The Beauty of God

Beauty: that which is pleasurable (desirable) to the senses or exalts the mind: loveliness; particularly graceful or excellent; a brilliant, extreme, or egregious example/instance; good bounty; attractive

The Appearance of God
I got into it awhile back with someone who claimed beauty wasn't distinctly Christian because "Satan is beautiful." I had to beg to differ, however, and wound up using a smattering of Scriptures that, for readability, I'll just list by reference at the end of this post.   But the truth is, Satan's a wanna-be.  He's strong, pretty to look at, but at his best he's a wanna-be. The whole comparison is absurd, because it's like comparing water droplets on a back porch reflecting sunlight to the brilliance of a tropical seascape mirroring eight different colors of jewels, teeming with life, and varying in depth and warmth.



But, to my recollection, Satan's not even described much in the Scriptures, whereas by contrast  God must be beating his head against the temple walls in his attempts to condense his appearance into human language, because the Scriptures just explode with words in trying to find just the right one. Isaiah never got past describing his robe and Ezekiel and John kept passing out.  But in all these descriptions we learn one thing: He is gorgeous.

He has thick hair and bright eyes; his body is built for battle and marred with war-badges.  There's some speculation he might have wings, given a passage or two. And he's tall enough to have a robe with a train that runs out the door. Sometimes he wears robes that gleam in the light, sometimes he wears battle garb. He's worn simpler garb, a time or two. He's called a crown of glory and a diadem.*

But that's just what he looks like. God is beautiful. He lives in a beautiful place (Isaiah 63). He makes us beautiful.  He gives “beauty for ashes, strength for fear, gladness for mourning, and peace for despair” (Isaiah 61). He's got at least three thrones and a city of gold; he holds the crown and scepter and a shepherd's crook. He's a priest-king of light, a war-hero, a man of justice and mercy, peace and excellence.  He's quick to smile and slow to rage, wise and kind. He's called a beautiful inheritance and portion,** and whatever he puts his hand to he excels at.


The Pretty Things of God
I don't think we're doing the charge in Philippians 4 justice if we neglect to consider that things that are true, good, lovely, excellent, of good report, praiseworthy, honorable/noble, virtuous, or  pure, are, in fact, desirable. Beautiful. Pretty.  Nor do I think we do Scripture justice any time it refers to the splendor, glory, or beauty of something, be it  a city or a person.  By doing this, we miss out on the drumbeat of "This is beautiful, I am more; this is magnificent; my city is more."

The most beautiful thing you've ever seen is just a shadow. The most beautiful person you've ever seen is just a shadow of his face.

And you know, I think it's funny that sometimes God makes something pretty because he can. His reasoning for the priests' garments was "glory and beauty." Or, in other words: It looks good and it's dignifying.***

Eden was beautiful. And the remade Heaven & Earth contains descriptions that barely find place in the human language. The restoration and reconciliation of the universe is, in fact, gorgeous. He calls his people beautiful, and even wisdom bestows a crown.****


The Audacity of Copycats
And then there's Satan, whose sole descriptions are "a serpent more wise than any other creature in the garden,' 'day star,' and 'fallen like lightning from heaven.' Okay, so you could probably add 'the dragon' and 'roaring lion' to those, but his claim to fame is death, destruction, cruelty, and deception. In other words, he couldn't build something that lasted if his life depended on it; he'd break it with his own hands before he even got started. Fraud, tyrant, hypocrite, and predator of the most vile kind.

This is the guy who has to lie to get anyone's attention. He's got to pass himself off as a master when he's just  a renegade servant.

So let’s not dare give Satan — that horrid, atrocious, pathetic snip of a lizard who dared challenge the Living God and only presents himself as an angel of light because he dares not come to us as his true self or we’d run from him — the corner market on beauty.  Satan is is a troll.  There is nothing desirable left in him, therefore he has to make himself look desirable.  He might be pretty on the outside – and I’ve no doubt he his, but inside he is nothing more than an open grave full of rotting corpses.  Let’s not call his putrid imitation of beauty the real, true beauty that cannot be matched because the matchless beauty is none less than Christ himself. 




*Isaiah 28:4-6
**Psalm 16:5-7; Isaiah 41:2
***Exodus 28:1-3, 29-41
****Proverbs 4:8-10; Isaiah 52:7; 60:7,9; Job 42; Ecclesiastes 3:10-13

Meditations: My Childhood Best Friend

I grew up with this friend. Rather, he lived--lives--in my house. My parents invited him in one day, and he's stayed ever since. He's my bodyguard. The very thought of how strong he is both thrills and terrifies me.  He could break me in  a million pieces without effort, but his face is kind and his hands are gentle.  He gives the best bear hugs and he can carry me when I'm hurt or tired.

He makes me laugh. He's got the best of wit, tells the best jokes, and pulls the best pranks.  I've never beat him in an argument because his intellect proves me an utter fool.  All the books in the world can't contain all the stories you could tell about him.  And believe me, it's been tried.

Sometimes we go weeks without talking, but it's usually my fault.  He comes in and tackles me after awhile, then pointedly reminds me this relationship works two ways.  We really don't fight much, but he's quite accustomed to waiting out my rants before shutting me up with a well-timed one-liner of wisdom. As I said, he's very smart.

I grew up with him, and have him to thank for the days of trying to capture Tinker Belle and handwritten stories about horses who ruled an island in the middle of nowhere. We'd stay up late talking, sometimes, and other times write each other notes to read later. He liked to stretch my patience and go through my parents to make a point. Yes, he did that, even way back then. He liked to knock on the window and call me out. In college we'd roam campus and go for long walks in the park.

The truth is, I don't know life without him. He's my best friend.  He's gentle and patient with the weak and humble, but he's a nightmare to the proud and oppressive. He doesn't get angry much, but, if he does, get out of the way. Luckily it never lasts long.  He's got a bit of a jealous streak and he loves being around kids. He can be alone or in a crowd, and doesn't mind unconventional company.

He put a song in my heart and a story in my soul; he's excited when good things come and grief-stricken over the ill. He cries, more than me, truth be told.

But he also tends to jump around with his arms in the air and shout or dance around and spin me till I'm dizzy. And he laughs, often and hard--usually at me.

And you know, sometimes he drives me crazy. But I love him.  And life just really wouldn't be the same without him.