I have always enjoyed medieval churches. They are quiet, often not terribly well lit, and when they aren't decorated sparely, they're covered with biblical or religious images that require your attention to figure out exactly what it is they're communicating. All of this makes (for me anyway) entering a calm and reflective state of mind an almost instinctive reaction. I hoped that spending an hour or two in the church of San Lorenzo in Genoa would do just that for me, since it was (is?) the signature cathedral of medieval Genoa.
San Lorenzo was built in the early twelfth century, but you wouldn't know it to go in it. Not having been before, I expected it to be typically medieval (whatever that means), but it was clear as soon as I walked in that this was not going to be the experience I anticipated. As it turns out, Italians favor (favored?) a style of devotion, or at least of religious architecture, that doesn't appeal to me much. The original twelfth-century structure of the building shows through in places, but mostly up in areas that are out of sight unless you're looking for them. Instead, the cathedral is decorated most prominently with marble statues, reliefs and plaques whose purpose (commemorating famous individual churchmen from Genoa's past, especially the sixteenth century) is only too clear. The statues in particular struck me as ostentatious enough to be only quasi-religious. Does an oversized marble relief of a bishop ministering to a small child really have much to do with the Bible? Ironically enough, I didn't really feel that much Jesus in the church.
Still, as I sat and thought about it, I began to feel like I had rushed to judgment. Perhaps I couldn't feel Jesus there in San Lorenzo. But if not, that's my problem – not anyone else's. Certainly the creators of the ornaments of San Lorenzo don't much care what I think. Who is Jesus? He may be a lot of things to a lot of different people – but the historian in me can't forget that he's not our property or our exclusive heritage.
I'm not at a point in my faith where I feel much of a
connection with a personal Jesus.
Perhaps I never will be. But
sitting and contemplating a 'historical' Jesus we don't usually spend much time
with (Jesus at times seems only to live in the present and the first century),
I was struck again with the power of an idea, incarnate in a person, to call us
(past, present, and future) to a better life – not materially, psychologically
or socially, but in the deepest and profoundest way possible.
Jeff Miner
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