David and Bernini

Lips tight with anticipation:

    come on, grimace as if it’ll save your life.

       Your tendons tight in exertion:

          twist like a coiled spring.

             It might save your life.

Photo of Bernini's David Courtesy of Simonsonsa

                         The pregnant moment,

the moment that matters.
   The sling, the stone, the shepherd boy.

     The twist, the movement.

       “The name of the God of Jacob defend thee,”

          said the Psalmist once. 
          (They sometimes call you that.)

         And now I think you’re right.

       “But we are risen, and stand upright,”

       and you knew that the risen, 
       the actors, not objects,

    will God deliver.

           God wants actors,

         not loungers. Not danglers.  

       Not perfect bodies, but moving bodies.

      Maybe your body was perfect, but I’m more sure it

     was moving.

   The quiver, the feet in position,

  the twisting, the tightening,

 the grip on a stone like it’ll save your life.

 Lean backward, twist forward,

  Release.

And God delivers.

  


   I think the beauty of the sculpture comes from David’s imperfections and his willingness to move. Bernini’s David doesn’t look placid or complacent; he’s not above getting dirty. Michelangelo’s David is a body that may be ideal, but doesn’t seem very useful (not to rail against Michelangelo's David; it's amazing. But I wrote the poem to sort of compare the two statues, and I do think the realism of Bernini's is more compelling than the sedate idealism of Michelangelo's). Our bodies don’t need to be perfect for us to be useful to God, a usefulness that I believe really will bring the most happiness and fulfillment in our lives, especially when we're thinking about others instead of ourselves. Which I find so hard to do, but am trying. But I believe God accepts our service for him, no matter the inadequacies of our attempts or the less-than-ideal look of our bodies. And I want my thoughts to really mirror that belief.