A picture with the paint still wet

Christmas Eve sermon 2014

Revd Alan Horner was a Methodist minister who inspired many people during his time as a circuit minister, superintendent and district chair (including chairing the Methodist church in Scotland). I was privileged to know him in his retirement when he lived in Milton Keynes and was involved with the Living Spirituality Network. Over the Christmas period I have chosen some poems written by Alan to share with you as we consider together the wonder of Christ’s coming among us. Tonight, I would like to share with you a poem called

A Picture With The Paint Still Wet.

The Word became flesh

and has his portrait painted,

but not hung in a Gospel Gallery,

gazed on by the multitudes

for a fixed fee. His

was a picture with the paint still wet,

changing with the changing light,

open to interpretations, all correct,

depending on where the viewer stood.

The Virgin Birth was a stroke

of genius, an inspiration of eternity,

unique in its conception,

delicate in its portrayal,

showing the seeming simple

life of obedient faith.

Bethlehem background

might have been predicted,

being the home town

of that most honoured king,

himself a son of God,

though wayward with it,

the singer of God's praise.

He was a shepherd too, of sheep

and of God's nation flock,

but shepherds were but common folk,

at home in sheepfolds

or in sheltering barns,

no airs or graces, though sufficient grace.

Angels and stars were messengers

in that ancient world, where

all such forces were servants

of the most high God,

and served to indicate

the face of the divine,

the source and end of true wisdom

for all who love the truth,

whatever their religion, race,

and unlikely gifts. Such are

the Magi, also in the canvas,

moving across the screen, adding

their own flavour, colour to the whole.

That the paints run and the lines blur

is not a matter of surprise. This

is not the stuff of science or of history's

assumed or proven fact. This is not prose,

but poetry, with its own power

to reach the heart, which static pictures lack.

Alan Horner

When the paint is still wet, a painting can still be changed. A line can be blurred, or lifted, or a tip of the canvas can cause paint to run and blend – deliberately or not. It is still a changeable image, with almost a living quality. Alan’s suggestion in his poem is that we think of the story of Christ’s birth in the same way. Even now, more than 2000 years after the event, the story is still new and immediate, still with potential to change as the still wet paint blurs or is blended. God has not finished his painting.

But, we might think, the story is the story. It happened, all that time ago, and the story we tell does not change. Mary and Joseph travel to Bethlehem, fail to find a comfortable private room where Mary can have her child, use a manger as a cot, and are visited by shepherds with stories of angelic visitors. We know this story well. How can it change? How can the paint still be wet?

The change, of course, is in us. Alan in his poem reminds us that from different angles we see the picture differently, interpret what we see differently, and as Jesus remains as alive and as fresh as ever, we see his picture catching the light in different ways, as wet paint does. Some of us look from the vantage point of morning light, clear and strong - perhaps so strong that our morning preoccupations shine against the wet paint and stop us from enjoying the colours. Some of us see the picture with its colours made golden by a setting sun, perhaps dazzled by the way the gilding on the halos and the magis’ gifts reflect the light back; some of us see the picture through the gloom of depression or trouble, unable to see the details. But we are not tied to seeing the picture in that way every time we look at it. Jesus came into the world to show us God’s love and bring us God’s salvation. That is an offer of change, not in God, but in us. So we can ask him to show us the picture in a new light. We can ask him to use the divine paintbrush to help us to respond in love, and to grow as followers of Jesus. For every one of us, as we see the picture in new ways – perhaps one day seeing how we can share in the awed worship of the shepherds, or another day seeing how we can join in the great ‘yes’ to God’s work said by Mary – we can be changed. If we allow God to put us into the painting, to treat us as part of that picture with the paint still wet, we can be coloured and recoloured, blended and changed.

The Word became flesh and invited us to follow him, to love him, to be a part of his picture. It is a picture with the paint still wet, unfinished, growing, inviting. Will you allow the poetry of God made human to reach your heart? Will you risk allowing Jesus to paint you into the picture, and to change you, starting tonight?