Images of Christ

In the midst of hundreds of images of Jesus Christ, I recently saw one that made me pause and look more carefully. The outer edges of the canvas are unremarkable, even random—nondescript, with a line of color here, an unformed shape there. Coloration is vague and impressionist. Yet, as the eye moves toward the center, forms coalesce into a beautiful representational depiction of our Savior’s face. His kind eyes and gentle expression are all illustrated cleanly and carefully. Light plays across his features and his robe frames his face with quiet dignity. The whole is arresting and thought-provoking.

As I have studied this picture more, I have noticed that when I first look upon it, I see it for what it is: a well-executed painting of a beloved face. After all, Christ’s face is set exactly in the center, and is unambiguous in form and feature. It is only after my initial glance that I see the rougher, messier edges. The precision at the center of the work highlights the outer chaos, but strangely, also beautifies it as yet-unrefined elements of a work in progress.

This careful depiction seems to me to be a metaphor: we who bear Christ’s name are uneven and incomplete. We have rough edges and fragmentary spiritual abilities. However, as we focus on the Savior and try to more clearly reflect his image in our own countenances (kinder smiles, patient eyes, joyful obedience), something interesting happens. The outer, coarser elements of our lives and personalities are still there, but are not the focus. Our hypocrisies demonstrate that we are clearly a work in progress: unfinished, but becoming more beautiful as we delineate Christlike patterns into our own visages.

Paul, in Romans chapter 8, talks about “being delivered from the bondage of corruption into the glorious liberty of the children of God.” (Verse 21, all scripture references are KJV.) I love that! If I am cleansed from sin (corruption), says Paul, I gain divinely granted liberty. Isn’t that what Paul experienced? Before Christ, he was a persistent antagonist. But as he turned to the Lord, his stature increased. He became both servant and leader, writer and lion-hearted orator. Even better, he was joyful and grateful, despite difficult odds that finally took his life. He became a man of great heavenly power. Paul invites me to do the same. I can become more of who I really am. Glorious. Really.

My teen-aged daughter recently commented to me that sometimes giving up sin can feel like giving up self-defining characteristics: the propensity toward foul language under stress, “I have a temper,” or being self-centered. What we forget is that, as children of God, these indulgences obscure who we really are, and who we can become. They create a blurred, hazy picture of us.

The painting I reflected upon is unfinished on purpose. Though we are unfinished too, we are not meant to remain that way. To be refined we must turn to Christ: “the way, the truth and the life.” (John 14:6). We must abandon our sin. We must sacrifice. But the promise is there: “he that loseth his life for my sake shall find it” (Matthew 10:39). As we work to make our image more like His (by serving His children, for example, or forgiving, or overcoming a bad habit), surprisingly, our own identity becomes more defined. We find ourselves, because, as someone once observed, there is more of us to find (Kimball, Ensign, Dec. 1974).

In this new year, let us put the gifts Christ has given us to use. As we see our raw and ragged elements, let us smooth them, through repentance, that we may gain our liberty as children of God and, like the painting, have a clear depiction of our Lord at our center, mirrored in our image.

Kristin Fry loves the great people of Alaska and music about Jesus Christ. This season she was able to combine both as she conducted the Mat-Su Community Choir and Orchestra in a performance of Handel’s Messiah. She is a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.