Several years ago, I toured through parts of Germany that had been closed to the West when I lived there as a child of NATO in the late 1960s.
It was moving to visit the city of Dresden, which had been crushed by bombing in 1945, in what some historians believe was retaliation for the devastating bombing of the city of Coventry, U.K., in 1940. Poignantly, there is a Coventry Cross of Nails inside the reconstructed Frauenkirche (or “Church of Our Lady”) in Dresden, symbolizing the reconciliation that has been achieved over the years since the Second World War.
During a couple of days in Berlin, I visited an art collection of the Berlin State Museums known as the Gemäldegalerie. This compact, interesting gallery holds an internationally famous collection of European paintings.
The gallery is known for its scientific approach to collecting and displaying masterpieces and usually has about 1,000 paintings on display at any one time, including a very large Rembrandt collection. The paintings are grouped in rooms that allow for brief, rich immersions into the work of European masters.
After slogging through the many layers of Berlin’s often troubled history, I found the Gemäldegalerie a welcome, beautiful space to trace brushstrokes that had rendered remarkable illustrations of life and belief through the ages.
Even though the gallery is small and well-designed (definitely scientific), the dozens of masterpieces made it difficult to focus. However, the painting that accompanies this column caught my full attention.
It is called Die Geburt Christi (“The Nativity”) and it was painted by Albrecht Altdorfer in 1513. It depicts a dream-like scene, with the Holy Family sheltering in a derelict stable, three angels singing joyfully above them, another three holding the cloth that cradles the infant Jesus, and another off to the left in a cloud of light, presumably announcing the birth to shepherds.
We see old Joseph, trying to shield the flame of his candle so it won’t blow out, failing to grasp that everything around him, from the shoots of grass to the leaves of the tree, and even the night sky, is being warmly illuminated by the aura of the Christ Child, which outshines all earthly light.
Can you see yourself in Joseph, nursing a little candle of faith, trying to prevent the winds of troubling things from blowing it out and darkening your spirit? As though it’s up to you to keep your light shining?
Christmas reminds us that faith is a gift from God and not something we have to manufacture for ourselves. Instead of looking to our own small capacity to brighten the darkness of our hearts, Christmas tells us that God gives light to the world, and that God places that light right inside our hearts. So remember to look to the Christ Child to discover or strengthen your faith: it is God’s gift to you.
Try to keep things simple during Christmastide, because God loves to be found in unexpected places, away from perfect things and inflated expectations. Go to wherever the light God placed in your heart begins to glow within you, calling you to give of yourself in ways that warmly illuminate the lives of others.
