A friend gave this icon to me after my first husband died. The reason it meant so much to me then - and means so much to me now - is because of the asymmetry of Jesus' face: the divine side and the human side. Or, as I so often thought as I gazed at this picture: the side of God that triumphed over my grief and the side of God whose heart broke with mine in my grief.
Samara has often reached towards this icon. I hold her up to it and she touches it and smiles.
The first time she did this was a long time ago. I was holding Samara; she reached for the icon. I said, "Samara, that's Jesus. You don't know who he is yet." And Tim, from the couch, said, "Maybe she does."
And I wondered at those simple words with the sting of tears in my eyes and nose, if Jesus hadn't perhaps come to our little one in some way - in her dreams or in the dark - to bring her comfort.
And then tonight, Samara reached for Jesus again. I held her up to the icon. She slapped the wood. I said to Tim, "She really likes Jesus." And Tim said, "Jesus really likes her."
The people brought children to Jesus, hoping he might touch them. The disciples shooed them off. But Jesus was irate and let them know it: "Don't push these children away. Don't ever get between them and me. These children are at the very center of life in the kingdom. Mark this: Unless you accept God's kingdom in the simplicity of a child, you'll never get in." Then, gathering the children up in his arms, he laid his hands of blessing on them.Mark 10:13-16 (The Message)
3 comments:
Okay Heidi, you had me crying part way through your beautiful blog today and tears just streaming by the end. Thankyou
So beautiful!
Fascinating...just this morning I came across this quote in a book by Arthur Paul Boers (he quotes Belden Lane's _The Solace of Fierce Landscapes_...have you heard of it?):
"The light, seen in the icons of Saint Catherine's Monastery, comes not from beyond human flesh and the suffering to which it is heir, but in and through the experience of pain. The icons convey a profound sense of God's grandeur coming through the broken flesh of Christ and the lives of his saints."
Boers continues: "[Lane] makes the point over and over again that God meets us, works in us, comforts us, and helps us grow in places we least expect--places of pain, brokenness, disappointment, frustration, and disillusion."
Even though Boers writes from a church-conflict context, I resonated with how versatile this imagery is…and how a related image like “Christ Pantocrator” has blessed you with an oasis of solace.
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