i heard the gospel in italy

While I traveled through Italy, it was hard to feel the Gospel at work. I might be wrong, but I sense that despite its deep Catholic roots, there's a lot of room there for a little Light (which could be said for my very own neighborhood, frankly).

One day in Florence, we took guided tours through both the Uffizi Gallery and the Academia, both of which housed some of the most complete collections of Renaissance art in the world. For a girl who does not get overly excited about museums, the artwork in these places was truly breathtaking.

As Italian artists began to explore the human form during the Renaissance, they remained devoted to depicting that humanity in scenes from the life of Christ, an artistic tradition shored by the heavy influence of the Catholic church. We saw so many of these beauties, showing passionate interpretations of the birth, death, and resurrection of Jesus.

The curators glided with ease through the gallery halls, sharing eagerly about painting techniques, or sculpture inspirations, and we followed behind like herded cattle with other tourists from all over the world. 

In the Academia, we saw one painting in particular depicting the crucifixion of Christ. Judi, our guide, spoke fluently of this Christ, who had taken on the sins of the world in that moment, so that mankind could be reconciled to God the Father following the fall of man.

What just happened?

The message of the Gospel fell on me like a breath of fresh air, and simultaneously like a ton of bricks. Refreshing and heavy, all at once.

Judi may have simply been sharing the subject of a painting as she had learned in art history, or even in her own Catholic church. Maybe she lives in the Light of the Gospel; maybe she doesn't. I don't know.

But people accompanying us on our tour -- people from France, and Holland, and Japan, and who knows where else -- heard the Gospel as it was illustrated seven hundred-some-odd years ago. Maybe they heard the story from an unbelieving source. Maybe they heard it for the first time ever. Maybe it sparked questions for them. Maybe it affirmed what they already know.

Let that sink in.

This is how beauty and art and journals and letters and music and poetry can be a powerful legacy. Generations from now, those seeds might be nurtured by unexpected people, and might one day grow into a salvation story.

God will use anything, anyone, and anytime to advance his kingdom, and I think he particularly loves doing it through creative and unexpected means.

I'm so pleased I got to be reminded of that in a gallery in Italy.