You can’t help but feel smothered by hearts these days. Red hearts, pink hearts, fuzzy hearts, marble hearts. Hearts in silver, gold, and jewels. Hearts on clothing, cards, and commercials. Of course, none of them look like the real thing, and I suppose we can be grateful for that.
Yet, despite its stylized omnipresence and its seeming omnipotence as a marketing tool, we all know deep inside just how fragile and ephemeral a thing it really is. How often do we wish we could have a heart of stone that could bear with the trials and sufferings we face in our world and our lives? I know that I have sometimes prayed that God would carve a stone heart for me. It takes a real act of humility to admit that I already have a heart of stone, and that it is not a good thing.
A namesake of the Archangel Michael, whose name means “Who is like God,” once described how a particular piece of marble already contained the form that he would merely uncover with his mallet and chisels. It’s mind-boggling to imagine how Michelangelo, through the pounding of metal on stone, could reveal the liquid smoothness of David’s tense muscles or the tenderness in the peaceful face of Mary holding the body of her Son. If a man can accomplish such wonders, what can God do?
God can do so much more, of course, and He is doing it.
It’s the very pounding of God’s mallet against which we struggle, praying for a heart of stone, rather than opening our eyes to the wonder He is working in us. We selfishly see the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” from which we so desperately try to escape. It is God who sees the form we are to take, who knows the heart we are to have. He knows we already carry stony hearts, and He chips and pounds them to reveal what is within.
But God doesn’t carve to make us a heart, like Michelangelo made us a Pietá, by releasing it from the stone. No, our Lord whittles until His material gives in to His will and allows itself to be carved into dust. This is the cracking of pride. This is the dust of humility. It is in that empty space that He puts His own Sacred Heart. A heart not made, but eternally His and forever to be ours. The heart that loves because it is Love.
This is why Saint Francis called his suffering “perfect joy;” why the saints endured their trials smiling. The reason why death itself is the door to eternal life. This is what Jesus came to show us, to pour out for us, and to give us.
So may God, in this time of valentines, give you the real thing. May He carve it from the Rock that is Him. To make room for it, in this time of man-made hearts, may He please to take your stony heart and break it.
