Enlightenment

Many years ago, while still a member of the Mennonite church, my husband and I spent a delightful evening in the home of a Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, artist. A series of paintings depicting the life of Jesus hung on the walls of his studio. The beautifully-rendered work fascinated me. Even as I admired his skill, something troubled me. Neither the facial features nor the style of hair rendered in the paintings resembled the Jesus pictured in illustrated Sunday School Bible Stories, on canvasses hanging on church walls or in museums. The features and hair style were those of a man much like my host’s.
“It doesn’t look like Jesus,” I ventured.
“Many people are puzzled when first viewing the paintings,” our host ventured, “but Jesus was a Jew, as I am, so I must paint him as a Jew.” I left the artist’s home a somewhat enlightened Mennonite.
Several years later, I had cause to remember my visit to the artist’s home. While visiting my youngest sister Jean who lives in New Jersey, I accompanied her to the local library. As we entered the building, a large framed photograph hanging on a wall opposite the door, attracted our attention. As curious as anyone might be, we walked over to better view the display. Someone had photographed a portion of a wall on which danced a curious blend of shadows caused by smoke from a fire. There was no mistaking the image: another “miraculous” likeness of Christ.
I have, on several occasions, been shown what was deemed to be the face of Christ in such things as ink stains, oil spills and mud puddles. Without exception, I have been shown a Jesus as envisioned by various artists hundreds of years after his death. As far as I was concerned, the image I was looking at in the library was but another natural phenomenon—a quirk of a moment caught on film. I had not forgotten my conversation with the Jewish artist I once visited, nor the various paintings of Jesus viewed since. As I stood in the library looking up at what was supposed to be the face of Christ, I decided to clue my sister in on my thoughts.
“Why is Jesus always portrayed with almost feminine-like features, a beautifully-proportion Roman nose and with slightly wavy blond hair down to his shoulders.” I asked, and then continued, “Jesus was born a Jew, would have had the features of a Jew, and he would have worn his hair short, as did other Jewish men of his time.”
My sister protested. “Who cares?”
Not to be silenced when on a roll, I ventured, “I think I can take a Jew’s word on that. If Jesus is going to make his presence known by appearing as an image in shadows of one sort or another, he surely knows what he looked like while living here on earth. All you have to do is to read Second Corinthians, Chapter Fourteen, . . .
Sometimes, I guess I don’t know when to quit because, my sister cut me off and walked off muttering something to the effect, “All right, Mary. Enough with the physiognomy lessons.”
Well, ya can’t win them all.