Sacred Night in August

Maybe you'll remember this painting titled Sacred Night by Fritz von Uhde who painted it in 1888-9. We talked about the image last Lent when the work of Von Uhde was our theme. Recently a friend wrote about her devout and elderly mother needing to spend some weeks in a physical rehab. I sent these little rosary mediations (as an audio message) to help her along the way, figuring the Christmas mystery would surely be familiar to her. I think the Incarnation is the central mystery-theme of the Christian life and that we might meditate on it often and not just in December. I've made a few adjustments to the one line meditations for our purposes.

Our Father

Jesus was born in little and insignificant Bethlehem. Every place is important to God — whether it's  Bethlehem or the little room where I live and pray.

Hail Mary

Mary was very young and poor. God notices everything and everyone. God notices me.

Hail Mary

The first guests of the Infant Jesus at Bethlehem were poor, marginalized shepherds. God rejects no one. We do, but God doesn't.

Hail Mary

There was a bright star over the little house of Bethlehem where Mary gave birth to Jesus. The birth of Jesus makes glad the whole world and beyond the beyond!

Hail Mary

The cow and the donkey were in the stable of Bethlehem. Even the animals know who this little child is.

Hail Mary

In Jesus, God now has a human face. God sees us and loves us through the human eyes of Jesus. I'm not invisible to God.

Hail Mary

Perhaps it is naïve, but the artist has filled the night scene with singing angels. They are entering through the holes in the roof and singing their hearts out while sitting on the rafters. What has happened at Christmas is wonderful. God has jumped the distance between the eternity of heaven and earth time. It is amazing! Why are we so silent about it all?

Hail Mary

When the angel asked Mary to be the Mother of Jesus she said yes. Today I will say yes to what God asks of me. I will say yes to the Christ-presence I encounter today.

Hail Mary

The physical birth of Jesus is in the past — a historical moment. But the love born that night is forever — it is true for me and each human person on this planet.

Hail Mary

God came to be with us at Christmas in a new way. I don't have to be afraid — God is with us tenderly all the way in Jesus and Mary.

Hail Mary

Glory be to the Father

Easter Sunday ~ "Touch Me Not" ~ 1894

 

While the painting is titled, "Touch me not," that's not the best translation of Christ's Easter words to Mary Magdalen. I'd add, that translation is not helpful either, as when the Risen Jesus later meets Thomas he tells the apostle to touch his hands, feet and side. A more accurate translation of Jesus' words is, "Do not hold onto me."  

Jesus is instructing Mary not to hold onto him because his glorification has not yet been fully realized. That glorification began when Jesus was "lifted up" on the Cross, and then advanced in the Easter Resurrection. But Jesus needed to Ascend to the Father — to take his place in the Trinitarian love from which we are loved and invited to love in return. "Do not hold onto me" might mean we are not to hold on to a too small idea of who Jesus Christ is. Do not hold onto ideas that keep me from being my own new Christ-person.

How are we to celebrate Easter this year of such unspeakably awful suffering, destruction, death and grief? The Easter message insists on life and the goodness of life. Can I be creative in finding ways to make life happen more abundantly? A photo appeared this week of a Ukrainian woman planting white tulips outside her utterly destroyed apartment building in Kyiv—a seemingly miniscule insistence on life as fear and death press in. What does she have within her?

Here is my Easter Blessing-Prayer for you and your dear ones today.

The strengthening of April's sun be yours.

The daffodil's endurance through the frost-threatening night be yours.

The delight of the bee-foraged, crocus-filled field be yours.

The restoration of ground-thaw be yours.

The inner power of the Wren's song be yours.

The forgiveness of the exploited earth be yours.

The courage of roots until the soil's warming be yours.

The wonder of Robin's return be yours.

The angel's Easter greeting of life be yours.

The hastening joy of the myrrh bearing women be yours.

The loveliness of Christ's friendship be yours.

The peace greeting of the Risen One be yours.

Woman, Why Are You Weeping? ~1892-94

 

Fritz Von Uhde  knows it's spring — the trees have not yet filled. Mary is inconsolable. She is dressed as a poor woman of the artist's time. Jesus is poorly dressed. He has come up from behind her, touching her arm, perhaps even stopping her as she walks. He has a gardener's sunhat on his back and a walking stick. His head is tilted towards her. There is a dawn sky. It is a tender moment. 

I've looked carefully at the ground by Mary's left foot. I think she's dropped the oil flask she was carrying to the tomb. The synoptic Gospels (Matthew, Mark, Luke) tell us she went there to complete the "embalming" of Jesus' body which was cut short on Friday as the Sabbath began with sundown. The Gospel of John tells it more simply: 

Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the entrance." John 20:1

Then the story is interrupted and we're told that Mary ran off to tell Peter and John that the body of Jesus had been taken away. "We do not know where they have put him," she says. It's interesting because in another gospel place that's Pilate's line, that the disciples had stolen the body of Jesus. Notice Mary Magdalene also says "we" do not know where they have put him. Who's we? Is it the early Christian community? Is it us? So Peter and John go to see for themselves. It takes seven verses to tell this part. The Mary story then picks up again when the disciples leave and she remains alone, beginning with verse 10.

