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what my eyes have seen...




 as I am the one who addressed the topic, I feel it
 imperitive to get my own thoughts here.
 
 
 I encountered a piece of Christian art for the first
 time in waldenbooks as I was probing through shelves
of monet, renoir, and picasso.
 
 I had recognised the artist, surprised to find him
 there and began filing over the images in the book
with eagerness and hunger.
 
 I gasped aloud when I saw it for the first time. 
 and I began to cry there.
 
 
 
 
 it was the portrait of a very old man, his profile. 
 he must have been alive for many years, as his beard
was powdery, his skin leathery, and the folds around
his mouth and eyes were deep.
 
 they were even deeper in his expression.  his head
 was tilted back, his eyes squeezed tightly shut, his
mouth frozen open.
 
 tears trickled and streamed down the cracks of his
 face and across the worn cheeks.


he was robed, and cradled to his chest was a tiny
babe.

 
 
 the portrait called "Simeon."
 
 
 I recognised the name, and this is when my weeping
was most apparant.  I remember being told about Simeon
by my mother, when I was a little girl.
 
He was a very old man, who was promised he would not
die until he seen the Saviour.  one day, the Spirit
led his restless person through the dusty streets and
into the temple courts.
 
 he met them there.  Mary, Joseph, Jesus.
 
 and holding the child in his arms, he cried:
 
    "sovereign Lord, as you have promised,
     you now dismiss your servant in peace. 
 
 For my eyes have seen your salvation, 
 which you have prepared
     in the sight of all people,
  a light for revelation to the Gentiles
  and for the glory of your people Isreal."
 
 (Luke 2:25-32.)
 
 
 
 remembering this story, and my mother's then-quiet
 voice telling it to me. instantly overwhelmed as I
recognised that this man had gone to bed every night,
expecting, knowing that he would see the one that
would deliver his people.  he had heard and read and
known of the messiah his whole life--they had been
anticipating and foretelling of his coming for
centuries.
 
 and watching his body wither and fade, I am sure he
wondered if he would indeed see such a promise
fulfilled.
 
 
 looking at that portrait, I could see him weeping
 there, knowing.  knowing that indeed the promise was
fulfilled to him--but also to all of Israel.  to all
the world.
 
that he was fully aware, he was clutching in his hands
the living breathing flesh of God.  and the Saviour to
his people. 
 
 
 I cried very much, too.
 
 
 
 too obvious?
 perhaps it was.
 
I knew then and there that this was Christian Art--not
because it was painted by Ron DiCianni (a prominant
Christian artist) and printed by Dayspring (a
prominant Christian company) and portraying a Biblical
character.
 
 I knew it was Christian art because it moved my soul
to recognise the love and marvelous work of my
Creator.  I knew it was Christian art because it made
me aware of what he has done for the ones he made and
promised to.
 
and I determined there what I have determined many
times over and over.   I want to produce the same.  in
any fashion, in any medium, in any way.  in every way.

 
 I have more thoughts on the subject.  I hope to have
them out later this evening.

 in the meantime, goodday.

 
 lindsey.

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