Peter's Denial

Just when you thought it was safe to go to Sunday School! I was sitting there, minding my own spiritual business, when a parishioner came up and told me he was in charge of a parish-wide art project for Lent. Members who paint were being asked to do the Stations of the Cross, and he wondered if I would participate. "We have two left," he said, "the crucifixion and Peter's denial." Not wanting to take on something as familiar as the crucifixion, I picked Peter's denial, having no idea how I'd capture it. (I've always liked to sign up for things without a clue of how I was going to pull it off. It makes me feel alive.)

A week later, I was on a plane with a full cup of coffee, my noise-reduction headphones, and my note pad. I put on great music and let my mind and heart wander.

My first thought was to do something metaphorical. I sketched a front of a church, with darkness and emptiness behind it. Such an image captured the dichotomy between Peter's leadership in the early church and his denials. 

I then listed things about Peter and his role in the Gospel. Known as "the rock," I thought about painting a rock with three cracks, one for each of the times he denied Christ. That led to another idea, a boat (which is symbolic of the church) tied to a rock (Peter, the head of the Church) with three cracks in it.

I imagined the campfire where his three denials took place. Although I had never painted a face before, something about his face, full of remorse, illumined by the light of a fire appealed, but then I stepped back and thought about the nature of his denial, and how, like him, we deny Christ in countless ways each day. I thought about the words of Christ, "Before the cock crows you will deny even knowing me three times,"  which led to the idea of a picture of Jesus and it being denied, or destroyed. Eventually, the idea of a portrait of Christ ripped three times seemed to capture not only Peter's three denials, but also how we distort, deny, or destroy Christ's image.

Pulling it off was another matter. Not only had I never painted a face before, now I was beginning with Jesus and would be hanging such a piece in a church for all to see. Still, the intimidation was closely related to intense excitement. I found other paintings of Jesus and tried to find one that had a look that spoke to me. There were the primitive ones, with Jesus looking right at you, but I wanted something else. At a lecture, I heard about the first painting of Jesus that showed his profile and how controversial it was, and realized I wanted him to be looking away. Eventually, I had him not only looking away, but down as well as if contemplating something, or a bit disappointed.

My first attempt was fair, but it was not good enough. I tried again, learning from the first, and came up with the one I eventually used. It was dark, full of earth tones, and the brushstrokes a bit wild and unpredictable. In the end, I felt Christ was real, alive, and approachable. He looked vulnerable, which made me want to draw closer.

I had imagined placing the painting in a shadow box frame, where the edges would show. With such a dark painting, I knew the black background wouldn't work, so I decided blood-red would be better. With the painting dry, frame and background ready, I placed the painting and suddenly confronted a challenge I hadn't anticipated. I didn't want to rip it. There were logistical issues, like in what direction and in what way. I practiced ripping a piece of paper by hand, then tried with scissors. Clearly the hand-ripped one had the feel for which I was looking. The real challenge was internal. One, I liked the painting and didn't want to ruin it. Second, and I will think about this challenge for awhile, I didn't want to rip a picture of Jesus. It felt disrespectful.

After almost an hour, I went for it and made three rips. I was surprised by the white edges, but the edges and the red made the rips pop. I couldn't rip into Jesus' face, but I think the point was made. Instead of posting an account of the denial, I chose Peter's three denials alone, with the refreshing words of The Message:

“I do not know what you are talking about.”

“I swear, I never laid eyes on the man.”

“I do not know the man.”

They show a progression of denial I liked.

For me, this project was much more than a work of art. It came from a place within, and I feel I was joined (and protected) by God's creative spirit throughout. Tomorrow it will hang with other works of art, all of which seek to stir Christians during this holy season. One might think it's just another piece of religious art, but, as the story behind the easel shows, it is much more than that.