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Good art helps us to appreciate the parts of creation that we tend to take for granted.

We tend to think that art is supposed to be about something, but sometimes it can just celebrate the ordinary. Photography can show us how interesting light is when it falls on a person’s face; abstract art draws us to the marvel of colours and shapes; dance demonstrates the beauty of bodies-in-motion.

Think of all the things you learnt names for when you were two and quickly took for granted. Like reds, greens, oranges, triangles, squares, circles, running and jumping. Good art makes us notice these things again. It helps us to remember the world that gets lost in our day-to-day. To see that God has surrounded us with wonder.

As the great philosopher Ferris Bueller once said  “Life moves pretty fast. You don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it.”

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It struck me recently that many superhero stories feature a strange sort of grace. Here’s how it works in the Spiderman series: Peter Parker is a pretty unremarkable guy until an apparently random accident leaves him with extraordinary powers. He’s done nothing to earn or deserve them. He’s not particularly courageous or virtuous. In fact, he doesn’t start out as a particularly heroic character at all.

So, what is it that makes him a hero? As the story unfolds it seems to work in the opposite way to our expectations: rather than virtue being rewarded, it is the new powers that lead him to heroism. Famously, the recurring theme in the Spiderman stories is that ‘with great power comes great reponsibility’. In coming to terms with his powers, the changes in Parker are more than just the ability to climb walls. Maybe it is the same with all acts of grace.

As Mumford and Sons sang recently, “… that’s exactly how this grace thing works/It’s not the long walk home that will change this heart/But the welcome I receive with the restart.”

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Here’s my question: when our culture is in trouble, what should the church do? Maybe we can find some provocation from movies.

Arguably the most famous financial crisis in film history comes in the middle of the classic “It’s a Wonderful Life”. The film’s hero, George Bailey, is just leaving for his honeymoon when there is a run on the bank. In panic, the townspeople want their money. George manages to calm the crowd down, but this still leaves a problem: how are the people going to survive? The solution is creative and sacrificial – the newlyweds help those in need by using their own savings – the money that was going to fund their honeymoon.

In giving what he has to save others, it’s not hard to see George as a Christ-like figure. Perhaps the church too should look for unexpected, creative (maybe even costly) ways to help those in crisis.

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In his recent book Culture Making, Andy Crouch points out that every cultural change is two-edged. On one side, they open up new possibilities; on the other, they often make some parts of life far more difficult than they used to be.

For example, think of cars: their invention has given us amazing freedom to travel, but at the same time it has become increasingly impossible for people to live car-free. Or how about supermarkets? They have given us incredible convenience, but you have to wonder if we lost some community that came with local bakers and corner shops. And as for music — I have vinyl in my garage that I fear will never make it onto my iPod, but I know which I’d rather carry around…

But, it not just big changes that work like this, is it? We all have cultural shifts in our lives. We’re constantly making old routines difficult for the sake of a new set of possibilities. It might be getting married, having children, changing jobs, or even someone suggesting two services on a Sunday…

There seems to be a current trend for TV shows in which no one has a clue what is going on.

Take the series ‘Lost’. If you haven’t seen it, it features a group of air crash survivors who are trapped on a desert island. For many, many episodes the characters discuss and explore without really getting closer to understanding their predicament.

Or how about ‘Heroes’, in which a number of ordinary people suddenly find they have developed super-human powers. They don’t understand why this has happened and most of them can’t quite figure out what to do about it.

Maybe these shows reflect something in our culture — a general feeling that we don’t really know ‘what on earth we are here for’. We find ourselves in this universe but we don’t know why, or what we are supposed to do.

But here’s the really interesting part: through it all we can’t seem to give up the idea that someone, somewhere knows where the stories are heading.

Has it ever struck you just how flexible the world around us is? Think about trees: pick the right bits and they can be painted, shaped, carved, eaten, played on, played in, played with… The possibilities could fill this whole column.

It is part of the incomparable glory of God that he hasn’t just made a world with ‘everything in its place’, but one that can be endlessly shaped, worked on and developed by others. And taking part in that shaping of the world is one way in which we bring glory to God; by exploring the possibilities He has left for us.

What does this mean? That we have the opportunity to worship whenever we sing, listen, play, paint, eat… In fact, whenever we explore the possibilities in creation. Now where did I put that stick?

Have you ever imagined how the story of Joseph might play out as reality TV?

Welcome back to Pyramids and Presidents. It’s day 3429 in Pharaoh’s jail and two of the housemates have had dreams. Joseph has revealed his talent for interpretation and now has break the bad news — one of them is for the chop. If you think the baker should get his old job back, text BAKER. On the other hand, if you think the butler is Joseph’s best bet for mentioning his case to Pharaoh, text BUTLER.

Umm, I suspect the viewing figures might drop after the first decade. We’re more into instant celebrity than long-term training. On the other hand, for those of us who will never achieve overnight success, it’s reassuring to know that God does things differently.

Have you noticed how everyone is going back to their roots these days? In the cinema we have watched as Superman Returns after searching out his birthplace and as Batman Begins. We’ve seen Hannibal Lector start out and James Bond on his first mission. And on TV people are tracing their ancestors to answer ‘Who do you think you are?’

So, why the sudden interest in our pasts? Perhaps we hope that by looking back we can make sense of our present; that we’ll find some hidden meaning.

Of course, this is fine if you are fictional. Some scriptwriter can conjure up an exciting story with hints of greatness. But what if we look back and find nothing: no moments that ironically point to the future, no secrets of coming significance. Worst of all, what if our past is just dull?

Perhaps digging in our past is the wrong approach. Perhaps instead we need to look outside ourselves. Perhaps what we need is a bigger story we can become part of.

In his book, 31 Songs, Nick Hornby starts one chapter with this sentence: “I try not to believe in God, of course, but sometimes things happen in music, in songs, that bring me up short, make me do a double take. … see and feel things I can’t normally see and feel.” Interestingly, theologian Tom Wright says something very similar: “When you hear a great piece of music, you realize your mind and imagination have been enlarged, and you can think thoughts that you couldn’t have thought other how.” For both, something can happen in music that opens us up to new possibilities, to the possibility of God.

No one is saying, of course, that music suddenly makes people believe, but sometimes it can create room to think about things differently. And maybe, in our culture, that is what people need most of all. Before they can face up to God himself, perhaps what they need is space to believe, space to believe that maybe He is there. And perhaps music is one way that they can be given that.

It’s not just music, of course; we can create space for people in many ways. So, maybe we need to consider how our music, our art, our building, our infrastructure, our lives can give people room; consider how we can help them to see things that they can’t normally see.

In my opinion, ‘Spellbound’ is the most exciting film about spelling ever. But, then, I’m not a big fan of ‘Countdown’, so take that as you will. If you haven’t seen it, it’s a documentary about the U.S. National Spelling Bee. It follows some of the contestants and their parents up to the high-tension denouement. (Note the use of a big word in the spirit of event.)

Anyway, there is one part that I find fascinating. One of the girls, who comes from a poor background, says this: I’ve overcome great odds to come this far, so I know I’m going to succeed, because that is what happens in the movies. Look away now if you don’t want to know the result, but she isn’t the eventual winner. The film-makers interview her again after she is eliminated. Her response is this: I’ve overcome great odds to come this far, so I still know I’m going to succeed, because that is what happens in the movies. Even after facing reality, the movies — the stories that she lives by — continue be her reference point.

I don’t think she is unique. Stories make up a big part of our view of the world. Maybe we are all have movies or books or songs that, without knowing it, guide our choices and our hopes. So, then the question I have to ask myself is: what are the stories that motivate me?