When a woman is in labor, she has pain, because her hour has come. But when her child is born, she no longer remembers the anguish because of the joy of having brought a human being into the world. [John 16:21, NRSV]
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The Nativity, 1891 by Julius Garibaldi “Gari” Melchers.
From time immemorial, doing theology could be and often was a dangerous and even life-shortening occupation for some. Theologising that God always puts people before the Law, cost Jesus his life. Claiming Jesus Christ to be the Son of God caused Saint Stephen to be stoned to death. Respecting the immutability of God and insisting upon the subordination of the Son to the Father had Arius excommunicated. In the fourth century Christological controversies, priests and bishops were deposed, imprisoned, mobbed and lynched. In the fifth century, when Pelagius opposed Augustine on the theology of grace and free will, insisting on the human capacity and hence the duty to do good and avoid sin, Augustine hunted this ascetic moralist down and not only had his theology of grace denounced as heresy, but had the holy ascetic monk personally pronounced a heretic as well. To this day, most of those officially banished from the Church are deemed to be beyond the pale of salvation and remain “unsaved”, however holy and ascetic a life they had lived. Church history is replete with instances of religious people in positions of power and influence demonstrating no qualms in committing atrocities against other religious people who happened or dared to hold theological views different from theirs. Jesus had found the religious domain the most unforgiving.
The dangers inherent in doing theology notwithstanding, we must insist that salvation is not entirely the business of God’s. As Luke spotlighted God’s dependency on the consent of Mary for the very idea of Incarnation to begin to work, Matthew drove home the message that upon the active and sacrificial collaboration of Joseph, the very survival of Mary and the infant Son of God she bore in her womb depended.
Now, we want to cast light on the fact that birthing the Word of God, that unimaginable grace of cooperating with God to incarnate Emmanuel – “God with us” (Matthew 1:23) – was a thoroughly exhausting experience for Mary and Joseph.
In John’s vision of the “woman clothed with the sun, with the moon under her feet, and on her head a crown of twelve stars” (Revelation 12:1), she is Mary, the Mother of Jesus who is also the New Eve according to Roman Catholic interpretation. The power of evil, represented by a monster, was all out to destroy the Messiah and his people. The woman’s birth pangs thus symbolize the eschatological woes which precede the appearance of the Messiah. As the woman attempted to give birth to the Saviour, she would be pursued by the horrible monster, the personification of evil. The cosmic battle does not spare humanity the harshness of earthly hardship, however. The fact that the woman had to “cry out in birth pangs, in the agony of giving birth” (12:2) helps us tremendously to appreciate the birthing of Christ as a realistic earthly event. Further, just as the triumph of Jesus Christ will be achieved through failure, and that the Messiah would suffer grievously and be put to death before rising again, those who chose to associate with him would also be destined to suffer. Their life itinerary, like the itinerary of the Master, would move from pain to hope, from darkness to light, and from death to new life. Like Jesus, they too would suffer. The Nativity birth pangs in the vision of John are stark reminders of Mary and Joseph’s hardship at Bethlehem.
Almost every artistic depiction of the nativity that we have seen shows Mary and Joseph kneeling over the manger adoring the Baby Jesus. That might be the case a long while after they had struggled through the anxiety, the labour, and the delivery. What is commonly missing is an honest and truthful representation of how absolutely exhausted Mary must have been, and how terrified Joseph must actually feel at the time.
Breaking that lacuna is a delightful piece by Julius Garibaldi Melchers in his 1891 composition entitled quite simply “The Nativity”. In style realistic and in goal emotive, the artist in this exceptional portrayal of Mary, Joseph and the Baby Jesus offers hints of inevitable struggle in bringing to birth the Word of God. Capturing the scene immediately after the birth of the Savior, Melchers leaves us with much to contemplate.
