Jan 3: The Gift of Children

Carnation, Lily, Lily, Rose, John Singer Sargent c. 1885–1886. 174.0 × 153.7 cm. The Tate Britain, London, England. Public Domain.

“Children of the Heavenly Father” from the album Great Hymns of the Faith, Vol. 1. Performed bySt. Olaf Choir with Anton Armstrong, conductor. Composed by Caroline W. Sandell Berg.

Poetry:

“Children”
by Patricia Kathleen Page

More than discovering for the first time, they renew
an acquaintance with all things as with flowers they saw in
dreams.
And delicate as a sketch which they have made, through being,
they merge in a singlar way with their own thoughts,
drawing an arabesque with a spoon for fork
casually on the air behind their shoulders
or talk in a confidential tone as if
their own ears held the hearing of another.

Legs in the dance go up as though on strings
pulled by their indifferent wanton hands

while anger blows into them and through their muslin
easily as sand or wind.

Older they become round and hard, demand
shapes that are real, castles upon the shore
and all the lines and angles of tradition
are mustered by them in their eagerness
to become whole, fit themselves to the thing
they see outside them,
while the thing they left
lives like a caul in some abandoned place,
unremembered by fingers or the incredibly bright
stones which, for a time, replace their eyes.

THE GARDEN DANCES AROUND THE CHILDLIKE HEART

When peering into the moment painted by artist John Singer Sargent, my gaze doesn’t necessarily linger with the children in the image. This surprises me as I expect them to be the focal point of the painting. Their faces without much expression may not have necessarily been the focus of the artist’s brush. Sargent draws us into the garden perhaps more even than the girls’ interactions with the garden. We enter just during the moment of change from the light of the sun to the light of the lanterns. Dusk. That beautiful time of day when our hearts may still at the glimpses of creation’s gentle visual whispers.

Those whispers are heard also in the voices of the St. Olaf Choir singing “What kind of love the Father's given, that we be called Children of God.” I’m writing this just after hearing news about my dad’s sudden passing. The flood of pictures of my father’s caring eyes turned towards me flash like polaroids through my mind. It is not lost on me that it is a privilege to be able to grieve so desperately the loss I feel because of the incredible gift this man was––both as a father and a friend. The words from today’s music performed by the St. Olaf Choir are so close to the call of my heart, “Neither life nor death shall ever from the Lord His children sever; unto them His grace He showeth and their sorrows all He knoweth.” Sargent’s canvas takes the dimming light of day and transitions us beautifully by the traveling glow of the lantern lights to the surrounding garden and children.

Our Scriptures for today begin with the charge for Adam and Eve to “fill the earth and subdue it” with the children who “are a heritage from the Lord.” The final verses from Mark 10 give us Christ’s words to “let the children come” as this is “the Kingdom of God.” Jesus goes further with his words, though, and says if anyone “does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child” he will “by no means enter it.” So, we watch the children drawn to the illumination of the lanterns. The light and color, the shapes, and patterns, all become the focus and purpose of the harmony in this dusk dusted moment.

This convergence of the garden with the children makes me consider the perfection, innocence, and beauty of the Garden of Eden. P. K. Page’s poem traces the journey of a child’s imagination at play in the garden, only to lose the dreams the child carries for need of things outside of herself as she ages. I wonder if this is some of the heart behind the words of Christ, that the Kingdom of God can be lost if we abandon the innocent pursuit––children, drawn by dreams towards an awe of God as His garden dances in the subtle light of the lanterns. I long to dance through His gardens in Heaven with my earthly father.

Perhaps attention to the art itself instead of ourselves could be a way for us to move like innocent children towards the Creator as we are captivated by his painting. Perhaps the heavy loss of the perfect garden disappears as we come simply, like children, towards the light of life. We aren’t the focus of the painting. He, the artist, is. So, we come.

Prayer:
All-seeing, all-knowing, all-loving Heavenly Father, we thank You for your father’s gaze towards us. As we find more and more freedom in You, I pray we will see the handiwork of Your creation around us and joyfully enter into the worship of You. May we long for the day when we’ll enter into Your Heavenly Glory and dance through Your gardens with those who have gone before us.
Amen

Tamara J. Welter, Ph.D.
Department of Journalism, Public Relations, and New Media
Baylor University
Waco, Texas