truth and beauty

It appears that I am the last person in North America to hear of Susan Boyle and to watch the youtube video of her performance on Britain's Got Talent, the British version of American Idol. The media loves her story. The words used in the press to describe her are invariably some combination of "frumpy," "spinster," "middle-aged," "never-been-kissed" and "unemployed." The big story they want to tell about her is that this frumpy, middle-aged, unlovable, unemployable, unfashionable person turns out to sing quite beautifully and "astonishes" the judges with her musical talent. We are all supposed to be dutifully chastened by our foolish presumptions and to learn the lesson that you can't judge a book by its cover. We are also supposed to be glad for Susan, who has "risen like a phoenix from the ashes" and been "transformed" by the experience.

Bullshit, and more bullshit, I say. The real story is about our collective ugliness, not hers. And the ugliness is ongoing. The radiant Ms. Boyle, who walked on stage to the derision of the audience and the judges was only redeemed for them by an extraordinary show of talent. Suppose that she hadn't sung very well after all? Then who would she be to us?

A beautiful person. A child of God, that's who. Watch the video again, and see how gorgeous she is before she even opens her mouth. She doesn't need to prove anything to us. Do you get it? A Susan Boyle who can't sing is every bit as miraculous, every bit as deserving of our respect and encouragement as a Susan Boyle who can.

I am fat and frumpy and middle-aged, and I don't sing as well as Susan Boyle. I have God-given gifts just like everyone else, but they don't redeem me, they don't make make me more or less ridiculous than another person, and they are certainly not the price of my admission to the family of humanity. What saves Susan Boyle, what saves you and me, is the simple fact of our place in the universe as children and heirs of the One who is Pure Love.

The degree to which we need a Broadway-level performance to convince us of the beauty and worthiness of a fellow traveler in this world is the degree to which we are small and ugly and mean and desperately in need of the grace of God.

I will tell you this once more (again with thanks to my friend Hysnishah, who told it to me): Our mission in this life is to polish our souls until they shine so much that God's own face is reflected in them. And Susan Boyle, if you look at her, she is shining, even with the sound turned down. She doesn't need anything from Simon Cowell and neither do you.