Good morning church family,

“I know,” the studio executive said; shaking his head. “I wouldn’t have thought the Bible would ever make money in this town again either. But, anyway…”

“It hasn’t made any money yet,” Belle Bevaqua dryly replied. He was walking through his rooftop garden and watering the bonsai plants as he talked on the phone. The bonsai were receiving a good bit more care and attention than the call.

“And that’s why I’m calling you,” came Brandt Derry’s artful reply. “We need you on this project, Belle.”

“An antediluvian epic wouldn’t seem to demand much from a fashion designer. Maybe you should see if anyone from The Flintstones is available.”

“Exactly, Belle,” the executive grew more earnest in his pitch, “we don’t want this to be some camp, romper flick. Everyone’s A-list on this thing. We’re shooting for a grand, sweeping museum piece here. This is going to be an Academy picture all the way and we’re going to need an Oscar-winner dressing Adam and Eve.”

“I have thought about it a little,” the famous fashion icon confessed; tipping up his watering can and looking wistfully out at the other SoHo rooftops. “It does offer a unique challenge.”

“So, you’ll do it.”

“Yes, Brandt,” Belle replied; getting back to his watering, “I’ll do it.”

Hollywood had greenlighted a big-budget, pull out all the stops, epic telling of the Biblical story of creation. The industry buzz surrounding Eden was all positive. A vibe shift was happening in America and Hollywood was looking to cash in. The studio had hired the best screenwriters, cinematographers, effects people, and producers. And the biggest buzz centered on the casting. Every role was set to be played by a headlining star and the leads were a white-hot cover model/actress and an Academy Award-winning heartthrob. Belle Bevaqua knew the studio was ramping up a top-notch production and he’d secretly hoped he’d be pursued for the project. He couldn’t wait to make Eve look fabulous.

Within hours of signing the contract, a courier from Manhattan was ringing Belle’s flat. Buzzed in, the courier promptly had Belle sign for a leather attaché case containing the script, screenplay, cast member roster, prop list, and costume call. Leafing through the commissions for costumes, Belle shook his head. There wouldn’t be much borrowing from other films; nothing was stock or period. Everything would have to be imagined. Looking through the call sheet, the weight of the job began to sit heavily on the legend’s head. But he was more than a little excited to get started.

Of course, the costumes Belle would be most concerned with were the two suits of clothes given to Adam and Eve after they discovered their nakedness. Those outfits would represent the first stitch of clothing anyone had ever worn in the history of mankind and it was up to Belle to dream it all up and sew it together.

The studio executives had issued a company directive that the screenplay stick as closely to the biblical narrative as possible. The studio’s profit motive dictated that nothing be done to alienate the film’s evangelical audience; which would be crucial to the picture’s financial success. As Belle flipped through the script, he found that this commitment to the ancient Hebrew text had God, in the screenplay, killing animals for their skins, personally tailoring the hides, and presenting them to Adam and Eve to wear. Belle sat back and crossed his ankles in his Eames chair and pondered the scene. “So,” he thought to himself, “they have God designing the very first suit of clothes?”

In his sixty-two years on Earth, Belle Bevaqua had never been much for Bible reading. Growing up the son of a steelworker in Pittsburgh, he’d often held a copy of the Good Book; carrying it to and from church, class, and from his nightstand to his bed. But from an early age, Belle knew that there wasn’t much between its leather covers for him. Growing up, Belle became more and more interested in art, theater, design, and other boys. And he had a particular passion for fashion which had him gravitating away from home and toward New York City. When he made the move to the big city after graduating from high school, his Christian upbringing, Judeo-Christian values, given Christian name, and King James Bible weren’t packed in any of his belongings.

Sitting there in his Eames chair decades later, Belle went online and read the short creation account from the book of Genesis. Letting his tablet screen go dark, Belle leaned back and dwelled on what he’d read. He was struck by the simplicity of the tale and glad for the flexibility that the sparse narrative gave. But one aspect of the story really bugged him.

