My first trip to Italy was during the spring of 1995. I was living in London as an ex-pat and my children were on Spring Break. We booked a hotel in Florence and flew there for five days. I planned to visit the top museums, walk the ancient streets, and visit the outdoor markets. My daughter was in fifth grade, old enough to have some interest in art and history. My son was not yet five and while he happily strolled along with his family, he did have his limits when it came to art museums.
One morning, the ladies wanted to go shopping and I wanted to visit The Uffizi Galleries, the world-famous collection of paintings from the 14th-century and the Renaissance. My parents had visited it during the mid-1950’s and said it was a “must-see,” but I knew that my son would tolerate art for only a short period of time. I needed a plan.
The Uffizi Galleries are in a 16th-century building with the paintings housed on the second floor. What made this art collection unique was that the paintings were placed in 39 small rooms (A3 to A42) and sequenced by time; the paintings progress from the Late Middle Ages into the Renaissance. The art progresses from stilted Italian church paintings, like Giotto di Bondone’s (1267–1337) Ognissanti Madonna in room A4, and later blossoms into the Greek mythology of Sandro Botticelli’s (1445–1510) The Birth of Venus in room A12. In only a few decades, Florentine art was transformed, and one sees the transition room by room.
My son and I walked into the museum when it first opened with pre-purchased tickets so there was no waiting in lines. I promised him that we would stay for a maximum of two hours and afterwards, we would get a gelato (Italian ice cream). This reward enabled peaceful entrance into the art museum. We went straight upstairs to avoid the crowds and entered the first room, A3. Each room is small with usually less than ten paintings, depending on the size of the paintings.
Quickly, my son became bored as I scanned the paintings, and I had to keep one eye on him as I attempted to view the paintings. Then an idea came into my head. I bent down and said to him, “When you find the room number and tell me where and what it is, we will go to the next room.” Suddenly, the art museum became a game for him. He walked around the room and when he found the room number, he scampered over to me and pointed to the number and said, “A3.” We then proceeded into the next room. This allowed me time to concentrate on the paintings until he found the room number. Luckily, the room numbers were randomly placed on the walls, so it took a few minutes to discover.
We finished in about 90 minutes, and he was rewarded with a gelato outside near the Uffizi. My eyes had feasted on Italian art and my son enjoyed his Italian dessert after running off calories inside the museum. He did not once complain about the museum and our morning together. Years later when he was a a young man, we returned to Florence. This time, he was fascinated with Michelangelo and insisted that we see every one of his sculptures. Perhaps our time together at the Uffizi was transformative.
I recently learned that Pope Francis was an art lover whose favorite art piece was Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio’s (1571–1610) The Calling of St. Matthew (1599-1600). Caravaggio was known for his dramatic use of light. His paintings are easily recognized by their dark features interrupted by explosive light to emphasize movement or faces. This composition is depicted with late 16th-century Italians in a tavern setting. Jesus is standing behind Peter with his hand pointing at Matthew, calling him to be his disciple. Matthew is seated at a table surrounded by four money counters. St. Matthew was a tax collector, a sinful profession. His left hand is clutching money on the table while his right hand is pointed to his chest as if questioning whether Jesus is calling him. Light streams into the room from a window behind Jesus and strikes the various faces at different angles. Matthew’s face is fully illuminated, and his eyes are looking directly at Jesus. Matthew has a transformational decision to make; either accept Jesus’ offer of a new life or continue being a tax collector.
Pope Francis was a controversial leader of the Catholic Church because he leaned towards grace over judgement. We are all sinful children of God, including the Pope. Christianity is a complex religion that has a wide spectrum of theological beliefs. When I visit different Christian churches, I usually can quickly observe which side of the grace-judgement spectrum the church stands. Pope Francis leaned towards grace, although he clearly knew the difference between sin and righteousness. This is why he loved that specific Caravaggio painting. Jesus calls a sinner to righteousness, a new way of life. Jesus is not condoning Matthew’s sins, but he does not castigate Matthew either. Jesus allows Matthew to choose. This is a decision that we all must make at some point during our time on earth.
I gravitate towards the middle of the theological spectrum. Dr. H. Richard Niebuhr, in his classic 1951 book, Christ and Culture, labeled this theological balance “dualism.” I balance both grace and judgement. The Apostle Paul was a dualist who advocated God’s grace, but did not tolerate sinful behaviors. Cheap grace is when people sin knowing that God will grant them grace. Condemning others is forgetting that we are all children of God who sin; it is God who judges, not humans. As seen by the large crowds at his funeral, Pope Fransis was loved because he loved people where they were in life, just as Jesus called Matthew when he was a tax collector.
We are never too sinful nor too righteous to not need God’s grace. As I grow older, I have grown both in my understanding of God’s commandments and sinful behaviors. In parallel, I have also grown in my tolerance in accepting humanity where they are in their faith journey. My role is not to judge but to heal and love. My role is not to condemn but to exhibit Christlike character. Walking the dualist balance beam is not easy. I see the narrow beam and try not to fall off. I am comforted by the knowledge that God’s grace will pick me up when I fall.
