CNS photo courtesy U.S. Postal A painting of Mary and Christ by 15th-century Venetian artist Bartolomeo Vivarini is featured on a U.S. Postal Service 1999 Christmas stamp.

For some reason, depictions of the sacred have been in the news lately. Tommy, no doubt, went on to express his concept of God in keeping with the limitations of his young imagination. His crayoned masterpiece may have meant a great deal to him at that time and, with the possible exception of his adoring parents, few others may have been inspired by his hodge-podge of colors on discarded wrapping paper.

A couple of weeks ago, our Holy Father presided at a ceremony in the Vatican's Sistine Chapel marking the restoration of the acclaimed art which covers its walls and ceiling. His eyes pondered the majesty of Michelangelo's depiction of God the Father, with his white flowing hair and flowing beard, reaching out to impart the spark of human life to the first man, appropriately called Adam, the Hebrew word for "man."

The impossibility of adequately imagining our transcendant God, a totally spiritual being, was made somewhat easier by the Incarnation when, as Paul describes it so well in writing to the Philippians, God "emptied himself" of all the trappings of divinity to become one of us. We really do not know what Jesus looked like although it is safe to assume that, physically, he would have blended in with the people of his time and place. His fellow Nazarenes, with whom he grew up, thought of him as one of themselves. His looks did not set him apart from the others: his teachings did.

If his appearance was radically different from other men, surely one of the evangelists would have indicated as much. They did not hesitate to describe the Baptist as "different" because of what he wore, where he lived and what he ate. In fact, to avoid confusion with his followers, Judas had to single out Jesus with a sign, a kiss, on the eve of the crucifixion.

In this year's Christmas stamp, we are privileged to ponder a somewhat colorful Madonna and Child, albeit in miniature form, by Bartolomeo Vivarini. Bartolomeo, along with his brother, Antonio, and his nephew, Alvise, and their artistic rivals, the Bellini family, embellished many churches and chapels in Venice during the latter half of the 15th century. They were well known in the cities of Bologna, Padua, Puglio and the Marches generally. Bartolomeo produced many Madonnas during his lifetime as he received more commissions than he could handle. The Madonna of our stamp shows a typical woman of his era, holding and being held by a rosy-cheeked, round-faced infant with blond curls. They are both clad in finery which is that of a time 1400 years after Jesus was "wrapped in swaddling clothes and laid in a manger" (Luke 2: 7-8).

Did Jesus really look like this infant? Probably not, but that is not important. There are thousands of Madonnas all representative of different cultures, different tribes and different races. What is important is that most of them give evidence of an artist, influenced by faith, struggling to depict God in human form so that he can touch our hearts and bolster our belief. It is comforting to know that our God, great as he is, identified himself with our joys and our sorrows, our strivings and our limitations, and he began it all in an infancy as we did. His was in Bethlehem two millennia ago; ours in some other town and more recently.

The really important question calling for our response is, "How do we identify with him?" This Christmas let's not worry too much about what he looked like. Looks can be deceptive. Rather, let's try to be like him, to live his teachings, to follow his example, to keep in touch with him, to reflect his goodness to others. After all, imitation is more sincere than mere admiration.

Look beyond the golden curls and walk in the footsteps of the Galilean who came "that we may have life and have it more abundantly." The medieval artists had a simple way of identifying the "good" people in their paintings: they gave them halos. Bartolomeo Vivarini did so on our stamp even though I'm quite sure he knew he was trying to depict the Mother of God and her divine Son.

Halos cannot be purchased at the corner drug store. We have to earn them, day by day, by responding to his lakeside invitation which still resounds across the 20 centuries which mark the anniversary of his infancy, "Come, follow me."

Every day he dares us to take him at his word.