The twins and John and I performed the Easter story with marionettes at the Cathedral. This has been a tradition for six years, and we have found our stride. During a pause in the rehearsal, I looked up and noticed the carvings. There are faces, and flowers, and birds protruding right out of the walls. I was so entranced I almost missed my cue. 

While there are no sculptors in my lineage I have a cloudy sense of how it works. Using some sort of x-ray vision the artist perceives the image hidden inside the slab of marble, and starts whacking. Well, maybe chipping. What astounds me is that the beauty is not in the addiition, but in the taking away. 

John and I were chatting with a couple who saw David. Not David Who, just David. The one who stands seventeen feet tall and carries a sling in one fist and a rock in the other. They agreed that it is magnificent. Words do not suffice, which is probably why Michelangelo used a different medium. They were also incredulous that their traveling companions chose to skip the exhibit because of the cost. 

Twenty bucks is too much to pay to stand in the shadow of the unparalleled sculpture of all time? 

Scholars agree that what Michelangelo chose to create was neither the climax of victory, with Goliath's bleeding head on the ground, nor when Saul weighs David's lithe body down with clunky armor. Instead the artist elected the moment of conviction: modest weapons chosen, vulnerable body poised for action, veins pulsing with adrenaline.  

God is not depicted in the white stone, but rather is within the substance itself. He is the source of both strength and savvy which ensures David's success. He is also the Sculptor that carves a selfish person into a loving one. Marvelous to me is that it is not so much the lumping on of generosity, but the whittling away of malice.

God sees the potential deep within, because He put it there. But am I willing to pay the price? To be carved?