The Day the Ceiling Blazed With Color

For nearly five centuries, visitors to the Sistine Chapel tilted their heads back and squinted at Michelangelo's frescoes through a veil of candle soot, incense residue, and darkened varnish. They could make out the shapes — the outstretched hand of the Creator, the swirling prophets, the drama of Genesis unfolding overhead. But every figure looked muted, as if painted in shadow. Scholars debated whether Michelangelo had even intended bright colors at all.

Then, beginning in 1984, a painstaking restoration peeled back the centuries of grime. What emerged stunned the art world. Blazing pinks, electric greens, radiant golds — colors so vivid they looked almost unreal. The prophets wore robes of searing violet and tangerine. The flesh tones glowed with life. Michelangelo had been a colorist of breathtaking brilliance all along. The masterpiece had never changed; people had simply never seen it clearly.

For generations, the Almighty spoke through prophets and poets, through dreams and burning bushes and still small voices. Each revelation was genuine but partial — glimpsed through the soot of human limitation. Then, in the fullness of time, the Father sent His Son, the radiance of His glory, the exact representation of His being. In Jesus, every dimmed prophetic whisper blazed into full, undeniable color. The message had not changed. But now, at last, nothing stood between us and the glory.