Dear Lord, So far this year I have been a model follower of Jesus. I haven’t offended anyone. I haven’t gossiped. I haven‘t said unkind things about anyone. I haven’t taken the LORD’s name in vain. Nor have I cursed or sworn profanities.
I haven’t lost my temper, become impatient or irritable. I haven’t been greedy, grumpy, nasty, selfish, or overindulgent.
And I haven’t been prideful, jealous, envious or lustful.
But in a few minutes, God, I’m going to get up out of bed and start the day. And from then on, I’m going to need a lot more help.
So help me to follow you today. And throughout this year. Help me to love wholeheartedly – my friends, my enemies, my neighbour, and even all those difficult people that get on my nerves.
Help me to live joyously. To celebrate life in all its fullness. To feast. To party. To dance as if no one is watching. Or as if everyone is watching. To laugh loudly. At myself. And with others. To not be a grumpy old man. To nip the meanness, and moaning, and criticizing in the bud. And replace them with a spirit of gratitude and generosity. To rejoice – not just in happy-clappy circumstancial way, but in a deep, soulful way that sets my spirit free.
And help me to follow and serve faithfully. To take time to listen to you. And to others through whom you speak. To go to the places you would send me, and spend time with the all those you send to me. To walk the walk and talk the talk. Faithfully.
And when I falter, fail and fall – which I will do, when I get out of bed and go into the new day and new year – remind me of your unchanging love for me. When I am not so resolute about my grand resolutions, reassure me of your grace. And when I forget, remind me whose I am. Yours. Forever and always. Knowing this makes my new year happy.
This is the image that dominates the sanctuary of the United Methodist Erlöserkirche (Saviour’s Church) in Chemnitz, Germany. A large wooden cross that begins at the altar and reaches heavenwards towards the ceiling. Behind it, this quite simple, but profound piece of graphic artwork, illustrating Jesus’ final steps on the way to his crucifixion.
This is the church that I ministered in for 13 years. Almost every Sunday, I stood under this image and preached the word of God. But it was only recently, when I went back to my old congregation, this time as a visitor sitting in the pews, that I began to see this image from a different perspective. And ‘different perspective’ is usually the way God speaks to me.
This artwork was created by the graphic illustrator, Werner Knauer. He was a committed Christian and an active member of the United Methodist Church in nearby Aue-Neustädl. It was not easy for Knauer, as a Christian artist working in the Communist GDR. He was banned from the official state association of fine arts, which made it almost impossible for him to get work and provide a living for his family. But his pastor found a way for him to be employed by the UMC in East Germany. He did the graphics and illustrations for many of the educational books and materials in the church in GDR times. And he helped design displays, sculptures and artwork for church buildings. Including this fascinating graphic illustration in the Erlöserkirche in Chemnitz.
It depicts the way of the cross, hours before Jesus’ death. Jesus has already been judged, (and found innocent), by the Roman governor Pontius Pilate. He has already been beaten and whipped by the Roman soldiers. They have placed a crown of thorns on his head, and mocked and humiliated him. They have given him his cross to carry to Golgatha, where he will soon be crucified. The scene depicts Jesus stumbling as he carries the cross – which, by the way, is not actually in the biblical account. No where in any of the Gospels do we read of Jesus stumbling. But it is inferred – by the account of Simon aiding Jesus and carrying his cross. And it has inspired preachers for centuries – including those who preach without words.
Let me share just three ways that this artwork spoke to me.
The Numerous Lines
In the curved lines I see the path that Jesus is taking. The Via Dolorosa – the way of the cross. The illustration shows an uphill path. It’s tiring, difficult, demanding, requires effort, and saps strength. As we journey through life, it can often feel like that – taking difficult steps, struggling uphill with the worries and burdens we carry. Notice that, in the mural, the curved lines only go uphill until they reach the figure of Jesus, after which they begin to turn downhill. I am not suggesting that the hidden message here is that we only have problems and difficulties until we meet Jesus, and then after that everything is a piece of cake. That is too simplistic. But I do believe that the encounter with Jesus makes some kind of a difference. That’s what I take from this depiction of the curved lines in the mural. When our paths touch Jesus, something happens.
When I look at the straight lines, I see two distinct groups. At the bottom of the mural the straight lines are all horizontal. These lines, underneath Jesus, are straight, flat, horizontal. It appears to me that Jesus is on even ground. Where Jesus is, is a strong foundation. It’s solid ground. It’s safe ground. A safe space. Especially if you are on your knees in desperation. Especially when life’s problems and blows have led you to lose your footing. Where Jesus is, is safe ground.
