Light filters through Notre Dame’s North Rose Window, rays kindling color—pomegranate, violet, and royal blue flecked with bits of honey and watermelon green. The glass grips you. In the window, you encounter the beatific vision, which primes your desires for something or someone else—a face, tucked away, at the heart of the rose. At the center of the window, Christ sits on his mother’s lap. Eighty eight medallions encircle the Christ and his mother—the outer circlets containing prophets, poets, and kings, the inner circle containing lilies.
For the medieval church, eight symbolized the fullness of time. The eighth day pictured the manifestation of the hidden place, the residence of joy, where every desire finds its satisfaction—the place where God dwells with his people. Eight still symbolizes eternity, the numeral without beginning or end. The Rose window’s eighty eight circlets picture the fullness of time, and Christ’s face lies at the heart of the window—blue hues, his purity, and red, his blood.
In the Incarnation, the God-Man dwelled with his people—the face of God, seen—crushed for us and our salvation like crushed roses, love left on the concrete, forsaken behind the stone. But Christ did not stay there, and in the fullest fullness of time, Christ will come again. We will see God’s face.
So what’s the problem? We can’t currently see God’s face. Not yet. We have to wait.
God’s people knew God in the flames and in the smoke. They saw his back. They heard his voice in the whisper and in the thunder. They saw God’s handwriting and witnessed the fourth man in the fire but never God’s face until Christ. In the Incarnation, humankind encountered God’s face. The timeless bound in time. The God-Man who makes known the Father. They waited, and Christ came. Christ will come again and dwell with us forevermore. We’ll see the face of the one whose voice sounds like home, and we will be home with him always. Delight will be too weak a verb. Right now, we don’t see him, but on the eighth day, we will make it to the heart of the flower. We will see him, face-to-face.
