Genesis 1.1-5: Chiaroscuro

God spoke: "Light!" And light appeared. (Genesis 1:3a, The Message). Light. And dark. Each needs the other in order to be defined, particularly in art. If a painting is all light, with no contrasting dark, it feels too simple, too surface. Dark alone is the same way. It is the pairing of the two - light and dark - in various ways that brings variety, and harmony to any work of art. Throughout the history of art, light and dark have been explored and exploited in various ways. 

A strong contrast of light and dark in the visual art is called chiarascuro (/kyärəˈsk(y)o͝orō/), which literally means light-dark (chiaro meaning “clear” or “bright" and oscuro meaning “obscure”' or “dark”). Seventeenth-century Italian painter Michelangelo Merisi da Caravaggio (usually just referred to as "Caravaggio"), was the painter who first made this strong contrast of light and dark into a trademark of his style. Artists who came immediately after him and followed his style were referred to as Caravaggists. 

Though created centuries after Caravaggio's work, the photograph of a cabbage leaf (below), embodies the ideas of chiaroscuro. The photo's background is a velvety rich darkness, and the topmost parts of the cabbage leaf are the lightest points. Between the background and the highlights is a full range of values. The gradation of light to dark is what creates a sense of three-dimensional form in the folds of the leaf. The sharp meeting of light and dark creates a hard edge that separates the dark background from the lighter leaf. It is the contrast that shows the form.

Edward Weston. Cabbage Leaf. 1931. NY: Museum of Modern Art. 

God spoke: "Light!" And there was light. By that light God saw the individual shapes and forms of what was being created. By that light we all see. God spoke, and there was light, where there only had been darkness. Jesus, the light of the world.

The word photography literally means "writing with light." In this season of Epiphany, why not try writing with light as a photographic exercise. See Art&Faith Matters on Facebook for tips.
 

Epiphany: Meh...

The conjunction of Jupiter and Saturn that happened right before Christmas had some people in a tizzy. Others not so much. I am firmly in Camp Tizzy. I had my camera and tripod set up looking toward the southwest sky. Because I live in a decent-sized city, I had to deal with light pollution in general, and my across-the-street neighbors have blue icicle lights hanging across the front of their house. I'm fine with the blue lights, but they did cast an interesting light. I took dozens of photos of these two small points of light, closer together than they had been seen at night in 800 years.

In 1226, when a conjunction this close was last seen at night (which means everyone can actually see it), Francis of Assisi was still alive (he died in October 1226). Notre Dame de Paris was still under construction, and the roof structure had just been redesigned using that latest architectural innovation, the rib vault. Frederick II was the Holy Roman Emperor, Henry III was King of England, and Louis VIII was King of France.

I was smitten.

Photo by Lynn Miller. You are welcome to use it, but please give credit. 

And then I read comments by friends (and their friends) on social media pooh-poohing the idea that this might have been the "Christmas Star."

"Who would travel to see that?"

"The Christmas star looked like this!" (accompanied by a piece of clip art that included a cruciform star casting its beams in the four cardinal directions)

"I wasn't impressed."

"God would do better than that."

Now, I don't know exactly what the Christmas star was (planetary conjunction? supernova? something else entirely?), but it made me stop and think about "spectacle" and the Christmas story. First, if the magi were students of the stars, maybe this is exactly the kind of occurrence for which they would have traveled to get a better view. Though Jupiter and Saturn meet about every 20 years, the next conjunction that comes close to this one is in 2080. Sixty years from now. How many of us will still be here? Maybe this is more special than it looks.

And I have to think that something like that was the sentiment of the magi when they showed up with their extravagant gifts and the recipient was the infant son of a Jewish peasant couple. This has to be more special than it looks. And, of course, for those of us who follow Jesus, it is. What looks to the world like any set of parents and their baby is God's message of love and salvation to and for the world. And the message wears diapers and spits up. Who would travel to see that?

Epiphany means manifestation, something that embodies something else, especially a theory or abstract idea/ Jesus is the manifestation of Emmanuel, God with us. But you could be forgiven if you didn't get that right away. The story of Epiphany is the story of dreamers. Of people who follow stars and see royalty in babies. Nothing meh about that.

For NASA's information on the Great Conjunction, click here.

