Defiance

During World War II, a man named Tuvia Bielski, along with his brothers Zus and Asael, were called up to serve in a military unit to fight against Nazi Germany. Just as their units were being assembled, the Luftwaffe flew over and decimated their town. As they scrambled to regroup, they were ordered to assemble in the woods about 5 kilometers away. So they did. And as they did, another wave of planes flew over and dropped more incendiary bombs on the forest setting it on fire. When they finally caught up with their commander, he told them they were on their own. Grabbing their other brother, Aron, they fled to a small village in western Belarus where their parents lived.

Not long after, the Nazis made their way through the village rounding up Jews to move them to a ghetto in Nowogrodek. The brothers managed to escape into the nearby woods where they remained elusive. After a few months had passed, the Nazis murdered the rest of their family including their parents, two of their other brothers, and many of their extended family, wives and children included. Defiantly, the brothers remained in the woods and as they moved about, they began to encounter other Jews who were hiding. So they banded together and provided them with protection, shelter, and food. Over time, the group began to grow and their reputation started to spread.

Their efforts, despite all the odds, all the heartache, all the suffering, ended up saving over 1,200 Jewish lives. So astonishing was their story, Hollywood produced a film about them starring Daniel Craig.

Unknown facial expression study, by Franz Xaver Messerschmidt (1736-1783), is a marble sculpture of the artist's own face, and one in a series of busts meant to catalog "canonical grimaces". I've featured Messerschmidt before and mainly because his incredible attention to detail is, for lack of a better term, mesmerizing. Other than seeing a human make this very expression, I feel the only artist in history to ever be able to capture the very essence of an expression in pure detail is Messerschmidt. Bold statement, I know, but just look!

Just like The Vexed Man, the labored efforts to capture this particular emotion is almost frightening too real. In animation, I can picture kids in the store or on a playground who refuse to obey their parents or teachers. In adulthood, I see the look of a heart that refuses to let injustice, evil, or oppression prevail. I like the latter much more than the former. It's speaks to a time when this was the heart of a birthing nation, the heart of warriors in the heat of battle, the heart of explorers seeking to map the earth, the heart of inventors who were told it couldn't be done. And it's worrisome to me that inside my own heart, I wrestle with which picture to behold despite knowing which I appreciate the most. They flip-flop back and forth thanks to the taint of today's selfish, bombastic society, and my love of history, art, and success against the odds.

I picked the story of the Jewish brothers not just because of the film, but also to highlight the word defiance. Our world has too much of the adolescent appeal with millions of individuals feeling entitled, wrestling with low self-esteem, and clinging to rampant, unappeased ideology. They stare at others with the animated version in their hearts. Sadly, their version of defiance will fail and lead to further emptiness. Whereas, those who step up to do what's right and stare in the face of evil will find triumph regardless of outcome because their defiance is not unlike the kind our forefathers had when this nation was borne; theirs is not unlike the concerted efforts of soldiers who face horrific enemies who use women and children as bombs; theirs is not unlike those who took to uncharted seas to find new worlds; theirs is not unlike the researchers, scientists, and doctors who cured polio, fight to treat cancer, and save lives that would otherwise find death if it weren't for their tenacious expertise. Again, I like the latter much more.

Laocoön and His Sons

My friend Joe is one of those guys who has a heart of gold while being driven by a deep desire to help others. Sometimes, Joe's eagerness can get the best of him, but throughout every situation and circumstance, he keeps a smile on his face and laughs off any opposition. Why? Because he's driven by a passion that few others have: bettering the lives of others over his own. His selflessness is refreshing, and the more time I spend hanging out with Joe, the more I admire his zeal and energy. It's hard not to like a guy like Joe.