Mary is crying and bends to take a second look into the tomb. That's when she encounters the two angels who only ask her why she's crying. They make no announcement of Jesus' rising. He will do that himself. In verse 15 Mary turns around and Jesus is standing there, but she doesn't recognize him. Jesus asks her, "Who is it you're looking for?" And isn't this interesting, do you remember in John 1:36 when Jesus asks the same question of John the Baptist's disciples who are following Jesus. Jesus turns and asks them, "What are you looking for?" 

There's a new commercial on TV these days—I'm pretty sure it's for a travel company. The actor appears walking. Maybe he's walking out of the covid shutdown era and inviting people to start taking up the old life. While walking he says, "Stuff, we love stuff and there's a lot of really great stuff out there." He then walks through different sets or scenes which offer "stuff" we can buy. Finally he opens a door and walks onto a dawn beach expressing his hope that we won't ever regret the "stuff" we didn't buy. Meaning—buy the fabulous travel options he's offering.

A commercial like this really illustrates the culture we live in: To be really alive, is to go shopping. But this twice repeated Jesus question, "What/Who are you looking for?" is posed to us too, who are the disciple wanna-bees of Jesus. What am I looking for? Have I found it? 

The Entombment of Christ ~ c1900

 

Fritz von Uhde has depicted the after-sunset-procession when the body of Jesus, having been taken down from the cross, was placed in the garden-tomb. A disciple carries a torch so they can more easily find the way. Two friends carry the feet of Jesus. We see another woman who I think is Mary Magdalene. We'll see her in these clothes in an Easter morning painting. And right in the middle (and partially hidden) we see Mary, Jesus' Mother, walking along. She holds the right hand of Jesus in her own hand, bringing it close to her face. 

But the tomb to which these dear ones are taking Jesus' body is not an ordinary tomb. For us, it isn't a place of death and decay. Remember, the women of Easter morning expected an encounter with death. But this tomb is life-giving. It is a tomb of victory and freedom. The Eastern Christian liturgy of Holy and Great Friday makes this announcement:

O Happy Tomb! It received within itself the Creator, as one asleep, and it was made a divine treasury of life, for our salvation who sing: O God our Deliverer, blessed art Thou.

O God our Deliverer, blessed art Thou. The life of all submits to be laid in the tomb, according to the law of the dead, and He makes it a source of awakening, for our salvation who sing: O God our Deliverer, blessed art Thou.

Christ's tomb, a source of our awakening? But awakening to what?

Maybe awakening to my Baptism, when, in the water I was introduced to Christ and which set me on the path of being his disciple. Awakening to the new family God is beginning in Christ-Risen. Awakening to the great unfolding of Christ's glorification — Calvary, Easter, Ascension, and from which glorification we are all loved. Awakening to the one thing that matters, which is learning Christ's way of life and love. 

Final thought: If Christ leads me to a politician, political party or news-entertainment source — I've gotten it wrong.

The Last Supper ~ 1886

 

We call it the upper room, but Fritz von Uhde has put the room on the downstairs level. We see the outside low horizon a little ways off. The windows, which admit a great deal of light, are downstairs windows. It's not night time. Hmm. Maybe listening to Jesus is like admitting light to my life. The little candle chandelier hanging above the table isn't lit. There are eleven apostles at the table. We see more of their faces than we do of Jesus profiled face.

Notice there is a backless chair in the bottom left corner that has been pushed away from the table—an empty dish remains. And way off in the upper right corner we see Judas in shadow. 

But we get a pretty good look at the faces of the others. We can study each of them. Their hands may be as telling as their faces: one stands with hands clasped, others with clenched hands, folded hands, anxious hands. One fellow has his hand over his mouth as if silenced by what he's  hearing—"Love one another as I have loved you." One apostle has his head in his hand and his eyes wide open. Another is overwhelmed and resting his head down on his folded hands which are braced on the back of Jesus' chair.  

And right in the middle of it all we see Jesus holding the cup with both hands. I'd suggest Jesus has finished speaking about, "This is my body; this is my blood." Now he is telling them that the cup will be emptied. He's talking about Calvary where he'll be emptied of his own life poured out for the world. And if I'm going to take my place at the table, and we do at every Mass, I've got to be emptied too. Emptied to make room for God's whole life. But emptied of what? That's an important, personal question. Maybe...

Emptied of so much anger (much of which we can conceal).

Emptied of anxiety and ruminating on the past, so much so, I miss TODAY.

