GRAVES - God desperate to be loved: a poetic-artistic spiritual journey

A GOD
DESPERATE
TO BE LOVED A Poetic-Artistic Spiritual Journey FR. ED GRAVES T his awesome awareness moves me to tears: how your love has guided all my hallowed, though often troubled years; yet even now, Lord, the sun of your glory rises. --We Reverence Your Cross AuthorHouse 1663 Liberty Drive Bloomington, IN 47403 www.authorhouse.com Phone: 1-800-839-8640 2012 by FR. ED GRAVES. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 06/22/2012 ISBN: 978-1-4678-7684-1 (sc) ISBN: 978-1-4678-7683-4 (hc) ISBN: 978-1-4678-7682-7 (e) Library of Congress Control Number: 2011960742 Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only. Certain stock imagery Thinkstock. Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them Contents I have loved you with an everlasting love, so I drew you to me, taking pity on you. Jeremiah 31: 3 There are more things in heaven and on earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio Shakespeare, Hamlet I dont believe in God, Tom, my college schoolmate, said as he and I sat that bright September day on a stone bench in the shade of a mammoth oak. We had agreed to meet here after his last class.

I had merely said, God is wonderful --to make so beautiful a day! Although shocked, I continued to admire the campus a while, then turned to him. Tom, I said, no guy ever looked into the eyes of a girl he loves and said, I dont believe in love! No one ever looked at this beautiful campus, or, admired, as we did last night, a clear starry sky, and said, I dont believe in beauty! We believe in love and beauty--why not in God? Did someone not have to create them? How can you see all this beauty and deny its maker? I dont have to prove God exists, Tom. I dont have to prove Jesus is God, that he loves me: I know it. Ive experienced it. I dont believe Jesus is alive, that he rose from the dead. Ive met him.

Hes my friend, my lover. Oh, Ive heard all the arguments, as you have; Ive walked the ivied halls, heard the rabid professors. But Ive also sat, still and long, and listened to the wind whisper through the trees. I have known the boundless, the sometimes ravishing presence of a loving God. And Ive looked into his eyes. On Calvary.

Ive been bathed, as in the sunlight of this day, by his unconditional love. He is with me--a person, a friend, who gives my life meaning. And--just think, Tom! Jesus says that if we believe in him we will live forever. (John 6:40) Can you imagine only doing what you love, when you want-- forever? These poems and drawings are my love songs to God-- praising of his beauty and love. They are a witness, not a defense, a song, not an argument. Here, Tom. Here, Tom.

Take this book. Maybe we can sing the same song. In the beginning...God created the heavens and the earth. Genesisl: 1 I do not paint what I see; I paint what I feel. Pablo Picasso Sunrise glimmered gold behind the the Master Painters mansion, soon sending mystic beams down the high nighted mountain and seaport below where we had gathered earlier. Gazing up at the imposing edifice, we anxiously awaited the van he was sending to pick us up at St.

Johns Church, and when we finally arrived and gathered on his porch, we held our breath as the tall doors opened and he appeared, his welcoming smile beaming in the waking sun. He beckoning our little group inside for a first glimpse of his work. As he opened the doors and greeted us, we said, People have told us that your canvases are like nothing we have ever seen, that they reveal our deepest selves. We remembered Paul Cezanne saying he would amaze Paris with an apple--and people laughed at him; but he did, and not merely Paris, but the world. The art world still reels from his genius. Needless to say, we expected an epiphany.

As he escorted us down a long hall decked with famous paintings, all of which he said he loved, he opened the double doors to a huge white vaulted studio and inviting us in. Sunlight blazed in broad shafts through the tall open arched windows, washing him in dazzling light. His aged, smiling face radiated kindness, his smile was childlike, his face round with gray, receding hair. Light darkly etched the creases around his smiling eyes and mouth. Please, come in! he said, eager to show us his work. And we expected him to be somber! After all, he was a revered genius.

Instead, he was warm, inviting, and made us feel at home. And for some strange reason, we seemed to know him, as we would a beloved father or grandfather. We stood around gazing at the huge paintings that leaned, backs facing us, against the walls. These paintings, he said, tell your story. They will puzzle some of you, amaze some of you, thrill some of you. But remember--I paint like no one else.

My paintings are different from any you have seen. And they portray not only what my eyes see, but what I think and feel about you. I use one characteristic to represent you: your beauty as unrepeatable masterpieces of God. I want these paintings to show you how special you are, and each painting is of one of you and reveals the most meaningful aspects of your life. I chose each of you, and I hope you will see yourselves as special as I do. My work was influenced by Cezanne and Picasso.

Cezanne studied and painted Mt. St. Victorie for years, day after day, from different views. He said he could study forever and never exhaust his mountains beauty. He would move slightly to the right, now to the left, and see it as new. St. Victorie. Victorie.

Like Picasso. I see you from many views, and, as he said, It is as if, when I paint, I touch the face of God. My paintings are a mystery to be probed, not just glanced at, to understand. They are an enigma, even a seeming distortion--or, if you will, an abstraction. But all art is distortion and abstraction: Rembrandt and I paint the same subject, but each of us has a unique vision. Neither merely paints what he sees--but what he feels and thinks.

As for me, my paintings of you are poetic, the poetry of your lives as Gods beloved children--and I know you are that. He began to walk slowly around the room, pausing before one painting, then another, turning each painting to face us. A deep silence seized us. Our eyes widened in amazement, our hearts expanded at our awareness of his boundless love for us. Each of us gazed, for a seemingly endless time, at our painting-- but then, all as one, we turned to the Master Painter and saw his eyes welling with tears, so eager he was for our response. Our eyes also began to tear up.

Then, as if with one voice, as if caught up in a spiritual ecstasy, we exclaimed, All glory, honor, and praise to you, our God, forever and ever! For the Master Painter--was God. Each of us could see in our portrait, mysteriously yet clearly, the face of Jesus--not in place of, but in our uniqueness. We also saw the faces of everyone we had known, all the people we had loved--men and women, young and old. All were there in our face--and we knew: only God could paint like this. We finally understood: Jesus is all in all! Our response to this experience was seemingly timeless, an overwhelming love for God and each other, a breathtaking awareness that each of us is Gods image, each a masterpiece. creation, of which John wrote, Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth. (Revelation 21: 1) Heavenly music seemed to fill our souls. (Revelation 21: 1) Heavenly music seemed to fill our souls.