We need living icons

Icons (like the one above) have become hip in certain circles of Protestant Christianity, along with other high-church traditions. (And along with converting to said high-church traditions)

For those not familiar, an icon isn’t meant to be a realistic portrait like the Mona Lisa; rather, it represents theological or spiritual realities with symbols and a style designed to guide the viewer to contemplate and worship God. Just as God the Son became Jesus, “the image [eikon] of the invisible God” (Colossians 1:15) who connects us back to God, religious icons are meant to do the same. They are made to point beyond themselves, as it were, to the eternal realities of God. They’re not meant to be heaven, but instruments tuned to its music.

I don’t care to make a case for or against using icons as inspirations for worship. But the concept of an icon – an object that directs attention not to itself, but beyond itself to God – is a wonderful way to think about what it means to live as a mere immortal.

I recently read Rechab Gray’s tribute to his grandmother. He begins:

Whenever I journey to my grandmother’s hometown of Tallulah, Louisiana, I always hear about her influence on those who know her best. It blows my mind to see God’s grace on display in her community after more than 75 years.

Her life is a representation of the lives of so many matriarchs redeemed in and shaped by the historic black church. Her legacy shows what a supernatural God can do in and through people radically committed to supernatural living—in spite of the all-too-natural pangs that meet them in this life.

Gray goes on to detail specific ways his grandma, Annie May, is a living icon – a symbol of God’s eternal realities that can hug you and cook you a meal. Her decades of living faithfully with God make her a breathing testimony to God’s truth, joy, and grace.

“What kind of men we proved to be”

We live in a world of words, memes, and other communicative acts, which can make us feel like our primary job is to spout content into the ether. And Christian ministry depends on speaking, hearing, believing, and obeying words. Words are the cat’s meow.

But listen to how the apostle Paul describes his ministry to the Thessalonians:

For we know, brothers loved by God, that he has chosen you, because our gospel came to you not only in word, but also in power and in the Holy Spirit and with full conviction. You know what kind of men we proved to be among you for your sake. And you became imitators of us and of the Lord, for you received the word in much affliction, with the joy of the Holy Spirit, so that you became an example to all the believers in Macedonia and in Achaia.

Paul and his fellow evangelists brought the gospel in words, but not only in words: they brought themselves, miniature incarnations of God’s way of life that put sinew and skin on their message. And the Thessalonians didn’t just believe the word; they became different people, icons after the icons of Paul and Christ, living examples for others after them.Who needs the music?CS Lewis describes the experience that we call “beauty,” but which is really a deep sense of longing for something we’ve never really experienced: “[the objects that inspire this feeling] are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.” Painted icons and living ones point past themselves. As Paul said, “Imitate me, as I imitate Christ.”

It’s worth asking ourselves, what is my life pointing people toward? What kind of man (or woman) do I prove to be? What are the truths of God that I would hope shine like “gold-vermilion” through the ember of my life, and how can I saturate myself in those truths to make them a greater part of me?

And in a world where individuals despair, relationships decay, and the social fabric rips, there is greater need than ever for living icons of God’s present mercy and eternal hope. For people who carry the aroma of the everlasting feast. Whose life is tuned, not to the anxieties of mere modern life or the welter of media, but to the music of heaven.

Last week, I shared from Matthew Loftus’ essay “Run Toward the Pain,” and that’s exactly what’s needed. We need living icons running toward the pain of the world to bring it hope. We need more Annie Maes, because we need more of the eternal light that filled her.

Who needs what you can give? Who needs the music you’ve nearly heard?

“Your Labor Is Not In Vain”

This combines many of my favorite things.