In one of his books, the late Henri Nouwen told the story of a little boy who stood, day-by-day, in the doorway of the studio of a great sculptor. What fascinated the boy was the sight of the sculptor, slowly chipping away with hammer and chisel on a large slab of marble. Every day the boy appeared in the doorway. Every day the sculptor hammered away at the stone. With agonizing slowness, the block of marble was imperceptibly changing. A mysterious form was emerging from the stone.

Finally, the day came when the sculptor finished his work: A great, marble lion stood majestically before the sculptor and the child. To the boy, the lion was simply overwhelming – a towering masterpiece that looked so real that it seemed ready to leap from its base, or give a roar loud enough to shake the studio. The boy was captivated.

Mustering all his courage, the boy crept up to the artist, his eyes as big as saucers. Tugging on the edge of the sculptor’s coat, he said, “Excuse me, sir. May I ask you a question?”

“Of course,” answered the kind sculptor, as he knelt down beside the boy. “What would you like to know?”

“Well,” stammered the nervous lad, “It’s just this … how did you know there was a lion in that stone?”

What a great question! Michelangelo once said that the way to sculpt a lion is to take a block of marble and simply chip away everything that is not a lion. But Nouwen had an even better answer than Michelangelo’s. He said that the best answer the sculptor could have given was: “You see, there’s a lion in my heart, and it was the lion in my heart that recognized the lion in the stone.”

Isn’t that the force that lies behind all creative effort? To imagine what could be, but is not yet, requires that something in my heart recognizes the possible. The unwritten book, the unpainted painting, the undesigned building – all require a vision in the heart of the creator, out of which springs a new, creative work.

My experience of the community of faith is similar: It is a family in which we recognize something, or someone, holy in our hearts, and then join together in a vision of what is not yet, but could be. I recognize God’s Spirit dwelling in you because the same God dwells in me. When I look at you, I see a beautiful, unfinished work of art. Why? Because God isn’t finished with me yet, either. But day-by-day, the Artist is at work.