Write for God

This weekend, I visited Vatican Splendors, an art/history exhibit at the Florida International Museum in St. Petersburg. I won’t get into the particulars of the show here, but I did find a certain aspect of the Vatican-approved installation troubling. Perhaps it was just me, or perhaps other Catholics would find the same issue difficult.

Amid priceless art such as the Mandylion of Edessa and a breathtakingly beautiful Giotto mosaic, there were many earthly treasures from the Vatican. A papal tiara topped by one of the largest emeralds in the world shares exhibit space with diamond-encrusted rings, gold chalices dotted with gems and elaborate vestments. There was a chasuble embroidered with gold bees for the present Pope, with the symbolism of the sweetness of the word of God and a golden cross where the corpus of the Son of Man seemed out of place in his simple loincloth.

When I write reviews, I always tune in to what those around me are saying as I formulate my own thoughts. Many of the mostly older folks around me the day I visited were wowed by the bijoux, so there was a certain crowd-pleasing element to the “treasure room” at the exhibit. I may have been alone in contrasting the finery to the items in the earlier part of the exhibit that covered the early church, when Christians were daring in their desire to follow a new religion that came with pain and persecution.

A model of the simple memorial at the site where St. Peter was buried after his inverted crucifixion was on display opposite a plaster piece with the graffito Petros eni, or “Peter is here.” The first Christians buried Peter in Vatican Hill, up a ways from Nero’s Circus, where our spiritual ancestors were mauled, tortured and ridiculed. In secret, the early followers would risk their lives to visit his burial site. The exhibit has some oil lamps left by the faithful and a gold votive left at his memorial by a more prosperous Christian.

Constantine’s state approval of Christianity gave the church riches and legitimacy. The first basilica at St. Peter’s was in bad shape when the present structure was begun during the Renaissance but, for its time, it must have been an impressive site. The present basilica, with its Berninis and its Michelangelo frescoes in the Sistine Chapel, is even more elaborate. 

There is no exhibition of artistic genius richer than the Sistine Chapel, which I hope one day to see in person. (I will most likely burst into tears in the presence of its beauty.) I have no problem with creating art for God, which is holy; my issue lies in creating riches for God, which is not.

I can’t deny that the excess of gold and gems in connection with the church of Peter bothered me at the exhibit. For every expression of simplicity in the worship of the early Christians and for every expression of creativity in the art on exhibit, there was a regret that so many visitors will come away with my same feelings of overindulgence.

When the Archdiocese of Los Angeles finished its new cathedral, the local Catholic Workers protested its opulence. I agreed with them then and I still do now. How much does God want gold in place of holocausts instead of mercy and humility? Why do we need diamonds to celebrate the Mass? Why are earthly riches so often required to celebrate treasures in Heaven? How did the church of the poor and persecuted in Peter’s time so quickly become the church of Constantine with its state-blessed opulence?

The bio documentary Witness to Hope celebrates the life of Pope John Paul II iin detail. From his childhood to his Papacy, it’s obvious that he born to be a servant of God. In one scene, the future Pope is celebrating Mass outdoors for young people with an overturned kayak as an altar and the oars placed as a cross. I found the photo of the scene in the documentary remarkable and I flashed back to it while I was at Vatican Splendors. A Mass at a riverside with a kayak for an altar would not have left with me with the same soul-searching I experienced while I was examining the goldsmithing on the pieces at the exhibit.

Dorothy Day wrote in her autobiography, “I loved the church for Christ made visible. Not for itself, because it was so often a scandal for me.” The future saint of the poor and the future saint who once celebrated Mass on a kayak had something in common: they loved the church too much to let glitter blind them to the works that God demands of us. My artistic eye appreciated the craftsmanship on the Vatican treasures, but my Catholic soul didn’t.

I thought of Peter’s followers as they must have prayed in the dark at his simple memorial, not realizing that over them would rise magnificence and opulence in the same millenium. Peter is still here.