By a most unusual of circumstances, which is usual in my life, I ended up living in the Divine Mercy Shrine in Stockbridge Ma. I ended up there to translate the Divine Mercy material into Spanish, which I had already started while living in Mexico. I lived in Mexico from the first day of my homelessness. That’s another story altogether. As I was furiously translating the first book, one of the Marian Fathers came in holding a photo, of what seemed to be a painting I had done of St John Vianney. I really don’t know how father ended up with that photo. No one there knew my past career as a professional artist. Without letting me see that photo, he showed me a large page illustration of a mural from Portugal of stunning power, even as it was in a black and white very old piece of paper. Father asked me if I could paint that picture. Completely flabbergasted of how could he possibly have known that I could paint, I blurted out : “yes father, I can do that”. Thus I was fired as a translator and rehired as a painter. (Another adventure connected to this circumstance, I narrated in “Call me Dimwitt”) So Father and I went to the art store and stood there patiently as I pick up things for the painting. Little did he know that I, though a professional artist, had never been trained as an artist and had very little knowledge about the materials there in front of me. I acted like I knew what I was doing, and brought back a big bag of materials to begin painting. The same feeling I had experienced, while flying to Mexico in my private jet of zeal, soared again through me as this painting was appearing before my very eyes on the canvas. And like all the people that came to visit to see the progress, I too, stood in line with them to see this incredible work of art, ever so orderly, come to pass in my little room. I successfully changed the face of Jesus, from the mural print I was copying, to the face that St Faustina had commissioned at first, the Vinius picture, (prior to restoration, which I did not do) I loved that face more than any other face I have ever seen, I put it on Jesus on this canvas and uncovered the flying shroud off His Head on the print, and added the Divine Mercy rays. I thought I that point I thought I was finished. Father came in and without saying much said I should put some people about Him to show what is happening. That was very hard for me to do. I was clueless of how to paint people free hand, so I began to scour the Abby’s library with images to copy. One by one, working from left to right, each person took a place at the feet of Jesus resurrected. When I put my brush down, thinking I was done now, instantly it appeared in my head …… the most profound and interesting meaning to those arbitrarily picked people from where ever I found a suitable model among many books and magazines…… so I thought. But is was “The Story of a Child of the Church”, a story of a soul, a story that God had planned for us from the beginning. Upon Baptism we become sons and daughters of the Father, we are now empowered by the Theological Virtues of Faith, Hope, and Love, and look, only LOVE touches the heart of God. As the grown soul , it’s connected slightly with the Heart of God but the soul is so distracted, God and the world are both good and attractive, engaging. One day, the soul becomes aware of the call of God, but it’s too set on it’s own ways, God makes too hard of a demand, give up all? Really ….. GIVE IT ALL UP?
But Jesus’ relentless call continues and once the soul really hears God’s call, once the soul sees God for what He is, it is then, we recognize who we are, and we beg, with desperation beg for righteousness, to draw an accepting smile from God’s Face. So God does, He so eagerly wishes to endow the soul with His Vision for it, the soul becomes what St Paul says: “It’s no longer me but Christ who is in me….” And at that point, the soul once again touches the Heart of God. Blessed be God Almighty, in His Angels and in His Souls.
Who are they in back you ask?? well, them are the charismatics….. with their arms up…….