I love grand architecture and regal masterpieces. I love
being in awe of the beauty and evident accomplishments of magnificent creations.
Art Museums often tie together the best of both, which is why I often forget to
breathe when I visit them. I can’t help but wonder about the stories behind
such masterpieces or the lives the designers must have lived. I get pretty overwhelmed.
The other day, however, I was down in Philly and I got the
same beaming smile I usually have when I’m looking at something magnificent,
only I was looking at broken down buildings, trash, graffiti, rubble, and just
all things not considered glorious. I drove through some of the rougher
sections of Philly in my brother’s loud pickup truck whose rumble was drowned
out by the music of other beat up cars with their windows down. Later, we rode
our bikes around to meet up with some friends in a different section of Philly,
and then I ended the night with a train ride back home. I was wide-eyed the
whole time.
I remember looking at all the barbed wire on this fence
surrounding a used car place, and thinking to myself, “This is the place where
dreams can grow. This is the place where the brokenness has already happened
and mosaics are ready to be created. This is the place where anything can
happen.”
In a museum, the masterpiece is already finished. There’s no
room to create, it’s already been created. There’s no room to dream, the magnificence
has already been obtained. The only role available to us is to watch in awe; the
silent observer with no say in the creating process.
Broken places, on the other hand, are where we often find
God. Wrapping us in His grace, restoring and redeeming our broken remains. The
thought of this is probably what caused me to beam. Ruins give us a tangible
picture of the state of our souls. Only, graffiti and trash cover streets don’t
construct an easy picture to behold when comparing it our own life. We’d all
much rather feign the outward appearance of the Taj Mahal or Duomo di Milano. A
Parthenon ruin claim, if we’re “humble.” Admitting brokenness while still maintaining
high regard for our incredibly beautiful remains; still visited by countless
admiring souls. The Projects are not the front we ever want to show. Yet God is able to piece the scattered rubble we’ve
become and transform us into masterpieces that make our world’s greatest
achievements look like the play-dough creations of a preschooler.
Broken places are often God’s construction ground, and while
it’s unknown to me what He will choose to build in this space, I find myself
with the same eagerness of a kid trying to help his or her dad build a fire. Running
around picking up the broken sticks and twigs lying around. Dragging the fallen
limbs of trees over to my Father, and saying, “look what I found, will this
work?” And then watching as He uses them to create a blazing, brilliant,
display of His glory.
It’s in the broken places that we get to dream of all that
our Father might create and rebuild. It’s in the broken places that we exchange
our role as spectator for apprentice to the greatest artisan their ever was. It’s in this broken place that I am finding
myself filled with joy and eager hope at all that He is doing now.