Matthew 2.1-12: Emperor, King, Murderer

No one names their child "Herod" anymore. And not just "anymore." Who would want their child associated with Herod? Herod's character is not one that most parents would want their child to emulate. The Epiphany text (Matthew 2:1-12) here shows Herod as a paranoid, power-hungry...scared...king who will stop at nothing to retain his power and position. He is more than willing to commit murder. The gospel tells of the massacre of the innocents at Bethlehem, but Herod the Great also murdered his second wife, her two sons, her brother, her grandfather, and her mother. If Herod was willing to kill so many of his own family, we have no doubt he could have killed children he never knew or saw.

Does that evil, cruel part of his personality show on his face as artists depicted him? Which of the faces below is the face of Herod the Great?

Did the artist give you a clue? Is there something in one or more of these faces that is an external clue to the internal corruption and immorality of the person seated on that throne?

Modern depictions of the visit of the Magi to Herod's court may be more likely to show Herod in some kind of aggressive body posture with an angry expression on his face. Scripture describes him as sneaky and manipulative, trying to deceive the magi with promises of plans to worship the newborn king. It was only the warning of the angel that sent the magi home by another way. They seemingly would have had no clue otherwise.

That's often the way it is, I think. The external appearance is pleasing, reliable, amiable, and sympathetic when the truth of the person is unethical, self-centered, even evil. Herod is definitely the villain of this story, but his ability to present a deceitful appearance to the world is much more common and close to home than we'd like to admit. There may be a little Herod in us.

Above far left:  Edward II Receives the Crown (detail). c. 1307-1327. British Library: Royal MS 20 A II, fol 10. Above center left: Magi Questioned by Herod (detail). 14th century. Venice: San Marco. Above center right: Three Kings Before Herod (detail). St. Alban's Psalter. 1121-1146. Hildesheim: Dombibliothek. Above far right: Portrait of Charles the Bald (detail). Bible of San Paolo fuori le Mura. c. 870. Rome: San Paolo fuori le Mura.

For additional thoughts on Epiphany, click here.

Luke 4.21-30: The Word Has Left the Building

The episode of Jesus preaching in his home synagogue begins with Luke 4:16. Jesus is handed the scroll, he reads the words of Isaiah and returns the scroll to the attendant. There was a momentary pause, then Jesus proclaimed that the word had been made flesh in himself that very day. And the uproar began. In the second part of the story, found in verses 21-30, we get, as Paul Harvey would have said, "the rest of the story."

The rest of the story doesn't go so well for Jesus. He is driven out of town up to a hill where the crowd plans to throw him off. That doesn't happen, but even so, it's probably not the homecoming that Jesus' followers imagined.

The manuscript illumination below is from a picture Bible created in northwest France c. 1190-1200.  In this illustration Jesus is literally pushed out of (presumably) the town. Green grass is under his bare feet. But in this manuscript illustration Jesus seems to be carrying a book as he is pushed out of the city.

The Jews Chase Christ Out of the City. 1190-1200. The Hague, KB, 76 F 5 fol. 16r sc. 1B. 

Koninklijke Bibliotheek National Library of the Netherlands

The icon Christ Pantocrator usually shows Jesus holding a book (the New Testament). The icon of Jesus the Teacher shows Jesus with an open book and the text "I am the light of the world..." Seeing Jesus carrying a book in this setting raises questions rather than answers them.  

What is that book? Is Jesus taking the scroll of Isaiah (conveniently bound in book form) with him? Or is this an attempt to remind the viewer that in rejecting Jesus as the Word (who became flesh and dwelt among us) they also rejected that the word they heard was fulfilled in their hearing? In Mark's version of Jesus' rejection in Nazareth, the gospel writer remarks that because of the people's unbelief Jesus could do no deeds of power among them. Perhaps that is the reason for the book leaving with Jesus. His power left with him, and his power came from God, whose story is told in scripture. The people don't know it, but they are pushing away the Word of God. 

This week on Art&Faith Matters on Facebook..."Is not this Joseph's son?"  For additional thoughts on Jeremiah 1:4-10, click here.

Luke 4:14-21 and Nehemiah 8: Read Aloud

Do you read aloud? Do you listen to the written word being read aloud? The rising popularity of audiobooks and podcasts seem to say that humans still respond to words spoken aloud, even in this culture of images. In both readings from scripture (Luke 4:14-21 and selected verses from Nehemiah 8), the word of God is read aloud. 

Ezra was, apparently, quite gifted at reading aloud. His reading brought the word of God to life in a way that touched the emotions of the hearers. The people listened, understood the reading, and wept when they heard the law of God. The gospel passage from Luke stops just before we see the reaction of the people to Jesus' reading and proclamation. The next few verses tell us that the people are "amazed" at Jesus' words...but not in a good way. Their amazement turns to rage. They drag him out of town and attempt to throw him off a cliff. 

