Breakfast at Dawn

Personally, I have never attended an Easter sunrise service. But my wife has told me how powerful they have been for her. Perhaps it’s the anticipation of glorious Easter—when we get to celebrate the resurrection of our Lord. Perhaps it’s the magic of witnessing the light of a new day—joining the morning birds to sing praises to God. There must be something special for christians to celebrate this way for so many years. However, I bet they were nothing like what the disciples experienced one beautiful morning.

The Gospel of John has a wonderful post-resurrection story. The last chapter reads like an epilogue of sorts. Peter and some disciples decide to go fishing in the night. They catch nothing. At daybreak, Jesus appears on the shore. He instructs them to cast nets again. They catch an abundance of fish. Realizing their Lord has returned, they quickly sail to shore where Jesus shares a fireside meal of bread and fish with them. Jesus then specifically speaks with Peter. Jesus asks, “do you love me” three times – one time for each betrayal Peter committed on the night of Jesus’ death. And after Peter responds “yes,” Jesus instructs him to “feed my sheep.” How wonderful that morning must have been.

In this painting, I tried to imagine that beautiful morning meal. The composition is both macro and micro. Brother sun rises over the world’s horizon—illuminating the sea with dancing light. The reflections swell to the shore where we see the abandoned boat and a circle of fellowship. Looking close, you can see a communion of grace taking place.

This is more than a sunrise breakfast. It is morning worship. God’s people abandon the work of the day, gather together to break bread and be near the Lord again. In this circle, Christ makes himself known to us, teaches us, and forgives our sins. Christ feeds us and calls us to act in love for the world.

Today, the circle spans around the world. In fact, this painting was commissioned by a patron living in Singapore. The Resurrected One calls us, from all shores, to come together and dine in grace. Wherever you are, may you answer the Lord’s loving call and join in the feast. And may the song of Alleluia, be heard all over the world.

Happy Easter.

Holy Ground

Sometimes I wish that I could get a sign from God like Moses – so I painted one.

In the book of Exodus, God appears to Moses in the form of a bush, blazing as with fire, yet not consumed. God instructs Moses to take off his sandals, for he is standing on Holy Ground. God calls Moses to lead God’s people out of Egyptian slavery. This begins a wonderful dialogue between Moses and God, and sets into motion the great deliverance of God's people.

But for me, God reveals in more subtle, abstract and quiet ways. So subtle, in fact, that I could easily have missed it had I not looked with eyes of faith. I believe that God calls each of us to something great. Ok - maybe not as big as delivering a nation form slavery. But God calls us to acts of love that (to us) can seem just as impossible and frightening. But fear not. God is with us, believing in us, leading us, and empowering us to fulfill that call.

If you ever need a reminder that God is always with you, empowering you, and calling you to something great – here’s your sign.

When I Survey the Wondrous Cross

Here we are, at the end of the Lenten season, about to remember the last supper and death of our Lord. I wanted to post this painting I made of our church's cross as a reflection of this season. Ironically, I took the photo on my way to Ash Wednesday service, at the beginning of the season. Our church is blessed with beautiful sunset views. I saw this scene and snapped a photo with my phone. But as I painted it, I realized this image reveals a lot more about Lent than I had initially seen.

First is the time of day. Dusk. A time where colors become passionate and vivid as the light of day descends to the horizon of darkness. The lenten story remembers the death of Christ, the "Light of the World." When he died, the world fell into shadow. I like how these dusk colors show the light not yet gone, struggling to illuminate with the stripes of mint blue, pink and purple close to the horizon.

Next is the moon. Good Friday and Easter are not celebrated on the same day every year like Christmas. The calendar is lunar-based as they are tied to the jewish Passover. The Passover was the context for the Last Supper.

There is the purple cloth. The cross is draped in purple during Lent. It conjures up thoughts of Christ's passion. He was mocked as "King of the Jews," adorned with a robe and a crown of thorns. Purple is a color associated with many lenten images. It is the color of royalty. It is the color of wine, the cup poured out for us. It is the color of bruising, for Christ was beaten, scourged and crucified. And I would contend it is a color of deep, deep love.

