channel, covering a wide emotional range. You might also be interested in their recently released Ruth, an enhanced ebook that combines story, illustration, music, and dance—available on iTunes and Google Play.

Next I want to highlight the poem “The Phone Is Too Much with Us” by Benjamin Chase, originally published April 10, 2017, in Second Nature, an online journal of the International Institute for the Study of Technology and Christianity. It’s a very clever adaptation of the early nineteenth-century sonnet “The World Is Too Much with Us,” in which the English Romantic poet William Wordsworth criticizes the rampant materialism of his contemporaries that led them to break their communion with nature and the spiritual. “We have given our hearts away,” “we are out of tune,” Wordsworth laments.

“The Phone Is Too Much with Us” by Benjamin Chase

After William Wordsworth

The phone is too much with us, now and soon.
Searching and scrolling, we bypass our powers.
Little we live in moments that are ours—
we’ve given here away, forgotten boon.
The photo eclipses the actual moon.
Video lapses the blooming flower.
It all uploads like a captured hour—
what we have missed will be our ruin.
Well, as for me, I’d rather be
a man alive, in body outworn.
So might I, standing in truly me,
feel joy as joy, sorrowing forlorn.
See that which is the very thing I see,
until it ends or ending comes to me.

In his riffing, Chase retains the form of Wordsworth’s poem and much of its end rhyme while transposing the speaker’s frustrations with thing-obsessed humanity into the present era, where phones are what tend to draw us away from breadth and depth of life. God grants us the power and the blessing to “live in moments that are ours,” but “we’ve given here away”; we’d rather be there, in a virtual world, disseminating our every moment to faceless followers.

Lines 5 and 6 make use of wordplay: The photo “eclipses” the actual moon—it obscures it, reduces its grandeur. Video “lapses” the blooming flower—captures the phenomenon at a low frame rate, making for a nifty playback, but at the same time mediates it through a screen and thus lets slip away, cease, go out of existence the actual eye-to-petal (not eye-to-pixel) miracle. The speaker of this poem would rather be a firsthand witness to life’s beauty than a secondhand, to “see that which is the very thing I see.”

That goes with human encounters just as much as with nature encounters. Being present and open to whatever unfolds, not trying to manipulate it for optimal social media presentation, is a better posture to have. And experiencing emotions truly and bodily is essential if we are to be “a man [or woman] alive”—to “feel joy as joy” rather than merely through emojis or GIFs, and to genuinely sorrow over the devastating headlines we impulsively retweet or share.

None of this is to say that photos, videos, text messages, and social media are bad. They can be helpful in connecting us to people who cannot be physically present for special moments in our lives, and in documenting events we’d especially like to remember. It’s only when these activities hamper our ability to appreciate the people and events in front of us, and especially when they bear no relevance to our immediate context, that they become harmful. It’s worth asking yourself: Is my phone too much with me?

For other similar poems by Benjamin Chase, see “Media Song of Myself” (after Walt Whitman) and “Every Screen.”