Emptied of nursing old wounds,

old resentments,

old failures and mistakes,

old regrets.

Emptied of the long ago stories I rehearse which reinforce old ideas about myself and others.

Emptied of useless information.

Emptied of enervating anxieties.

Emptied of false loyalties and affiliations.

Emptied of  the thinking of divisive groups and personalities I've absorbed, so that I live in agitation and fearsome predicting.

Can you feel the inner freedom that might come with this kind of self-awareness and self-emptying?

The Gleaners ~ 1889

 

Fritz non Uhde had an evolved social consciousness. He knew societal and ecclesial right from wrong.  This painting which shows children at work is a reflection of that awareness. As we've seen elsewhere this Lent, he never sentimentalizes or romanticizes children. They are never adorable and precious.

Cyrus McCormick invented the mechanical reaper (grain harvester) in 1831. So these young people are picking over a field that's already been harvested. Gleaning then is picking over a field for left overs — bits of grain or straw.  Shouldn't they be in school? Or out playing? We shouldn't imagine that they were always welcomed on someone else's property. Is that the land owner's house down below in the valley? Will he come out blasting a rifle in the air and yelling, "Get off my property or I'll call the police."  

Where does your mind go while looking at this painting?  I'm thinking of the migrant workers who spend whole days bent picking lettuce, broccoli, strawberries. Let's be honest, they are often hated by people who say they're taking away our jobs but who themselves could not spend an hour bent over let alone a day or who would think it beneath them to do this kind of work. 

It's not uncommon to see pictures of people who have lost their homes to the new super storms—return to where their homes were and "glean" the area looking for something salvageable. Of course, there are the pictures of people in Ukraine bent over picking up the dead or mothers bent over their little children while fleeing shells and rockets. We haven't even seen people returning to their burned-out, bombed-out cities. The pictures suggest there would be nothing left to pick over. 

Much of the world if comprised of gleaners. There are children who live on garbage mountains—who scrape around huge heaps of trash looking for bits of cardboard, tin, aluminum or anything recyclable that could garner them pennies. These children, who stand and breathe in toxins, are often full of disease. 

These are pro-life concerns. Children gleaning is not a charity issue, but a justice issue.  Pope Paul VI said, "If you want peace, create justice."  Why can't we make that happen? What's happened to our hearts that often those who suggest ways of addressing these problems beyond charity is called communist, socialist, idealist, naïve. I often wonder if these people even know what these words mean?

"When I give food to the poor, they call me a saint. When I ask, 'Why are there poor?' they call me a communist." Dom Helder Camara ~ Brazilian Bishop (1909-1999)

Nordsee (Zandvoort) ~ 1882

 

Actually, this is a special painting because it's a Fritz von Uhde landscape—one of the very few. A beach-scape. We see the horizontal sandy beach, then the sandy shore line, then the waves, then the thin line of the horizon and something of the sky. There's a beached wooden ship. Maybe it's waiting for the tide to come back in and lift it. Or is it a shipwreck? We can see the effects of the brisk wind—the waves are white-capped, the beach chairs with billowing cloth canopies and clothes snapping on the line in the bottom right corner. Those are perhaps changing rooms next to the boat and someone's big dog.

It's a wonderful painting of earth, wind, water and sky. Franciscan Brother Rufino Aragoza is a musician and composer. He has created a pleasant piece called Sacred Creation that's nice to hear as we consider this painting. Click here to listen to the song. (You can skip the ads). It's the refrain that I find to be especially lovely: Sacred the land, sacred the water, sacred the sky, holy and true, sacred all life, sacred each other; all reflect God who is good.

Going Home ~ 1894

 

 

What tension there is in this painting. It is titled Going Home. But where is home? This mother and child are walking along a rutted road. There is nothing to the left (a barren field with a weedy ditch border) and nothing to the right (except a cow field). Is that their home up the road on the left? How desolate. The little girl looks tired, but do unhappy thoughts fill her mind as well? The mother is patient — not dragging the child but seeming to speak encouraging, consoling words. "Not to worry, everything will be all right." 

But why did the mother and child leave home in the first place? The basket seems pretty empty — had they gone to a town or city to sell things? She's a young mother, did she have to go and take care of ailing parents? Had war, famine or disaster displaced them for a time? Is it dawn or dusk?

I can ask myself, where is home? I might think immediately of the building I live in and the people I live with. Yes. But then of course, I am aware of the millions of persons around the world who have lost that kind of home — the building gone; the people scattered.  It seems to me then that home is an interior place. It is the interior place where I attend to the things that are meaningful for me most personally: the music I listen to, the books I read, the garden I tend, the art I appreciate, the exercise I take, the relationships I cultivate, the prayer and faith I live in. Of course, what's meaningful for me may well be keeping a house, preparing meals for my family — but it's the interior place from which those energies originate that we can most fully call home.

