I’m giving you the experience of this artwork backwards. For when I came into this room in the Corning Museum of Glass, I saw the whole of it first, and now, standing up close, I can see the individual parts. I want to reverse that for you, starting with the details, then retreating to glimpse its entirety.

So, what do we see? A collection of glasses: all shapes and sizes, some clear and some tinted green. They’re common. None of them are extraordinary, though an occasional one has a print of something on the front.

There’s a quiet beauty in the crispness of their reflections in the clear shelf, superimposed over the view of the glasses on the shelf below.

The ordinary transformed: is that not the point of art?

It’s also the product of the gospel of grace. Ordinary men and women are transformed by the work of Christ and the presence of the Holy Spirit to become containers of the love of God. Each believer keeps his individuality but shares a unified experience and goal.

There’s real tension in that, particularly if that goal gets coopted by other agendas. This is why Paul so passionately and patiently explains this dynamic at play in the church -- a whole as the sum of many parts.

“we have all been made to drink of one Spirit. The body is not one part, but many” 1 Cor. 12: 13-14

We live in an individualistic society. For us, “many parts” is easily understood. We wrestle with the unity aspect, wondering how we belong to each other. I find this glass with a bird. Sometimes I feel like I’m that glass surrounded by unadorned shelf-mates. Often, on that shelf, all I can see are the differences.

John Owen, an English Puritan theologian, stresses that diversity only makes sense when Jesus is factored in:

But granting them their unity by their relation unto the Head… their different forms, shapes, uses, operations, ornaments, all tend to make them serviceable in their unity unto their proper ends.     John Owen

To their proper ends. That larger purpose. I suppose that’s why I’m so enamored with this idea of a cup. Each of us is a vessel, offering the refreshment of grace in a unique way – and for someone dying of thirst, that water is lifesaving.

But we don’t act in isolation.

We come, at last, to the big view. This is what I saw when I walked into the room: a forest of trees. And here, the metaphors start to get mixed, so I won’t try to connect a glass’s bigger purpose to a tree.

Instead, I’ll just let the wonder of it (and the vision of the artist) stand. You, my friend, are a wonder, too. You are like no other. Yet somehow God has you, and me, in a living collection of others – who often annoy us with their otherness.

Yet somehow, God makes something glorious and surprising out of us all

God, your wisdom in how you’ve constructed your church sometimes eludes us, sad to say. Give us the right balance of unique gifts and unity that your name may be praised.

Reader: What kind of glass are you? I asked this recently of an online group here and was delighted by the diversity of answers. What do you think?

I’d love to hear your thoughts. Email me at: This email address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it.. Is there someone you think would like this post? Please use the buttons above to share it.  And if you haven't subscribed and would like to, here's the link.