No one can deny the power of the reading and hearing of these words. There have been other words that, when read aloud, have had the same kind of impact on its hearers. The two images at left are centered around the Emancipation Proclamation, issued by U.S. President Abraham Lincoln on January 1, 1863. The top image  shows Lincoln's cabinet as they hear the Proclamation read for the first time. They don't show much (any?) external emotion as the words are read, though that may also be the painter's attempt to help them look serious and statesmanlike.

The bottom image, published the same year as the painting was created, also depicts a reading of the Emancipation Proclamation. This time the reading is being done by a Union soldier surrounded by enslaved persons. The reaction of the hearers - members of three generations - is much more visible. Hands are raised in gestures of supplication, hats are being waved, eyes are lifted to heaven. 

I remember one of my seminary professors advocating that worshipers should hear big pieces of scripture in worship every week. Notice how that is phrased...not that we should read big pieces of scripture, but that the congregation should hear big pieces of scripture. Words of scripture spoken aloud promise us freedom and release, recovery of sight, and the joy of the Lord that is our strength. Perhaps we should be reading scripture aloud, even (especially?) if it's "only" to ourselves. These are words we need to hear.

Top image: Francis Bicknell Carpenter. First Reading of the Emancipation Proclamation by Abraham Lincoln. 1864. Collection of the U.S. Senate. Bottom image: H.W. Herrick, del., J.W. Watts, sc. Reading the Emancipation Proclamation. 1864. Washington, DC: Library of Congress.

This week on Art&Faith Matters on Facebook...someone reads a scroll.

Through the Waters

Images of the baptism of Christ often show Jesus standing in gently rippling water - sometimes up to his waist, other times only ankle deep. John stands beside him pouring a gentle stream of water onto Jesus' head, often from a scallop shell. The waters of baptism as related in the text (Luke 3:15-22) are carefully controlled by the artist so as to not detract from either the Savior or his fur-clad cousin. It's a far cry from a situation that would lead God to promise that "when you go through the waters I will be with you, and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you" (Isaiah 43:1-7). It's hard to imagine that God would need to promise to be with anyone in ankle-deep water. But the path through those waters of baptism led to the cross and Jesus' anguished cry that God was nowhere to be found.

As artists have managed their images, perhaps we in Christ's church have managed baptism to the point that its waters no longer seem even dangerous enough to warrant our careful attention. We use a careful dribble of water or step down smooth-surfaced steps into a carefully filled pool. And we believe these tidy, manageable actions symbolize our being named as Christ's own and grafted into the body of Christ. Annie Dillard wrote about worship: “On the whole, I do not find Christians, outside of the catacombs, sufficiently sensible of conditions. Does anyone have the foggiest idea what sort of power we so blithely invoke? Or, as I suspect, does no one believe a word of it? The churches are children playing on the floor with their chemistry sets, mixing up a batch of TNT to kill a Sunday morning. It is madness to wear ladies’ straw hats and velvet hats to church; we should all be wearing crash helmets. Ushers should issue life preservers and signal flares; they should lash us to our pews. For the sleeping god may wake someday and take offense, or the waking god may draw us out to where we can never return.”  [Teaching a Stone to Talk: Expeditions and Encounters (New York: Harper & Row, 1982), pp. 40-41.]

Perhaps we would be better served (and have more truth in advertising for the claims baptism makes on our lives) if our baptismal images were more like Maggi Hambling's "Wave" paintings. Hambling's paintings are inspired by the artist's experience of the gigantic waves that crash onto the sea wall in Southwold, Suffolk, England. The paintings are often large, measuring over six by seven feet, allowing viewers standing in front of the paintings to feel the size and power of the waves. This is no ankle-deep wading. These are waves that threaten to overwhelm. This is the voice of the Lord that is over the waters, thundering over mighty waters (Psalm 29:3). This is drama and danger enough to make one search for and be grateful for the ongoing presence of God.

Top: Maggi Hambling. Wall of water V. 2011. 78 x 89 inches. Bottom: The artist in the "Walls of Water" exhibit at the National Gallery, London, England. 

For additional thoughts on baptism and the baptism of Christ click here, here, or here.

For an interesting illustration of Isaiah 43:1, see this week's Art&Faith Matters' Facebook post.

