Behold a Tree

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“Behold a tree. Does it not speak to us thusly: 'Don't you see that God is not working himself into a frenzy in me? I am calmly, quietly, silently pouring forth my life and bringing forth fruit. Do thou likewise.'” Clarence Jordan


I love trees. I love painting trees. God speaks to me through trees.

It is difficult to explain how the idea for this project came about. Madeleine L'Engle describes a work of art as something that “comes to the artist and says, 'Here I am. Enflesh me. Give birth to me.' And the artist either says, 'My soul doth magnify the Lord,' and willingly becomes the bearer of the work, or refuses; but the obedient response is not necessarily a conscious one...'” (Walking on Water) The seed was planted in my mind one day early in my internship, watered by talking about it, and before I knew it all the pieces were falling into place. I did not even purchase one tube of paint or paintbrush. This typical occurrence in my life is to me God's way of saying, “You go paint, I'll take care of the rest.”

Thus I began work on the biggest canvas I have yet tackled. The limitations of the process, though frustrating at times, allowed me to listen to the work better. Had I been able to go at it more quickly, I may have missed out on the “dialogue,” so to speak. The texture of the ceiling (our coffee house is one of Habitat's early experiments with chicken wire and cement), the domed curve of the canvas, and the tricks of moving ladders, drop cloths, and scaffolding around slowed me down quite a bit. More than once the thought came to mind, “If only I could fly!”

It did not occur to me until part-way through that one of my prayers coming in to Koinonia was, “Lord, slow me down.” I moved hastily at the start, thrilled to begin and anxious to finish. As it became clear to me that I would not make the mark I had originally hoped for at one month, I was able to relax more and give in to the process. One of my college professors used to talk about “letting the process inform the work,” and that is a phrase that has stuck with me in art and in life.

And so I meditated upon patience during the process. If I could have reasonably fit a different quote around the border, it would be one by Rilke that speaks to me very much lately:

“There is here no measuring with time, no year matters, and ten years are nothing. Being an artist means, not reckoning and counting, but ripening like a tree which does not force its sap and stands confident in the storms of spring without the fear that after them may come no summer. It does come. But it only comes to the patient, who are there as though eternity lay before them, so unconcernedly still and wide. I learn it daily, learn it with pain to which I am grateful: patience is everything!” (Letters to a Young Poet)

I don't doubt that my creative itch will soon enough have me back up on the ladder to continue playing with this piece. But in the mean time I am learning that God calms the frenzy in my heart and invites me to patiently anticipate the harvest.