God’s Story

Disclaimer: I didn’t write this. But it’s incredible, from the mind of Jeremy Marshall.

Our story begins with an artist flinging millions of bright dots on a pitch black canvas. 100 billion to be more precise, and that’s in our galaxy alone. Then the Artist did the same thing in 170 billion more galaxies just like ours so that eons later, scientists and philosophers with coke bottle glasses would sit in stuffy rooms without windows and try to work out why there should be so many. It doesn’t make any sense. That’s because the explanation for all the stars and all the galaxies isn’t a scientific explanation OR a philosophical explanation OR a theological explanation. The explanation is about art. Artists create art to express themselves –to say something about who they are. And whether its good art or bad art or big art of small art, all art achieves the goal of reflecting the artist. So when the Great Artist, the First Artist, flung countless stars into countless galaxies, He was speaking about who He is. And His art spoke so beautifully of who He is, He decided to keep going. He painted land and water and plants and birds and animals. All of this art sang of the artist’s skill and heart, but it wasn’t quite enough. The artist had to go further. So the Great Artist painted the last thing you’d expect to end up on a canvas. He painted an artist. It wasn’t enough for the Great Artist to have His art speak of who He was; He desired his art to perpetuate itself. He wanted His paintings to fill the voids in itself, and even the paintings of His paintings would shout out about who the great Artist was.


But you know the story. The second generation artists got the idea that their brushes were their own, and they needed to use their paint to touch themselves up. A big black ink blot spashed on the canvas, and just like a pencil eraser that has seen too many days, every attempt to clean it up just smeared it further and ground it deeper. The art was ruined.


But the Great Artist had other tricks up His sleeve; he commissioned a whole nation of painters to spread His colors. These little artists will spread My colors to the ends of my canvas, and my art will once again display the heart of the artist. Wrong. The whole army of painters went rogue. It was like a whole town trained by Michelangelo skipped town and traded paintbrushes for spray cans, tagging graffiti on overpasses. Instead of a gentle touch-up job, the Great Artist’s canvas got worse.


As a last ditch effort, this mad genius did the unthinkable. The Great Artist painted Himself into His own painting. He entered His own work, showing His art how to truly wield a paintbrush, and making a way for his little painters to paint again. He painted death on Himself to put a brush in our hands.


And so here we stand. Artists descended from the great Artist Himself. And for those that have been adopted by this Great Artist, we’ve been given a brush dipped in His blood. The only question that remains, is what we’ll do with the paint. All over the world people wonder how so great an Artist could allow so many ugly paintings in the world. Death, destruction, pain, hunger, envy, strife, abandonment – dark shades seen in hideous blotches everywhere on our earth canvas. The answer to the question lies in recognizing the paint. It’s our paint, not His. His masterpiece was flawless, but it has been thoroughly marred by our own rebellious strokes. The failings of Adam and Eve and Israel and Peter and you and me are the failings of a people who forgot what their brushes were for. We’ve been given the unfathomable honor of painting with the Master. Of taking part in His great art. But more often than not we sit doodling in the corner. We don’t realize that all art that isn’t His art is just graffiti. And the graffiti is everywhere. So the question that lies before us tonight is whether we are content in our lives to keep to ourselves, scratching out sketches not fit for a young mother’s refrigerator door, or if we will recognize the glory of adding just a few strokes to the work of the Master. Many of us feel like we’re not yet ready to join in the art. We’re in college, we’re in training, we’re still learning, we’re still young, we’re inexperienced, we’re poor.

You can finish reading the full post at http://callingallcollegians.blogspot.com/. God is good.



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