Love Like a New-Born Child
Since I first viewed it, I have long been drawn to a painting of the Christ Child by George de la Tour, working in Lorraine, now eastern France, around 1648: The New-born Child. Unlike so many earlier paintings depicting the Christ as a tiny, king-like figure, surrounded by distinguished visitors offering gifts, including incense to be used by all kings and emperors when they would visit the poor towns of their subjects, La Tour depicts a simpler child. A more human child. In fact, none of the usual iconography of halos and such are present, so one might not at first glance recognize this image as a holy picture at all.
Yet, there is the light. The woman looking on, perhaps a mid-wife, is holding a candle, shaded from the viewer by her hand. The way in which that light reflects from the head and shoulders of the swaddled child makes it look as if the light emanates from him – the one evangelist John says is the light and the life of the world and all people. There is a silence and a stillness to the image. His mother and the visitor look down at the equally silent and still infant. Then, there is the swaddling. So still, so pale is the infant, that one might think the swaddling bands to be a funeral shroud, much like those wrapped around the mummies of Egyptian pharaohs. As the visitor looks on, Mary looks at her child with somewhat muted, mixed emotions: humble pride, reverence, joy, tenderness, and a sort of sad apprehension. As reported in the gospel accounts, she ponders these things in her heart.
La Tour, influenced by the Franciscans, presents us with the miracle of the Incarnation of God come to us as one of us, the Light of the World made Flesh and Blood. This infant is like any other new-born child, such that La Tour seems to insist that this child, this Christ is universal, “in and of each one of us, not because he rules the world, but because he chooses to be born just like every one of us.” [i] The swaddling shroud suggests the baby is born to die like one of us as well. And like all of us, this infant is dependent on human love – our love. The same love of Christ that St Francis and his followers spread throughout Europe, serving the poor and neglected folks, and feeding themselves on the scraps they would beg when going from door to door. Francis, like Christ, lived not as a king, not even the life of a rich merchant into which he was born, but a life of servanthood to the lowliest folks like those La Tour depicts in this painting.
It is such simple folks who greet Mary and Joseph as they arrive at the Jerusalem temple some forty days after the birth of their child. The fortieth day is designated as the time to Present a first-born male child to be dedicated to the Lord God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, and to offer a sacrifice for the Purification after giving child-birth, Mary, the infant’s mother. Evangelist Luke tells us that Mary and Joseph purchased a pair of birds to offer for the appointed sacrifice. What Luke does not tell us is that the appointed sacrifice is an unblemished lamb. The birds are an alternative for those people, which was most people, who cannot afford the lamb. Once the birds are purchased, the young mother, her older husband, and their infant child, will be identifiable as poor people. And once they would open their mouths to speak, their distinctly Galilean accent would further identify them as country hicks from the northern region of Israel. [ii]
It is reasonable to think that given how people will look at bird-people they may want to get in and get out as quickly as possible. That is not happening. Before they get to offer the birds, they are approached by an old man. An old man who is waiting to depart this life for the next, but has been assured by the Holy Spirit that he will see the salvation of his people before that day arrives. Not only that, he takes the child from his mother’s arms! And not only that, he becomes a theological and liturgical poet: "Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace, according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel." And not only that, but the old man Simeon is revealed to be a prophet when he declares not only will this child to bring God’s saving grace to Israel, but to Gentiles as well. To the whole world.
Then as he hands the infant back to his mother, Simeon adds: "This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed-- and a sword will pierce your own soul too." Reinforcing the appearance of the swaddling as a funeral shroud. As Mary no doubt ponders all this in her heart, there is an old woman. This old woman was also prophet, Anna the daughter of Phanuel, of the tribe of Asher. After her husband died, she, like the old man, spent day and night at the Temple worshipping, praying and fasting. Suddenly she begins tell everyone awaiting God to do something to save them from the iron rod of Rome that this is the One. This infant is the One for whom we have been praying, fasting and worshipping here day and night.
I want to believe at some point Joseph intervenes to say, “Thank you very much, but we really need to get on with our rites of Presentation and Purification, so we will be on our way.” And he, Mary and the child offer the birds, and return to Nazareth in Galilee, where the child grows up to be strong, and wise, and the Spirit of the Lord was upon him. The experience was anything but still and silent as George de la Tour would paint some sixteen hundred years into the future.
The future. This is what it was all about that day in Jerusalem. The old man and the old woman recognized the future in this child Simeon had snatched from his mother’s arms. Mary could see it too. You can see it in her face as la Tour depicts it the child newly born. Something new was about to happen in Israel. And throughout the rest of the world. Something like the same Spirit would inspire in another young man some 1200 years later. Francis of Assisi.
Francis would hear Jesus on the cross speak to him: Francis, repair my church. The chapel at San Damiano was falling apart, and at first Francis rebuilt it stone by stone. Then Francis realized, it was the Church Catholic, the Church Universal, that was in need of repair, having drifted far from following Christ in serving others and become the power behind the Empire. Francis abandoned his family’s wealth, gathered a following of others who would commit with him to serve the poor – the bird people. In no time at all he had 5,000 followers, and Clare of Assisi gathered women all over Europe as well. Georges de la Tour saw the faithfulness of all these Franciscans and was moved to paint an infant Christ as a new-born child to remind us, one and all, who would ever see his image, that the Light of Christ shines in us all if we are brave enough not to hide it under a bushel.
As Francis prayed before the Crucifix in San Damiano, when we see this painting by La Tour, we see the light of Christ – the light of Christ that shines through and beyond all darkness. We see our common humanity in this infant who is dependent on human love – our love. This Christ is universal, in and of each one of us, not because he rules the world, but because he chooses to be born just like every one of us, shining his light on us and through us so that we, like Francis and Clare, may bring his light and life to others who, like us, are dependent on his love.
May God for us, whom we call Father; God alongside us, whom we call Son; and God within us, whom we call Spirit; help us to bear the light of Christ to those to whom you send us, through and beyond all darkness. Amen.
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