In fact the art installation is called The Way of Life. It is by the sculptor Jonathan Clarke. It began life as a doodle on the back of a pad. It is unobtrusively positioned and I only spotted it as I turned back from looking at the huge Victorian (and disappointingly empty) font. There it was. From the place of baptism begins The Way of Life.
Its simplicity is also its truth. Pilgrims know that the Wiggly Way of our lives is constantly needing to be re-calibrated by the magnetic north which is Jesus' cross. We are buffeted and knocked off course by events, circumstances, prevailing deep-seated habits or unhealthy responses, and yet Christ continues to welcome us onto his path, his Way of Life.
Beneath Clarke's path is this stunning sculpture by Hans Feibusch, simply called Christus. It is has the welcoming wounded hands of Christ outstretched in costly greeting. Feibusch was an artist of Jewish heritage who escaped Nazi Germany in 1933 and over the years has produced more than 30 pieces of work for cathedrals across England.
This image shows Jesus' worn hands, so marred and calloused by nail and hardship. His vulnerable open stance and human-sized frame does not overwhelm, it is not even central but to the side. The nave like a huge upturned vessel might almost steal the eye away. Yet the grandeur and awesomeness of this medieval structure cannot compete with Christus. He drew me in, pulled me away from the cavernous space.
The incarnation, in the end, is the expression of God which speaks most truthfully to me. 'Hands that cast stars in to space, to cruel nails surrendered' - to my mind, eleven of the most beautifully crafted words in hymnody, brought to life in this pose.
Which speaks to you today? The Wiggly Way? Christus? Tomorrow I will share another sculptural gem!
Both sculptures speak to me.
ReplyDeleteIn “Christus” Christ’s large open hands are a gentle invitation to enter into his loving embrace. There is room for all in their spacious welcome. His hands are strong, a safe place to be, a healing place to rest in the upheavals of life. They are tender and compassionate ready to hold the weight of our pains. Christ’s call to come into his love is irresistible and compelling. It is in his love where we find our home.
Yet I also see Christ’s hands gently nudging us forwards, to go, to be set free. Almost like a parent nurturing a child, giving her confidence, saying “Off you go. You will be ok. All will be well.” It is now I see the wounds in his hands for letting go and being set free is also painful.
“The Wiggly Way” has for me a strong sense of calling to persistence, faithfulness, and commitment in following Jesus. For a wiggly way is much slower than a direct route. It demands stamina. Faith is never just a quick fix. We wrestle, we relentlessly pray, we keep our eyes on the truth of Christ’s love on the cross even when our feet trip or wander off, we keep trusting. So the sculpture encourages me not to worry when the path becomes windy but to stick with it. For it is in the slow, unhasty and persistent life of prayer and faith, that we grow ever closer to Christ’s love on the cross.
The ‘Wiggly Way’ reminded me of a holiday we took driving to the Mull of Kintyre. If we had travelled as the crow flies, we would have arrived at our destination a few hours sooner than we ended up arriving. Of course, if I navigate, the route will always result in being a wiggly one: I have no sense of direction. We might have taken the Wiggly Way, but it was the most breathtaking, scenic view I have ever seen. The wiggly route was worth the trouble. And so I believe it is with the ‘Wiggly Way’.
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