The Sixth Reflection on the Titular Painting of the Collegiate Church of Saint Lawrence, Birgu

Beyond the marvellous radiance that characterises the heart of the scene, the body of Saint Lawrence appears not only well-lit, but almost glowing—like a precious gem, a finely cut and perfectly polished diamond, about to be fully purified by fire and thus prepared to become part of the crown of the King of heaven and earth. His nakedness—youthful, muscular, with legs that seem made for long journeys and arms that served tirelessly, both at the Eucharistic table and the table of the poor—reveals to us the body of a man fully formed, in his prime, at the height of his strength (see Eph 4:13). This is not yet the radiant pallor of the dead body of Christ as seen in various paintings by Mattia Preti that depict the deposition of Christ.

And yet, Preti still manages to portray Saint Lawrence as an image of Christ. Saint Lawrence is a reflection of Christ precisely because he is created in that perfect image of what it truly means to be human—pure, innocent, free, like Jesus; just as we are all created and made adopted children and brothers of Christ through baptism.

And in his nakedness, covered only by a white loincloth, Preti shows us how truly Lawrence shares in the suffering of the crucified Christ, “who, though he was in the form of God, did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant” (Phil 2:6-7). In this scene, even visually, we see the complete identification of Deacon Lawrence with the crucified Christ as he is stripped to be crucified humbly on his own particular cross—a gridiron. This detail is even more prominent in Preti’s painting found in the Chapel of the Langue of Aragon in the Co-Cathedral of Saint John, especially because beneath the gridiron, we see the liturgical vestments of a deacon—which Lawrence was stripped of before undergoing martyrdom.

The pure nakedness of Christ and of the saints who came to resemble him so greatly reminds us of the original nakedness of humanity: “the man and his wife were both naked, and were not ashamed” we read in the second creation narrative in the Book of Genesis (Gen 2:25). And what does this nakedness signify, if not that humanity could be seen as it truly was—fragile and exposed, with nothing to fear? It was only after humanity chose to try to be like God without God that nakedness became an obstacle: when shame entered; when man covered himself with leaves—the first thing he found—and God, moved by compassion, gave him garments of skin (Gen 3:21); when even his capacity to relate was damaged, and he began to strip others of their dignity in order to manipulate, exploit, violate, destroy.

But Saint Lawrence not only does not hide from God as man did in the Garden; rather, like Christ, he opens his arms and fully takes on the form of Christ, who allowed the soldiers to strip and crucify him, so that we might regain that original innocence—even in our bodies—through the cleansing of Baptism, and clothe ourselves with the white garment of purity as adopted children of God; that we may be properly dressed for the eternal wedding feast of humanity with God, like in the parable of the king who held a wedding banquet for his son.

A new garment—a dignity restored—just as in the parable of the prodigal son, where the father clothes his returning son after he had squandered everything in a reckless life. In God’s gaze upon us lies the key, because although his gaze strips away every mask and veil with which we try to cover our nakedness and vulnerability, his gaze is a creative one—a gaze full of love that restores dignity.