A Cousin's Kiss

Two cousins, both called to mission, embrace in a gesture of mutual compassion and love.

As they part they reach out to one another and John places a kiss on the cheek of the one he knows to be the Messiah. At the moment of his arrest Jesus will betrayed by a kiss, but here, as he begins his life and ministry on earth, his cousin's kiss confirms him as the Word made flesh.

Even as a little boy, John is portrayed clothed in the garments of a desert dweller. His simple camel hair tunic is tied with a leather belt and his staff bears the cross beam on which his beautiful cousin will eventually sacrifice himself for us.

The figure of Jesus, tenderly proffered by his mother Mary, appears to radiate light, the Light of the World, the light will which guide John as he sets out to cry in the wilderness with his call to repentance.

Jesus reaches out to offer John his grace and his love. Without it John's message and mission will be meaningless. Without the blessing of the babe of Bethlehem John's voice will simply be a gong booming, a cymbal clashing. But with it, John will be able to proclaim Jesus as the Lamb of God, the one who is to take away our sins.

As we once again begin the great season of Advent perhaps this wonderful image by Sandro Botticelli will inspire us to use the coming weeks wisely as we prepare for the coming of the Lord into our lives. We pray that Christ will be the only light we use to guide us on our journey. That John's call to turn back to God will so resonate in our hearts that we accept the forgiveness of God and the chance to start again. And that, as John embraces Jesus and acknowledges the Saviour's presence in his life, so we will embrace him and welcome him into our lives today and every day.

HAPPY ADVENT!

Under Siege

Sometimes you just want to scream! You get to that point where nothing other than really letting go will do.

In this extraordinary painting by the English painter Francis Bacon we see the moment when enough is enough.

Titled Head IV it is based on the portrait of Pope Innocent X by the Spanish artist Velasquez and it depicts a man who is letting go.

He is trapped by what looks like the most fragile of boxes, but nevertheless he is trapped. He does all he can and screams.

We are reminded of the great 'Scream' by Edvard Munck, but in this scream we are made aware of the great cry of all humanity, searching for meaning and purpose to life.

Of his 'Stations of the Cross' (1958-1966) the American Abstract Expressionist Barnett Newman wrote that somehow they spoke of 'the cry of a man, of every man who is unable to understand what is being done to him'. Surely Bacon's painting evokes something of the same emotion.

In some way we have all experienced this cry. Whether in pain, frustration, anger or fear we have all cried out (or at least would like to).

This week Pope Benedict XVI visits Great Britain. In the face of the media storm which seems determined to only focus on the negative aspects of his life and ministry, we too are called to once more justify our place in the Church as followers of Christ. We may feel like screaming, and maybe sometimes he does too, but we know that when we cry out our voice is heard. A God who loves and sustains also listens and consoles.

My God, my God! Why have you forsaken me? When we scream, we are in good company.

Tough Times

It's not easy being a herald! It's tiring, often lonely, can take you to some really desperate places–physically, mentally and spiritually–and when things don't go so well it can be really depressing.

All of which must have been true for John the Baptist, depicted here in the wilderness by Geertens tot Sint Jans, painted around 1490.

Ok, he was the 'greatest born of woman', but he was still like you and me. Let's face it, a diet of locusts and honey doesn't exactly sound like it's going to nourish the body, mind or the soul particularly well. Five a day?!

In this tender portrait we see another side to the Baptist. It shows him sitting quietly in the valley of the Jordan, having a moment to himself. This man is not depressed, he is meditating (the painting is referred to as the meditation of J the B). He rests his head in his hand, not through desperation, but rather in a gesture of contemplation. Joseph, the husband of Mary, is often depicted in a similar pose, although asleep, when he is communicating with God through the angel. Here John takes time out to communicate with God about the dangerous and lonely mission of preparing a way for the Lord. He shuffles his bare feet, a sign of a troubled mind. I think it's a gesture of humility, of not being sure, but nevertheless journeying on. His camel hair coat, a wonderfully rich chocolate brown, is covered by a cloak of the most exquisite blue. The colour of royalty indicates his position in the hierarchy of sainthood, but also that he is enfolded in the majesty, not of himself, but rather of the Lord of Lord's.

And what of the wilderness? It doesn't look very wild, rather more like the English park landscapes of Capability Brown. Where the Baptist's feet rest is the dry bed of a river which, when the Saviour comes, will be flooded with the love and mercy of God. The birds of the air accompany him. The magpie, a symbol of sorrow is present and the lamb, the Agnus Dei rests behind him. This mission is not about John, but Jesus.

In the end perhaps he is simply waiting. His job of proclamation and preparation complete he sits and patiently awaits the arrival of the Lamb of God, the Beloved who will be baptised and change the world for ever. In our 'go and get it' world the biblical notion of pondering is something which is often overlooked or misunderstood.

Let's pray that when our work is done, or even when we are half way through, we will take the time to sit in the Lord's presence and await his coming. And let's pray for those who preach the Gospel and prepare a way for the Lord, that they may be comforted, encouraged and consoled by the inspiration of John the Baptist.

A Surprise Visitor

In this charming painting by the chinese Christian artist He Qi we are given a glimpse of the challenge of bringing the message of God to his people. In the health and safety manual for angels there is obviously no section entitled 'Windows and Blinds – FAQs'!

