Soaring ceilings formed an intricately carved symphony of design over my head. Gothic arches securely held together with flying buttresses.
The days and years artisans spent carving, painting, and birthing this grandeur was mind-boggling. Westminster Abbey and it’s contemporaries at their finest.
The times were medieval, so questions about the workers swirled in my head. Were they monks?Maybe they were Church members who labored in reverence and worship for The Lord? Or were they just artisans brought in because of their skill, desiring profit and accolades of man in this house of worship?
It matters not in this day and time, centuries later. Yet my curiosity lingers.
Once the awe settled in, it began to seep into my pores my consciousness, my being.
The excess, the expense, an entire life’s work, laid out before me. For what?
I can understand it both ways. A lifetime of devotion to God shown through their deft fingers as they labored day by day.
Or a lifetime of praise by man, as others viewed the grandeur birthing before their eyes. Who knows what their motivation?
Then the tombs,
the tombs of kings and knights and dignitaries. Full carvings, exquisite renderings, life images with unseeing eyes, preserved in cold marble shrouds. The curl of their hair, the flow of robes across lifeless forms, crowns and jewels forever frozen in icy stone.
Honor and glory preserved on earth, etched in rock, inlaid with gold. But inside the crypts, under the prestigious facade, lie bones turning to dust.
Same as the laborer they hired,
Same as the servant who worked in their palaces,
Same as the beggar they passed on the street.
All men turn to dust in the end.
Death is no respecter of station in life.
So where do we put our treasures in today’s world?
In meaningless extra hours of work and toil?
In riches and honor that we can’t take with us?
Or family and friends?
And a legacy of love?
Are we artisans who are carving an indelible mark of faith and devotion?
And a path for those behind us to follow even when we are gone?
All go to the same place; all come from dust, and to dust all return. (Ecclesiastes 3:20 NIV)
-If someone who didn’t know you was to look at your life, where would they say your treasure was?
-Would you be happy with their assessment?