Being a pastor is weird. Every week, we have a term paper due on the subject of hope. Sometimes, we come up speechless and look to other voices to help us. Sometimes, we preach what we know we cannot practice. Sometimes, we wait until the very last minute to throw words on a page, begging the Spirit to show up as we try to communicate something scripturally sound, faithful, and relatable.
I have never spent so much time researching and preparing for sermons as I have this month. I must have slept through the day we covered Revelation in my New Testament class in seminary. I have pored over commentaries, watched YouTube videos, listened to podcasts, and read and re-read passages. My brain is full of horsemen and beasts and dragons, oh my!
But this week, I have taken a different approach. I pulled out a few canvas boards, acrylic paints and paintbrushes, and have been painting my way through this weird and wonderful text. I am no Picasso, but I have found it helpful to engage with the text in a new, more creative way. John paints with many colors: rainbows and pearls, golden roads and pale green horses. He may be the best artist in this book.
This Sunday, we will learn about John's vision of heaven. What's yours?
I am wondering about that as I sit in my office. My dog, Jo, is asleep next to me. I am looking at assorted plants you all have given me over the years. Katie is typing down the hall, John is installing a paper towel dispenser in the bathroom. There is a gnat that won't leave me alone, probably because I left my banana peel in the trash can for too long. The weather is finally just the way I like it. The ordinary, if I take a minute, can be so holy. Earth, if I stop and look around, can feel so heavenly.
I digress. I'll see you Sunday as we conclude this book. And while it has been a challenging, sometimes disturbing, confounding text, it has brought with it acrylic paint stains on my jeans, and a renewed hope in my soul.
Peace