The Prodigal Son

(The Return of the Prodigal Son by Rembrandt
van Rijn, 1606-1669, Dutch painter, printmaker,
and draughtsman)

Over the next few days, we will examine the form of love called storge (pronounced stor•gay) or affection for family and kin.

Today’s poem, “The Prodigal Son,” tells of a father’s unconditional love for his son. It was written by John Newton (1725-1807). He is the former slave trader who became famous for “Amazing Grace,” the folk hymn that also examines the nature of forgiveness, his own in this case:

Amazing grace! (how sweet the sound)
That sav’d a wretch like me!
I once was lost, but now am found,
Was blind, but now I see.

The poem recounts the story of one of Christ’s best-known parables. The younger of two sons asks his father for the share of his inheritance, only to squander it all on loose living. Humiliated and desperate, he comes crawling back to his family.

THE PRODIGAL SON

Afflictions, though they seem severe;
In mercy oft are sent;
They stopped the prodigal's career,
And forced him to repent.

Although he no relentings felt
Till he had spent his store;
His stubborn heart began to melt
When famine pinched him sore.

What have I gained by sin, he said,
But hunger, shame, and fear;
My father’s house abounds with bread,
While I am starving here.

I’ll go, and tell him all I’ve done,
And fall before his face
Unworthy to be called his son,
I’ll seek a servant’s place.

His father saw him coming back,
He saw, and ran, and smiled;
And threw his arms around the neck
Of his rebellious child.

Father, I’ve sinned — but O forgive!
I’ve heard enough, he said,
Rejoice my house, my son’s alive,
For whom I mourned as dead.

Now let the fatted calf be slain,
And spread the news around;
My son was dead, but lives again,
Was lost, but now is found.

’Tis thus the Lord his love reveals,
To call poor sinners home;
More than a father's love he feels,
And welcomes all that come.

The Gift

(Adoration of the Magi by Rembrandt van Rijn, 1606-1669,
Dutch painter, printmaker, and draughtsman)

Today is the feast of Epiphany.

“The star they had seen in the East went before them, until it came and stood over the place where the child was. And when they saw the star they rejoiced exceedingly. And they entered the house, and they found the child with Mary his mother, and fell down and worshipped him. And when they had opened their treasures, they offered him gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh.” ~ Matthew 2:10-11

THE GIFT

As the wise men of old brought gifts
guided by a star
to the humble birthplace

of the god of love,
the devils
as an old print shows
retreated in confusion.

What could a baby know
of gold ornaments
or frankincense and myrrh,
of priestly robes
and devout genuflections?

But the imagination
knows all stories
before they are told
and knows the truth of this one
past all defection.

The rich gifts
so unsuitable for a child
though devoutly proffered,
stood for all that love can bring.

The men were old
how could they know
of a mother’s needs
or a child’s
appetite?

But as they kneeled
the child was fed.

They saw it
and
gave praise!

A miracle
had taken place,
hard gold to love,
a mother’s milk!
before
their wondering eyes.

The ass brayed
the cattle lowed.
It was their nature.

All men by their nature give praise.
It is all
they can do.

The very devils
by their flight give praise.
What is death,
beside this?

Nothing. The wise men
came with gifts
and bowed down
to worship
this perfection.

~ William Carlos Williams (1883-1963), American poet and practicing physician

BC: AD

(The Holy Family with Angels by Rembrandt
van Rijn, 1606-1669, Dutch painter, printmaker,
and draughtsman)

BC: AD

This was the moment when Before
Turned into After, and the future’s
Uninvented timekeepers presented arms.

This was the moment when nothing
Happened. Only dull peace
Sprawled boringly over the earth.

This was the moment when even energetic Romans
Could find nothing better to do
Than counting heads in remote provinces.

And this was the moment
When a few farm workers and three
Members of an obscure Persian sect

Walked haphazard by starlight straight
Into the kingdom of heaven.

~ U. A. Fanthorpe (1929-2009), English poet

Head of Christ

(The Head of Christ by Rembrandt van Rijn, 1606-1669,
Dutch painter, printmaker, and draughtsman)

One of the more challenging subjects to put on canvas must surely be Jesus of Nazareth. There are no actual images of him, likenesses made in his lifetime; and yet, there are many images of him, as envisioned by various artists across the centuries.

The Christian faith teaches that Jesus Christ is both Son of God and Son of Man. The artists point to his divinity by adding a shining halo, and to his nature as man by drawing a beard and shoulder-length hair. Both depictions are so familiar that we would recognize him in pictures of almost any setting.

In this painting of Jesus the man, Rembrandt applied the traditional characteristics in composing his face. (His model was a young man from the Jewish quarter of Amsterdam.) But his rendering makes the image new. Rembrandt leads us to a richer understanding of his subject. A skilled portraitist is also a biographer.

HEAD OF CHRIST

What he sees he takes in.
Every human sorrow
fuels the fire that burns
low and steady
in his open heart.

He looked at the leper like this,
imagining the man’s life
before he changed it.

He looked at the centurion and saw
what it must be for a father
to watch his child die.

He looked at the woman by the well,
saw her five husbands, and sent her home
with a promise; at the woman caught
in adultery, and did not condemn her;
at the woman weeping at his feet — knowing
she knew him, who walked the dusty earth
unrecognized — and honored her extravagance.

One might live long
just to be looked at once this way,
judged, forgiven, and blessed,
taken in, recognized — a prayer answered
in eyes that meet longing and assuage it:
“Lord, remember me
when you come into your kingdom.”

