Empathizing With Michelangelo

Many years ago a man wrote a novel about the relationship between Pope Julius IV and the artist, Michelangelo Buonarotti. It was called The Agony and the Ecstasy. Both men were trying to create something. One was trying to create a Catholic Empire that was too strong for the kings of Europe to assail. The other was trying to create a masterwork which he'd never wanted to do at all, but which, since he had to do it, he wanted to do in his own way. The alternating friendship and enmity between these two men made a fine story, although, I confess, I've only read AT the novel. But I've seen the film many times and even used to employ it in my Western Civilization classes at MHS.

As a teacher, I often lamented that I was answerable to anyone but God for what I did and how I did it in my classroom. I knew that my desire was to do a good job of teaching truly important things. The people who stood in judgment of me or in authority over me were an irritant to me unless they wised up and left me alone. For a long time they generally did leave me alone. At the end, of course, that ceased. But it was certainly an experience which gave me not just sympathy, I think, but real empathy with the great Florentine with the crooked nose. I loved to tell the stories of History, and teach them in my own way, a way which had proven to fascinate and educate young people. I even enjoyed telling the story of HOW Michelangelo's nose got so crooked.

Another thing that has given me empathy with Michelangelo in his creation of the Sistine Chapel ceiling is the religious training of Dante (my Dante, not the Florentine poet.) When I was finally talked into divorce by his mother, she stated several times that she would never stand in the way of his religious training. That was to be my sole bailiwick. To be fair, she has held up her end of that bargain fairly well. To my knowledge, she has abstained from virtually any such indoctrination of him, except for things like Christmas which is all to the good.

Sheryl and I used to take him to the Boise Temple when he was still little. We taught him songs from Primary and we taught him the proper form of prayer. When he came to our home, which happened more often when we lived in Boise, he got a pretty healthy dose of Church attendance, prayer, and doctrine.

But, since we've moved back to this side of the state to be close to our parents and other relatives, it has become mathematically impossible for us to travel back and forth to pick him up and return him. The price of gasoline, as everyone knows, had grown enormously, while our income has stagnated at a good deal less than I was making my last couple of years at Madison. For example, I had hoped to have Dante here for two stays this summer, but we were only able to afford the one in June.

It was during that June visit that he made a comment which hurt me a lot, although hurting anyone was the furthest thing from his bright little mind. He said, when I was talking about some Church-related topic, that "I'm not a very religious person." I don't believe that anyone had taught him to say that. I believe that he'd merely picked it up by observation as others represented their own position with such phrases. But hurt me it did. I knew it meant that I was failing and that I had virtually no chance to succeed in teaching him what the Doctrine & Covenants says it is our duty to teach our children.

A couple of years ago, as he approached his eighth birthday, I asked his mother whether we might not have the full-time missionaries come into their home and prepare him for baptism. I knew that I couldn't possibly get over there often enough, nor could I keep him here long enough to get him ready. She said that she was "not comfortable with that." So I watched his birthday come and go with a very heavy heart (to borrow a famous phrase from LBJ.)

Since then I've prayed many times about the situation. It is my duty to teach the little fellow the gospel, but I don't get the chance. Indeed, the opportunities to be with him and teach him seem to be coming less and less often. And I don't think that Michelangelo could have been more sick at heart if Julius really had taken the ceiling commission away from him (as he had threatened to do on a couple of occasions) than I have been about the divine project which I had so hoped to do and do well. My love for the little monster is so strong that hearing his voice on the phone, as I did this evening, is all it takes for me to start tearing up. I am not certain why I'm writing this particular post. There's nothing any of you can do about the situation. Except pray. Maybe that would be enough. If you would occasionally pray for me (or someone) to have the chance to teach the Restored Gospel, by the power of the Holy Ghost, to my little son Dante, then this situation could still be pulled out of the fire. Please give it some thought. And please pray for us in this regard. Thanks.