- Mary the young mother looks utterly spent and exhausted. Neither clothed in fine linen nor given a poised and serene posture typical in classical compositions, Mary the ordinary country girl lies prone on the cold floor, a hint of blood beneath her feet. Showing her upper body collapsed on an unidentified object that leans against the stable wall, her tired eyes tightly shut, and her wearied, drained and almost lifeless face slumped to one side, Melchers portrays a raw picture of a young mother who has just given birth to a boy under extremely primitive and impoverished conditions. Her posture tells of her total exhaustion, both emotional and physical. This is a very graphic telling of a very human story, of how exhausting it is to give birth to a baby. Behind all that, is the unspoken risks and danger to both mother and child where access to a midwife and modern medical facilities was totally non-existent. In high risks and extreme poverty, “the Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14).
- Joseph too, sits there in a stooping posture, evidently exhausted by the entire experience. What is he feeling and thinking? Is he simply grateful that the mother and child have survived the ordeal unscathed? But he also seems dazed, his clasped hands suggesting he is lost as to what to do next. Pensively staring at the child, he seems to be wondering about a whole host of things. An angel of the Lord had appeared to him in a dream before and counseled him not to be afraid to take Mary as his wife, for the child was conceived in Mary through the work of the Holy Spirit. An angel of the Lord will appear to him twice again in dreams. But here and now, Joseph looks bothered by many things. Is he in awe? Is he bewildered by the thoughts of what the future holds for the baby and for them? Is it all too much for him? His expression suggesting concern and perturbation, Joseph looks weighed down by the realization of an overwhelming responsibility and an uncertain future.
- And the baby? Melchers does not show, as do other pictorial representations, the usual adoration by his parents, the shepherds, animals and sometimes the Three Wise Men. The latter would not arrive until a year or two later. Christians know that this Child is the King of kings and Lord of lords (Revelation 19:16), concerning whose birth those beautiful and nostalgic Christmas hymns speak of “Silent Night, Holy Night”. But here, Melchers cuts to the chase: the baby was not given the bed of kings, but was laid in a manger. The life of the Saviour of the world would be anything but a bed of roses. The reality is stark, for from before the night he was born, he was already rejected – “because there was no place for them in the inn” (Luke 2:7). “He came to what was his own, and his people did not accept him” (John 1:11). Yet, from start to finish, his human parents – Mary and Joseph – did not reject him, but protected and took good care of him. The child will go on to live with them in Nazareth, be obedient to them and, under their tutelage, grow to full stature “in wisdom and in years, and in divine and human favour” (Luke 2:51-52).
- Now the Christian viewers of this piece. We are led by Melchers to feel Mary’s exhaustion and Joseph’s bewilderment. Knowing that the Child is Baby Jesus, viewers may at first be surprised to see an “infant lowly” rather than the “Infant Holy”. Even the lantern standing right next to the Baby’s head is dark, though it is purposed to provide light. Evidently, the oil for the lamp has run dry. There is a palpable sense of oppressive darkness in the human condition awaiting liberation. In this smothering atmosphere, Melchers adds one tiny, yet all-important, detail. At once liberating, it relieves our Christian unease in seeing the Incarnation in such raw and earthly terms. Rather deftly, Melchers preserves a divine mystery dimension in portraying the Baby’s head aglow with a brilliant light. It captures brilliantly and announces softly the divine initiative in the salvation of the world. Contrasting the poverty the world has to offer this Holy Family, Melchers deftly points to the promise of God through the prophecy of Zechariah to send the Light into the world – He will “give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace” (Luke 1:79). Humanity needs light; where there’s light, there’s hope. The only light source that illuminates Joseph’s and Mary’s clothes in the semi-darkness of the surroundings, this light emanating from the Baby reminds viewers of who Jesus Christ is, the true light that enlightens everyone (John 1:9) and who says: “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). Portraying the Baby as the light-source, Melchers further reminds viewers of the reality of human sojourn on earth and, in the case of Mary and Joseph, the point is particularly poignant, that while human existence is often dotted with darkness, it is also illumined by the light of Christ – “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it” (John 1:5). Oppression does not have the last word; light prevails.
What Melchers has offered us is tangible and real, tactile and raw, and believable. When we consider the love and the tenderness that underlay all this, it becomes all the more beautiful.
A blessed Christmas to you all!
Copyright © Dr. Jeffrey & Angie Goh, December 2016. All rights reserved.
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