A couple of weeks ago, Joe had swung by my place to help me carry a couple of old couches I was going to throw out to the curb. I have been struggling with some nerve damage in my back so I needed a helping hand, and he was quick to offer it. Upon arriving at my home, though, Joe realized that my old couches weren't that bad, and that his dad needed an upgrade from what he current had. So, one quick phone call later, we were loading the couch and love seat into his truck. When we started loading, I noticed he had a lot of other stuff including some really large rubber mats that weighed a lot and were sticking out a bit over his tailgate. They were so bulky, in fact, that his off-road truck tires were nearly skimming the inside of the wheel wells. I asked him what they were for, and being a physical trainer, he said they were for his growing gym, of course.

I prefaced this story with a quick bit about Joe's personality because I wanted to set the stage for this: Joe finds good in nearly everything he encounters. Whether it's a person down on their luck or some grungy old rubber mats, Joe's heart and mind immediately aim for the positive. What looked like junk to me, Joe saw as a potential benefit for his growing list of clients. No longer would his clients have to exercise in his gym on a concrete floor. No, Joe saw some dirty old mats and decided with a little TLC, his gym would soon be a more comfortable and safe place to exercise.

Once we finished loading up the couches for Joe's dad, he strapped everything down and was on his way. A little later in the day, I receive a couple of text messages from him. First, he exclaimed that the couches were delivered and implied that his dad was very happy. Next, though, Joe said that the several hundred pounds of rubber mats were strewn all over the freeway. He lost them going over a bump in one fell swoop. What surprised me, though, was how humorous he was about the whole ordeal, and better yet, how excited he was for his dad's latest furniture upgrade. Joe's the man! Needless to say, he returned to the scene on the freeway and loaded the mats back up into his truck. Poor guy . . . they really were horrendously heavy.

Flash forward to today: Joe came by my place again to pick up my old chair and ottoman to take back to his new home. Despite it being a matching piece to the couch and love seat, he loved it too much and thought it was so comfortable, he wanted it for his place. (Hey, we all deserve a good nap once in a while.) So, he and I chatted a bit, loaded up the chair and ottoman, and he was on his way yet again. We even joked about the déjà vu of it all. And wouldn't you know it, not 15 minutes later, I got a call from Joe. At about 60 miles-an-hour on the highway, the chair flipped out of the back of his truck, flew up about 10 feet into the air flipping end-over-end, bounced off the freeway tarmac, flipped some more, bounced and flipped and bounced and flipped until it came to a stop on the shoulder. Cars broke hard to avoid a collision and poor old Joe, he was beyond embarrassed. When I called him back and spoke to him on the phone, though, he was his normal, high-spirited self! The incident didn't sway him much and we both laughed at the frequency at which things seem to fly out of the back of his 4x4. Good guy Joe, though, no matter how disappointed he was at losing the chair, he was still buzzing with energy and happiness. And that's why I like him so much.

Laocoön and His Sons, attributed to Agesander, Athenodoros, and Polydorus (dates unknown), is a roughly 2000 year old Hellenistic baroque marble sculpture of Laocoön, a Trojan priest, and his two sons, Antiphantes and Thymbraeus, being attacked by sea serpents. It was excavated in Rome in 1506. According to folklore and history, there is some disagreement as to why this piece was created. Some believe it depicts Laocoön, who was a priest of Poseidon, and his two boys being punished for attempting to expose the truth behind the Trojan Horse (according to Virgil's Aeneid). Others believe Laocoön was a priest of Apollo and this was his punishment for not remaining celibate (according to Sophocles). Pietro Aretino (1492-1556), an Italian author and playwright, is quote as saying, "The two serpents, in attacking the three figures, produce the most striking semblances of fear, suffering and death. The youth embraced in the coils is fearful; the old man struck by the fangs is in torment; the child who has received the poison, dies."

Regardless of which tale you may believe, the piece has long since been seen as a symbol of human agony. This is mainly because of the expressions on the faces of the three men. Fear, anguish, and desperation are all present as the three wrestle and contort their bodies into unnatural positions in order to stay alive. Much the same, every single human being alive today wrestles with agony in some fashion, be it mental or physical. As the centuries have rolled on, this action-packed piece has been iconic in exemplifying human tragedy.

