St. Louis Art Museum

In commemoration of a spectacular year, I eagerly packed my bags for a couple mini-vacations during the month of December. Here are a couple of activities you should include on your 2012 list of resolutions: attend a Trans-Siberian Orchestra Concert, ice skate at Crown Center in KC, spend time in the St. Louis Art Museum, and find your inner child by visiting a Zoo! I really appreciate the time I've spent with family and friends and I look forward to another exciting year together.

I would like to share three of my favorite pieces from the St. Louis Art Museum. As you can imagine, my iPhone camera is unable to capture the detail of these incredible works of art. So, go see them yourselves!

Giovanni Paolo Panini painted the "Interior of St. Peter's, Rome" in 1731.  I'm convinced that, even as you read this, the building continues to inspire visitors today as it did previously with this artist. 

My favorite piece in the museum was painted by Marc Chagall in 1912.  Chris Ahrens and I stared intently at this work for multiple minutes until the figures suddenly became apparent. If you look closely, you will observe Chagall's interpretation of Adam and Eve standing on either side of the Tree of Life. Chagall's cubist technique fascinates me, especially as he shows Eve's bifurcated focus on both the forbidden fruit and consequence of her action.

Corrado Giaquinto's "St. Helena and the Emperor Constantine Presented to the Holy Trinity by the Virgin Mary" pictorially illuminates the belief system of 18th century Catholics. Although I disagree with the strict separation of believers from Christ, the degree of awe and respect attributed to Christ is sobering. I think Giaquinto and Catholic theology can easily remind evangelicals about the holiness of God that often falls neglected.

I would love to hear thoughts on any of these breathtaking works of art. Also, I encourage you to resolve to add unexpected and thrilling experiences to your growing list. You won't regret it. I promise.

A Different Kind of Dickens Christmas

In the classic novel A Tale of Two Cities, Charles Dickens depicts the aristocracy and peasantry of pre-Revolutionary France as a people saturated in secrecy. His imagery is as masterful as it is symbolic. During the darkest hour of a cold winter night, fellow travelers know one another only by a small exposure surrounding their eyes while the rest of the person remains hidden beneath layers of clothing. Likewise, he describes every household as an enigma to the next. Residents live in total seclusion from their neighbors, and even the members of each family - mothers and fathers, sons and daughters - keep tight the lock on their respective rooms to avoid being known by their closest loved ones.

Dickens's fictional world isn't difficult for me to imagine. In fact, scenes like his are all around us. I believe that his imagery fits twenty-first century America equally as much as pre-Revolutionary France. Yet, I question why secrecy seems so inherently attractive, especially in the face of accusations like those facing Monsieur Manette. Is it coincidence that the guilt of sin drives us to solitude, but scripture clearly teaches the value of confession within the community of believers? When asked by the pharisees "Teacher, which is the great commandment in the law?," Jesus' response intimately intertwined one's relationship with God to one's relationship with others. It is as if Christ believed that when we choke out our relationships here on earth, our relationship with the heavenly Father suffers too.

Soren Kierkegaard explicates the connection between our relationships to God and to others perfectly: "To love God is to love oneself truly, to help another person to love God is to love another person; to be helped by another person to love God is to be loved." Perhaps this winter we will remember that every person wrapped securely beneath layers of clothing, whether woven wool scarf or soiled jacket, has a story worth knowing and is of utmost value to the only one whose opinion really matters.