I wonder if that's what the artist hopes we'll consider —the interior road leading to the building ahead, yes, but more than that, to the inner sense of home. Jesus knows that home is an interior place: 

"Anyone who loves me will observe (follow, embrace) my teaching, and my Father will love him (her) and we will come and make our home with him." John 14:23

Though desolation can be all around me, carrying the sense of loss and insecurity, I want to walk that interior road to home. But I don't want to take the easy way out by saying something like, "Oh yes, there's all this trouble here but heaven is my true home." A lot of people have collections of religious one-liners that are supposed to solve the big questions. Real searchers are not satisfied with that. Young people certainly aren't. I don't want to live a surface-y religious/spiritual life. What's meaningful to me today, right now? That's home and God is there.

The Sermon on the Mount

Here we see Jesus seated on a hill top. Women and children have first place. The men are coming up from behind. They have come from work; their farm tools still in hand. See how the artist has depicted the listeners in contemporary dress. He wants the viewer to understand that Christ is for every time and every place. Christ is not a frozen memory from a long time ago. Another person interested in the message and meaning of Jesus to be grasped by his own time was J.B. Phillips 20th century Anglican cleric, author and translator of the New Testament. He writes in the introduction of that translation,

"I began the work of translation as long ago as 1941, and the work was undertaken primarily for the benefit of my Youth Club, and members of my congregation, in a much -bombed parish in South East London."

After the war, he was transferred to a "large and scattered parish" the demands of which slowed his translation project. It wasn't until 1958 that the work was completed and published. The Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5,6,7 ) begins with the Beatitudes. Here is the J.B. Phillips translation of those well known verses

1 When Jesus saw the vast crowds he went up the hill-side and after he had sat down his disciples came to him. 2 Then he began his teaching by saying to them, 3 How happy are those who know their need for God, for the kingdom of Heaven is theirs! 4 How happy are those who  know what sorrow means, for they will be given courage and comfort! 5 Happy are those who claim nothing, for the whole earth will belong to them. 6 Happy are those who are hungry and thirsty for true goodness, for they will be fully satisfied. 7 Happy are the merciful, for they will have mercy shown to them. 8 Happy are the utterly sincere, for  they will see God. 9 Happy are those who make peace, for they will be known as children of God! 10 Happy are those who have suffered persecution for the  cause  of goodness, for the kingdom of Heave is theirs! 11 And what happiness will be yours when people blame you for my sake! 12 Be glad then, yes, be tremendously glad—for your reward in Heaven is magnificent." 

In the painting, Jesus underscores this God-referred life with the raising of his hand and the pointing upwards of his finger. 

We don't see twelve male apostles right up front but but women and children. The men are there, for sure, but in the background — as if they're late with their farming tools. The invasion of Ukraine is about soldiers, yes, but it's first about millions of women and children — mothers and grandmothers who are getting the children (the future ) to safety. 

It is called The Sermon on the Mount. The sermon (Jesus' teaching) matters. But so does the setting —the hills themselves. Do you remember the psalm: "I lift up my eyes to the hills from whence cometh my help? My help cometh even from the Lord who hath made heaven and earth." Psalm 121:1-2

 

Mealtime Prayer ~ 1885

 

"God's style has three aspects: closeness, compassion and tenderness. This is how he draws closer to each one of us." Pope Francis

I've lost count — these wooden chairs around the table appear in so many von Uhde paintings. It's the rustic, un-upholstered chair of the poor. We see an oil lamp from the ceiling which won't offer much light when it's lit. The walls of the house are soot covered; the tile floor is old and worn. There's a room beyond. A cat is scooting under a side table. Are there mice in the house? 

The children's dishes are lined up. The boy in the center at the far side of the table looks on. The littlest girl is watching her mother who is about to serve. We see the mother in profile. Her hair is up for her working in the kitchen. She's putting the serving bowl down, but her eyes are on Jesus. The devout grandparents are on the far side of the table. The young father, wearing heavy wooden shoes, bows humbly without taking his eyes off Jesus. He hospitable gesture for Jesus to sit is very lovely.

This is a remarkable painting—full of heart. Why did the Catholic hierarchy call it sacrilegious? Maybe they condemned it simply because a Protestant created it. I can't think of anything to say except I wish churches would stop labeling and condemning other people. Do you remember the Easter-night words of Jesus to the two apostles he met on the road to Emmaus: "Oh, how foolish you are, how slow of heart to believe in all that the prophets have said!" Luke 24:25. The only thing that really matters is your response and mine — that I would not be slow of heart.

Notice there's a bread roll at the place where Jesus will sit. I expect it is an image of the Eucharist. No one owns the Eucharist, so of course, Fritz von Uhde had his own understandings about Communion—surely so deep and personal that he went to the trouble of putting the bread on the table in the first place. Let's be sure to stop all talk of other peoples' understanding of the Eucharist to be deficient or false, because lots of people around the world (and not just Catholics and the Greeks) take seriously the words of Jesus, "This is my body, do this in remembrance of me." 