Matthew 2.1-12: Look! Up in the Sky!

The story of Epiphany (Matthew 2:1-12) is, in one sense, about a quest...to follow a star...no matter how hopeless...no matter how far.* That star that guided the magi has long been the subject of speculation and investigation by scientists and theologians and poets and dreamers. The months of December 2018 and January 2019 have seen (or will see) several astronomical events. On December 22, the night after the 2018 winter solstice, a full moon (the "Cold Moon") lit up the sky. On the morning of December 21, Mercury and Jupiter rose together. The peak of the Ursids meteor showers occurred during the same several days.

On January 20-21, 2019, skywatchers in the Americas, Greenland, Iceland, western Europe and western Africa will see a Super Blood Wolf Moon eclipse. This will be the last total lunar eclipse until May 26, 2021. The full moon is called a supermoon as it will appear bigger and brighter in the sky. As the shadow of the earth moves between the sun and the moon, earth's shadow will cover the moon, the sun's light will bend toward the moon, turning it blood red. It is called a Wolf Moon because it is the first full moon in January.

Giotto di Bondone. Adoration of the Magi. 1303. Scrovegni Chapel, Padua, Italy. 

In 1303 Giotto di Bondone covered the walls of the Scrovegni Chapel with two fresco cycles. One  tells the life of Jesus; the other, the life of Mary. Giotto's composition for the Adoration of the Magi includes the Bible's Star of Bethlehem but portrays it as a comet...with a tail as big as a kite. Halley's Comet had been visible in the sky during November and December of 1301. The artist was no doubt influenced, even inspired, by the heavenly activity, even two years later when he began the Scrovegni frescoes. The comet streaks across the sky leading the eye of the viewer to a point directly over the place where Jesus is. Just like in the Bible story.

The European Space Agency returned the favor when they launched a space probe whose mission was to study the nucleus of Halley's Comet. Launched in July 1985 and coming within 370 miles of the nucleus in March 1986, the probe was named Giotto. Giotto's on-board color camera took photos of the comet.

The Psalmist (Psalm 19) reminds us that the heavens are telling the glory of God:

God’s glory is on tour in the skies, God-craft on exhibit across the horizon.

Madame Day holds classes every morning, Professor Night lectures each evening.

Their words aren’t heard, their voices aren’t recorded,

But their silence fills the earth: unspoken truth is spoken everywhere.

God makes a huge dome for the sun—a superdome!

The morning sun’s a new husband leaping from his honeymoon bed,

The daybreaking sun an athlete racing to the tape.

That’s how God’s Word vaults across the skies from sunrise to sunset,

Melting ice, scorching deserts, warming hearts to faith. (The Message)

The magi were used to looking at the sky. Because of that they were among the first recorded to show to the world who Jesus was. Perhaps we should be looking up more than we do.

*Lyrics from "The Impossible Dream" from Man of LaMancha. Lyrics by Joe Darion.

For additional thoughts on Isaiah 60:1-6, click here.
For additional thoughts on Matthew 2:1-12, click here, here, and here.

This week on Art&Faith Matters on Facebook...an eclipse to accompany the comet in the life of Jesus. The heavens are telling.

Isaiah 60:1-6: Epiphany and Baptism: A Story of Getting Up

Arise, shine! directs the prophet. For your light has come, and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you.. The text is the reading from Hebrew scripture for Epiphany B (Isaiah 60:1-6), but the verbs also work well with the neighboring liturgical day, the Baptism of the Lord. One of the things they all have in common is movement.

The magi must actually prepare for and then set out on the journey. If they want to see for themselves, no amount of talking about astronomy or geography or history is going to get the answers they want. They have to get up and go. 

At his baptism, Jesus doesn't stay in/under the water. He must move up from or out of the water. It is as Jesus comes up out of the water that the dove descends and the voice is heard (who hears the heavenly voice depends on which gospel you are reading). 

When people are healed by Jesus, they get up and go back to the work they were doing or they join Jesus on the way. Jesus says things like, "Take up your bed and walk." Even Saul, when blinded on the road to Damascus, gets up off the ground and is led by the hand to Damascus. 

So, too, the people of God must move. Arise! Get up! Shine! Reflect the glory of God that shines on you! Now is the time to move.

 "Resurrection" from Vysehrad Gospel. 1085. Prague: Klementium.

But if you don't want to get up now, the day is coming when you must. An African-American spiritual describes the "Great Gettin' Up Morning", the day of judgement that is coming. On that day we are all going to have to get up. Gabriel will blow his silver trumpet to wake the sleeping children. Will you still be asleep? Or will you be on the move?

