A few years ago, at the suggestion of my parents, I listened to Christianity Today’s “The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill,” a podcast series detailing the flourishing, abuse and subsequent damage control of a large church in the early 2010s. The podcast itself was fascinating, but what particularly moved me was its opening song: “Sticks and Stones” by Kings Kaleidoscope.
The first time I heard one particular line burst from this song, I got chills. Paint the beauty we split. I reflected. What does “paint the beauty we split” even mean? Who is “we”? What does this have to do with our roles in the church? After a few years of growth, reflection, hurt and healing, I’ve formed a few answers that can grow right alongside me.
When Jesus died on the cross, the curtain in the Temple was said to have torn in two (Luke 23:44-47). Jesus’ death was a result of human sin–our human sin. When I think of the beauty we split, I think of sin. It’s represented indirectly by the tearing of the Temple curtain upon Jesus’ death, but it is realized in our modern world, too. We split beauty all of the time. We break friendships. We create abusive power structures (see again “The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill”). We are selfish with our belongings. Amidst these fragments broken by sin are beauties originally intended by God: community, church and generosity. Behind every mistake of ours is the shadow of what Eden could have been.
Yet, Jesus is our hope. His resurrection is the brush by which we can paint the very beauty we split with our sin. We have the tools to make this world a better place. In fact, I think that’s what our work here on earth is: to paint the beauty we split. Therein lies my column name: Paint the Beauty. To me, the fact that we split this beauty is implied. We are sinners, but to be productive members of the Christian body, we must look one step further and do something about that sin. So here I am, holding the brush Jesus offers to each of us, and trying to paint the beauty with this column. Maybe the cracks in the beauty are large. Maybe they will be visible no matter what I do. I will paint them with the love of Jesus nonetheless, and here I invite each of you to do the same.
