Art, Saints, and the Encounter
So I begin to understand that the most important part of my work is not the final image but the interior truth from which it is born. If the work becomes a way of dividing, destroying, or hardening the heart, then something is wrong. It may still have aesthetic appeal, it may still carry familiar motifs, but it cannot be my calling if it breaks charity first inside and then around.
There are many saints, and there are countless scenes from the New Testament that I want to envision, like forms of beauty that could help others (and myself) feel the presence of God in a concrete way. But it is not as simple as finding a technique or gathering references. The decisive question is the encounter itself.
Sometimes my understanding comes quietly, after prayer. Sometimes it arrives through the rhythm of the liturgy, morning Mass, the Benedictine sense of reverence, and the Presence of Christ under the Cross. In those moments, I notice how the simple line I have read a thousand times suddenly becomes deep again. Not because the words changed, but because I did.
In that sense, I have learned to think differently about inspiration. One priest once told something that has stayed with me: we do not choose the saints the way we choose objects in a store; rather, the saints (and the Lord who sends them) meet us. I would not express it in a way that suggests anything like independence from Christ (because the Church teaches us that devotion must always be ordered to Jesus), yet devotion can be real and providential, and it can feel like God places a particular light in front of me right when I need it. Because we are not only seeking ideas, but meaning. And meaning cannot be manufactured, only received.
The saints are not abstractions. They belong to a living reality: the communion of saints, where prayer is not a solitary effort but a shared stream. Pope Francis describes it with words that feel almost visual:
“Whenever we pray, we find ourselves immersed in a great stream of past, present and future intercession… for we pray together with all the saints…”
And he adds:
“Our veneration of the saints draws us closer to Jesus, the sole Mediator between man and God.”
So when I speak about the saints choosing us, what I really mean is this: I discover that my path is not only my own design. God has a rhythm of grace. He forms me through prayer, through struggle, through other people, and sometimes, and really often, through the saints who intercede and guide. That does not overwhelm me so much as it steadies me. It tells me that even when I feel confused, even when my limits are obvious, I am not abandoned.
Yet the more I grow in this way of seeing, the more I realize that I must also grow in humility. If creativity is a gift, then it is a responsibility, and not just another justification for pride.
Benedict of Nursia speaks with striking clarity about the posture we need, especially when we pray and when we speak to God:
“Our prayer, therefore, ought to be short and pure, unless perchance it be prolonged by the inspiration of Divine Grace.”
And in the ladder of humility, he teaches that our ascent begins with descent:
“That descent and ascent signifieth nothing else, but that we descend by exalting, and ascend by humbling ourselves.”
So I begin to understand that the most important part of my work is not the final image but the interior truth from which it is born. If the work becomes a way of dividing, destroying, or hardening the heart, then something is wrong. It may still have aesthetic appeal, it may still carry familiar motifs, but it cannot be my calling if it breaks charity first inside and then around.
Another lesson has come from the reality of charisms, those gifts God gives for building up the Church. I believe I have received abilities, talents, and hopefully an instinct for beauty, or at least some knowledge for aesthetic. But receiving a gift is not the end of the story.
The Catechism is explicit:
“It is in this sense that discernment of charisms is always necessary. No charism is exempt from being referred and submitted to the Church’s shepherds.”
This helps me because it keeps everything honest. It protects me from the subtle temptation to treat inspiration as self authentication. The Lord can and does lead, and yet the Church calls each gift to be examined, purified, and brought into communion. So even when I feel a spiritual certainty, I try to remain teachable.
When I think about art, I do not think only about form. I think about purpose, whether the work is a sign that points beyond itself. Pope Francis spoke to artists in terms that match what I experience in prayer: art should touch mystery, pain, and truth without flattening them into decoration:
“Authentic art always expresses an encounter with mystery, with the beauty that surpasses us, with the pain that challenges us, with the truth that calls us.”
And Pope John Paul II puts creativity within Christ’s horizon, not outside it:
“Do not be afraid of Christ! Faith in him opens before us a spiritual world that has inspired and continues to inspire humanity’s intellectual and artistic energies.”
So, when I begin to choose a saint, or when Scripture calls me toward a scene, I try to ask a deeper question than What can I depict? I ask: What is God forming in me right now? What encounter is waiting to be clarified through contemplation?
Sometimes the answer is not immediate. Sometimes I only recognize the motive after struggle, after Mass, after conversations, after days when my interior life looks nothing like a finished project. And that is when I learn to accept confusion without surrender.
It is possible to wait on God without being passive. For me, the waiting looks like continuing to pray, continuing to serve, continuing to create, and definitively refusing to force meaning. If I cannot yet name the next motive, then I try to let that absence become part of the path, because I have realized that confusion can be a stage of obedience. Not every inspiration is ready at the first glance. Sometimes the right time is simply the moment when the heart has been softened enough to see clearly.
So I return to a simple path:
- I give what I have: attention, time, skill, intention.
- I follow Jesus.
- I let the Father’s providence guide the encounter.
- I allow the saints to intercede, Scripture to speak, and Mass to form my gaze.
Step by step, the image begins to emerge as a witness of something God is doing.
