Worship in a museum

Last Sunday afternoon, I found myself in the Metropolitan Art Museum in New York City. I was there chaperoning a group of students from Valor Christian High School, the school where I teach. We were there over the school's fall break. After establishing a time and location for meeting back up, I sent the students out in groups of 2 or more, and found myself alone, free to do whatever I wanted to do with the next hour and a half.

Where should I go? What did I want to see? I folded open the map guide to the museum and looked it over. Other than the musical instruments room, nothing particularly caught my fancy.

It was then I had an impulsive idea. Why not try to find all of the pieces of art that depicted Jesus Christ, especially those that depicted Him either on the cross or following His crucifixion? With nothing more than that as my goal, I got my camera out and began to slowly meander my way through the various exhibit halls. If it didn't deal with the subject of Christ's life here on earth, I didn't give it a second glance.

This was a treasure hunt that brought me riches beyond what I could have imagined. I found marble statues, silver-stamped processional pieces, inlaid wooden scenes, stained glass panels and, of course, numerous paintings, both large and small. Each one brought me to a stop, and I found myself quietly meditating on each piece of art. And I worshiped.

I was impressed at the commitment it took for each artist to fashion their art; with the hours (and days, weeks...months!) it took them to complete their masterpieces. I marveled at the skill and giftedness required to present the Savior within the context of their own personal and creative viewpoints and using their choice of artistic mediums. I wondered what they were trying to communicate about their own spiritual journeys and faith. And I worshiped.

I finally entered a hall where I was immediately drawn across the room by a painting. It was by Manet, and it depicted the crucified Jesus, now down from the cross, dead, and with two angels near Him. As I sat down in front of it, I began to notice some of the unique perspective the artist had in painting the scene. Jesus body is laying face on to the viewer - the first time I have ever seen this positioning of His body. It allowed for a complete detailing of his crucifixion wounds, from his nail-pierced feet to his wounded side. And I worshiped.

I then looked at His face. It was unlike any other depiction of Christ I have ever seen. His features were...well, they were not those of a handsome man. He looked ugly. His hair was dishevelled, his beard spotty and unkempt, his cheeks sunken, his bone structure angular and disproportional. And then the verse came to me: "There was nothing attractive about him, nothing to cause us to take a second look. He was looked down on and passed over, a man who suffered, who knew pain firsthand. One look at him, and people turned away" (Isaiah 53:2). Manet's depiction of my Savior's appearance brought home to me the humility of God in taking on human form to die for me. And I worshiped.

Right there. In the middle of the museum. On a bench. In front of a painting I had never seen before. Painted by someone I do not know. Someone who, as he used his paints, canvas and brushes, had no idea the impact his work would make on a man so many years later. A man who happened upon his painting in a room nearly 150 years later and thousands of miles away from where it was created.

I worshiped my Savior last Sunday. In a museum.