Saintly Sinners -- FPC sermon excerpt

Some of the greatest Christian art has been produced by really rotten Christians. You don’t need to be saintly to paint a saint.

In fact, writes journalist Elizabeth Lunday (mental_floss, September-October 2009), if you want a heavenly picture, it’s often best to hire a sinner.

Consider the depiction of St. Matthew by Michelangelo Merisi de Caravaggio. The apostle is shown in a dark and dirty Roman tavern, surrounded by low-lifes. That’s because Caravaggio spent plenty of time in these pubs himself, drinking and brawling. In the year 1606, this hot-tempered artist killed a Roman thug in a fight.

Or how about Rembrandt’s 1633 etching “The Good Samaritan”? It is on the cover of today’s bulletin. Take a look at it — it is so down-to-earth that it deserves a PG rating. Notice the dog in the foreground, relieving itself. And this is a story from the Bible!

Members of the Dutch Reformed Church loved Rembrandt’s realistic artwork, but they didn’t appreciate his relationships with women. He painted his wife Saskia as a prostitute in a tavern, sitting in the lap of one of Jesus’ characters, the prodigal son. After Saskia died, he became lovers with his housekeeper, and then left her for another servant, causing his housekeeper to take him to court. Messy, messy, messy.

Rembrandt lost the support of church members because of his behavior, and he died in poverty in 1669 — but not before he painted one of his greatest works¸ “Return of the Prodigal Son.” Like the sinful son in the parable, Rembrandt knew he needed forgiveness.

Then there’s Salvador Dali, the artist who created “The Sacrament of the Last Supper.” Although born to devout Catholic parents in Spain, he was an atheist who indulged every outlandish whim, including the throwing of orgies that he called “erotic Masses.” He returned to his Catholic roots after moving to the United States, but some questioned his sincerity. Dali may have been motivated more by money than by spirituality, bragging that postcards of his Last Supper sold more copies than all of the works of Leonardo da Vinci and Raphael combined.

These are all examples of great Christian art, produced by not-so-great Christian artists.

In Acts 9, a Pharisee named Saul is on the road to Damascus, and he is clearly no saint, “still breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord” (v. 1). But Christ calls him and uses him to do great things — Jesus says that “he is an instrument whom I have chosen to bring my name before Gentiles and kings and before the people of Israel” (v. 15). Saul is “an instrument,” and Jesus is going to play him. Just as he plays Caravaggio, and Rembrandt, and Dali. Just as he plays you, and plays me. We are instruments.

One of the most amazing things about the grace of God is that it works through sinful human beings like ourselves. We are both saints and sinners, at the very same time; Martin Luther described us as simul justus et peccator — simultaneously righteous and sinful. This means that we do not achieve some kind of moral perfection before God begins to work through us; instead, God’s grace is doing great things while we are still struggling with sin. He paints truly beautiful pictures using people like ourselves, the saintly sinners of this world. We are his instruments — his paintbrushes — and he uses us to splash a wide range of colors on his canvas, including those hues that we might consider to be rather ugly.