I find myself there too.
| posted 4/12/2011
I connect the season of Easter with a wide variety of images, symbols, and experiences. I think of the sun rising over an old stone fort in Saint Augustine, Florida, where my family spent our Easter vacations when I was a child. I also think of jelly beans, chocolate eggs, and marshmallow Peeps—the fervently hoped-for contents of my yearly Easter baskets.
Fortunately, my associations with Easter improved as I matured both in age and in relationship with Jesus. Christian themes and symbols began to dominate my experiences with the holiday—a crown of thorns, the skull-like mountain called Golgotha, and the empty tomb. I can vividly remembering taking part in my church's "Passion Play" where, dressed as a Roman soldier, I pantomimed nailing Jesus to a wooden beam and then lifted him onto the cross.
In recent years, however, the images I primarily connect with Easter have taken a decidedly different turn. The Chicago World's Fair comes to mind, for example. And an architect. A garden. A serial killer.
Learn more through: Matthew: The Passion Week.
Maybe I should explain!
Two Types of Men
It was several years ago that I first read a book called The Devil in the White City, by Erik Larson. It's an excellent work of non-fiction, which on the surface tells the story of the 1893 World's Fair held in Chicago. But the real meat of the book revolves around two men—Daniel Burnham and Dr. H. H. Holmes—who used that event to set the course of the rest of their lives.
I'll let the book's author explain a little more, quoting from the Introduction:
In Chicago at the end of the nineteenth century amid the smoke of industry and the clatter of trains there lived two men, both handsome, both blue-eyed, and both unusually adept at their chosen skills. Each embodied an element of the great dynamic that characterized the rush of America toward the twentieth century. One was an architect, the builder of many of America's most important structures … ; the other was a murderer, one of the most prolific in history and harbinger of an American archetype, the urban serial killer.
As I read (and re-read) The Devil in the White City, I became fascinated by the juxtaposition of those two men—those two types of men, really.
Burnham, the architect, poured his soul into creating one of the most visually stunning manmade landscapes ever seen—a collection of white stucco buildings illuminated by electric light and overlooking the waters of Lake Michigan. Holmes, the murderer, built a monstrosity of an apartment complex. It contained hidden gas chambers and an enormous furnace. (I'll leave the rest to your imagination.)
Two types of men with two types of goals. Again, Erik Larson does a great job of articulating the contrasts they represent:
Beneath the gore and smoke and loam, this book is about the evanescence of life, and why some men choose to fill their brief allotment of time engaging the impossible, others in the manufacture of sorrow. In the end it is a story of the ineluctable conflict between good and evil, daylight and darkness, the White City and the Black.