Centuries of soot from candles covered the fresco known as the “Last Judgement” in the Sistine Chapel. A few decades ago, work began to remove the soot and restore the work to its original brilliance. The masterpiece of Michelangelo was literally brought back to life. What was muted became vibrant, the obscure made clear.
Walking the chapel in 20I2, I was looking for the color but I was also looking for the small black boxes. As a nod to the work that was done, small sections, a few inches square, were left untouched. These boxes are striking when you consider the renewal.
The work of an art restorationist is daunting. Imagine the first time you take the wet Q-tip to the work of Michelangelo. Who are you to touch this, let alone risk removing intent of the artist, or even worse still, ruining it?
To me, the most daunting part of such an endeavor is the need for persistence. You cannot start a work like this and say, “too hard,” or “this will take too long.” You must not give up.
As part of my Covid-coping exercises I have been making a list of what I want to see. Notre Dame in Paris is hovering at the top. I want to see it before much progress is made. I love the before and after.
During the next few decades, the French will argue with great vehemence about the restoration. If the pyramid in front of the Louvre is a possible guide, the “new” look of the ancient cathedral could be something quite unexpected. What would a modern Notre Dame entail?
I walked the cathedral in 2008 and found it quite dreary. Yes, the Rose Window was over-whelming, but the church itself felt damp, musty. If I am fortunate enough to see it before the restoration picks up steam, it would be interesting to see it incomplete. Would it appear as it did centuries ago during its construction? Would it be broken or hopeful?
As we finish the season of Lent and begin the season of Easter, I wonder how we will look at our soul, our heart, after such a year of upheaval and uncertainty. Will our lives return to the color and light like the restored fresco of Michelangelo? Will we find our lives more in the midst of Notre Dame, scaffolds and cranes?
I am not a believer in the notion that God brings tragedy, and the pandemic is certainly a tragedy of massive scale. I am a believer that our lives are being revealed by the gentle grace of God like the art restorationist slowly removing fears and falsity and foolishness; I am a believer that when winds of fate bring destruction, God is there to help us rebuild with strength and courage. God is ever at work in us; we are restored in the simple kindness, the silence of patience. God is at work in us as well when everything falls down. Here redemption is not subtle; the strength to find a new life must match the ruin.
The last year has felt like a long Lent. Part of me has been uncovered and renewed; others are a bit gutted. I see God at work in my heart; I pray the same for you.
I would very much like to travel to Paris now, but I would also like to see the simple return of life. May this Easter come soon, and very soon.