Then there is the wind blowing the cloth. The Holy Spirit is often described as wind. It makes a good metaphor for the Holy Spirit because like the spirit, wind itself is invisible and can only be seen by its effects. There was a lot of unseen power at work in the saving death of Christ. A power we can now see in its effect in our lives.

Finally, there is the cross itself. A shape resembling the manner in which Christ died. He was crucified – a tortuous, brutal death. But this cross is not really a cross of death. It is a cross of victory over death. It is empty. Christ is no longer here. He is risen. That is the surprise ending to the story. It is the good news and the Easter hope to which we cling. This is a Celtic Cross. The circle represents the halo of victory and the ring of eternity. Even as we take time to pause and reflect on Christ's death, secretly, deep down, our souls smile in the assurance that sin and death no longer has a hold on us.

So there it is. A brief moment at the end of an average day. A moment almost missed in the hustle and bustle of life, even going to church. A moment that, when seen with eyes of faith, can reveal a lifetime of mystery and an eternity of grace.

A good Holy Week to you all.

And a most happy Easter.

The Well

We all know what it’s like to be thirsty for something to drink.

But have you ever been thirsty for peace in your life?

Have you ever been thirsty for a deeper connection with God?

In the fourth chapter of the Gospel of John, the story of Jesus’ encounter with the woman at the well addresses how to quench that kind of thirst. This painting of “The Well” illustrates how the story speaks to me.

The scene is set in the heat of the day, the time of day that most people avoid the labor of fetching water from a well. The landscape is barren and dry. The composition is one of solitude. It is minimal almost to the point of being boring and easily overlooked. At first glance the whole piece is one of loneliness and drought.

We watch the discourse between Jesus and the woman form a distance – so we don't intrude on the privacy of the moment. The figures of Jesus and the woman are contrasted in white and black. The colors are classically symbolic of Christ’s righteousness and our brokenness. They also symbolize the divide between their respective cultures. The woman was Samaritan, a culture with whom Jews would not associate. Jesus dares to love her in spite of social labels and traditions. Jesus looks directly at the woman, speaking words of truth. The woman is guarded, not looking directly back. There is clearly a distance between them, but not for long.

As the conversation in the story continues, the drought in the woman's life becomes a flooded with renewal. Likewise, the painting transforms along with her. In their discourse, you can see the miracle of human interaction. You can see the wonders of belonging to a relational God. You can see that God DOES encounter us in very personal ways. Although the colors in this painting are dusty and dry, the strokes are arranged to give a subtle appearance as that of light reflecting on water. When you look at the painting in that light, the worn, dry path to the well becomes a river of Grace. The stone well looks less like an island and more like a floating raft. The two people are no longer traveling strangers. They are now traveling companions.

That is what the ”drink” offered by Christ can do for us. Through prayer and the love of others, we encounter God in very real ways. God’s Word revives us and saturates the dry cracks in our lives. When life seems full of dust and drought, we can feel refreshed, renewed, and alive. When we feel isolated and alone, we can find belonging.

May we all be so refreshed by God’s gracious gift in Jesus Christ.

Peace.

The Gospels

For centuries, the four Gospels have been depicted as certain winged creatures. I suspect this was done so illiterate followers of the faith could recognize an illustration to be that of a certain Gospel. Sometimes, a famous story or parable would be painted. And if that story was found in the Gospel of Matthew, the iconic image of Matthew would appear somewhere in the painting. Other times, all four Gospels would be carved on a door or cathedral facade. Traditionally, Matthew has been represented as a man, symbolizing Christ’s humanity. Mark, a lion, for Christ’s authority. Luke, an ox, for Christ’s sacrifice. And John, an eagle, for Christ’s spirituality.

This painting is a more contemporary take on the ancient images. These beings are not winged. But there is still a subtle lighting effect behind each one to hint at something spiritual. This composition is made up of four canvases. They are arranged to make a cross. They also take your eye on a circular journey that alludes to the “eternal” in these special writings. I wanted to explore the concepts inherent in each creature. How does it broaden our understanding to see Jesus as a human, a lion, an ox, or an eagle?

Take a look at these images, and recall your favorite stories about Jesus. For the most part, all we know about the life and message of Christ is found in these four books. And these four images can also speak volumes about the mystery of Christ, “The Word Made Flesh.”