The other group of straight lines emanate from Jesus’ heart, and extend out in all directions. Not only in 360 degrees – symbolizing around the clock – , but if you can visualize it, also in 3D. It’s as if the lines are reaching out of the mural, towards the observer, to encompass and include us. The lines extending out from Jesus’ heart, as he bears the sin, hate, cruelty and humiliation of man, show God’s unfathomable love that reaches everywhere and everyone. The Creator God, who lowered himself and was born as a man, who even when brought to his knees, at his lowest, he radiates love to the whole world! Even to me.
It’s really only when this holy love grabs hold of you that you can even begin to understand why and how the hymn writer could pen the words: “Love so amazing, so divine, demand my life, my soul, my all.” I encourage you to pause for a moment and let this visual sermon speak to your heart. All of us have our cross to bear. What is yours today? Are you struggling uphill? Beaten and burdened. I invite you to encounter the love of God, and the God of love. A 360 degree, 3D kind of love that reaches you right there where you are. Even where you might think you are unreachable. Or unlovable. Sense the heart of Jesus. Step onto solid ground. Safe ground. And be enveloped in an incomprehensible love that reaches out to you… and reaches you.
The Shading
Usually in art shade plays an artistic role, following the rules of natural laws. There are one or more light sources that cast shadows, that are usually illustrated by shading in the artwork. But in Werner Knauer’s mural the shading does not follow the natural laws – they actually break them, which is a message in itself. The shading in this image actually has a theological purpose. I understand the thicker, darker lines to be representative of the burden of sin that Jesus bore as he carried the cross. They surround the figure of Jesus. Often in religious art Jesus is illuminated by a bright aura surrounding him. But here his body is outlined by a thick dark line. The dark shading on the cross also seems to be pushing down on Jesus, oppressing him. And there is also the thick black line at Jesus’ left foot, crossing his path. It almost looks like it is the thing that has caused him to stumble – the burden of the sins of humanity.
Then there is the thick black line that encircles the small rock on the ground. What is this supposed to signify? Why did the artist choose to illustrate this scene this way? My interpretation is that this single small rock signifies all the small sins that nevertheless cause us to stumble. Not necessarily the big sins, but the little things, that tend to make us self-righteous. Things we overlook, and the carelessness that hinders us.
In the thick dark lines it seems that sin is written in bold typeface in this mural. It grabs our attention. And it should, because no matter what your particular theology of the cross might be – and in the history of Christianity there have been various metaphors, understandings and interpretations – the fact is that sin is central in the story of the passion of Christ. Sin. Evil. Brokenness. Destructiveness. Selfishness. Addiction. Corruption. Greed. All of them – and more – are illustrated by these bold dark lines of shade that are prominent in this image, as are what they represent in the Easter story itself. They bring Christ to his knees.
And there are two ways that these sins, these failings, these shortcomings can bring us to our knees as well. We can become so burdened and broken by them that we collapse in a heap, because we realize we can’t manage in our own strength. Or, they could and should bring us to our knees in prayer. In recognition that we can’t do it on our own, and also that we don’t have to do it on our own! Jesus bears all our shortcomings! That is the heart of the Gospel. So, once again I invite you to pause and look at the artwork. Look at those bold lines on and around Jesus. Hear the words: “For you”. And accept the core teaching of Jesus’ life and ministry, namely, you do not have to crucify yourself because of your failings!
Signs of Hope
I come to my last reflection. The artist did not just leave us with the darkness, heaviness and tragedy of the crucifixion. In this artwork I see two signs that point to Christ’s victory over sin and death. Two statements that offer hope.
Firstly, I see Easter Sunday in the 3 circles behind the cross on the right hand side. To me these circles look like the tomb and the stone that was rolled away, pointing to the joy of the resurrection. In this image, and in the Easter story that it depicts, I hear God saying, “There is hope. Trust me.”
And secondly, I can see two letters depicted in this artwork. Have a look yourself, before reading on, to see if you can find them…..
The first letter can be found behind Jesus’ left knee – the letter ‘A’. And the second letter is on the very outer edge of the three circles on the right hand side. It is the letter ‘Z’, but written the German way, with a horizontal stroke in the middle of the ‘Z’. These letters are not particularly easy to find, so did the artist intend to have these two letters in his illustration? I believe so. Why else would he have added some of these additional lines that form the letters. The image would have worked fine without them. So why an ‘A’ and a ‘Z’? Of course we recognize them as the first and last letters of the alphabet. But in Greek, the first and last letters of the alphabet are ‘Alpha’ and ‘Omega’. And we know that Jesus is referred to in the Bible as the “Alpha and Omega, the first and the last”.
So for me, the God that is pictured in this artwork – the God who is on the way of the cross with us, the God who is a safe space for us when we fall and are on our knees – is the Alpha and Omega, the One and All, the Be all and End all. The triune Creator, Saviour and Comforter, whose love rolls stones away, and whose word breathes abundant life.
Now look again at that mural.
