This week there have been press reports suggesting that the long anonymous graffiti artist Banksy may finally have been identified. I have always been drawn to his work, and perhaps just as much to the mystery surrounding it. One of his murals, on the side of the former prison in Reading, is something I have walked past many times. Each time I find myself wondering: how does he create such thoughtful, provocative images—and remain unseen for so long?
It raises a quieter question for us. Do you have creative gifts or skills – perhaps known only to a few, or even hidden from view? We often assume that creativity belongs to artists, musicians, or skilled craftspeople. Yet the Bible invites us to see creativity not as a luxury, but as something deeply woven into ordinary life.
We worship a loving, creator God, who gently invites us to share in His work – to co create with Him in the places where we are. He gives us the gifts we need for this. There is a familiar saying that “necessity is the mother of invention,” but Scripture seems to suggest something slightly different: that creativity is often born out of resourcefulness. What we already hold, however small or fragile it may feel, can be shaped into something new when faith and action meet.
A moving example of this is found in Exodus 2, in the story of Miriam and her mother, Jochebed. The Israelites were living under a brutal decree: every Hebrew baby boy was to be killed. For a time, Jochebed hid her son Moses. But as hiding became impossible, she did not surrender to despair. Instead, she acted with care and imagination – fashioning a small basket from papyrus, sealing it with tar and pitch, and placing it among the reeds near where Pharaoh’s daughter would bathe. This was not a reckless act, but a thoughtful one: a fragile vessel, placed with hope, at just the right place and right moment.
Nearby stood Miriam, watching and waiting. She did not rush in, nor did she remain silent. When the child was discovered, she stepped forward with a simple but courageous question: “Shall I go and get one of the Hebrew women to nurse the baby for you?” Through her calm boldness, Moses was reunited with his mother – his life sustained by the very household that threatened it. Even here, God’s promise was quietly protected through human attentiveness and trust.
Scripture offers other moments like this, where creativity is less about brilliance and more about seeing differently. In Mark 2, four friends faced a closed door and an impenetrable crowd. Rather than turning away, they noticed the roof – and imagined another way in. In John 6, a young boy offered what little he had: five loaves and two fish. It did not seem enough, yet when placed into Jesus’ hands, it became abundance.
Perhaps we, too, are being invited to be “Miriam like.” We may feel that our resources are limited: time is short, buildings are ageing, energy is stretched thin. And yet the story of the bulrushes reminds us that God often works through what is already near to hand – the baskets we weave, and the places where we patiently keep watch.
Resourcefulness, then, becomes a quiet form of faith. It asks: What do we have right now? Where might God already be at work? When we approach our challenges with openness and creativity, we are not simply solving problems – we are reflecting the Creator who took the dust of the earth and breathed life into it.
Revd Paul