Reflections on some art

I saw a lot of art while on my Epic DC Trip with Carroll, but I'm actually not going to mention most of it. But while we were there I had a couple of thoughts that seemed vaguely share-able. So here they are. Read them or not.

When looking at early European art, you might notice that there are a whole lot of Jesus pictures. My uneducated and limited observations have led me to believe that these paintings of Jesus depict, by and large, His birth or His death. 

The angels are the best part.

Which, of course, makes me think of the Misty Edwards song: He's not a baby in a manger anymore. He's not a broken man on a cross. He didn't stay in the grave, and He's not staying in heaven forever. But that's not where I'm going with this. One of the biggest problems I had with these paintings at the time was that in every single one, Jesus was white. Of course He was. This isn't a new or revelatory statement. Hundreds of thousands of people have noticed this already; I am merely flogging the dead horse. So I stood there in the art gallery, part of me marveling at some really amazing pieces, and part of me complaining over this horrible inaccuracy. Jesus wasn't white. Jesus wasn't black. He was Jewish. And then the Holy Spirit came and whispered, But He was relatable. Jesus was relatable. I looked closer. In the Italian paintings Jesus looked Italian. In the German paintings Jesus looked German. In the Flemish paintings Jesus looked, well, He actually looked sort of German-Dutch. Which is kind of right, I guess. In any case, to the people that saw these paintings way back in the day, they didn't see a Jesus Who was painted inaccurately, they saw a Jesus Who was relatable. And sure, there was ethnocentricity, and hatred, and racism, and bigotry, and antisemitism. And an appalling lack of attention to historical details. But maybe, somewhere at the beginning, with just one of the artists, someone painted a Man he knew. Someone painted a Man he related to, a Man Who understood him, a Man Who was like him. 

As it says, Since the children have flesh and blood, He too shared in their humanity so that by His death He might break the power of him who holds the power of death--that is, the devil--and free those who all their lives were held in slavery by their fear of death. For surely it is not angels He helps, but Abraham's descendants. For this reason He had to be made fully like them, fully human in every way, in order that He might become a merciful and faithful high priest in service to God, and that He might make atonement for the sins of the people. Because He himself suffered when He was tempted, He is able to help those who are being tempted. 

And also, For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have One Who has been tempted in every way, just as we are--yet He did not sin. Let us then approach God's throne of grace with confidence, so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.

God isn't relatable. He's awesome and beautiful and majestic and terrifying and so worthy of our love and praise. But He isn't relatable. We can't get to His level. "For My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways My ways," declares the LORD. But Jesus is relatable. Yes, it's important to know that Jesus was a Jewish man who was born in Judea during the Roman occupation. He looked plain and ordinary and Jewish. (That is important because it is true, and I am in no way trying to justify the racism of the many who believe that goodness and white skin are innately and immutably tied together. That is a godless perspective.) But Jesus is also relatable. Jesus came as a human, lived as a human, died as a human, was resurrected as a human, so that you could see a human walking with God and say, "Oh! That's how." How are you feeling? What are you dealing with? He's been there, He gets it, He knows the way through. And He's still a human, even now. He's a human, sitting at the right hand of God, praying for you. Right now.

From Words Like Sapphires, Library of Congress

One of the displays we visited in the Library of Congress was called Words Like Sapphires. We weren't allowed to take pictures in there, so the above image is from the Library of Congress website. It was a fascinating and beautiful collection, and to top it all, there was a dude in there translating and explaining some of the texts to his young son. I almost died! This being the Library of Congress, much of the display focused on words and the presentation and importance of those words. One of the signs noted that those who practice Judaism refer to themselves as the People of the Book. I thought that was incredibly interesting because the followers of Christ called (and some still call) themselves the People, or Followers, of the Way. (In this example, Paul is talking about how he used to kill the People of the Way.) And the Holy Spirit gave me a glimpse into the symmetry of God's plan, the flow of His activity, the beautiful perfection of His genius. The People of the Book were meant to become the People of the Way. They were given the Word of God spoken and written down. They recorded it and tried to follow it and treasured it, and even when they no longer treasured it or tried to follow it, it remained. And then, The Word became flesh and made His dwelling among us. And He lived. He walked with God among us, and taught us to walk with God. The Book became the Person Who showed us the Way. And it is no longer enough for us to simply know what the Book said, or even what the Book did. We now must do what He did by the Holy Spirit. Whoever says, "I know Him," but does not do what He commands is a liar, and the truth is not in that person. But if anyone obeys His word, love for God is truly made complete in them. This is how we know we are in Him: Whoever claims to live in Him must live as Jesus did. 

So, there is that.

The Land

Maybe it's because I grew up looking at farms, or maybe it's because I've called so many different kinds of land home, or maybe it's because of something in me that I haven't understood yet, but the more I see this place, the more I love this place. Even though we haven't met many people, even though we haven't found a church, even though I don't have a job, even though I spend my days weighing productivity versus rest. Being among mountains makes my soul rise up and elevate into the higher places, but being here makes my soul wistful, wild, and wide because this place feels wistful, wild and wide. I feel melancholy, but not sad. I have solitude, but not loneliness. I ache, but it is an ache of joy. And the wind blows. And the flat of the land stretches away to meet the lip of the sky and never arrives. And the people are poor and unhappy. And the  economy is devastated. And there is racism. And there is fear. And there is a God Who is bigger, bigger, bigger. And my soul expands.