"I never expected much of the bishops...In all history popes and bishops and abbots seem to have been blind and power-loving and greedy. I never expected leadership from them. It is the saints who keep appearing all through history who keep things going. What I do expect is the Bread of Life and down through the ages there is that continuity."  The Servant of God Dorothy Day ~ 1968

 

Christ Preaching ~ 1903

I think this might be a draft or sketch for the huge painting above the altar in the Lutherkirche. Jesus is at the doorway of a second room. His teaching takes us up and beyond the bubble worlds we settle into — the TV politics-entertainment worlds that reinforce our thinking. This doorway is at the top of three steps. I'm reminded of the three steps the priest climbed at the start of the old Mass of my youth. 

Psalm 122:1 (a Song of Ascent) says, "I was glad when they said to me, 'Let us go up to the house of the Lord.'"

Perhaps the artist is symbolizing the going up of a heart-mind to Christ's new teaching. The young woman right up front in the painting seems to be paying the greatest attention. I wouldn't be the first to suggest that women are more spiritually open than men. And of what does that Christ teaching consist? 

The Rev. J.B. Philips wrote in his book, "Your God is Too Small" (1952)

"The truth taught by Jesus Christ is the right way to live. It is not primarily a religion, not even the best religion, but God Himself explaining in terms that we can readily grasp how life is meant to be lived." 

Christ's "right way to live," is often difficult, requiring honesty and self-knowledge.

Barbara Brown Taylor is an Anglican priest who has referred to herself as a "Spiritual Contrarian" which means, "I say things you're not supposed to say." 

Perhaps she had in mind those who want to reduce Christianity and the following of Christ's life-way to simply being "nice" — or however laudable — simply following the Stations of the Cross on the church wall and calling it a day. She writes:

"He did not need people to go to Jerusalem to die with him. He needed people to go back to where they came from and live the kind of lives he had risked his own life to show them: lives of resisting the powers of death, of standing up for the little and the least, of turning cheeks and washing feet, of praying for enemies and loving the unlovable. That would be plenty hard enough for most of them."

At the Window ~ 1890

 

This woman has set up her sewing machine near the window where the light is best. But she's left her table and simple machine to go to the window. It's spring — see the greening trees across the way. I imagine she has left the window open so she can get the fresh air while she works. Has a friend or neighbor called her name from below? Has she realized the time and is looking to see if her husband or children are returning home? Or maybe there's the sound of trouble down below. 

I prefer to think a familiar voice has called to her and she's calling back, "Come on up!" or "I'll be right down to let you in!" Or maybe someone has called up to her, "Forget about work for an hour, let's get  coffee and a piece of cake." At any rate, the picture depicts a very ordinary moment.

Then of course, there's the gospel sense of Jesus calling people: Jesus summoning the apostles at the shore or Matthew in his tax office, Jesus calling Zacchaeus to come down out of the tree, Jesus calling blind Bartimaeus, Jesus calling out Lazarus from the tomb. What about that? Jesus calling me. And calling me for what? Surely not to scold me, but to deepen that friendship which began in the water, at my Baptism. 

Jesus Called a Little Child ~ 1904

 

 

It was at this time that the disciples came to Jesus with the question, "Who is really greatest in the kingdom of Heaven?" Jesus called a little child to his side and set him on his feet in the middle of them all. "Believe me," he said, "unless you change your whole outlook and become like little children you will never enter the kingdom of Heaven. It is the man who can be as humble as this little child who is greatest in the kingdom of Heaven. "Anyone who welcomes one child like this for my sake is welcoming me. But if anyone leads astray one of these little children who believes in me he would be better off thrown into the depths of the sea with a mill-stone round his neck! Alas for the world with its pitfalls! In the nature of things there must be pitfalls, yet alas for the man who is responsible for them!" Matthew 18:1-7

Notice that the artist has not placed Jesus in the Palestine world of two thousand years ago, but in his own contemporary world. St. Matthew begins by telling us that it is the disciples who ask Jesus the question about greatness. So we may imagine the question was made in good faith and not to trick Jesus. But Jesus doesn't answer immediately with words, instead he calls a little child to his side and stood him up in the middle for everyone to see. This is the moment Fritz von Uhde is depicting. Jesus the mother and child are in light. Jesus has taken the child by the hand.

The painting has been signed which might suggest it is finished, though we might think otherwise. At any rate the men on the right seem by contrast not to be on board with Jesus. They seems to be in a darker world. That doesn't mean they are bad, but simply not understanding. "Be like this child" — and they don't get it. But that's how it is with the teachings of Jesus —- we just don't get it. Even priests complain and write off the pope as naïve when his encyclicals open up the teachings of Jesus in some new way, a way they find hard to accept. 