The reason I brought up Joe at the start of this entry was because despite the odds, despite the frustration, despite his pickup's penchant for spitting items onto the highway, he doesn't let life get him down. No matter the agony, fear, anguish, or desperation, Joe keeps his head up high and his eyes on what's more important. Sure, we all have our moments where we wrestle with horrible circumstances or situations, and of course, it goes without saying that they are inevitable, but my friend Joe helps me to remember that it's just stuff; stuff in the here-and-now that will soon pass. Joe helps me to remember that hurdles come and go, but if I'm focused on what's more important like the well-being of others, I can get through it okay. It might be painful for a time, but I serve no one else other than myself if I stay mired in my pain, frustration, anger, or any other negative feeling. Joe reminds me that nothing in this world goes with me when I die, and so with that as the foundation, I too can overcome challenges with a smile on my face. No, it won't be easy--despite Joe making it seem very easy--but I have to say, at least I have someone helping me to be a better person. Even if he doesn't realize it.

Or maybe he does.

The Sacrifice

A few years ago, I went down with the flu which eventually turned into pneumonia. I had a 103 degree fever, and for a couple of days, I barely ate, drank, or slept. It was bad. In fact, the body aches were so severe, I couldn't sleep laying down and had to sleep in an upright fetal-position on my couch. That, of course, didn't bode well with me being at that angle and in so much pain so I don't remember getting much rest during that time. By the third day, I knew I was in pretty bad shape and needed to get medical help. In my delirious state, though, I couldn't think of anyone to contact who wasn't either too far away, or would be burdened by my request for help. I know, I know, in a situation like that, it shouldn't matter, but that's just how my brain works.

So, mentally fried by the lack of water, food, and sleep, my only thought was to ask nicely on Facebook. Why not? Lots of people were using it then, and I figured someone who might see my post and volunteer to come get me would, therefore, be doing so willingly. I posted, and within minutes, a co-worker of mine said he was on his way and to text him my address. 20 minutes later, he arrived, picked me up, and drove me to urgent care. Since he needed to get back to work, he said to text him when I was done there, and he'd come get me and take me home. I checked in and sat down in the waiting room area across from the pharmacy. And then I passed out.

Hearing my name being called woke me up, and with some help, they laid me on a table inside. I passed out again. The next thing I remember was a doctor waking me up. He calmly looked me in the eye and told me that I was not doing well, and that since they were unsure of what was going on, I needed to go to the ER where they'd be able to run more tests. He then told me an ambulance was already on the way. I can remember looking out the back window seeing bridges go by and thinking, oh, I know that street. During the trip, I even managed to somehow contact my family to let them know I where I was headed. Later that evening, I was still in the ER with my brother by my side. From what I can remember, I had around 8 bags of saline solution pumped into me as well as 4 different liquid antibiotics. The doctors were still unsure of what was going on, and from what I could tell, they were extremely worried. Sometime in the middle of the night, they placed me in ICU under quarantine. There I stayed for three days and anyone who came to visit had to gear up head-to-toe in full protective wear.

When it was all said and done, and as I was preparing to go home, a specialist came in and sat down with me. He had a sizable stack of paper with him, and told me what all my tests and treatment had discovered: I had sepsis, and had I not gone to urgent care when I did, I might have had 2 or 3 hours left before I would have died. What he didn't tell me was how severe sepsis can be. After arriving back home, I looked it up and was shocked to find out that I had stage-3 sepsis which has a 50% mortality rate. The urgent care staff, the nurses, the many doctors, and especially my co-worker, Chadd, had all saved my life.

The Sacrifice, by Linda Saskia Menczel (1972-), is a contemporary bronze-on-bronze sculpture of Jesus depicting Him holding two walls apart while His body slowly melts into liquid. Strikingly, the look on Jesus' face is that of fatigue yet determination and purpose. Setting aside Menczel's intent, however, the symbolism is remarkable and beautiful. Here we see a man holding the world at bay creating a safe area while having his very essence drip away. It's okay, though, because his face says this is by choice, this is needed, and this is what must be done. It's called The Sacrifice for a reason, and while Menczel was likely referring to Christ's death on the cross and the religious ramifications of it, the work still exudes a vivid image of what sacrificing for others can mean for the person noble enough to do something.

