Written on the Heart

 

As we begin our fourth week of living and seeking to embody the words Paul wrote to the church in Corinth that was in conflict ~ living through divisiveness and anger ~ I invite you this morning to get out a piece of paper.  As you slowly read these words, I want you to draw images that come to mind.  If you think, “But, Wes, I am no Van Gogh!”  Please be assured that this is not about creating a museum masterpiece; this is about letting a different part of your brain process these powerful words. This is about allowing the poetry of these words to awaken your sacred imagination in a new way.  If you still feel reluctant or resistant, draw a heart.  Then, which of Paul’s words warms your heart?  Write those inside the heart.  Then, are there words or phrases that are like sandpaper to your soul?  Write those outside the heart, or try to rephrase/rewrite what Paul is saying.  There is no grade on this project, just like there is no grade on the art project of life.  This allows your heart to be expressed through your hand in a sketch that is your soul’s response.  Read and then draw with me.

 

Even if I can speak in all the tongues of earth – and those of the angels too – but do not have love, I am just a noisy gong, a clanging cymbal.  If I have the gift of prophecy such that I can comprehend all mysteries and all knowledge, or if I have faith great enough to move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing.  If I give away everything I won to feed those poorer than I, then hand over my body to be burned, but do not have love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient; love is kind.  Love is not jealous, it does not put on airs, and it is not snobbish; it is never rude or self-seeking; it is not prone to anger, nor does it brood over injuries.  Love doesn’t rejoice in what is wrong, but rejoices in the truth.  There is no limit to love’s forbearance, to its truth, its hope, its power to endure. 

Love never fails.  Prophecies will cease; tongues will be silent; knowledge will pass away.  Our knowledge is imperfect, and our prophesying is imperfect.  When the perfect comes, the imperfect will pass away.  When I was a child, I used to speak like a child, think like a child, and reason like a child.  But when I became an adult, I put childish ways aside.  Now we see indistinctly, as in a mirror; then we will see face to face.  My knowledge is imperfect now; then I will know even as I am known.  There are, in the end, three things that last: faith, hope, and love.  But the greatest of these is love.

 

Sit with your drawing today as a reflection and response of the Artist/Composer/Creator God who is still sketching in your life and mine.  Amen.