Thought for the Day, 21 July 2005 The Rev. Dr Giles Fraser My friend Isabel wasn't in church last Sunday, as she often is. Instead she flew up to Newcastle to stand naked on the Quayside and, along with hundreds of others, be photographed by the American artist Spencer Tunick. The images he produced were quite extraordinary: lines of naked bodies, kneeling or lying in rows set in the context of the vast buildings and bridges of the Tyneside cityscape. Here was an essay on the vulnerability of the human condition. No longer protected by our various uniforms, the human form looks so much more fragile and dependent, so much more at the mercy of the brutalities of urban life. The church has historically been far too suspicious of nakedness, often leaping to the assumption that nakedness is always about sex. According to the book of Genesis, the shame of nakedness is the very first consequence of sin. But these photographs have nothing very much to do with sex and a great deal to do with our common humanity. I don't suppose I'd have had the guts to take my kit off on a chilly Newcastle morning. But I also think my cowardice has kept me from an experience that could have been profound and transformative. For doing without rings and jewelry, dispensing with the status and social messages we communicate to each other through what we wear, offers us the chance to recognise each other afresh as fellow human beings, lumpy bits of pink and brown flesh, all in need of warmth and food and love. Perhaps the most remarkable claim of the Christian gospel is that this is what God looks like as well. Spencer Tunick helps us to see a deeper beauty in human beings, a beauty that's got over the fact that we're not all Kate Moss or Jude Law. Yes, the first impression is that people do come in the most extraordinary shapes and sizes. And some sights are more attractive than others. But soon enough all that smirking and comparing goes away. Soon it becomes apparent that what we really have in common is our fragility. Right now, you might be putting on your make up, hiding your bumps and blemishes with well cut clothes, and working out what messages you want to give others through what you wear. This is the time of day that many of us arrange our masks and plan our strategies of concealment. In contrast, within the Christian tradition, it is naked that we come before God to receive judgment. And it's easy to fear the gaze that penetrates our masks. 'O Lord you have searched me out and known me' says the psalmist 'Where can I flee from your presence'. Perhaps divine judgment is simply this: to be looked on naked, without defenses, without excuses, with the eyes of a person who loves us. God or no God, how many of us can really cope with being seen like that? copyright 2005 BBC
