"It is no surprise
that danger and suffering surround us.
What astonishes is the singing." - Jack Gilbert, "Hoses at Midnight Without a Moon"
The effects of sin continue to astonish me. They shouldn't, really, but they do. A mother who exploits her children, two brothers who blow people up, AIDS, child soldiers, 27 million people trapped in slavery, warring, burning, ailing, wailing with suffer matter...
It's easy for me to despair, to be overcome by evil, to gasp and shake my fist at God, "where is justice!?
But really, what should shock me (especially if I truly care about justice as much as I claim) is the beauty, the singing. The world is shattered, suffering naturally spews from the shards. Sin is gruesome and devastating. We created this. We deserve this.
Yet there is singing. There is beauty, beautiful things rising from the ashes. Beauty does not belong here. We are unworthy of her.
Do we realize the value of beauty? Do we realize we cannot realize it? How undeserving we are and how that makes beauty all the more beautiful? All the more incredible?
***
"Did you read it?" she asked, but she did not look at me. Her eyes were fixed to the words.
I nodded. "Many times."
"Could you understand it?"
And at that point, there was a great pause.
A few cars drove by, each way. Their drivers were Hitlers and Hubermanns, and Maxes, killers, Dillers, and Steiners...
I wanted to tell the book thief many things, about beauty and brutality. But what could I tell her about those things that she didn't already know? I wanted to explain that I am constantly overestimating and underestimating the human race -- that rarely do I ever simply estimate it. I wanted to ask her how the same thing could be so ugly and so glorious, and it's words and stories so damning and brilliant.
None of those things, however, came out of my mouth.
All I was able to do was turn to Liesel Meminger and tell her the only truth I truly know. I said it to the book thief and I say it now to you.
that danger and suffering surround us.
What astonishes is the singing." - Jack Gilbert, "Hoses at Midnight Without a Moon"
The effects of sin continue to astonish me. They shouldn't, really, but they do. A mother who exploits her children, two brothers who blow people up, AIDS, child soldiers, 27 million people trapped in slavery, warring, burning, ailing, wailing with suffer matter...
It's easy for me to despair, to be overcome by evil, to gasp and shake my fist at God, "where is justice!?
But really, what should shock me (especially if I truly care about justice as much as I claim) is the beauty, the singing. The world is shattered, suffering naturally spews from the shards. Sin is gruesome and devastating. We created this. We deserve this.
Yet there is singing. There is beauty, beautiful things rising from the ashes. Beauty does not belong here. We are unworthy of her.
Do we realize the value of beauty? Do we realize we cannot realize it? How undeserving we are and how that makes beauty all the more beautiful? All the more incredible?
***
"Did you read it?" she asked, but she did not look at me. Her eyes were fixed to the words.
I nodded. "Many times."
"Could you understand it?"
And at that point, there was a great pause.
A few cars drove by, each way. Their drivers were Hitlers and Hubermanns, and Maxes, killers, Dillers, and Steiners...
I wanted to tell the book thief many things, about beauty and brutality. But what could I tell her about those things that she didn't already know? I wanted to explain that I am constantly overestimating and underestimating the human race -- that rarely do I ever simply estimate it. I wanted to ask her how the same thing could be so ugly and so glorious, and it's words and stories so damning and brilliant.
None of those things, however, came out of my mouth.
All I was able to do was turn to Liesel Meminger and tell her the only truth I truly know. I said it to the book thief and I say it now to you.
***A LAST NOTE FROM YOUR NARRATOR***
I am haunted by humans.
If you haven't already guessed, that's from The Book Thief (which if you haven't read, get thee to a bookstore, or library, or friend's house, or my house, or anywhere you need to go in order to get this book and READ IT NOW). Of course, it's fiction. Death isn't really haunted by humans. And yet, there's resounding truth in that passage. Humans are nefarious, brutal creatures. Still, we carry the image of God. Just an image, but an image of the beautiful, holy, GOD. And He is generous with us, infusing beauty into the chaos caused by our own selfishness and wickedness. Of course, there's so much more to the story, the Gospel, the death of death, but I want to take a moment and simply be in awe of beauty, to dwell on the wonder of its very existence among us. I don't want to gasp in shock when I encounter brutality in this world -- I'd rather gasp in awe when I encounter beauty. Because beauty is a taste of eternity. Brutality will be wiped away and remembered no more. Take heart! Do not be overcome! Behold! All things will be made new. We will see the Creator of beauty face-to-face and never have to turn our gaze from His stunning radiance. (Okay, so maybe a little Gospel sneaked in anyway. Sorry, I can't help it. :) )