“So,” Belle said out loud in something just above a whisper, “the whole reason for the clothes was to cover the couple’s shame. Not to flatter or to suit the weather or anything – but just to cover up their nakedness.” Belle lifted his head and reached for the glass of wine that sat neatly on the end table beside. “I suppose,” he continued, taking a sip of wine and looking out the window, “the clothing wouldn’t have needed to look very good. With the shame piece in there; it kind of makes the whole notion of fashion seem pretty silly.”

Over the next few weeks, as Belle began to work in earnest on the project, the idea of the correlation between shame and clothing continued to bother him and to affect his creativity. At first, he wanted to make Adam and Eve’s first suit of clothes the most beautiful and elegant attire ever fashioned; for they were made by the very hand of God. But this conflicted with the sense he had that God was punishing Adam and Eve and rubbing their noses in their shame and remorse and so he wanted, instead, to design the rudest, ugliest, itchiest get-up he could imagine. The ugliness of God’s clothes would be Belle’s way of casting judgement on the Bible’s God and glorying in man’s subsequent celebration of humanity through high fashion and fine clothing.

In the end, most of the costumes Belle created for the film were elegant and artistic runway pieces. But for the suit of clothes that God gave to Adam and Eve, Belle turned in some of the most rudimentary, utilitarian, and ugly costumes Hollywood had ever seen. The call from Brandt Derry came in before lunch.

“Belle,” Brandt began, trying to be light and chipper, “great work on everything. I’ve looked it all over and it’s fabulous. Everyone’s really excited about it all.”

“Uh, huh,” Belle cut in. “Here it comes.”

“Right,” Brandt replied, exhaling. “The garden suit is not working out.”

“What’s the matter with it?”

“Well,” Brandt answered; trying to pick his way through, “it’s not very imaginative. I mean, I’m not trying to be harsh; but a burlap sack would have more flair than what you turned in.”

“I know. I know,” Belle replied, calmly and patiently. “I guess you could say I was making a statement. I’m not sure I wanted to make God look very good right there.”

“God? Who cares about God?” Brandt was animated but laughing. “We’re trying to make Lottie Inverness look good. You know the studio wants Lottie, wearing some divine little thing of yours, to be the pinup girl of her generation.”

“I don’t know,” Belle replied, mutely, “I read the story in Genesis. I can’t see God making some fetching little, leather thing for Eve. You know I’m all for sexy, Brandt, but I don’t think it’s believable that God would make anything as nice and beautiful as what you’re imagining.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m just saying – any God who’d dream up all those threats and punishments and all…I’m sorry – that’s not a god that’s making anything beautiful.”

“If that’s true,” Brandt replied, “then why does everyone want to see Lottie Inverness with her clothes off?”

“Hmm,” Belle reflected. “That’s pretty deep.”

“I certainly wasn’t trying to be,” Brandt said; still pressing. “What do you say? You willing to rework the garden set?”

“I’ll take another look at it,” Belle answered resignedly. “But it won’t be much fun now that I know I’m only covering over Heaven’s perfect design.”

We’re looking forward to setting this world aside for a bit tomorrow morning to come together and celebrate the world to come. It will be so good to sing and shout and revel in all that is good, holy, and as it will and ought to be. Hallelujah! May the Lord, mighty God, bless and continue to keep us!

• Pastor Tate

Good morning church family,

If one had to have a summer job, it ought to at least come with a little status. Poor Perry didn’t have it quite as good as most of his college classmates. They didn’t have to work between semesters but instead were able to spend their summers burning daddy’s gas, sleeping in the pool house past noon, and taking a sunny sabbatical from reality. Perry, on the other hand; while coming from enough money to ensure entry into elite spaces, wasn’t above having to earn his way after that. But though he had to work, Perry wouldn’t be caught dead folding polos at the outlets, waiting tables at Olive Garden, or handing out putters at the dairy bar.

