Deformed
Odd, this twisted form
should
be the work of God.
God, who makes, without mistakes,
the
happy norm, the status quo—
the usual—made me, you know.
The Royal Palm He made;
and,
too, the stunted pine.
With joy I see the lovely shapes;
with
pride I live in mine.
No accident I am:
a
Master Craftsman's plan.
—Ruth
Bell Graham
I came across a tortured, twisted pine tree some
years ago, high on a ridge—an ugly, misshapen thing at first glance. But I
looked again and saw something deeper and better and thought of those whose
deformities are overwhelmed by rare beauty.
Appearance is overrated, a mere sensation in the
eyes (or brain) produced by shape, color and motion and conditioned a good deal
by society and association. (In some cultures, foot-long ear lobes and
distended lips are thought to be the essence of loveliness.)
A philosopher–friend of mine once pointed out to me
that objects cannot be beautiful in themselves for they’re only arrangements of
colorless, shapeless, invisible atoms. We can’t see them, but if we could, they
would bring us no delight or satisfaction.
There is a spiritual beauty, however, that is much
deeper and more enduring than anything we can see with our natural eyes. It is
the symmetry and splendor that God brings to his children, what scripture calls
“the beauty of holiness.”
Our
present culture turns the phrase upside down, worshipping outward appearance
and the holiness of beauty.[1]
But that’s a terrible mistake, for it leads us to vanity—the desire to exceed
the limits God has appointed for us—and is the means by which pride and self–preoccupation
enter in and we miss the highest good. Preoccupation with our bodies, as even
pagan philosophers affirm, unavoidably leads to the diminishment of our souls.
Plato in his dialogue, Phaedro,
argues that we can love wisdom, or we can love our bodies, but we cannot, at
the same time, love both.
We must be satisfied, then, with the way God has
formed us. Our disabilities and deformities are not a mistake, but part of God’s
eternal plan. His way of dealing with them is not to remove them, but to endow
them with godlike strength, dignity and beauty and put them to his intended use—as
they are.
McGuffey had it exactly right…
Beautiful faces are they that wear,
The light of a pleasant spirit there;
Beautiful hands are they that do,
Deeds that are noble, good and true;
Beautiful feet are they that go,
Swiftly to lighten another’s woe.
—McGuffey’s Second Reader
Has
aging or accident brought humiliating disfigurement? Do you consider yourself
an eyesore, too ugly to be of use?
No,
you are “(God’s) workmanship” created as
you are for good works (Ephesians 2:10). You are his special creation,
designed from birth to manifest God’s loveliness in a unique way. The Craftsman’s
plan surpasses the material.
Your countenance, though wrinkled and blemished,
can be adorned with the joy of the Lord and made lovely with his kindness and
compassion. Your body, be it ever so humble and lumpish, can be graceful in
unselfish service and love. This is “grace beyond reach of art,” human ugliness
hidden in divine loveliness, beauty at its very best.
And, of course, this is not all that will be. On
ahead lies the redemption of our bodies. One day soon we will be made new: “We
are as God has made us, but we are not as God will make us. We will be made over again and everything will once
for all be set right” (George MacDonald).
And so, I pray, may the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us.
DHR
[1] I’m
reminded here of the character on “Saturday Night Live” that always ended his
monologue with the reminder: “Looking good is better than being good.”
