The pressure to produce is a constant companion of writers and artists. The consuming public is fickle. A novelist is only as valuable as his or her latest book; a singer is measured by the success of the latest release and how many songs '"charted." Painters and sculptors are always pulled between creating pieces that express their souls and compromising their creative skills to comply with the current trend that "sells" or conforms to the most influential new school of criticism.
Many young recording artists have started out with hearts full of inspiration and passion to communicate a message in a style unique to them, only to be told by some record company or agent that they must dilute their message, revamp their style, and reshape their image. Few are mature or financially confident enough to withstand the implied threats not to re-sign them to the label if they refuse the "expertise" of those who "know the market."
One day on the bus, traveling to a concert, Steve Green and I were talking about the pressure to produce. While feeling frustrated by his busy schedule and the expectations to create a new solo project that could get "radio play," he was also exhilarated by the part-time jobs he and Marijean had, working with the youth of a local church. He wanted to record and sing songs that would relate to the lives and problems of these teenagers and their parents, whether or not the songs worked for hit-driven radio.
As for my frustration: I was feeling a need to write without the pressure of a deadline. I wanted to create what was in my heart without regard to its sales potential in the current Christian market. I had recently gone off to our cabin in the woods where I write, and, at the end of two days, I had written only some personal poetry and entries in my journal. I had read, walked in the woods, talked to God and, in general, restored my soul. What a rich time! But when I returned home, I couldn't help feeling guilty for having to tell Bill I hadn't moved ahead on projects to which we had committed or finished songs we had started!
Steve listened to me and then told about the Wednesday night prayer meeting the week before at their local church. "Marijean stood up, so moved by the presence of the Lord, and talked about her deep hunger and thirst to really know Christ in His fullness;" Steve said. "She confessed some faults and asked the people to pray for her that nothing would stand in the way of a pure and intimate relationship with Jesus. It broke our church apart. In her sweet honesty, she was able to minister in a way I seldom can.”
We talked about what amazing things God does when we can totally get out of the way and love Him with the innocence and abandonment of a child.
“What would happen,” I wondered, “if I wrote my very best poetry for no one but Jesus? I long to give Him the very best knowing it will never be published, to lift my gift like a burning incense to Him alone.”
"And how I long," Steve said, "to be able to give God my best performance as if no one could hear but Him."
We talked about Marijean's brokenness and how, like Mary who broke the perfume vessel to bathe Jesus' feet in its precious contents, Marijean had, through her vulnerability, bathed the church in the sweet fragrance of her pure hunger to serve God alone.
"Write me a song about that," Steve said. "I'd like to record a song that would always remind me what my ministry should be: an irresistible fragrance that can come only from a vessel broken."
He went back to talk with the others on the bus. I found a yellow tablet and began to write. The lyric that resulted was "Broken and Spilled Out." It moved me. I wanted the music for it to capture the deep longing to give Jesus the best part, the most perfect offering of the heart. Bill George, an outstanding keyboard artist, set the lyrics to music and Steve recorded the song.
It has been a very special song for me. It constantly reminds me that only a love that has no regard for vessels and jars, appearances or images—only a love that will lavish its most treasured essence on the feet of Jesus can produce the kind of fragrance that draws cynics and believers alike into His presence.
Broken and Spilled Out
One day a plain village woman,
Driven by love for her Lord,
Recklessly poured out a valuable essence
Disregarding the scorn.
And once it was broken and spilled out,
A fragrance filled all the room,
Like a pris'ner released from his shackles,
Like a spirit set free from the tomb.
Broken and spilled out just for love of You, Jesus.
My most precious treasure, lavished on Thee;
Broken and spilled out and poured at Your feet.
In sweet abandon, let me be spilled out and used up for Thee.
Whatever it takes to be Yours, Lord;
Whatever it takes to be clean-
I just can't live without Your sweet approval,
No matter what it may mean!
I throw myself at Your feet, Lord,
Broken by Your love for me;
May the fragrance of total commitment
Be the only defense that I need.
Lord, You were God's precious treasure,
His loved and His own perfect Son,
Sent here to show me the love of the Father;
Yes, just for love it was done!
And though You were perfect and holy,
You gave up Yourself willingly;
And You spared no expense for my pardon-
You were spilled out and wasted for me!
Broken and spilled out- just for love of me, Jesus.
God's most precious treasure, lavished on me;
You were broken and spilled out and poured at my feet.
In sweet abandon, Lord, You were spilled out and used up for me.
Lyric: Gloria Gaither
Music: Bill George
Copyright ©1984 Gaither Music Company and New Spring Publishing/ Yellow House Music (admin. by BMG Music Publishing, Inc.). All rights reserved.