This week on Art&Faith Matters' Facebook page, see the ominous qualities of Hieronymous Bosch's Adoration of the Magi. Click here.

For other thoughts on the Epiphany readings, click here and here

Journeying Toward Jesus

The liturgical and non-liturgical calendars coincide this year to put Epiphany and Baptism of the Lord in exceedingly close proximity. The story of the Magi (Matthew 2:1-12) is familiar as it, along with the Baptism of the Lord (Matthew 3:13-17), is read every year. Visitors who are "not from around here" arrive at the house where Mary and Joseph and their newborn baby are living. The liturgical themes of Epiphany are many, and they multiply when Epiphany is considered in light of baptism.

Italian painter Stefano di Giovanni (called Sassetta) painted the magi story in what is now two panels (bottom image). At the top of the panel the magi process away from the pink city of Jerusalem where they have consulted with Herod and his court. They move from the right side of the canvas toward the left, moving downhill (and out of the picture space) as they go. In the bottom panel the magi arrive at the house (cave?) where Mary sits in the Roman-arched doorway with baby Jesus on her lap.

Seeing the second panel helps explain the presence of the gold star under the feet of the magi's horses. The beams from the star trail downward toward the bottom edge of the top panel. It is far from the usual arrangement. The star's location is explained when the two panels are seen together. The star is directly over the head of the Christ child in the bottom panel - exactly where Matthew's gospel says it will be.

The goal of the magi was to find the king who had been born. They knew of the king and set out on the journey. They did not know the destination but trusted they would find him. And they did. Were they dreamers? Foolish? No doubt many people thought they were both those things and more for embarking on such a trip based only on a star.

Sassetta's version of the story give the journey a bit of a circus air. In the journey panel, just to the right of the left edge, a monkey rides on the back of a donkey. Several people and horses behind him, a man wearing a pink tunic sits on his horse while a hunting falcon rides on his arm. Dogs - one white and one brown - travel with the group. The landscape is barren, with only the occasional skeletal tree, though several kinds of birds are in the picture (more on that on Facebook this week).

At his baptism Jesus was called into ministry and began a journey that seems every bit as much the journey of a dreamer as the journey of the magi. He knew his purpose and followed the road to its end. Perhaps you have to be more than a bit of a dreamer to set out on a journey like that.

Maybe. But maybe all you have to be is baptized. In many ways we find ourselves in both stories. For surely baptism is both our call to ministry and our call to a journey to find Jesus that we may worship him.

(Top) Sassetta. Journey of the Magi. 1433-1435. NY: Metropolitan Museum of Art. http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/works-of-art/43.98.1/
(Bottom) Sassetta. Journey of the Magi (Met) at top. Adoration of the Magi. 1433-35. Siena: Chigi-Saracini Collection. http://eng.chigiana.it/explore-the-academy/collections/

This week's Art&Faith Matters Facebook post is for the birds. Or about the birds, anyway. Click here for more information.

For additional thoughts on Epiphany, click here.

Luke 5.1-11: Fishing Boat

Note: Sunday, February 7, 2016, can be observed as Epiphany 5C or Transfiguration Sunday. This post looks at the gospel reading for Epiphany 5C. The post considering Transfiguration can be found here.

It would be easy to be sidetracked with fish. Certainly everyone who has ever dropped a hook in the water could be sidetracked. The gospel reading for Epiphany 5 (Luke 5:1-11) begins with Jesus again pressed by crowds and seeking refuge in a boat. As the reading continues, Jesus tells the disciples to put out to deep water, despite the fact that they had been fishing all night and caught nothing.

Finally, they catch something. Many somethings. Lots of fish. But there may be an even more interesting detail than a big catch of fish. That has to do with how these fish were brought into the boat. The fish start coming in to the point that the nets start to break. So they do something interesting (and often overlooked). They call their partners to help them.

Fishing wasn't the solitary activity of baiting a hook and dropping the line in the water. It was a group effort requiring teamwork. Nets were dragged through the water, and fish were trapped in the net before being pulled into the boat. Imagine a net full of fish. It isn't something that one person could do.

Perhaps that was the lesson the disciples were to take with them as they began to catch people (and note that here Jesus doesn't say that they will be fishing for people but rather that they will be catching people). When there are so many people, will we not need our partners? Will it be impossible to pull in all the fish by ourselves or with only the people in our boat? Will we need to call our partners in other boats?