There are risks in everything. Chadd risked being reprimanded, or worse, fired for leaving his desk to come pick me up. The urgent care and hospital staffs risked getting infected themselves by physically interacting with me while trying to keep me alive. Everyone's essence, in some fashion, dripped away but they all stepped up to help me willingly. Not one of them asked for recognition. They just did what they did and moved on. Actions that defined the very meaning of sacrifice; attitude and purpose that defined the very meaning of nobility. Did any of them receive a great reward? Doubtful, but each one of them now has a memory of doing something life-giving for someone else that will last them a lifetime. And each one has my eternal gratitude.

Les Bourgeois de Calais

Arland had no idea on January 12, 1982, that he would make history and become a hero in less than 24 hours. Little is known about why Arland was where he was on January 13, just that he was a federal bank examiner and likely traveling for business.

The weather in Washington, D.C. that next day was freakishly bad. Snow, ice, and high winds plagued the region and plunged the city into an arctic state. Over 6 feet of snow had accumulated leading to the Washington National Airport to shut down. Prior to cancelling flights and despite repeated warnings, though, the pilot of Air Florida Flight 90 refused to abandon their scheduled trip. As Arland, 73 other passengers, and 5 crew boarded the plane, what would happen next left the world in shock.

As the plane taxied to the runway for take-off, human error was already in play and doom had set in. First, they gave a blind eye to the clearly visible snow building up on the wings as well as the runway and surrounding area. Second, the pilots failed to activate the aircraft's ice protection system while they chose to ignore other on-board warnings that the plane would not make it. Third, it didn't help that the taxi alone took 49 minutes thus exacerbating conditions, and that was after the towing vehicle couldn't even find traction to get the plan going in the first place. What was apparent, however, was that the captain was determined to get the aircraft in the air no matter what.

Upon take-off, the plane struggled to gain altitude, and immediately fell and struck the 14th Street Bridge less than a mile off the end of the runway hitting 7 vehicles, and killing 4 people. The plane then plunged into the Potomac River which was blanketed by jagged ice. When it hit the ice and water, the plane split in two and as the front section of the fuselage sank, the tail section stayed afloat in the water.

This is where things take a turn for the worse, but the better. Of the 79 people on board, 6 survived and they were badly injured. As they scrambled to the tail section to cling on for dear life and seek assistance, not one of them knew it would take so long due to the weather conditions. After 20 minutes of failed attempts to reach the survivors by land, boat, and even dog-paddling, a helicopter from the U.S. Park Police was dispatched to man a rescue. The perilous mission would prove there was and is good reason to have faith in humanity.

When the chopper arrived, a rescue rope was tossed down to Arland, one of the 6 survivors. Despite his injuries and weather conditions, Arland was surprisingly alert. Seeing that the other 5 people were in worst condition than him, he passed the rope to the person next to him. One by one, Arland continued to pass the rope so 3 of the other 5 could be safely hauled to land. That's when the pilots noticed one of the survivors had drifted away from the wreckage and was flailing in the freezing water, stuck on a chunk of ice. She was very quickly dying, and it was all captured on live TV. With two other rescuers who dove into the frigid waters, they were able to save her. The helicopter crew then turned their attention back to the wreckage to pick up the two remaining people. Arland and another woman were now separated by conditions so they lowered the skids into the water to haul the remaining female on board who was too weak to grab onto the rope. When they finally returned for Arland, he was no where to be found. They spent over 30 minutes searching for him before they were called away. Days later, it would be discovered that the wreckage had shifting sucking Arland down underwater causing him to drown.

