Once in an interview, Elder Bednar was asked a really unique question.
The brother asking it shared this experience in way of background.
He had once been in Brussels, Belgium and was detained there for business which pushed his stay unexpectedly into the weekend. Not having much to do, he decided to visit a local museum. Massive, this museum showcased artwork from the first, second, and third centuries.
One particular corridor down which the man meandered displayed pictures of Jesus Christ exclusively. Many of the pictures of the Savior of the world depicted his final hours of distress and suffering on the cross. As he looked at the sundry paintings, he found himself wondering about the origins of them – each one.
Later, when he boarded the plane to return home, he again pondered this experience. Suddenly the thought came to him, “If I had an easel put in front of me and [was] given a set of brushes with some paint, how would I paint the Savior?” 1
What a powerful question!
And so today at Untoalltheworld, I ask: Should you be gifted with an easel, brushes, and paint, how would you paint Jesus the Christ (if you are, like me, artless in your ability, imagine that you suddenly have artistic ability)?
What experiences have you had lately that would best determine and reflect your colors of choice? Would they be bright and vibrant or soft and somber?
What would viewers be able to take away from the emotional connection with which you would paint?
Would you use lines? What about shapes?
Would your masterpiece illustrate looming mountains, deep valleys, roaring rivers, or parched deserts?
How would you reveal His compassion, love, mercy, grace, trust?
Or would it be a shade of darkness because He presently seems hidden, obscure, unreachable, untouchable, far away?
How would you paint Him?
I’ve been pondering this question as well as the different seasons of my life when I would have painted Him differently.
Once, for a period of several years, when I had felt forgotten and passed over, I would have painted Him as a dot in the distance but still, even so, He would have been visible even from the deep valley floor where I was lingering.
Another time, so incredibly unwell, I would have portrayed a redeeming figure on a dead run through shrouds of darkness and swirling, angry clouds dropping incessant hail, intent on my rescue.
And when our dad suddenly died, I would have painted a falling leaf teetering into nail marked hands, the most capable ones in the universe.
And when I knew I would never mother a child in mortality, I would have painted Jesus in a meadow of lilies, white tulips, poppies, carnations, and chrysanthemums with tears dripping down his cheeks. He would have been hunched down among the flowers, scooping me up, cradling me as I weakly and a bit hesitantly crawled towards His embrace.
When I desperately needed liberating forgiveness from mortal folly and intentional wrongdoing, I would have painted Jesus as the unsinkable ship that successfully carried me across impassable, enraged waters.
Today I would paint him as a rising sun – breathtakingly beautiful, glorious beyond the spoken word, full of wonder and splendor, warm, close, lovely, critical to my survival.
Unto all the world: How would you paint Him?
One response to “How Would You Paint Him?”
Wow! Your imagination is so beautiful and vivid!
I’d paint him just holding me!
I suppose through all of my ups and downs, fears and doubts, sins and missteps, that’s what I need/ed the most! “Be still and know that I am God”