stop and stare.

One of Maegan’s favorite sites thus far was The Pantheon. Formerly a pagan temple, this grandiose edifice owes its current preservation to the Church itself. Though Maeg attempted to explain the architectural phenomena of this “floating dome” and the ingenious drainage system, I confess I lacked the ability to appreciate much of her insightful knowledge. Nevertheless, one fact about this artifact breached the gate of ignorance and lingered in my head for the remainder of the day: the light source of the dome. Upon entering the elaborate structure, Maeg pointed to a circular cutout (domulus oculus) at the top of the Pantheon cupola itself. “That is the only source of light,” she said. “It is supposed to turn everyone’s eyes toward heaven.”

So I stared. And I looked around to observe others’ gazes, all in an almost mesmerized trance, “toward heaven.”

Here we stood, in yet another surreal atmosphere, surrounded by complexly detailed sculptures, alluring artwork, and ornate mosaics. But the intrigue and attention of my company of tourists hardly glanced at such creations. Their fascination fixated solely on the light-the simple yet powerful shaft that illuminated everything else in that room.

I marveled at the temporary devotion that these people paid to the intangible light, rather than the visible sights around them. And I could not help but recognize how starkly this metaphor opposed reality. Too often, we find ourselves obsessed with the beautiful matter around us instead of its Source. Conviction sits heavily within this confession, myself included.

Yet even the greatest scenes displayed in our everyday life are considered mere shadows of the Almighty. The Giver Himself craves our full affection. Our full praise. Creating and giving so that we may respond with our eyes “toward heaven.”