Les Bourgeois de Calais, by Auguste Rodin (1840 - 1917), is a bronze statue depicting 6 burghers (politically connected and influential citizens) volunteering their lives to King Edward III to parley surrender on behalf of the city of Calais, France, in 1347. The piece was commissioned by the city in 1884, and it was completed in 1889. At the time, they wished to commemorate the lives of those who willingly gave themselves up at the command of King Edward III, and for the survival of the people of Calais who were embroiled in the Hundred Years' War.

Rodin is best known for his piece, The Thinker, but in all of art history, Les Bourgeois de Calais is known to be one of the most historically famous sculptures ever created. During that period in time, France was losing the battle against England, and as the city of Calais struggled to hold their lines and defense of the city and castle, they fell into starvation. This was when Edward offered to spare the people of Calais if 6 of its top leaders would give themselves up, wear nooses around their necks, and give him the keys to the city and castle. The first of the volunteers was a wealthy town leader named Eustache de Saint Pierre, and he is seen in the piece leading the group to the city gates to be turned over to the crown. It wasn't until Philippa of Hainault, the wife of King Edward III, stepped in and persuaded her husband to show mercy for the sake of the unborn child, Thomas of Windsor (who, ironically, died 1 year after birth).

I picked the Arland Williams story to highlight the significance of this piece because of the incredible amount of compassion and sacrifice he showed in order that others might live. Had he grabbed the rope and held on, who knows? Perhaps the woman seen struggling in the ice would have died instead. Much like Arland and all of the life he still had ahead him, Saint Pierre and the others were also willing to give it all up for strangers. It's even more astonishing to comprehend when you think about the life Eustache must have had. He was rich, influential, and according to painting of him by artist Jean-Simon Berthélemy, he was handsome, powerful, and well-liked.

Stories of heroism are, nowadays, a dime-a-dozen. Yet, with each, I find myself blown away by the sheer level of compassion and self-sacrifice for the good of others - often strangers. From Medal of Honor recipients to men like Arland and Saint Pierre, I'm reminded of the inherent good in humanity that the world and media would otherwise have you believe didn't exist. Let's none of us forget that, and let's also never forget those who sacrificed their own lives in order that others may live.

L'Homme qui marche I

Fantastical whims churned inside his head as he sat nervously at the table. Visions of the potential future flashed before his imagination and quickly faded from one scenario to another, each including him and her. It was his methodical way of sifting through his emotions to decide if he felt the two could be right for each other. Indeed, conversation and the humanistic practice of revealing little eccentricities about themselves to each other would unfold; the archaic-laden and based courtship of the 21st Century. He was no master of the dating scene, but humble enough to know his faults and where his past mistakes ailed his cause: true love.

Moments in their exchange hit varied crescendos and every once in awhile, they reached a lull. He then would quickly turn to humor to hide his inadequacies, working his charm delicately to expose his vulnerability just enough to move the momentum back into positive territory. He'd been in similar situations many times before, and all of them left him as misunderstood. And here she was, exuding an inner beauty with each smile, and revealing moralistic and emotional similarities he often would not find. He did not want this one to slip away.

His walk through life as a bachelor has never once been an enjoyable experience. Like a penumbra between love and fate, his pace has only ever once faltered in his pursuit to find a mate, and merging into and out of the former and latter has proven to be a difficult, frustrating hope. Occupation, financial well-being, health, even style have all evolved and improved so that each frivolous exterior quality can be--and appear to be--the best they can be. As such, what was left was his longing to find the source of true happiness in a partner that would compliment him, complete him, and give new purpose. Possible? At times he's felt disheartened but with each emotion-jarring rejection and eminent desire to give up, he continued on, stride before stride, streamlined and determined.

L'Homme qui marche I (The Walking Man I), by Alberto Giacometti (1901-1966), is a bronze-cast sculpture of a 6 foot tall man, mid-stride, and focused in his trajectory. From Wikipedia's entry:  The piece has been described as "both a humble image of an ordinary man, and a potent symbol of humanity". Giacometti is said to have viewed "the natural equilibrium of the stride" as a symbol of "man's own life force".

