 |
|
god met me in florence
by Sarah Auda Jaggard
Sarah is an adjunct professor of Communication at Biola University, and is also on Mosaic paid staff as a production manager. Her passions include traveling, teaching, cooking, and throwing parties. Contact her at: sarah@mosaic.org. |
-------------------------
It was a warm summer morning as I woke up to the sun’s bright rays. Through the window, there was a faint murmur of people greeting their neighbors and the chime of bicycle bells on the street below. I woke up in Italy.
I’m happy to say this wasn’t a dream. It wasn’t my imagination conjuring up the most beautiful city in the world. It was my junior year in college when I was studying abroad and had the opportunity to travel all over Europe. That week I happened to be in Italy and that morning, I woke up in Florence.
I jumped out of bed with an extra bit of adrenaline out of the sheer excitement of being there. I drew back the curtains and the Florentine cityscape was there at my fingertips. This day was extra beautiful. I was going to see Michelangelo’s statue of David.
My dad is an artist and I grew up hearing about famous artworks and their creators. I had an appreciation for visual art and I was inspired by it. I remember growing up with awe for people who could create such impressive, beautiful pieces of art; and Michelangelo was one of my personal favorites. He was a multifaceted artist and I thought his works were the most brilliant.
As I arrived at the Galleria dell’ Accademia (Gallery of the Academy), immense and unanswerable anticipation welled within me. I had traveled thousands of miles to be there, and I couldn’t help but wonder if David would be everything I had expected. Would he be as beautiful as my imagination had created? How large or small was he? Would I be disappointed? As these questions surged in my head, I found out that our group had to go on a tour of the entire museum before we reached David — we couldn’t go in to see him right away as I had thought. Disappointed at having to wait even longer I walked through hallway after hallway through seemingly endless exhibits, wondering when I would arrive at the one room I traveled across the world to see. Finally, the moment came. I took a deep breath and entered through a large corridor and into a dome-ceiling room. Time stood still. There in the middle of the room stood the statue of David. He was everything I thought he would be, and more. It was a spiritual experience. I stood there, absolutely captivated, for thirty minutes, sucking up all the memories I could before I had to leave his presence. He was beautiful. He was flawless. But it was what I saw next that changed my life.
To the right of the statue of David was a small and dimly lit room that housed some large pieces of marble. Through the dim lighting, my eyes began to scan over the marble chunks and I began to make out faces… legs… arms… torsos. The room was full of half-created human figures. These were titled, “The Unfinished Works of Michelangelo.”
I had previously learned that Michelangelo was a perfectionist — to an extreme degree. He worked for days, weeks even, going without food or sleep, obsessed with his artmaking. When he worked on his pieces he refused any spot, crack, or stain. He wanted only perfection. If he came across an imperfection while working, he would discard the work and begin with an entirely new piece of marble. The incomplete works were probably placed in his basement. Out of sight. Imperfect.
When I laid eyes on the unfinished works, sorrow came over me. I saw these figures desperately trying to be released from their bondage of marble. Their faces were disfigured, unfinished, sad. In that very moment it occurred to me that those images are representative of real, live people today—including people that surrounded me in the museum. They represent the people I left at home in Los Angeles. They represent humanity.
It was so clear to me in that moment that we often walk around imprisoned in our own slabs of marble. Life feels heavy and hopeless. Our entire lives are one long search for freedom. We have worries, pains, disappointments and hardships. We are in need of a liberator. Scripture tells us about Jesus being the hope for humanity and coming to “seek and save the lost.” He came for the widows, the slaves, the ill, the hungry, the neglected. He didn’t come for the perfect people. He didn’t die for the flawless. He came for the “unfinished” people and only He can give people freedom.
God doesn’t demand perfection. In fact, He desires those who see themselves as they really are—flawed. Then, He does the most amazing thing. He says, “Do you trust me to work on you?” If we allow Him to, He begins to chip away at the marble that encompasses us and He takes us out of slavery. It may be painful, and it always takes time, but eventually, He turns us into breathtaking creations. We become His very own perfect statue of David. God met me in Florence in that small, dimly lit room amidst the bustling noise of tourists to reveal that profound truth to me. And I will never forget it.
|
ministries