July 22, 2020
Saint Matthew and the Angel (1602)
Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio (1571–1610)
Oil on canvas, 116 in x 77 in
Destroyed 1945, Berlin
The past couple of months, this painting has been much on my mind. In it, Caravaggio depicts Matthew the Evangelist, not serenely writing his gospel, but instead visibly laboring to hold his quill. One gets the sense that were the angel not an angel, they might be running out of patience with this grubby, awkward scribe.

This painting is imperfect in almost every possible way, especially for a religious work. It was painted by a fantastically gifted convicted murderer, who led a short, dissolute life. It was rejected by its patron as crude for showing the saint with dirty feet and implying that he may have been barely literate. And finally, it no longer exists, having been destroyed by Allied bombs in 1945.

During this pandemic, with life drastically constricted, we are reminded daily of our imperfections. Without our usual distractions available, these reminders are often overwhelming. The good news of Matthew’s gospel (and the other three) is that God can work with that. God can make beautiful, meaningful, lasting things with his dirty, impulsive, imperfect servants who can barely hold their spiritual tools much less wield them with any competence.

We do not have to be perfect before we can do God’s will. We only have to be willing to show up in our bare feet, possibly hung over or otherwise feeling the effects of our sins, and let God use our hands. Like Matthew, like Caravaggio, we are vessels of God’s grace and love, even if we are painfully, obviously flawed. God commissioned us and said “this is good.” We have to take that on faith and let the angel guide our hand each day, even when we have no idea what we or doing or how it will turn out.

Laura M. Hogan