It was Michelangelo who brilliantly said, “The sculpture is already complete within the marble block, before I start my work. It is already there, I just have to chisel away the superfluous material.”
Perhaps he was echoing the perspective of Jesus during the Pharisaical uproar over the praise being lavished on Him just a week before His crucifixion. In Luke 19, when the Pharisees demanded that Jesus rebuke His disciples, He replied:
“I tell you, if these were silent, the very stones would cry out.”
Rocks in worship.
Mary and I experienced something like that this week—not in Jerusalem, but in Custer State Park, South Dakota. One of our many hikes led us to Cathedral Spires, a two-mile out-and-back trail with about 500 feet of elevation gain. By the end, even our muscles seemed to applaud the decision to take this unplanned detour. These weren’t just rocks—they had personality. They paid tribute to the Artist.
Rocks that refuse to be silent.
Aptly named, the spires rise to the heavens as if with a story to tell and a Creator to glorify. From every angle, they honor the Artist. A masterpiece “already there,” waiting to be noticed, inviting curious observation, deserving awe.
For the Artist.
Jesus wasn’t assigning worship to granite and marble; He was reminding skeptics that true worship is often an involuntary response to majesty, beauty, and truth. Awe doesn’t arise from argument—it comes from encountering the unimaginable.
From encountering Jesus.
The Psalmist gives us a glimpse into this kind of adoration:
Let the rivers clap their hands;
let the hills sing for joy together.
(Psalm 98:8, ESV)
And yes—let the breathtaking Cathedral Spires in southwest South Dakota join that choir, shouting unending praise to God. In doing so, they inspired two hikers from Aurora, Colorado to stop and marvel.
Without a word.
Without an explanation.
Without constraint.
“The very rocks cried out.”
I heard them. And they invited my reply—my worship, my adoration.
For the Artist who knows so well what is “already there.”
He came. He loved. He served.
He died. He conquered.
Not for the rocks, but for us.
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