The Canvas of our Lives

My congregation is currently going through a sermon series on the book of Psalms, which has thus far been extremely convicting. The Psalms are a series of prayers and songs to the Lord, and as such they provide a pretty accurate picture of the human heart. The Psalmist reveals his greatest triumphs and joys as well as his deepest fears and sorrows. No matter where you find yourself on your journey through life, I guarantee you will see yourself somewhere in the Psalms. But through his highest highs and lowest lows, the Psalmist lays it all down before his God.

It's a beautiful picture, and I found myself contemplating this morning what the "canvas" of my life would look like... Today's sermon was actually on Psalm 150, the last chapter in the book. Side note: I am always intrigued by the final chapters in books of the Bible, because there seems to be something especially important about the last words an author chooses to leave us with. Anyway, the theme of chapter 150 is most definitely "praise." It is the first word in nearly every sentence, and the last sentence is one most of us are familiar with: "Let everything that has breath praise the Lord." 

In contemplating the canvas that is my life, I first considered what kind of picture I would want it to paint, and "praise" seemed as accurate a description as any. I thought, "If my life were to have a theme, I would want it to be one of praise." I would want every part of my life to reflect and point back to its creator, and I realized that that's exactly what art tends to do. I recently had the opportunity to visit the Museum of Modern Art in New York City, and while passing through the galleries, I was reminded of how much art tells us about the painter behind the brush. In each color, line, and shadow, we are given glimpses into Van Gogh's pain, Seurat's wonder, and Picaso's frustration. 

Scripture often describes God as the potter and man the clay, and while I don't think it's a unique revelation to think of God as a creator or even an artist, I think we fail to view ourselves as the artwork, the masterpieces, that we truly are. Each of us comes into this world as a blank canvas, a vast expanse that the Lord begins to mark upon before we take our first breaths. But unlike an actual canvas, our creator allows us the freedom to hold the brush. And oh how tempting it is to do so. How often do we decide that we know what's best, that this color should go here and that line there? The problem is that an unfinished painting cannot view itself in its completed entirety. It can see only the version of itself that exists at the current time. Only the artist can visualize the finished product.

This morning I was convicted of areas of my life where I have been dipping my brush into paint in which it does not belong. It can be so easy, especially in the secret places of our hearts that no one else sees, to think that our brushstrokes are of no true consequence. But just as a drop of black paint is not easily covered up and can ruin or detract from other aspects of the painting, so do our private sins influence and inform the other, more visible, areas of our lives. Even if those affects are not readily seen by our peers, all of us will one day stand before the Lord and display our canvases before Him. And He will judge every line. When He stops before my painting, I want it to reflect His own hand, not my own. 

So what does that mean? Well, I'm still learning, and I'm sure I will be the rest of my life. But I know it starts with surrendering my own plans, my own thoughts of what's best, my own ideas of what I need, and laying them at His feet every. single. day. And while that is so scary and so difficult, isn't it also comforting to know that the One guiding our steps sees the whole canvas of our lives from beginning to end? Isn't it a blessing to know that if we are His artwork, His prized masterpieces, that the plans He has for us must truly be for our good? And finally, if we claim Christ, can we not take solace in the fact that in the end, His sacrifice will wash our canvases completely clean. I want my the painting of my life to reflect the Lord as much as possible; I want it to point others to Him so that they might also experience this amazing gift. But I am not naïve to the fact that I will make mistakes, that my canvas will be marred by countless black marks. But ultimately Christ's blood will wash that speckled canvas white as snow, and that is reason enough to lay down my cross every day.