Imago Dei -- Image of God

For as long as I can remember I have been self-conscious about my smile. Teenage girls spare little mercy, particularly when it comes to perceiving their own flaws, and I was no exception. Thus, the small gap between my teeth (a gap most people could never see) came to affect the way I laughed--with a hand often raised in front of my mouth. And it similarly affected my smile, which was slightly uneven--as if somehow aware of the space it was trying to hide.
Combating similar insecurities was an ongoing process when I worked among youth. Sympathetic to the throes of adolescence, I spent a great deal of time attempting to unravel the meaning of Imago Dei. "God created humankind in his image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them" (Genesis 1:27). Imago Dei is the Latin expression of the biblical hope that we are made in the "image of God." To a world cruelly obsessed with appearance, such an idea seems foreign at best, perhaps even unhelpful. To my youth group, the concept fell similarly short. Knowing they were made in the image of God did not take away the desperation to belong or the pain of being told they did not. The hope of Imago Dei meant very little to any of them, until it was an image they learned to see.
If we will plumb the depths of what it means to be made in the image of God, we discover the implications are far-reaching. It is reminiscent of Aslan's response in Prince Caspian: "'You come of the Lord Adam and the Lady Eve,' said Aslan. 'And that is both honour enough to erect the head of the poorest beggar, and shame enough to bow the shoulders of the greatest emperor in earth.'" We are bearers of the image of God, made with the intention and care of the Father. To live as children made in his image is not a static hope, but an active calling to reflect our maker. Even so, it is a calling we fail to answer, a reflection that has become blurred. The image of God in humanity is an image tarnished by sin. We have been made in his image, but it is an image that needs his restoring touch.
When Jesus healed the ten leprous men who approached him outside of Jerusalem, he restored wholeness and health to a group of ailing men. He removed the affects of a fallen world and made clearer the image of God in each man. Yet, only one was transformed by the touch of the savior; the man threw himself at Jesus's feet and praised God. Though ten were healed of leprosy, Jesus only noted the restoration of one: "Rise and go; your faith has made you well" (Luke 17:19).
God's transforming work among us moves beyond what ails us to the heart of our illnesses. While diseases can be healed, scars removed, and flaws corrected, these things do not change the heart that needs to be transformed. Oddly enough, a dentist fixed the gap in my teeth years ago, and yet my smile remains ever so slightly uneven, molded by what was once there. I have come to see it as a part of me, a unique and quirky scar from a sensitive childhood--even as it reminds me that God drew powerfully near to the child. Transformation involves a presence more enduring than the dentist, more familiar than a friend.
Being made in the image of God is not about maintaining a flawless facade, a perfect record, or even a life without scars. All the power of God that raised him from the dead did not erase the scars left by the Roman nails. The marks of suffering were not removed. The resurrected Christ, the perfect image of God, chose to keep the scars of the Cross. It is his image we are being made to reflect. And we are called to come as we are.
What the leprous man recognized in Christ was enough to bring him to his feet in worship. It is this image that continues to erect the heads of the poorest beggars and bow the shoulders of the greatest emperors. It was the image of Christ that made its way into the insecurities of some in my youth group. Though there was "nothing in his appearance that we should desire him," he lived as one touched by another kingdom, obedient to the Father even unto death. In Christ, God supersedes every longing and pain, every sin and scar, with a face that won’t go away. It is this image within us, this image we were made to reflect. Imago Dei is the hopeful commission to become more like the one we follow. It is the cry within us to be who we are: children made in the image of the Most High.
Jill Carattini is managing editor of A Slice of Infinity at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Atlanta, Georgia.