I like how Fritz von Uhde has positioned Jesus as introducing the shy child with his left hand as if to say to these men, "No, really, you need to meet this child. This child has a great deal to teach us about life with God."

Remember, for many years the gospels were simply a collection of Jesus-sayings handed down by word of mouth. When finally it was time to write the gospels (because the original hearers were dying off and the number of believers was increasing and a more handy way of introducing them to the teaching of Jesus was needed) sometimes all the sayings were lumped into one episode. I think that's what's happened here. It's as if everything Jesus ever said about children has been lumped together in one file. The original contexts have been lost and we need to tease out the strands. So we might stay with the first sense — be like children with God. That's doesn't mean stay immature but stay teachable. Be ready to learn. Realize you're little, but desire to be a grown up (matured) before God. "Jesus, grow me up."  

This is a good translation: "unless you change your whole outlook." This is perhaps the most terrifying bit, "Change the way you see things, approach things, deal with things." I recently came across and corresponded with a blogger-nun who I soon felt was talking like a trial lawyer. She thought it was her "job" as she put it, to have everyone hear her true way. Lot's of Christians think they've got the whole thing wrapped up and are even ready to clobber those who see it a different way. This is what's so wonderful about children; they are teachable. They want to learn, but they learn by exploring, questioning, imagining, wondering, playing. Religion isn't supposed to suppress or kill that quality. 

No one owns Jesus. And so here is a Protestant artist depicting Jesus in a new way. A contemporary Jesus — or we might say a Jesus whose teachings are perennial. Not a dogmatic, clericalized, hierarchical or liturgically correct Jesus but Jesus who brings a small child into the light and asks us to change our outlook and to become teachable before God. 

You see the contrast here — there is the fellow on the right wearing his wig and great coat, suggesting his prominence. He's a cultural somebody. Secondly, Jesus features the child (a little ragtag nobody and his drearily dressed mother) and brings them into the center of light. This is the gift of Fritz von Uhde, a Protestant with a new view or insight into Jesus. I'd suggest he was commenting on a whole society, a Christian society, that had failed people. The Catholic Church criticized him for it.  Fritz von Uhde, with a Protestant "take" understood Jesus as addressing a culture and Church which had failed people.  

There are people who tell the pope to stick to religious/spiritual topics and forget the politics. But bringing in people from the margins to the center — featuring the invisible ones, the negligible ones — this is clearly central to the way of Jesus. Or do we think Jesus was just making polite introductions?

O Christ, Our True Dawn

 

Ivan Vladimirov (1869-1947) was a Russian painter (contemporaneous with Fritz von Uhde) whose realist watercolors documented the sadness of the Russian Revolution (1917-1919). This painting is simply titled, The Funeral. It is winter. Snow is drifted up against a blacked-out, boarded up building, suggestive of a whole nation hollowed out by violence. A plain casket is being pulled along the icy road by an elderly vested priest and the dead man's veiled wife. The young son pushes the sled and casket from behind. There are no flowers, only a pine branch. 

Genre painting doesn't pretty things up. It's realistic — even sadly so. Genre painting depicts what takes place ordinarily — every day and every where. I am thinking of the Ukrainian man who was killed while attending to his bee hives. The other man who was blown up while feeding the stray dogs in his shell-shocked city. The hospitalized girl whose head is full of shrapnel — her mother and grandmother killed when the family car was riddled by bullets. The theatre blown to bits even though the word CHILDREN was printed on the roof and surrounding ground.

Vladimirov's painting depicted an early 20th century reality. And here we are, one hundred years later, still causing each other profound loss, sadness, fear and pain. We might wonder — are we even capable of change? 

O Christ, our true Dawn,

who has come to be with us,

to reveal to us the new human person —

in the first light of Sunday,

the Day of Resurrection Life,

from a praising, contrite, grateful heart,

I pray for the world, 

living in the night of doubt, 

suffering, error, ignorance, sin and unbelief.

Transform discord into love,

cruelty into kindness,

lies to your Truth.

Amen.

Man Putting on His Coat ~ 1885

 

Fritz von Uhde was thirty-seven when he painted this interesting picture, Man Putting on His Coat. I'm thinking this scene was not a figment of the artist's imagination, but the capturing of a moment in which the man, who may have sat as a model for the artist, got up to leave. Notice the heavily framed painting and other canvases and papers for sketches on the steps against the studio's windowed-wall. He is a poor man — his coat is frayed as is the underneath jacket he's already wearing. He's neither an old man nor a youngster, but he has a very distinctive face.