Thankfully, Perry’s grandmother was friends with someone on the board at the Oglethorpe in Brookhaven and that connection won him an opportunity to be a museum guide for the summer. The actual listing was for a “docent”; a title which lent quite a bit more dignity to the employment. The Oglethorpe provided guided tours of the museum and its exhibits to paying customers. The docents who did the guiding needed to be able to give educated explanations of the various items hanging on the walls and provide satisfactory answers to any questions the patrons might ask. So, Perry took the three-hour training, read through and studied the primer on the museum’s holdings, purchased a new suit and pair of shoes, and prepared to lead the uncultured through marble halls filled with fine art.

Most of the museum’s pieces were paintings; a majority being nineteenth-century works of portraiture. There were a small number of sculptures, tapestries, and carvings to go with all the watercolors and frescoes displayed. Located just outside of Atlanta, most of the Oglethorpe’s content was of a Southern origin. Perry had to learn the locations of the landscapes, the biographies of the painted gentry, and the different eras that spawned the various styles.

One of the Oglethorpe’s more valuable pieces, however, was also one of the few works in the museum that had anything to do with religion. Perry really couldn’t help that he hated the Renaissance triptych by Botticelli depicting the life of Samuel. Anything having to do with God, the Bible, or religion tended to flood Perry’s engine and furrow his brow. It had pretty much always been that way. Perry’s parents divorced when he was twelve and his mom took him and his siblings to Alabama to live with her folks. Perry’s grandparents’ house might as well have been a monastery. No television or movies were allowed unless it was either Christian or of a patriotic nature. No music or radio unless what was playing was honoring to God or “of good repute”. Sports were okay but never on Sunday, Wednesday, or any other time that the church doors were open. Perry never remembered eating a hot meal as his grandpa’s prosaic prayers always went too long. Perry liked to peek through his interlaced fingers and spy the last wisps of steam leaving the cooling collards. His only relief from this ubiquitous indoctrination was public school. Perry loved escaping into the academic world of salty language, secular orientation, and unfettered expression. From the moment he stepped up into the big yellow bus in the morning to the time he stepped back off later that afternoon, Perry thrived in the secular school environment. The only downside, however, were the evening “reeducation” sessions that his grandfather initiated at the dinner table.

As Perry woke up to the realization that it was adherence to religion that caused his parents’ marriage to come apart, he grew more and more resentful of the role religion played in robbing him of his youth. By the time he graduated from high school and headed off to college, Perry’s heart had become ossified under the oppressive Evangelicalism of his mom’s side of the family. He embraced his father’s progressive liberalism and painstakingly attempted to uproot any of the gospel plantings in his heart and mind. So, it’s little wonder that upon seeing the Renaissance master’s reverent depiction of the Old Testament prophet, Perry’s mood would sour.

But the Botticelli was prominently displayed in the Oglethorpe’s antiquities room and was one the few pieces the museum featured on its website and in its promotional materials. It was a rather large, three-paneled painting telling the story of Samuel’s birth, calling, and ministry. The center panel of the triptych showed Hannah weeping and praying before the Lord in the temple. The panel to the left showed the boy Samuel inquiring of Eli in the night. And set to the right was a depiction of the prophet Samuel anointing David as king of Israel. It was a beautiful painting in both its conception and execution. Staring at it during his training, Perry had to concede the excellence of the artwork and marvel at the fine lines and depth of composition. But he hated it all the same; especially as he imagined how much his grandfather would have loved it.

Perry soon learned that most of the people who toured the Oglethorpe had very little knowledge of fine art and even fewer had any comprehension of biblical things. And yet all the patrons traipsing through the place in ballcaps, flip-flops, and t-shirts wanted to be sure to see the museum’s centerpiece work of art. “Oh, wow,” one might say; pulling out his phone to snap a pic, “a Botticelli.” Another might reply, “I heard the Louvre once had it in its collection. I read they’ve been trying forever to get it back to Paris.” Still another, feigning interest, would add, “My cousin saw it when it was on loan to MOMA in New York. Isn’t it exquisite?” Inane chatter like this would go on and on until someone spoke up and asked Perry about the painting’s meaning.