For me, it's largely and metaphorically representative of all emotional journeys we each take. The steely determination in the stride, the evidence of wear in the humbled positioning of the arms, the subtle fear of defeat in the withdrawn shoulders; this person embodies knowing and understanding, and ultimately does not want to fail again or quit. He is a potent symbol of a purposeful humanity.

When I see this figure, I see myself insignificantly traversing through crowds of other figures hoping to meet what destiny, hope, or my goals would have me meet. And in the case of our love-seeking friend, it is his plight to weed through souls in hopes of finding his match. Yet the uniqueness and seeming bland qualities of this piece make it oh so extraordinary and extremely easy to find varying comparisons of life. Weight loss, health, professional determination, financial stability, support for loved ones; all of it is embodied in this sculpture and for something that came out of the Postwar America era, I think it is beautiful and moving.

The date ended and there was success and utter failure. He was an amazing catch, fulfilling many of the desires she wished to find in a partner. He was handsome, wanted marriage, a family, cherished little things and found bliss in simplicity. For him, she was bright, intelligent, meaningful, genuine in her interest, sincere in her smile. And in the end, it boiled down to an inconceivable gender difference where she ultimately did not feel the spice in their "chemistry".

In his heart, he began the process of mending the pain while emotionally pushing his chair back, heading for the door, and wading into the crowds of other shadows seeking that one, special person. Complexly intertwined yet kept very separate, he had mastered the experience of rejection and could manipulate the aspects of his being without needing one to support the other. Thus, his stride quickened, his head held high, and through the drifting abyss of solitude and potential, he sought out what next fate may have in store.

Niccolò Paganini

About 100 years ago, George was born the lone child of a father and mother who are long gone. As a youngster, George lived out his life in a pretty desolate place known as Pinta. Each day, he'd wake and slowly make his way around the rocky terrain in search of sustenance. Each night, he would bed down alone inside his small abode and dream of what could be.

Several years had gone by when George was awakened one day by the unfamiliar sounds of new neighbors. Boorish and abrasive, the new family to take up residency was clearly not what George was accustomed to. For him, each day was filled with friendly, sparse encounters with the few others that lived in the same area each living their lives in harmony, in unison, and without interruption. But the new family to take up a home in George's otherwise quiet world were less-than welcome. Sadly, over time the small brood had increased in kinship making George's small but spread out place of living far too uncomfortable and overcrowded. In fact, things got so bad and due to George's elderly age, he had to be assisted in finding a new home where he could continue to live peacefully with all the necessities.

George took on quite a bit of fame in the 1970s thanks to his unique life and story and after being discovered by a foreign scientist doing local research. His solitary upbringing, ability to survive on his own for nearly his entire life, and learning that he was the last of his family's lineage, George was greeted by many well-doers. Each person seemed genuine and sought ways to make what was left of his existence as enjoyable as possible all the while exploiting the ramifications of who he was so others could feel compelled to get involved. George and others like him should never be forgotten in such a large world filled with those who had or have a similar background. And while efforts to introduce George to a mate so his family name could live on have failed, there is still a glimmer of hope it is not too late.

Niccolò Paganini by Jean-Pierre Dantan is the plaster sculpture of an Italian violin virtuoso by the same name. Using his incredibly unique and expressive style, Dantan has created one of the hallmarks of his very bright and idyllic career. Not far from the reality of who Paganini was and how he played, the piece displays a man paying extremely close attention to his craft.

Externally, we're presented with a piece that shows a man with his hips askew and arms awkwardly pulled in as he seemingly reaches the crescendo of his music. Internally, we're able to notice not just a man playing an instrument but a man wholly focused on something that is truly a passion. Dantan's use of simple materials void of color show that the work itself is not meant to be expressive but the motion, the moment, and the emotions evoked. Purposefully, the piece was masterfully created in order to ensure who Paganini was as an violinist and how Paganini sacrificed his entire life for his work are intricately represented.

