“For we are his handiwork, created in Christ Jesus for good works that God prepared beforehand so we may do them.” (Ephesians 2:10, New American Bible)
A friend of mine also has a blog, and last week, she wrote a lovely reflection about this verse and the idea of our lives being God’s “poems”. (You can find that here: https://revsheree.blogspot.com/2023/10/poetry-in-motion.html?m=1).
That got me thinking about other forms of artwork and how they are created. I began imagining how a craftsperson – a fine furniture maker, perhaps – goes about constructing his creation. First, he envisions what he wants to make, imagining how it will look and function when it is completed. He carefully chooses his material: a pleasing piece of wood, for example. There might be imperfections in the grain of the wood he chooses; however these are all part of the charm of his piece, for this craftsman’s creations are one of a kind, meant to express his personality as well as fulfill the commission he has undertaken.
He gathers his tools, and uses only what is required by his work. He uses these tools expertly, keeping them in perfect condition, for they are invaluable in accomplishing his goal. He derives great enjoyment from his work – not just the final product, but the entire process, even the challenges.
When his piece is constructed, there’s still much work to do before he is satisfied. He must finish his creation by removing all of the roughness, testing with his hands to make sure all is smooth. He uses sandpaper, starting with a rough grit, but then proceeding with a finer and finer grit, working carefully until it meets his exacting requirements. Only then is his creation ready for its proper place, the precise place for which it was crafted.
Our Divine Craftsman works this way. Before we were born, he knew us: beginning to end, through and through (Psalm 139). We were created on purpose, by his design, in his image and for his pleasure (Rev. 4:12, KJV). He always knew our imperfections, our frailties; in his capable and loving hands, however, we can be shaped into something beautiful and useful.
The “sandpaper” he used in my life to smooth out my “rough edges” often felt pretty harsh at first. My sin was daunting to me when my eyes were first opened to my deep selfishness and lack of love: there was lots to bring to the Confessional! As time has gone on however, I’ve learned to trust more deeply in His infinite mercy. I’ve learned not to be so pridefully distressed about my imperfections. I see that my Divine Craftsman desires that his “trademark” – humility, gentleness, generosity and self-control – are more evident in me. And so he uses the everyday annoyances, interruptions, foibles and failings of life and those around me to be his fine grit “sandpaper”, challenging me with his high standard of love: “love one another as I have loved you”.
My calling is to continue to recognize these challenges as his loving process; to welcome and cooperate with his work. The challenges continually remind me that I cannot love Him without loving my neighbor. He chooses these precise situations and circumstances for me individually in order to show me my weaknesses and my desperate need for his continual grace. And just as a human craftsman repeatedly uses his own hands on his work to test its smoothness, Jesus continually “touches” me with his love, his Spirit reassuring me of his intimate presence in everything I’m going through.
This “sandpaper” keeps me humble and dependent on him to finish his work of love in me which he began and which he has promised to complete (Phil. 1:6) so that I might show forth His glory: his beauty, wisdom and goodness.
Lessons From Love School 