Oliver Cromwell had a massive wart on his chin. If you were to zoom in on his 1656 painting (as I have), you would be astonished that he paid to have such a realistic portrait made. But there he is, chest puffed out, proud and prominent, the nickel-sized bump displayed in its glory.
“Paint me warts and all,” he famously said, “or I won’t pay you a farthing for it.”
I have heard that Abraham Lincoln quoted him in 1860, ordering the artist to “flatter me not”. He, too, had some striking facial features, not to mention a possible diagnosis of Marfan syndrome. These two figures demanded accuracy, and I think it was partially due to their appreciation of history and the value of preserving clues for all posterity, but certainly it was a nod to their integrity. Lincoln, of course, shines brilliantly in history, his emancipating, martyr’s life and death provoking praise nearly two hundred years later. Cromwell, we know, comes out a tad less distinguished in remembrance: He might be best known for his quip on warts.
I bet both men would be surprised today–surprised about the photoshopping, the adjectives added to journalism, lengths of extortion, our disdain for flawed people in history. The truth is, Cromwell hated the Irish and helped murder a king. Abraham Lincoln, like it or not, made decisions that contributed to the death of thousands of soldiers–surely his presidential foe, Stephen Douglas, tried to smear him for provoking the Confederacy to secede.
People die as a result of any and every noble and ignoble cause. No one is left unaffected by poor decisions, especially in politics.
(I suppose if there had been potential to exploit these men, the modern media of their times tried to find it. We just have more efficient ways of digging for dirt these days, and sneakier lawyers for finding loopholes to the law. Plus the payoffs are higher.)
Our warts will show, like it or not.
Several years ago a gorgeous, talented singer vowed to stop wearing makeup. She was beautiful without it–no surprise there–but for some reason it was a huge deal for her to make this notion public. Those Dove soap commercials, they wanted to display natural beauty, too. Sure I saw women of all sizes and color, but I never saw any warts.
These aren’t good examples of what we need. It is a marketing of false humility, the kind where one looks angelic on the outside but filthier than a pig on the inside. Totally on brand for our culture, don’t get me wrong–just dangerously courting insincerity.
That said, I think it is time, now more than ever, to live as transparent lives as possible. By this, I mean: show your warts.
Don’t go off growing new ones or plastering on cosplay makeup. There’s no need to tattoo, pierce, brush up,or put on display. Standing out is a secondary concern, a discretionary pursuit of fools.
But go ahead and show your warts. Let them be a part of the portrait.
Live a life that doesn’t flatter.
The world is flawed, more flawed than a Dove commercial, and we are all a part of it.
The warts must show, the body must age.
The kids and I have been carving rubber stamps as a new hobby this summer. On my first try with the Speedball tool, I realized just how difficult it is to carve out negative space with a tiny craft knife. Around every curve, whittling out an imprint of an image, scratching bits of texture into the rubber. This is an exercise in tedium, but if I eliminate too much material, the stamp won’t print my image at all.
Likewise, beauty is in contrast to that which is ugly, and we are losing sight of what is truly lovely by erasing the warts. In fact, we are erasing ourselves, because negating every sin doesn’t make us look more adept–it makes us look fake.
I’m not sure a graver sin exists.
Where to begin? How do we undo the image we have carved of ourselves? How can we become honest when we’ve been fake? How can we add back the warts we once edited so the world would be fooled into thinking we had it all together?
This will turn to Jesus, like I hope every post always does. Jesus, a man in whom was found “no beauty or majesty to attract us to him; nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.” For us, He was “marred beyond human likeness”. (Isaiah 52 and 53 are the best chapters in the Bible to memorize.) This is the God-man we are encouraged by Paul to imitate.
Follow His example, as dearly beloved children. Walk in love, just as Christ loved you and gave Himself up for us, a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.
Ephesians 5:1-2
How can we possibly imitate a person so selfless He let men mutilate his body to death?
I’m so genuinely grateful to say it: we can’t.
We cannot do this upright, holy, blameless, perfect, spotless, wartless life. He did it for us. That master Painter put his portrait on top of ours, covering all the blemishes, creating a new image of us; His very own image superimposed on ours.
He carved a new stamp. We are his righteousness (2 Cor. 5:21).
The warts are simply where the light gets out. They are conversation starters and pivot points. It’s true, you might have married the wrong person. You cared more about alcohol and sex than your kids. You lied. You fell into that old habit. You had an unhealthy relationship with food. You battled with depression and blamed your parents for it. You said something, did something, are somebody that is very, very warty. Guess what–so is every politician, every activist, every parent and child, every historical figure who has ever lived.
But you are holding on to Jesus and letting Him put His image on you, every day. In Him, you are a new creation (2 Cor. 5:17).
This is how we follow Christ’s example. We are obedient to God, we agree we need Him to make atonement for our sins. We say yes to Him creating beauty out of our ashes.
Old blemishes don’t make us more beautiful–they make us real.
Keep this in mind as the world airbrushes its way into faux freedoms, as it tries to flatter itself into a waxy, two-dimensional version of real Life.
Show your warts. Jesus paid for them.
P.S. You should already know it, but for what it is worth, the stamp is Benjamin Franklin, not Oliver Cromwell. Or Lincoln. Nope. I’m working on it.
