The Ugly Face of Beauty
I’ve always been enthralled by the elusive nature of beauty. It’s a title of highest honor, given to the plastically improved supermodel standing haughtily in a $10,000 Prada dress and stilettos or applied to the sublime kaleidoscope of sunrays that bounce off the Grand Canyon at dusk. Never the less, the characteristic of conceptual beauty that has always estranged me has been its nature of impersonality and distance. Such beauty isn’t something to engage in, it’s something to be admired from a distance. Thus, the love created for beauty is fabricated on partial truths into a flimsy romantic ideal.
Embarrassingly, I’ve found that many of my passions and desires are often founded on these partial truths, the aspect of reality that I have allowed myself to see. Since I was a little girl, I’ve had a love affair with the city of Paris. My childhood days spent speaking “pretend French” (aka gibberish) to my imaginary French friends gave way to years of diligent study of the French language and culminated in a spontaneous weekend getaway to Paris with a close friend just months ago. Though I claim a love for France and its culture, my infatuation extends only to the touristy fantasy that the media and my own bias have created to satisfy my romantic urges and neglect a necessity for holistic love.
I cannot understand true beauty lest I first grasp this holistic love. I am commanded to love God and love my neighbors and yet such a checklist of responsibilities often results in a quick, easy romantic love with a people group half way across the world that I can speak about but never to and that I can love without ever being hurt.
When I claim a culture to be beautiful or something for which I “have a heart,” what am I really saying? If that is my understanding of love, then my idea of the beauty of a different culture and missions is nothing more than my face on the glossy cover of Christianity Today bending down to lay a hand on an impoverish Nicaraguan child or a photograph of smiling dark faces that I hang above my mantel next to my sports trophies and family portrait.
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