The Ecumenical Lectionary doesn’t always get it right. Some days, the assigned readings from the Old and the New Testaments just don’t seem ‘to fit.’ They seem to lack a shared and common theme. You are left wondering why they are paired together?
But…the readings for the Seventh Sunday after the Epiphany do wonderfully come together. Today’s scripture readings are rich in a wealth of memorable words and unforgettable phrases, themes and images. The Gospel reading from Luke, chapter 6, especially, packs a punch! Packs a punch for any of us struggling to map our lives according to the call and the demands of the Gospel and the values of God’s kingdom.
Little time is lost before the words, a theme, or an image, stops the preacher and the listener in our tracks. The scriptures, today, speak directly to us…about how we treat one another…about the role of faith in our lives…about God…and about how we should go about living our lives! I, for one, begin losing my balance when hearing, “love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you,” to find myself flat on my face when told, “give to everyone who begs from you; and if anyone takes away your goods, do not ask for them again.” Indeed, the gospel reading from Luke can take us on a challenging journey through the demands and the power of love.
But…rather than focus on one, or all, of the readings, I want to talk about art.
Churches, both those grand buildings that take your breath away and the small and simpler ones found around the world are filled with art. Many artworks are extraordinarily beautiful, crafted by gifted hands while some of the art is well-meant and honest in character, but lacking that something extra that makes art stand out and speak so eloquently. Stained glass windows quickly come to mind for many of us. But there are paintings, carvings, statues, and more.
A British artist (born in 1827) who died in 1910 painted an iconic image of Christ – an image you would probably recognise. He painted it three times in fact, each with subtle differences, but unmistakably the same image. William Holman Hunt first painted The Light of the World in 1854. Inspired by a verse from John: “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life.” (John 8:12)
It was exhibited at the Royal Academy the same year and immediately caused a sensation. Some who viewed it thought it a noble presentation of our Lord, while others attacked it as too sentimental and Romantic – an example of the excesses of the Pre-Raphaelite school of painting. The 1854 painting is not large (only 231/2 inches by 49 inches). It hangs in the chapel of Keble College, Oxford.
The second painting (completed only a few years later) hangs in the Art Gallery in the city of Manchester.
The third was painted fifty years after the first – in 1903! It is life-sized and mounted in an exquisite Renaissance-style carved gilt frame designed specially for it. It hangs on the wall of the south aisle of St Paul’s Cathedral, in London.
The Light of the World has been called ‘a sermon in a frame.’ The painting is thick with representation and metaphors aimed to speak to the viewer – to get you thinking, questioning – perhaps dreaming – and more. The image has been copied again and again by many artists and has been reproduced in a variety of media. Along with the Ascension and the Transfiguration of our Lord, it is a favourite image for artists working with stained glass and can be found in many churches. One of the windows in the north wall of this building’s nave is a fair representation of the original painting.
It does not reproduce all the elements found in the painting but it captures the mood and the message of the original.
There are two sources of bright light illuminating the painting: the lantern held by the figure of Christ in his left hand – and the light surrounding his head. He wears a pointed crown intertwined with a crown of thorns. His right hand is raised, either knocking, or about to knock on a door. Looking closely at the palm of the hand, you see a scar, a wound. It is the Risen Christ about to knock!
His eyes are gentle and calm yet filled with deep emotion. Surprisingly, he is not looking at the door as you might expect. But his eyes are directly fixed ahead – on the viewer! His figure appears serenely relaxed, yet evidently strong and agile! He betrays no trace of tension and urgency. Nothing in his gaze, nor figure, indicates he will walk off should there be no answer to his knocking. The rough door lacks a handle. It cannot be opened from the outside by the figure who knocks. The door’s nails are rusty; its hinges overgrown with ivy; and a healthy patch of weeds have sprouted across the door’s base. The door has been shut tight for quite some time!
In the background, what might be the morning star flickers in the sky above the head of Christ. And looking at the sky, it is clearly the dawn of a new day. The trees in the background could be apple trees (part of an orchard?), a few apples lay in the bottom corner of the painting near the feet of Christ. Words from the Book of Revelation (3:20) are inscribed on the bottom of the frame: “Behold! I am standing at the door, knocking; if you hear my voice and open the door, I will come into you and eat with you, and you with me.”
I would guess there are many people who have seen The Light of the World by William Holman Hunt (either the original, or a copy of the image) who have been challenged, or comforted, or disturbed.
Spending time with the image does get you thinking, questioning, perhaps dreaming. Who lingers behind the door? Are they frightened to open the door; content to remain safely behind it? Am I the door’s owner hidden away from the new day dawning? O…is it my neighbour, the person who I judge to be in more need of the One who knocks than I? Might it be my world behind the door, the world of the twenty-first century with all its good and wonderful things…and the weight of the harmful baggage of consumerism, individualism, racism?
Where our Victorian ancestors accepted The Light of the World as an illustration of the gospel truth that Christ, that God, does not force himself upon you, but awaits your opening of the door, your reaching out to him, we live in an age convinced that ‘we can make it on our own, thank you very much!’
I want you to take a few moments along with me, right now, to think about, to recall, to recount the pattern of your relationship with God.
Am I (are you) ‘the agent’ in meeting God in our lives?
Am I (are you) ‘the one’ who took the initiative, responsible for whatever I can claim as my knowing God?
Or did God, did Christ, reach out to me (to you) in ways I (and you) could never predict, nor imagine?
Given the rich symbolism, metaphor and meaning found in William Holman Hunt’s The Light of the World (more than I have touched on this morning) the painting illustrates the gospel truth that God reveals himself, makes himself known to us…wanting and waiting for us to respond.
One of the great truths of the painting is the truth at the heart of human experience. It is God who makes himself known! God seizes the initiative, reveals himself and we, by grace, encounter him, ‘know’ him. Both the Old and New Testament scriptures underline this truth. Of course, we might like it the other way around. We seek God, we reach out to God, God responds to us. But any serious reflection on the pattern of our relationship with God will help us see that God takes the initiative and we either respond – or don’t respond.
2025 marks the 1,700th anniversary of the first Council of Nicaea, a city in what is present-day Turkey.
In 325, more than 300 bishops from East and West, from the different historic Churches, gathered there for a council. The Creed (the statement of Christian faith) that was then drawn up is very similar to the one that is still recited today in the liturgy. It is the Creed we will shortly join in singing.
It affirms, among other things, that Jesus “is of the essence of the Father, God of God, Light of Light, very God of very God, begotten, not made…”
It is more than a formula inherited from the past.
Its language may sound archaic to contemporary ears but it connects with what William Holman Hunt genuinely and wonderfully portrays in his painting, The Light of the World –
‘Behold! I am standing at the door, knocking; if you hear my voice and open the door, I will come into you and eat with you, and you with me.’
Amen.
Fr. Ted Hales