Beauty in Strange Places

It’s easy enough for me to find beauty in nature. The way the snow sticks to the bare tree branches and then when the sun shines drips off in glittering gems. The way I can hear the power of a waterfall before I can see it. The way the scent of lilacs reminds me of spring. Poets seeking inspiration in nature don’t need to look too far. It’s easy enough to find beauty in man-made things too. Stately century-old mansions that reflect the ingenuity of a bygone generation. Paintings that capture the reflection of the human spirit. Songs that cut to the very soul and leave listeners groping for a tissue.

I think I’m the type of person who tries to recognize and appreciate beauty and even create some of my own from time to time, but I wasn’t prepared for the beauty I discovered one morning while riding the bus to work in downtown Minneapolis. There are a several lovely old buildings in downtown Minneapolis, but they’re overshadowed by concrete and steel and glass. Some skyscrapers could be classified as interesting or even impressive from a structural standpoint, but I’d certainly never call them beautiful…on their own. But when the sun rose that morning, the whole city changed. Hundreds of windows reflected pink and purple, and when the sun hit the city just right, steel turned to silver. The beams of light encompassed the city in an almost supernatural glow, and from a distance, Minneapolis, for a few minutes, became the dazzling Atlantis. But by the time I arrived downtown, the magic was gone. The sun was higher in the sky, and the city was drab and cold once more.

I love being surprised by beauty, especially when it transforms the bleakest of circumstances into something to wonder at.

I often think experiencing loss and its repeated aftershocks that sometimes bombard a person like rapid gunfire and other times just sort of linger in the background is the worst part of being human. Having to feel so much all the time is exhausting. Grief might diminish with time, but there’s still an empty place at the table, and nothing can change that.

But maybe one of the best parts of being human is being able to experience beauty in all shapes and forms, even in strange places—even as a result of loss. Empathy for the pain of others, renewed joy in relationships, an appreciation for what hasn’t been lost—these are beautiful things that perhaps can’t be known in their fullest capacity by someone who does not know loss.

It seems like a contradiction to me, the intermingling of loss and beauty, like flowers blooming on a battlefield or a rainbow arching over the ruins left behind by a tornado. It makes me think of Job, reeling from the loss of everything he held dear and tormented by open sores all over his body perhaps declaring boldly or, more likely, croaking out through parched lips, the beautiful words, “I know that my Redeemer lives, and He shall one day stand upon the earth.”  

Hanau, Germany

We visited a town in Germany that had at its center the remains of a bombed-out church. It would have been practical for the people in the town to just tear the whole church down, but someone saw the beauty in its mangled skeleton and rebuilt part of it while leaving another part as is, a reminder of the past. The people of that town did not seek to eliminate all traces of the terrible loss they experienced during the Second World War. What good would that have done? They weren’t ashamed of their wounds and scars encompassed in the shell of an old church, a profoundly beautiful reminder of their resilience and courage.

Maybe the people of that town knew what I’ve only recently come to realize: It would be a shame to waste loss—to experience it without seeing all the unexpected beauty brought about as a result. And it’s not the fleeting beauty of a sunrise over a city either. Rather, it’s a changed attitude…a thankful heart…an open hand…a quiet peace…a humble surrender…a bold testimony.

When it’s touched by the finger of the Creator, even the most heartbreaking loss can produce something beautiful. All we have to do is open our eyes and look.