Scrap paper in our house is in high demand these pandemic days.
Everything that’s not neatly in some sort of stack or pile is up for grabs in the hands of our bored artists. This is not altogether bad, mind you–we appreciate “reusing, reducing, and recycling” as the old PSA goes.
Recently I found that my youngest son, Alistair, had taken one of my printed sermons and used it as an easel. I’m not mad at all; I love his aesthetic.
What I love about the drawing is the fact that he didn’t mind the words at all, he just simply drew over them.
The result is this kind of cool juxtaposition of perspectives. The hard-print words of an expository sermon turned on it’s head and embellished with fancy globe people in vibrant shades of orange and blue.
It is, actually, what the sermon should have been in the first place. It’s what all good sermons are, I think. All good public proclamations aimed at moving people should embody this kind of artistic deftness and whimsy. They should turn the words on their heads in order to allow people to embody them, live them in all of their fullness, their roundness.
“Tell all the truth, but tell it slant,” Dickinson famously penned.
In a roundabout way with roundabout globe people on an inverted manuscript, Alistair did just that.
After all, sermons are meant for people of all shapes and sizes, in all their shining vibrancy.
He’s welcome to embellish, or better yet, embody, my work anytime.