You’ve probably seen the cover of the walking on water book—officially titled Walking on Water: Reflections on Faith and Art—sitting on a wooden shelf in a quiet bookstore or mentioned in a hushed, reverent tone by a songwriter you admire. It’s one of those rare texts that feels less like a manual and more like a long, late-night conversation with a mentor who has seen everything. Madeleine L’Engle, the powerhouse behind A Wrinkle in Time, didn't write this to give us a "how-to" for Christian art. She wrote it to dismantle the wall between the "sacred" and the "secular."
Art is work.
Honestly, that's the core of it. We often romanticize the act of creation, imagining a muse descending from the heavens to whisper perfect prose into our ears. L’Engle scoffs at that. She views the artist as a servant. It’s a job where you show up, even when you don't feel like it, and listen to the work itself.
Why the Walking on Water Book Hits Differently in 2026
We live in an age of instant gratification and AI-generated noise. Because of this, L’Engle’s 1980 masterpiece feels more radical today than when it was first published. She argues that a "Christian book" isn't necessarily one that mentions Jesus every five pages. Instead, a Christian book is one that is true. If a writer is truly living a life of faith, that faith will bleed into the work naturally, like ink through a thin page.
It’s about "incarnation."
She uses this theological term to describe the physical manifestation of the spirit. When you paint a landscape or write a poem about a dying dog, you are participating in the ongoing creation of the universe. This isn't just fluff; it’s a high-stakes philosophy. If you try to force a "message" into your art, you kill it. You turn it into propaganda. L’Engle was famously critical of religious art that lacked quality, arguing that if it's bad art, it's bad religion.
The Concept of Kairos vs. Chronos
One of the most life-changing chapters in the walking on water book deals with time. L’Engle differentiates between Chronos (clock time, deadlines, the anxiety of the 9-to-5) and Kairos (God’s time, the moments where we lose ourselves in our work).
- Chronos is the enemy of the artist. It’s the ticking clock that says you aren’t productive enough.
- Kairos is where the magic happens. It’s when you look up from your desk and realize four hours have passed and you forgot to eat.
L’Engle suggests that the act of walking on water—doing the impossible, creating something out of nothing—can only happen when we step out of Chronos and into Kairos. We have to be willing to fail. We have to be willing to look like fools.
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The Artist as a Child
L’Engle frequently references the need for a "childlike" spirit. This isn't about being childish or immature. It's about wonder. Most adults have had the wonder beaten out of them by taxes, politics, and the general grind of existence.
She tells stories of children who see the world with a clarity that adults have long since lost. To her, the artist’s job is to reclaim that sight. You can't write a great walking on water book of your own if you're too busy being "important" or "professional." You have to be vulnerable. You have to be willing to play.
She writes about the "icons" of our lives—those things that point us toward a reality greater than ourselves. For L’Engle, the icon could be a piece of music by Bach, a thunderstorm, or a particularly difficult mathematical equation.
Does it have to be religious?
People get hung up on this.
They hear "faith and art" and they assume it’s only for people who go to church on Sundays. But L’Engle draws from a massive well of influences: Einstein, Dostoyevsky, Jung, and various scientific theories of her time. She believed that all truth is God's truth. Whether you’re a devout believer or a skeptical atheist, her insights on the process of creation are universal.
The struggle is the same. The fear of the blank page is the same. The feeling of "this is garbage" at 2:00 AM? Yeah, that’s universal too.
Tackling the "Christian Artist" Label
One of the most controversial points L'Engle makes—and something that still ruffles feathers in certain circles—is her rejection of the label "Christian Artist."
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"There is no such thing as a Christian hat," she famously remarked.
If a hatter makes a good hat, it’s a good hat. If a Christian makes a bad hat, it’s a bad hat, and no amount of "faith" makes it better. This is a call to excellence. She challenges creators to be the best at their craft, not because they want fame, but because the work deserves it.
She argues that the walking on water book philosophy requires us to be "co-creators." This means we aren't just reflecting reality; we are helping to shape it. When we write or paint, we are bringing light into the darkness. That sounds dramatic, but for L'Engle, it was literal.
The Fear of the Deep Water
Why call it "Walking on Water"?
It’s a reference to Peter stepping out of the boat in the New Testament. It’s a terrifying image. To walk on water, you have to leave the safety of the boat (your comfort zone, your ego, your expectations). You have to look at the Master and ignore the waves.
Most of us stay in the boat. We write safe stories. We paint safe pictures. We live safe lives.
L’Engle pushes us to step over the side. She acknowledges that we will probably sink a few times. Peter did. But the act of stepping out is what matters.
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Common Misconceptions About the Text
Many readers pick this up expecting a theological treatise. It’s not. It’s a memoir of a creative life. It’s messy. It’s full of anecdotes about her family, her struggles with A Wrinkle in Time being rejected dozens of times, and her observations of the natural world at her home, Crosswicks.
- Misconception 1: It’s a "religious" book. Actually, it’s a book about human consciousness.
- Misconception 2: It’s only for writers. Musicians, painters, and even scientists find deep value here.
- Misconception 3: It’s an easy read. While the prose is simple, the ideas are heavy. You’ll want to underline every third sentence.
Actionable Steps for the Modern Creator
If you're looking to apply the wisdom of the walking on water book to your own life, don't just read it and put it back on the shelf. The book is a catalyst. It’s meant to move you.
First, kill your "message." Stop trying to prove a point with your art. If you want to share a message, write an essay or a tweet. If you want to make art, tell a story. Let the truth emerge on its own. Trust your audience.
Second, embrace the "Small Victory." L’Engle often spoke about the importance of the work itself over the result. Spend thirty minutes today in Kairos. Forget about your follower count or your sales numbers. Just do the work for the sake of the work.
Third, feed your soul with "Quality." You cannot produce great work if you are consuming junk. L’Engle suggests that we should surround ourselves with things that are "true, noble, and right." Read the classics. Listen to complex music. Spend time in nature.
Fourth, accept your limitations. You are not God. You are a sub-creator. This takes the pressure off. You don't have to be perfect; you just have to be faithful to the work that is calling you.
The walking on water book remains a staple because it gives us permission to be human. It tells us that our flaws are part of the process and that our art, however small, is a necessary part of the cosmic fabric. Madeleine L'Engle didn't just write about walking on water; she showed us how to get our feet wet.
To truly understand this philosophy, start by identifying one "unanswerable question" you've been avoiding in your work. Stop looking for the "right" answer and start exploring the mystery. Write the scene that scares you. Paint the shadow you can't quite define. The water is cold, but the view from outside the boat is worth the risk.