~ Marilyn Chandler McEntyre, born 1949, American poet and essayist, from Drawn to the Light: Poems on Rembrandt's Religious Paintings

Abraham and Isaac

(The Angel Stopping Abraham from Sacrificing
Isaac to God by Rembrandt van Rijn, 1606-1669,
Dutch painter, printmaker, and draughtsman)

The story of Abraham and Isaac is one of the most difficult to understand and accept.

As told in the Hebrew Bible and in the Christian Old Testament, the story begins when God asks Abraham to sacrifice Isaac, the only son born to him and Sarah. But before Abraham completes the act, an angel calls out, “Do not lay a hand on the boy. Do nothing to him. I know now that you fear God, since you have not withheld your only son from me.” Then Abraham “looked about and saw a ram caught by its horns in the bush. He went and took it, and offered it as a burnt offering in place of his son.”

What is the meaning of this story?

First, it is a test of Abraham’s trust in God, who had condemned human sacrifice before. It is also the final and conclusive instruction against the offering of human sacrifices to the gods, a common practice among the tribes around the Jews at the time.

Rembrandt made this painting in 1663. It is one of his many Biblical histories where he used as models persons he met in the flourishing Jewish quarter of Amsterdam.

“The psychological truth in Rembrandt’s paintings,” wrote Kenneth Clark in Civilization, “goes beyond that of any other artist who has ever lived. Of course they are masterpieces of sheer picture-making. . . . We used to be told that painting shouldn’t compete with literature. Well, perhaps not in its initial stages. Or, rather, the literary element should not obtrude itself till it has taken the right shape. But when form and content are one, what a heavenly bonus this kind of human revelation can be.”

The first of the two poems below was written and put to music by Leonard Cohen, a Canadian poet and singer and the son of a rabbi. Many of his earlier verses and songs (see the post of September 18) are inspired by the Scriptures.

THE STORY OF ISAAC

The door it opened slowly,
my father he came in,
I was nine years old.
And he stood so tall above me,
his blue eyes they were shining
and his voice was very cold.
He said, “I've had a vision
and you know I'm strong and holy,
I must do what I've been told.”

So he started up the mountain,
I was running, he was walking,
and his axe was made of gold.
Well, the trees they got much smaller,
the lake a lady's mirror,
we stopped to drink some wine.
Then he threw the bottle over.
Broke a minute later
and he put his hand on mine.
Thought I saw an eagle
but it might have been a vulture,
I never could decide.
Then my father built an altar,
he looked once behind his shoulder,
he knew I would not hide.

You who build these altars now
to sacrifice these children,
you must not do it anymore.
A scheme is not a vision
and you never have been tempted
by a demon or a god.
You who stand above them now,
your hatchets blunt and bloody,
you were not there before,
when I lay upon a mountain
and my father's hand was trembling
with the beauty of the word.

And if you call me brother now,
forgive me if I inquire,
“Just according to whose plan?”
When it all comes down to dust
I will kill you if I must,
I will help you if I can.
When it all comes down to dust
I will help you if I must,
I will kill you if I can.
And mercy on our uniform,
man of peace or man of war,
the peacock spreads his fan.

~ Leonard Cohen, born 1934, Canadian poet, novelist, singer, and songwriter

To listen to Leonard Cohen perform this song, click on to this link (you may have to cut and paste):

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8wE6lV0kPcs

The second poem is inspired by Rembrandt’s painting. It provides an additional explanation for this story — the Christian view that this thwarted sacrifice of an only son prefigures the sacrifice of Christ, the Son of God, on the Cross at Cavalry.

ABRAHAM AND ISAAC

He really meant to do it.
All it took was an angel’s merest touch
to stop him, but the boy’s hands
were tied, the father’s fingers
wrapped around his jaw
(perhaps to smother him — one paltry act
of mercy before the fatal slice?).

What kind of God would require
such appalling fidelity?
What kind of father could bear
to imagine the blade
leaving its trail of red
in the tender skin of a throat
no beard has covered?

What would it take?

What must be the magnitude
of a love that would go this far?
The look in Abraham’s eye
is crazed. The angel’s message
relieves him (though all his life
some madness will haunt him,
and Sarah will follow his steps
with darkened eyes).

You don’t have to do this
any more. Another father
will take your place
Another son will be led to slaughter.
The promise will be fulfilled,
Israel’s seed will be planted.
Let him grow old and die.

~ Marilyn Chandler McEntyre, born 1949, American poet and essayist, from Drawn to the Light: Poems on Rembrandt's Religious Paintings

Finishing Touches to a Portrait

(Self-Portrait with a Cap, Open-Mouthed, 1630, one of
almost 90 self-portraits by Rembrandt van Rijn, 1606-1669,
Dutch painter, printmaker, and draughtsman)

This poem is not strictly an example of exphrasis because it does not refer to any specific artist or portrait. Its details, however, help us to understand portraiture — the mysterious way an artist captures on canvas or paper the core of a person’s spirit and character.

FINISHING TOUCHES TO A PORTRAIT

The artist bends to the canvas
to see what is to be seen
close by, withdraws to a distance,
brushes bouqueted in fist.
The head turns this way, that,
knowledge sweet in the eyes.
Wriggling paint on the palette
predicts the brightness
with which she extols the
dejected figure, making
identity more voluble.
With brushtip dares to touch
already created eyes and mouth.
She paints at arm’s length,
wrist-length, finger-length,
and then retires to see
what must be seen from a distance.
Surely with the sight
of more than two eyes,
the agility of more
than ten fingers.

~ Etta Blum (1908-1981), American poet, writer, and translator of Yiddish