Notice the chair on the right behind the man. Maybe it's the chair the fellow had sat on as he modeled for the artist. It's the kind of chair we have seen in other von Uhde paintings, of lower class houses and apartments of the poor. It's the same kind of chair Vincent van Gogh painted a few years later in December of 1888: a rustic wooden straight-backed, armless chair, with a woven straw seat on a clay-tiled floor. Van Gogh intended his painting to be a kind of self-portrait. Even though he painted his chair in bright colors and sunlight, there is a sadness to the painting — he is absent having, left behind his pipe and tobacco pouch on the seat. So a chair of any kind can reflect a variety of feelings and senses.

 

During Lent we're on our way forward to Easter, but the Christian looks backward at the same time — looking back to Jesus in his desert fasting, back to the Last Supper, back to the way of Calvary and the cross, back to the myrrh bearing women of Easter Morning. Can I think back over my life to those moments which stand out, as if frozen. Moments which are particularly beautiful, or where I was being shown or taught something—moments which I would say in hind sight were meaningful. Perhaps they are moments in which God revealed something of himself to me, or when I realized something especially good or deeply human.

Perhaps in this frozen moment when the man put on his coat to leave, the artist may have felt a deep gratitude for this man's presence in his life. Maybe he had come to know the man's story in the long hours they spent together in the studio. Perhaps he had come to know his family and their struggle or sensed his goodness, helping him to become an artist whose paintings are heart felt.

Fishermen's Children in Zandvoort ~ 1882

 

This painting has an interesting title that may cause us to wonder. These are the children of fathers who are fishermen. Fishermen are often away for long stretches of time. Where are the boys? Are they out fishing with their fathers? Do only boys go to school? What of these young girls? 

It is said that this painting was Fritz von Uhde's experiment with plein air (outdoor) painting. The girls are sitting in what appears to be a little brick-paved courtyard. Except for the girl on the far right, who is mending a sock, the others appear to be just standing or sitting around. Have they been told, "Stand here and don't move until I come back," by the mothers who are hanging out the laundry at the end of the path?  Look at the heavy wooden shoes these girls have to drag around. The littlest one in the center looks especially  neglected. The only one smiling is the three-year-old at the far end of the group — she has her doll in a little stroller. Have the older girls on the left wall been punished?  Or have they been assigned to keep an eye on the others? Are they angry, upset, or sadly disconnected? They seem numb and bored.

Genre painting depicts people as they really are, even when they are poor or life is ugly and difficult. Perhaps Fritz von Uhde was making a statement — that the Christian ideal of the equality of persons had not been achieved in his country. Of course, the art "industry" of the day criticized him for depicting life so honestly. New ideas are always criticized, especially when they disturb consciences. 

Zandvoort was originally a quaint fishing village near Amsterdam, Netherlands, Now visitors from all over Europe flock to live on the beach during the summer months.

Looking at this photograph I'm reminded of what Dorothy said to her dog when the tornado dropped them in the land in Oz, "Toto I have a feeling we're not in Kansas anymore."

In our longing for a simpler time, we can romanticize poverty. But poverty was (and is) hard and ugly. The girls in von Uhde's painting wouldn't think poverty is just a sweet and simpler time.

 

Rottach on Lake Tegernsee

Fritz von Uhde didn't paint many landscapes. Remember, he is thought of as a genre painter, that is an artist who depicts ordinary people in the ordinary events of their days. There are no people seen in this painting, though their presence is indicated by the church tower and some nearby houses and managed fields. This painting isn't dated. I'm wondering if it is a later painting when the artist might have been experimenting with impressionist ideas and techniques. 

I like how Fritz von Uhde has us standing just this side of a few young trees. Perhaps the lake is behind us. First he takes us across a little berm or rise, then to a tree-d edge, then to the cluster of buildings, then beyond to the fields bordered with trees, then to the mountain which is fog covered with either snow or clouds at the top. It is a wonderful painting — quiet-ing, restful and inviting. 

Here is a photograph of the Church of St. Lawrence on Lake Tegernsee today. Nothing much has changed. This church which holds about 800 people was built in 1466 and originally staffed by monks. An interesting feature of the building is that windows were placed only on the south side. During the Thirty Years War (1618-1648) the parish placed itself under the patronage of the Mother of God, asking to be spared from enemy attack and destructive weather. The church and village were indeed spared, even through both world wars. Pilgrimages of thanksgiving continue to today. 

 

Older Sister ~ 1883

We don't know who these girls are. The painting's title tells us only they are sisters. They are bundled up a bit and playing piggy back. There is the table we saw in The Picture Book and the straw chair which appears in many von Uhde paintings. The wood plank floor is without carpeting. The walls are sooty or haven't been painted in a long time. But none of this matters. For all that is lacking, they have each other. Helen Keller could not speak, see or hear. Still, she said: "So much has been given to me, I haven't time to consider what has been denied." 

I notice that whenever the artist paints even part of a window he puts a potted plant on the sill. Maybe it's a signature piece that suggests we might always look for the light. There's so much darkness in our world — look for the light. 