In real life, Paganini was not much unlike our friend, George. He lived a life of pure focus upon the one thing he felt gave him purpose while garnering his fair share of fame. Ultimately, though, Paganini passed away leaving very little to speak of behind. And like George, Paganini forged through his existence as someone who should have been much more well known and successful but apparently destined for nothing more than having controversy surround his legacy.

Who is George, you might be wondering? He's the last known species of tortoise that are indigenous to Pinta Island in the Galápagos. At approximately 100 years old, no other living species of George's kind have been found and hopes to avert extinction have been fruitless. In kind, how does George relate to Paganini? As one of the most beloved and vivid violinists of his time and at the height of his fame, Paganini reached the end of his life with no money, alone, and his idiomatic talent all but forgotten. On a symbolic road of destiny that could not be manipulated or influenced, both George and Paganini trudged through their lives focused not on what made them each special, but on what each most desired.

When the day comes that George passes away, the lack of similarities between a tortoise and a man will eventually fade. Though I suppose it has already begun considering the predicated comparison I've just shared. All boasting aside, however, the one thing that cannot be argued is the reality of some individuals who seem destined for a life of solitude. Completely engrossed in their dreams and passions, these folks endure years of loneliness despite having direct and sometimes infamous connections with others. Rightfully expressed in a song entitled, Misread Lyrics by Kings of Convenience, "All throughout history the loneliest people were the ones who always spoke the truth; the ones who made a difference by withstanding the indifference." The unfortunately truth is that indifference will be everlasting.

The Pietà

The Road Not Taken

 Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,

And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
 --Robert Frost, 1916

Choices are a God-given right to all mankind and inevitably, each of us will make some that are not ideal and others that will be glorious.  What is left are these moments in the present to evaluate and learn from the past.  Perhaps some of us will enjoy the opportunity to revisit that diverge of roads and choose to take the one we did not the first time.  For others, though, the road chosen has become one-way with no chance of returning.

The Pietà by Michelangelo Buonarroti (1475-1564) is a sculpture of Jesus Christ in the lap of his mother, Mary. Christ is portrayed as deceased, feeble in size and from circumstance while Mary is shown as a younger woman than she was at the time of His death. The piece is a combination of classic beauty and naturalism and is considered one of the most finished and detailed works by Michelangelo.

Much focus has been given to the two subjects and to the implied interpretation of Christ's size and Mary's age. For one, Christ was sculpted to be smaller than was believed and is in a crumpled heap in Mary's arms. Secondly, Mary was sculpted to appear to be about the age she was when she bore her Son for whom she now passionately embraces. The detail of both, however, is incredible and there is much to be gained from spending a significant amount of time admiring the piece.

For me, I see a mother whose body expresses her love and anguish for the loss of her Son. Her face, though, appears to be at absolute peace signifying her acceptance and understanding of the sacrifice her Son just made. From a Christian point of view, there is some irony in this moment considering Mary was the one who bore Jesus, while Jesus was the One who bore the sins of man. Thus, a circle of life extending beyond conventional means is on display and pointedly so. Mary, for the sake of this piece and with respect to history, was a wonderful woman hand picked by God to bare His Child.

Christ in this display also creates an irony of circumstance. He is shown in His state upon being taken off the cross yet He is not actually Him. What I mean is that this is merely His body, not Him as a Man. Yet laying across Mary's lap, scars from His torture vividly displayed, He symbolizes His own existence and what could have happened to man had He not laid down His life for everyone else.

Though the subject of Christ's death and sacrifice are a controversial one, it is well documented that He had a choice and even struggled with it. His entire life was meant to come to this point and although He knew it, He was also a man embodied with the ability to make choices through free will given by God. Frost's poem, for me, is something I can envision Jesus saying to Himself as he ascended to Heaven. He had an opportunity to choose which road to take: One that would lead Him away from His purpose in life and mankind, or one that would lead Him to a moment where the sins of every man, woman, and child for all eternity would be paid for in full, by Him. Rightfully so, He-

He chose the road far less traveled,
And it has made all the difference.