Its sole aim is to set forth Christ as the truth of eternity, the truth that shines forever, the truth of God. But in the very act of showing this, the icon allows the impassive majesty of eternal truth to eclipse the brute fact of the cross of history.
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When I was a boy, I lived in a vast sprawling mansion beside the sea on a tropical island in North Queensland. When I had grown up, I went back one day to the island and saw my childhood home: a tiny dilapidated fibro shack with a tin roof and cracked concrete floors, scarcely more than a backyard shed. All my life, the real earthly house had been eclipsed by the fantasy house that my memory had built for me as, year after year, I silently venerated my childhood. The fantasy house was beautiful: but it was fantasy.
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