When You Can't Be Michelangelo

God is unknowable. Our efforts to realize the Divine must always fall short. In this falling short, however, we are not equal. Some of us fall farther short than others.

Prayer, my rector says, is right-brained, as is poetry, music and art. Some of us can soar God-ward through these higher abilities. Some of us can experience heaven by hearing and seeing beyond the ordinary. Some can even convey that higher understanding to others by painting it or singing it.

Even so-called ordinary life can be shown to be filled with God when just the right words are chosen, the right shading applied. Consider this passage from Homecoming by Marilynne Robinson. A young girl remembers her grandmother’s orchard:

I had seen two of the apple trees in my grandmother’s orchard die where they stood. One spring there were no leaves, but they stood there expectantly, their limbs almost to the ground, miming their perished fruitfulness. Every winter the orchard is flooded with snow, and every spring the waters are parted, death is undone, and every Lazarus rises, except these two. They have lost their bark and blanched white, and a wind will snap their bones, but if ever a leaf does appear, it will be no great wonder…It seemed to me that what perished need not also be lost. (page 124)

Many years ago, I had the chance to visit the Sistine Chapel. Looking up at that sublime ceiling, seeing all the sacred beauty around me, I found myself wondering why God would need any more from humanity. Having achieved this magnificence, what more could be hoped for? It would have made sense for God to have finished up his project right then and there, closed down shop and called it a day.

Likewise, with Marilynne Robinson existing here on earth, what possible purpose can God have for me? I have no gift to give him. I cannot see as she sees. I might have the briefest glimpse, like Moses hiding in the rock’s cleft while God passes by, a quick flash of God’s blue robe, his tangled black hair.

In my high school, students were tracked. This is still the practice in most school systems. Gifted, high achievers occupy the top slot with all others sorted into appropriate lower levels. “Sorting” is a word to think about. My mother used to let me play with her button box. I would sort the buttons by size, color, shape. It wasn't long before I was preferring some over others, arranging them according to favorites. Quite harmless when you’re doing it with buttons.  

But this is our human reflex. We sort, categorize, prefer. Surely, God must do the same. God, who is the supreme art critic must find greater delight in Mozart than in, for example, Rogers and Hammerstein. The people who do the best must be the best.

No. This is merely an artsy rendition of the prosperity gospel and is, therefore, a lie. A greater understanding of God, a sublime sense of the Divine is a gift to be sure, but it is not a sign of God’s preferment. God does not prefer. God does not sort.

How can I be so sure? Maybe I am just consoling myself for my lack of theological, philosophical, artistic talents. Maybe I want to believe this because the closest I get to seeing God is when I am enjoying a piece of buttered toast.

How can I be so sure? Because of the Incarnation. Our Lord. Jesus Christ, the son of man, born into the human race, did not incarnate selectively into a high echelon of society. Nor did he come physically to earth as a grown full man to bless and ordain a selected group of individuals. Neither was he pure spirit, sharing his wisdom with the elite. 

He was born in a bloody gooey mess like all the rest of us. He lived physically and died physically. During his life, his physical matter became part of the earth’s matter. He breathed, exchanging oxygen and carbon dioxide with the air of the earth. He shed blood, ate the fruits of the earth. He spoke sounds, wept. Human. Fully human.

If God’s creation of the world is insufficient to make us believe that God loves the whole world, then the Incarnation of Christ should seal the deal.

In my imperfect, left-brained self, when I am very earth-bound, full of chores and bank statements and recipes, it is easy for me to think that God is looking just a bit more lovingly on Marilynne Robinson than on me. After all, she can bring God into focus for millions of people. She has witnessed for God continually and exquisitely. What is a suburban housewife in comparison with all that?

But then I look at Jesus. He is real. He is for me. I might be nothing, but I am his nothing.