The Haxtun-Fleming Herald - What can we reason but from what we know? -Alexander Pope

The shuttle bus to Denver International Airport’s satellite parking was full, a dozen or so travelers nearing the end of various journeys, their thoughts focused on where they had been or where they were going. Travel weariness had dulled the senses, the ride becoming yet one more step to endure. Conversation in these situations is often confined to nicety or necessity, but little else. On this occasion, however, something different was about to happen. The shuttle van passed the in-your-face blue stallion sculpture with the blood-red lighted eyes which greets visitors to DIA.

Someone muttered, “There’s that crazy horse statue,” and that was all it took. Amid chuckles, wry comment, and a descriptive adjective or three, the sentiments of the passengers were quickly made known as to their (dis)affection for the horse. “A million things to share about our state and this is what first-time Colorado visitors encounter!” “I heard the artist actually died when part of it fell on him.” (True.) “It reminds me of some devil horse.” “They call that art?” “There’s our tax dollars hard at work!” It fell quiet once again as approving nods around the van were noted. Then she spoke up; a lone woman traveler bravely declaring, “Come on guys! I really like the horse!” Good natured moans and groans were offered in return and spirited conversation resumed accompanied by a light-heartedness that everyone welcomed. Few riders were without a smile when finally delivered to their respective vehicles.

Mirroring other states and municipalities, Colorado’s “Art in Public Places Act” reserves one percent of new state construction or remodel costs for works of public art. Whether the blue mustang stallion came about in a similar process with the City of Denver was unclear, yet there was a distinct realization that the statue had achieved at least one goal ascribed to public art — it provoked thought and conversation from those that experienced it. The worth of the sculpture was not its intrinsic values of steel and paint and glass, but rather its ability to generate discussion and inspire candor and debate.

As recorded in Mark, Christ similarly challenged those around him to think and to process and to grow in new ways from their experiences with him. “The reason I speak to [people] in parables is that ‘seeing they do not perceive, and hearing they do not listen, nor do they understand.’ With them indeed is fulfilled the prophecy of Isaiah that says: ‘You will indeed listen, but never understand, and you will indeed look, but never perceive. For this people’s heart has grown dull, and their ears are hard of hearing, and they have shut their eyes…’ But blessed are your eyes, for they see, and your ears, for they hear (Mark 13:13-16, NRSV).”

What spiritual growth might transpire, do you suppose, if even one percent of all sermons offered from the pulpit on Sunday mornings were so controversial, so edgy, so full of blue paint and red glowing glass, that they incited dynamic conversation among the hearers for entire weeks to follow? For when either public art or public religion fails to provoke a response, it risks being ignored, or worse, discarded. So, as your attention drifts and your mind begins to wander while listening to future sermons, accept the challenge of re-orienting yourself, of truly hearing what is being said, of seeing what is before you. A blue stallion with red eyes might even come to mind!