We see the archangel Gabriel at the window, determined (and it has to be said, somewhat bemused) to deliver God's message of peace and goodwill to Mary. The lily, the traditional image of purity and virginity is proffered delicately, the little finger crooked. Gabriel is a well mannered messenger! The flower survives the ordeal of entry in one beautiful piece and stands, centre stage, to remind us that this is an announcement of no ordinary birth.

Mary is at her toilet, combing through the tresses of her rich red hair. Depicting red hair was often used by artists to denote difference, especially in women, although there are some paintings where Judas has red hair. Mary is not like other girls, she already stands out simply by how she looks. God will confirm her uniqueness by making her the mother of his Son, but she was chosen long before. She was, is, and always will be, different.

And yet she is the same. She goes about her ordinary business. Seated at her dressing table near the window (to maximise the light) she attends to her appearance like countless millions of young women have done in the past and will do in the future. Whilst this is a contemporary interpretation of the Annunciation, it is at the same time, timeless. It could be yesterday, today or tomorrow. I love it for that.

So what can account for the pinkness of Mary's cheeks. Is it embarrassment or the over eager application of rouge? Perhaps it's both. If it's embarrassment, then perhaps we understand a little more of the modesty of Mary, her unwillingness to push herself forward. If it's the rouge, perhaps we could interpret that as a sign of her inner strength, the strength which enables her to offer her 'fiat', her 'yes' to God. She is in no way brash, but she's also not a wimp.

All in all it's wonderful. It's colour draws us in to the joy of the moment. It's directness helps us to engage with the simplicity, and, at the same time, the momentous nature of the event.

And if we hear ourselves saying 'It didn't look like that!', let's also asks ourselves 'how do I know what it looked like?'

Ultimately this is an image for our reflection and meditation. God will bring his message to the world regardless of the obstacles in his way. We can receive the call when we least expect it. Let us simply pray that we will have the courage and the strength, like Mary, to say 'yes'.

Up, up but not away!

In this gorgeous Flemish miniature from the second half of the fifteenth century we see Jesus ascending to his Father in heaven.

God the Father is ready for him and greets him with a blessing, indicating to his Son the place he is to occupy. The throne at his right hand is ready for Jesus to take his rightful place in his kingdom.

The four disciples are in positions of wonder, prayer and praise. They look so humbled by this amazing experience and lift their eyes heavenward as they glimpse the glory of God. Their hands are in the traditional positions of obedience and supplication.

Jesus approaches God in a position of humility, the prodigal (although without sin) returns to the Father with a gesture of openness and willingness. He opens his hands to receive the kingdom from the Father. The one to whom all power in heaven and on earth has been given, now receives the fullness of his authority.

There are no fireworks here though, no hosts of angels, no massed choirs of heaven. Jesus is taken to heaven on the wispiest of clouds. This is a tremendously gentle and affectionate image of love, reunion and of course, for the disciples, loss.

But the thing I love is the footprints on the rock! We see the imprint of the one who walked this earth and called us to follow him. They are like a hallmark, a sign of his everlasting presence, and not only of his presence, but the quality of that presence. Jesus told us that he had to leave in order to allow the sending of the Holy Spirit. In the simple depiction of the footprints of the Lord we are reminded that he walks this earth still. He dwells with us. He will be with us, yes, to the end of time.

Lord, as we celebrate the feast of your Ascension, help us to be ever more aware of your presence in our lives. Direct us to walk in your footsteps, to speak your words and to bring forth your love and compassion to all we meet. You, who are the Way, the Truth and the Life. Amen.

Come Holy Spirit

'When Pentecost day came round, they had all met together, when suddenly there came from heaven a sound as of a violent wind which filled the entire house in which they were siting; and there appeared to them tongues as of fire; these separated and came to rest on the head of each of them. They were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak different languages as the Spirit gave them power to express themselves.'

Acts 2: 1-4

Duccio's deceptively simple depiction of one of the most significant moments in the life of the Church has much to teach us about how we are to be as 'Pentecost People'.

The apostles are huddled in the upper room, frightened and anxious, afraid of what is going to happen. How often have we hidden ourselves away in our own anxiety, not sure of the next move? The Holy Spirit descends on them and rests above each of their heads as small tongues of fire. Their haloes blaze as a single unit of light. They are no longer a group of individuals but will act as a community of faith. They are all barefooted. When Moses witnessed the burning bush he removed his shoes. Duccio shows the apostles' reverence in the presence of the power of God. There's a lot of gesturing going on. 'What's happening?' "Who, me?' 'What now?' Still uncertain of how to proceed they allow the Holy Spirit to show them the way. The book in one of their hands and the scrolls others hold look tightly bound. The Word of God is about to be released and translated to the whole world. To help the apostles to do this, the door to the room where they are hiding has been broken open. Mary presides serenely over the event, her hands raised in a symbol of wonder and reassurance.

The Holy Spirit calls each of us to be witnesses to the Word in our own lives and in our own time. This fills us with trepidation when we think we have to do it alone, but rather than hiding away in fear, with his grace and power and under his guidance, we really can change the world.