Frescos in Christ

            During a spring trip in April, 2010, to North Carolina to welcome our first grandchild into the world, my husband and I drove to little towns in the mountains to see the renowned frescos at two Episcopal churches.  The first small, wooden church took us by surprise with its beautiful stained glass windows in addition to the expected frescos across the altar area.

            On the right side of the altar in the first church was a rectangular fresco of Mary with child.  On the other side was one of John the Baptist, sparsely clothed, creating somewhat of a wild man appearance.  This makes sense from the Biblical descriptions of Christ’s forerunner.  Both characters in the frescos were immediately recognizable.

            Not surprisingly, Jesus on the cross was the prominent figure in the middle area.  He and the other figures were painted in somewhat muted colors.  Jesus was nailed to the cross, but rising from the upper part of the cross just above Jesus’ head was an image of the resurrected Christ, his head, chest and arms appearing almost as if sketched in various shades of gray.  Seeing this combination of the crucifixion and Jesus rising from the dead just above was very striking and memorable.

            We then drove through some very dense fog—we were very determined—as we ventured higher into the mountains looking for the second church.  This, too, was a small, wooden, country church, green and white on the outside.  Sadly, there were no pretty windows but the fresco of the last supper inside filled the altar area with rich colors in the very recognizable depiction of this special meal.

            At both churches, we pushed a button at the entrance to hear a recorded commentary on the churches and the making of the frescos.  To me, the information was surprisingly interesting, including each church’s history in the area.  Also, the making of a fresco was described in detail.  The distinctive feature about a painting of this kind is in how the actual masterpiece is created.  An artist works on the wall’s plaster while it is still wet and fresh, creating the artwork as something intrinsic with the wall, not just on its surface.  The wall and the painting then are inseparable, woven into each other’s actual substance.

            Is this merging of substances in the creation of a fresco not an illustration of what our lives are to be like as members of the body of Christ?  Our belief in Christ and the living out of the faith God gives to us are not to be externally applied to parts of our lives, such as church attendance, study, prayer, etc.

            Instead, His holy substance, His life is to be soaked into every aspect of who we are and how we live.  Jesus spoke of Himself as what should be the permeating substance of our very beings.  “I am the vine, you are the branches; he who abides in Me and I in him, he bears much fruit, for apart from Me you can do nothing” (John 15:5). 

                Sharing little Henry’s début in the world that spring was beyond special and joyous.  A sweet addition was the side trip to the churches and the illustration of Christian life that the frescoes brought to my mind.  May we all as Christians feast on this life-giving substance of Christ and strive to be living frescos, wet and yielding to the brush strokes of God’s Holy Spirit.

                 

                 

                       

        

For Henry

Thursday, May 2, 2019

For Henry

           Nine years ago today high in the Appalachian Mountains in North Carolina, Henry William Schultz made his long-anticipated entrance, the first grandchild in both Bonnie and Bill’s families.  I had been with Bill and Bonnie during those last hours of labor, but when a C-section seemed to be necessary, Daddy Bill only remained at her side.  Later, Bill came out to tell the waiting families of Henry’s healthy arrival, but we were eager to see the little guy.

          Boone had a nice but small hospital, no baby factory like some health centers in St. Louis, Missouri, where we lived at the time.  So, when Grandpa Jim left the waiting area to find a restroom, the sneaky man had walked around some hospital halls and came across the newborn nursery with one little baby.  He returned from his mission and we all followed him back to set our eyes on Henry.  How I would love to have a picture of our motley crew peering through the nursery window.  Before long, Bill walked into the nursery with a hospital gown on and reached out to hold the little hand of his precious son.  Such joy for all although Bonnie’s might have been a bit muted with the C-section and dazed mind by the wonder of it all.

          A few months earlier, Jim and I had made a decision for him to end his job working with adults with disabilities before early summer so we could have a month long adventure in North Carolina when Henry would be born.  Henry’s parents lived in an unusual community built on the side of a mountain—literarily.  About two thirds of the various styles of homes were used as rental properties as well as vacation homes for the owners.  We rented a small, unusually shaped house right along the stream that ran along the highway leading to the development.  The rolling stream mildly thundered right outside our back door.  The new family were a little more than halfway up the wooded mountain along  a winding road.

          According to plan, we had arrived in Boone just a few days before Henry’s due date, hoping to visit some before life became radically different for the young couple. That Saturday, Bonnie went to the hospital close to her due date because her blood pressure was high.  The next morning, a Sunday, Jim and I went to her church, partly to let them know she was about to have the baby.  Congregants gathered outside the sanctuary before each service to get in a circle, begin to praise God and share prayer needs or joys.  A nice practice, we thought.  However, we probably left after that.

          During Bonnie’s hospital stay, Henry was center stage in the room we could all gather in.  Everyone wanted to hold baby Henry, who had a starring role from the beginning.  And when he came home, he was just up the wooded mountain from us. This made daily visits and shared meals possible, something we very much wanted to experience.  We even got to babysit the little man while his parents went out for lunch before we returned to St. Louis.

          Having this month together surrounded by the spring beauty in this region so different from anywhere we had lived was such a special time for all of us, I think. Henry probably was unaware of the blessing of such times: healthy pregnancy, healthy baby, enjoyed by grandparents and aunts and uncles who shared the joy in harmonious ways.  It was one of my favorite times as Bonnie’s mother, who wanted welcomed our help and we delighted in that chance. 

          Henry William has come a long way since that first day of life becoming a good athlete, good student and enjoying so many experiences.  His birthday was perhaps more celebrated that first day than any other.  I hope we will all remember how fortunate we were to celebrate that big day together—on the side of a big mountain in North Carolina.