One summer afternoon nearly 20 years ago, I was stuck in standstill traffic along the 605 freeway in Los Angeles, California, when I glanced up from the steering wheel to an incredible view of the San Gabriel Mountains, triangular peaks peeking out from swirls of cotton-candy pink and tangerine orange clouds. It was a glorious sight. As I was struck with wonder at the beauty of it all, I was also hit with the realisation that such a landscape could not have been a random accident. This had to be the act of a Creator.
But more than recognising this for the first time, I also surmised that there was a Creator who loved me. The sky didn’t have to be cotton-candy pink and tangerine orange. The whole picture didn’t have to be such a feast for my eyes. In fact, why would God create any kind of feast?* Why did He create food that was delicious to eat?
The answer I arrived at was love.
In creating things not only for practical use but as objects of beauty, God is acting out of love. Boyfriends do the same when gifting a shiny necklace to their love, knowing there is no practical value to the trinket beyond its beauty and the adorner’s delight. Tourists do the same, snapping photos of Big Ben on their iPhones for nothing other than to flick through them later.
That task, to create and share beauty as an act of love, falls to us too. In Edith Schaeffer’s highly practical (and perhaps a little unfortunately named) book The Hidden Art of Homemaking, she recounts a story of practising creativity when feeding a homeless man who had come knocking at her door one rainy day. Instead of simply tossing a loaf of bread at him, Schaeffer details the intricate way she crafted two different styles of sandwich, a big steaming bowl of corn chowder and even had her children help her arrange a tiny bouquet of flowers on the meal tray.
One of Schaeffer’s daughters asked, “What’ll he think of all that, Mummy?” Schaeffer replied, “Well, perhaps he’ll remember something in his past - perhaps he had a very nice home once, where he had meals prepared for him. Anyway, he’ll stop and think, and we’ll give him this little Gospel of John to read while he is eating. He can take it away with him and, who knows, perhaps he’ll do a lot of thinking, and some day, believe. Anyway, he may realise we care something about him as a person, and that’s important.”
For those uncertain about where they can start dabbling in creativity, try giving Schaeffer’s book a read. You may receive a creative jolt, even for all the everyday things of life - jobs, taxes, dishes, laundry. Or you may find yourself offering a similar sentiment as this Psalmist in Psalm 45.1 - “My heart overflows with a pleasing theme; I address my verses to the king; my tongue is like the pen of a ready scribe.”
Amongst the millions of seemingly more important, pressing things to do in life, the creative act can feel a bit frivolous and a waste of time. But it has the potential to remind people of the beauty that exists in this world otherwise filled with much darkness. It can offer dignity to the unworthy and call them home.
At its core, creativity is a love letter to and about God. So, will you pick up the pen?
*Andrew addresses the question of why we feast here.
These articles are written without the use of generative AI.