How would you grade the artist below at capturing this aspect of the Epiphany 5 gospel reading? How do we do at calling our partners so that we may bring more fish into the boat?

Raphael. Miraculous Draught of Fishes. Cartoon. 1515. Victoria and Albert Museum, London.

For thoughts on Psalm 138, click here.

For thoughts on Isaiah 6:1-13, click here. 

In the Beginning

It's an old art history trivia question that speaks to the gospel reading for Christmas 2C (John 1:1-18). Here's the set up: in Michelangelo's Creation of Adam, we know that God's right hand reaches out to the newly created Adam. (Detail below.) Here's the question: where is God's left hand and arm? Don't look at the full view until you've made a guess.

Michelangelo. Creation of Adam (detail). Sistine Chapel, 1508-1512. Vatican City, Italy. http://mv.vatican.va/3_EN/pages/CSN/CSN_Volta_StCentr.html

OK, now look at the bottom of the page for the full view. Was it what you thought? And, actually what is it? Obviously it's God and a number of other figures floating in space on a cloak-like background. God's left arm is around a female figure, and God's left hand is touching an infant. Who are they?

There is no definitive answer, but there are theories. All the theories wind up with the infant as the Christ Child, so it is the identity of the woman that shapes the meaning of the composition. One theory identifies the female figure as Eve, waiting her turn to be created. Eve, whose name means life, will be the mother of all humanity. A second casting of the figures calls the female figure Mary, who will be the literal mother of Jesus. A third option is that the female figure is Wisdom (see Proverbs 8:22ff.). Yet another proposal is that the female figure is the Holy Spirit (ruach, a feminine noun, in the Hebrew). With this interpretation, the figures become the Trinity, all three persons present in the beginning.

Each of the above propositions concludes with the identification of the infant as the Christ Child. The interpretations by turn feature the Christ as the second Adam, the son of God and one person of the Trinity. However it is interpreted, Michelangelo has caused the hand of God to rest eternally on the child. The artist has placed the Word in the beginning, exactly where John's gospel said he was.

On Art&Faith Matters' Facebook page this week...Epiphany! Travel with the magi by clicking here.

Matthew 2.1-12: Epiphany in the Details

What if this is where the story (Matthew 2:1-12) stopped?

Edward Burne-Jones, The Star of Bethlehem, 1887-90. Watercolor and bodycolor,

101 1/8 x 152 in. Birmingham Museums and Art Gallery. http://www.bmagic.org.uk/objects/1891P75

If this is the end of the story, is it enough?

Three magi have walked into the scene. They bring gifts. They represent various ages and various races. They are pilgrims. Melchior is a knight in armor, so perhaps we are supposed to see him as a crusader. Balthasar at the right wears a robe decorated with a ship, an indication of his journey. We might see Gaspar's white hair and beard as an indication of his wisdom.

The three have followed the star, here carried in the hand of an angel. They stand before the Christ child, Mary and Joseph. The baby shrinks away from the three toward his mother. Do you think this is what they thought they would find at the end of their journey? Are they pleased with the wicker and thatch shelter? Are they disappointed with who and what they find? They have taken off their crowns, and Gaspar's is on the ground. What if the story ends here? Is it enough?

Though they have found their way to the Holy Family, they have not yet bowed down and worshiped Christ. Not yet acknowledged this baby as the king they were seeking. Will they now? Will they ever?

Burne-Jones has left them as eternal seekers. On the brink of redemption.

It was a story in which the artist saw himself. In a memoir by his wife, Burne-Jones is quoted as saying that the painting was physically exhausting: "...a tiring thing it is, physically, to do, up my steps and down, and from right to left. I have journeyed as many miles already as ever the kings travelled." (G. Burne-Jones, Memorials. 2:209) In the photo he stands in line with the three visitors. Are his brush and palette the gift he brings to the child?

Perhaps this is the story of each of us. Making the journey as we seek God, and getting to the moment. The moment where we must decide about worshiping and presenting our gifts. Will they - and we - make the journey and arrive but never commit, kneel, acknowledge?



For additional thoughts on Isaiah 60:1-6, click here.
For additional thoughts on Matthew 2:1-12, click here and here.

Who are these guys and what is the boat-like object at the bottom right? And what do they have to do with Epiphany? Click here for the Art&Faith Matters Facebook page to read more about the painting and the ship. Click on the Food&Faith Matters link below to find out about a Galette des Rois.