With his hands pinned behind his back, Perry would begin by explaining Hannah’s barrenness and her oath to God. He would then narrate the drama of Samuel’s mistaking the midnight call of God for that of Eli, his mentor. If he hadn’t lost them by that point, he would explain the prophet’s role in the anointing of the shepherd boy to be king of Israel. “Botticelli,” he’d say in a summary tone, “was painting a story highlighting the difficult intersection of longing and destiny; piety and power. Any questions?”

There were rarely any follow-up questions; except for the usual inquiries into the monetary value of the painting, its chain of ownership, and trivialities related to the life of the painter. The actual content of the painting garnered only a reverent nodding of the head and an theatrical squinting of the eyes. No one seemed to want to ponder what would have possessed one of the finest artists of his day to devote an entire year to painting the life of a biblical prophet.

As the summer dragged on, Perry’s work at the museum fell into a sleepy rhythm. He made friends with the baristas at the museum café; winning him free lattes whenever he went on break. He learned how to make the cute girls working at the coat check laugh as he goofed on all the tourists. He found that the best place to take his lunch was on the bench behind the maintenance shed and that a big bowl of candy behind the counter in the gift shop provided his best bet for a mid-afternoon pick-me-up. And he slowly got better at his job; learning more and more about everything on display and learning more and more how to be on display himself.

But near the end of his summer at the Oglethorpe, a patron asked him a question that bothered him well after he’d returned to college. It was an afternoon tour made up of a dozen or so guests. The 2:30pm cohort consisted of a couple of families, an elderly trio of girlfriends, a group of tourists from Japan who spoke only broken English, and an obnoxious young couple out on a date. When the procession made it into the antiquities room and the group had finally assembled in front of the Botticelli triptych, Perry gave his usual explanation. The people responded normally by taking pictures, reading the descriptions, and throwing verbal bouquets at the old Renaissance master. Perry just stood by; patiently waiting for the herd to begin ambling on to another room. “Hey man,” the young man on the date addressed Perry; the smug smile on his face an attempt to try and impress the girl, “that Botticelli guy sure painted her kinda plump, didn’t he?”

Perry looked up at the painting and then back down at the young man; not returning his smile or joining in his laugh. “Renaissance depictions of the human form were decidedly more realistic than modern ones seem to be. Also, back then, to paint someone with generous proportions was to depict him or her as being healthy and full of vitality – very different than in our own day.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he said from under his flat-billed ballcap; his pastel short-shorts and v-neck t-shirt showing off his trim physique. “All I know is she should have been crying out to God for an elliptical machine – not a baby.”

“Jordan!” the girl on the date flirtatiously scolded in a loud whisper.

“What, baby?” he snickered; looking back up at the painting. “And who goes to a temple asking for a baby and then leaves him there? But that’s what you get for barking at the moon and hearing voices and all. Bunch of crazy religious sh-t.”

“Sir,” Perry barked, his heart suddenly beating hot in his chest “please, no profanity in the museum.”

The young man just chuckled; taking his girl by the hand and peeling off of the group.

For the rest of that tour and for the remainder of the day, Perry’s heart continued to run hot. He didn’t really understand it, but what the young man had said offended him somehow. Perry wasn’t upset by the disrespect shown to the museum or the lack of propriety and decorum exhibited in a public place. He wasn’t offended personally or for Botticelli or the other guests. The only thing Perry could figure was that he was offended on behalf of God.

Perry’s odd, instinctual defense of Hannah, Samuel, and that religious “stuff” continued to bother him throughout much of that fall semester. One night as he sat at his desk in his dorm room; procrastinating and lacking motivation to study, he googled the Botticelli painting on his phone. Touching one of the images that came up on the search, the old painting soon filled the screen. Perry zoomed in on the center panel and stared at Hannah’s upward gaze.

Then suddenly, Perry heard a voice call loud and clear, “What would you ask of Me?”

It will be good to gather around the Lord’s table in the morning. Come with your heavy heart, your burdened soul, and your anxious mind – comfort, forgiveness, and peace will be served out to every humble child. The Lord loves us so! May the Lord, mighty God, bless and continue to keep us!

• Pastor Tate