Beyond life and beauty
Monday, February 27, 2017
Rogelio Zelada
The question must have annoyed Paul beyond reason, so much so, that he let go an outburst: "Fool." What kind of question is that? With what body are we going to resurrect? What is that about the resurrection of the dead? Will I return to life, spend eternity with the same body I have now? At my current age? Old, ugly, potbellied and toothless?
Paul is writing to the Corinthians, responding to a constant concern of believers of all times, which seemingly was never quite resolved. What we sow on earth, says the apostle, will be reborn full of glory. Matter will become a spiritual body, limitations will flourish into incredible plenitudes; a transformation that will reach all creation when death is finally overcome.
Throughout the ages, art longed to interpret this change, which surpasses all the senses. Christ, the Blessed Mother and the saints always are represented clothed in glory and majesty. Byzantine art, complex and full of symbols, devised bright shapes and colors to represent the world of the invisible that shines beyond the senses. From the beginnings of painting and sacred sculpture, artists tried to convey what Paul of Tarsus sensed, the new spiritual body that becomes glorious after resurrection.
It is not a matter of portraying for posterity an individual’s character or historicity, but rather of conveying in the image placed before our eyes the transformation to a new state, together with the mystery of Christ. Therefore, there must not be any imperfection in the representation of the transcendent world: paintings, frescoes and sculptures always represent saints as beautiful, heroic, luminous, young, and whole. In the Middle Ages or the Renaissance, a sculptor would have never drawn the wrinkles of Mother Teresa or the prominent bulk of St. John XXIII, or the old age of St. John Paul II. The aim was not to lie, but to achieve the Pauline ideal of total transformation of the body into luminous glory.
The world of popular Catholic religiosity always understood this very well. The most beloved images representing the Mother of God, whether in her divine maternity or in the terrible trances of the passion of her Son, appear in our veneration covered with rich robes and artistic crowns and auras, which in no way remind us of Mary, the maiden of Nazareth. They do remind us of the triumphant and glorious woman of the Apocalypse, clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet and a crown of 12 stars on her head.
Something like this happens in the Book of Revelation with the image that illuminates the pupil of the seer of Patmos when he contemplates the triumph of faith and sees the wife of the Lamb, the New Jerusalem, descending radiantly and festively. The city is an exquisite work of the great divine artisan, who has built its walls of fine crystalline jasper with foundations of jasper, sapphire, chalcedony, emerald, sardonic, sardius, chrysolite, beryl, topaz, chrysoprase, hyacinth and amethyst. It includes 12 gates made with pearls of the Great Orient and wide avenues of fine gold, which will require neither the sun or the moon, for its only lamp will forever be the Lamb of God.
We live in the mystery of God and we will always need image and analogy to sense and feel the closeness of that reality which surpasses us in the extreme, as it is God, the Lord of life himself. Painters placed the saints, almost motionless, on a throne of clouds, extremely ecstatic and happy for being able to contemplate up close the magnificence of the kingdom of heaven and, above all, to enjoy the great gift of the closeness of God.
On the other hand, St. Therese of Lisieux also hoped to "spend my heaven doing good on earth." Nothing about eternal rest, but about eternal happiness doing good, interceding with prayer for those of us who are still here, awaiting the day of the resurrection that God has prepared for us, as a very pleasant surprise, without affliction, but with the fullness of life and beauty.
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