Jesus is bigger now! He almost looks too big in that picture. He no longer looks weak, oppressed or burdened. In fact, he’s not falling to his knees. Can you see it? He is getting up off his knees! Standing up. Strong. Can you see how big his hand is in relation to the cross? That cross actually looks tiny now. My heart can hear those bold black chains around Jesus snap free as he rises defiantly to his feet and effortlessly tosses the cross aside, as if it were a tooth pick… to give us full view of the empty tomb. That means there’s no holding back now.
So be encouraged, friend. Celebrate with me the true meaning of Easter: There is hope. God’s love reaches everywhere. And love wins!
A one in a million gift of holy communion. Already a winner in more ways than won. Breaking out of my cell to go forth and multiply. Against all the odds of smoke and drink. And lesser known ignorance.
But surrounded by instinctive love. Godly by design. Kept in the dark. From the light of the world. To become viable. Enviable. Unbelievable. With miracle eyes. Sensuous fingertips. Defender spleen.
Blood shared for me. Freely given. But costly, indeed. This is her body. Given for you. That you might become somebody. The gift that keeps on giving.
Guided by a Force I did not understand. Into a world I still don’t. I cry. I scream. I wail. And take the slaps that take my breath away. I did not choose life. Life chose me. Hallelujah! Amen.
I often find it frustrating that I am never as resolute about my new year’s resolutions as I would like to be. Here is a poem I wrote about that. About the human condition. And about a divine love that knows no bounds.
So, dear friends, lets have another go at life in this new year. Let’s try. Let’s even try hard.
But when our trying doesn’t work out as we had hoped, let’s turn to that divine Love. Let’s find solace, hope and strength to continue again …bringing light into a world of darkness.
Know this, dear friend: You are enough. You are loved. Just the way you are …Even if you prefer the darkness more than the light. It’s a God thing. Believe me. I know.
Happy New Year!
I PREFER THE DARKNESS MORE THAN THE LIGHT
I put on sunglasses when it gets too bright
some things are better kept out of sight
I close my eyes and hold on tight
‘cos I prefer the darkness more than the light
like you, I was born with an iconic face
that lost its glory in the chase
taking wrong turns all over the place
refusing to accept Love’s embrace
pull the wool over my eyes
let the blind lead the blind
convince myself they’re wrong, I’m right
But I’m not the first pharisee to be blinded by delight
Then Light, “broken for you”, reveals all the colour
a spectrum of perspectives that perceives the other
and brings me to my knees, humbly to discover
I’ll never be good enough. God is a Lover.
its a new dawn, a new day, a new start, a new chance
to live and laugh and sing and dance
to open my eyes and C the unseen
accept the greatest Love the world has ever seen
and on that final day, when my heart beats its last
and the light of this world I no longer can see
I’ll realise I’ve actually never seen the light.
but rather, it is Light that enables me to see
and I won’t need sunglasses when it gets too bright
and all things are never kept out of sight
I’ll open my eyes and hold on tight
‘cos I know the darkness has not overcome the Light.
Breaking new ground. Beyond the call of duty. Behold, I am doing a new thing. How could you? Why would you? Ever? Take a risk. Say yes. To invite. To be invited. Risk takers say yes, ja, oui.
Ideas are easy. Talk, too. Living it, making it real, is much harder. That’s the Spirit. Put yourself out. Out there. And see. If they like us? If we like them? Or were we both right all along?
Worlds with their views collide on a brown rock. All rebels with a cause. And songs without applause. Filled with new meaning partly. To make meaning full. It’s all just words that become flesh. Like a 75 year old nun. And strangers become friends.
Co-workers shop for a better world. Full of children. With their laughter. Improvising as they play. And holy hymns – alleluja! The pioneer Spirit runs rings around us. Freeze! But don’t stop us now.
For we’ve still got split personalities. And a half a hectic lifetime to live. Filled with the sound effects of the Other. Leading me to ask, ”Who am I?”. Hopefully with helping hands. ”I am who I am. I am there”, is the answer that I hear.
Come Holy Ghost, save me from men drunk in the spirit. But in Greek people say, ”Yiamas”. Me too. Celebrating friendship. Hurting and healing. Sharing and journeying, as pilgrims do. Not knowing where we will end up in the dark with a light between us.
A feast fit for any child of God. And for pioneers and personalities. Every one special. Desired. Loved. By the unspeakable Name who asks the impossible. For life. Doors are closing. Setting us free to pioneer new and old ways. I can only say Goodbye to you because it’s short for, ”God be with you”.
A Holy Communion of saints and sinners. And a God who makes no difference. Remember. I am who I am at a burning bush with rainbow flames enveloping us. All of us are unbelievers on this holy ground. Incredible! We take off not just our shoes. And dedicate ourselves to embrace this pioneer spirit again.