Years ago I stayed for two weeks in a Camaldolese Monastery at the top of Monte Corona in Perugia, Italy. Before I went into the hermitage, I asked the guest brother, "What should I leave for my stay here?" He said, "We ask for nothing." I pressed a little further, "But what do you want for my staying here?" Without pausing he said, "Only your comfort." That's the real Christian answer, "Only your comfort." 

This older sister in the painting seems to understand. There are no toys around, no table loaded with food, no other persons in sight, and she picks up her sister up for a classic childhood game. The little girl is obviously thrilled with it all.  "Only your comfort.," the monk said.

Shepherdess in the Dachau Moors ~ 1890

  

Fritz von Uhde was a devout man. We might well imagine he had the 22nd psalm in mind when he painted this picture.

1 The Lord is my shepherd;

there is nothing I shall want.

2 Fresh and green are the pastures

where he gives me repose.

Near restful waters he leads me,

3 To revive my drooping spirit.

He guides me along the right path;

he is true to his name.

4 If I should walk in the valley of darkness

no evil would I fear.

You are there with your crook and your staff;

with these you give me comfort.

5 You have prepared a banquet for me

in the sight of my foes.

My head you have anointed with oil;

my cup is over flowing.

6 Surely goodness and kindness shall follow me

all the days of my life.

In the Lord's own house shall I dwell

fore ever and ever.

And what a contrast this psalm of confidence offers us. God is not a furious ruler who strikes terror in enemies, but the gentle one who carries a shepherd's staff. Here the artist depicts the pastures of repose and the restful waters. I'd suggest the painting's depiction of a shepherdess might be more biblically accurate, as women often assumed responsibility for minding the animals. Then of course, we know the gospel account of the shepherd (Luke 15:5ff) who recklessly goes off looking for the lost or wandering one, who binds it up tenderly, carrying it home. The cup overflowing? Why not the Mass-chalice containing "the blood which will be shed for you and for all."

Fritz von Uhde could not have known, of course, that some decades later (1933-1945) the name Dachau would become synonymous with the longest running Nazi concentration camp where many thousands died: Jews, Jehovah's Witness, gypsies, homosexuals, clergy (mostly Jesuits), Russians, French, Yugoslavs, Chechs. The total number of those who died in that valley of darkness, will likely never be known.

Tobias and the Angel ~ 1902

 

The scene of Tobias walking with the Angel Raphael has been depicted countless times. Here, Fritz von Uhde has had a go at it as well. I think this is a pastel, not a painting. But this is strange as Protestant bibles (and  Fritz von Uhde was Protestant) don't include the Book of Tobit (which relates the angel story) as truly biblical. They may call it apocryphal which means bible-like — good spiritual reading, but not essential.

Here's the story line in short: Tobit has a son named Tobias. Father Tobit goes blind. He sends Tobias on a journey to retrieve money that is owed him. Tobias' mother protests as she's afraid harm will come to the boy along the way. So for protection and direction Tobias finds a companion (Raphael) who will lead him to the man who owes the money. Along the way a fish jumps out of the water and Raphael instructs the boy to to keep the fish guts which will come in handy later. When the two arrive at their destination Tobias meets Sarah who seems to have had a curse put on her — a demon has seen to it that all seven of her new husbands die on their wedding night. YIKES!  Raphael tells Tobias how to turn the fish innards into incense which frightens the demon away. Tobias and Sarah marry and Tobias survives the night. Hooray! They return with the remaining fish parts to cure Tobit's blindness. But this is perhaps the most important part—  throughout the story young Tobias is intent on thanking Raphael for his assistance. Raphael keeps bringing Tobias home the essential truth — it is not he who is to be thanked, but God. Give God the Glory. 

Here the artist depicts a moment in the journey as full of bright, exuberant life. Tobias is a little guy — aren't we all? Even autocrats and war mongers for all their gross prowess and display are little before God. Look at how eager this little Tobias is — hand-holding, energized and attentive to the angel. It's interesting that Fritz von Uhde depicts the Angel Raphael in such a conventional, white-robed, gold-touched and winged way, while he otherwise paints all of his bible figures in contemporary dress. I wonder what prevented him from being more creative. Maybe he figured he had to show Raphael in standard angel apparel so that people wouldn't think this was just two guys going for a walk. 

So what might we make of this story and the image? 

Ours is a paradise world of life and light. "More's the pity" we so degrade it. 

Give God the glory. 

Perhaps I can tell a story of being shown a right path while being led along the way. 

Give God the Glory.  

Can I identify a time when I felt as if heaven (angel like) had taken me by the hand? 

Give God the Glory.  

Can I name a time when my own inner blindness had been healed? 

Give God the Glory. 

Was there ever a time in my life when I know I may have been saved from death? 

Give God the Glory.