The Scribble

As I tried to keep my children quiet in the last pew on one somber Good Friday (and failing miserably) I found myself frustrated. I looked at the stained-glass window by the door. It depicted Jesus welcoming little children. I was clearly in the wrong place. This was for children 65 years and older who wanted to worship quietly, reverently. I understood. I guess I had come thinking I might get away with a moment of quiet reflection and confession too. Yet, I had these squirmy, needy, and bored-to-tears little people. I was confronted by motherhood and its responsibility. I was confronted by the usual way we “do church” and how difficult it is for parents and children to enter that place of confession and worship together. It is either geared at the grown-ups and loses the kids or geared at the kids and loses the grown-ups. Yet, Jesus ministered to both at the same time.

The Church of the Holy Cross historic chapel: Jesus welcoming little children

I got the idea (I wonder from where ;) to make stained glass windows that came to life. I drew a church-window sized Angel Gabriel for the children and parents in our family service during our years with the Church of the Holy Cross in the Charleston, SC area. We brought it outside the chapel right after the service and chatted and colored it over the course of the fall in preparation for Christmas. We imagined the Angel Gabriel surprising Mary, the mother of Jesus, as she checked her email in her home (Luke 1:26-38). He brought her good news! She would give birth to God’s own Son! He would save the people from their sins. Mary was super excited. And super freaked out. This messed up her engagement to Joseph (for a time… read Matthew 1:20-24). We imagined the Angel Gabriel speaking good news to us—Jesus is here for you! Kids and parents wondered in bright Sharpie marker all over the drawing.

I took it home and connected the doodles with my two children and husband helping me—child labor! There were several scribbles on the angel—either in excitement or frustration. I was so drawn to them. I filled in the negative space with a different color so you could still see the scribbles. I added more. The scribble became my main mark to tie the angel together—embodying the energy of childhood. The scribble became a metaphor to what parenting feels like too. Parenting is where I see my sin—the impatience, the fear, the control—more than ever and have to ask for forgiveness. It’s as if Jesus uses children to scribble on my neat little lines to bring me back to his grace, to connecting with him, with them, with myself. The scribble also embodied the needs, the energy, the abandon of children. Don’t we all have that child inside who is crying out to be loved? To scribble with someone? Play with me? The risen Christ rode upon that scribble to tear down my own definitions, which are always confining, and set up his own. In discovering the scribble, Jesus reassured me that his grace is sufficient for me. And my family. Now the drawing had a good Word to share.

Dan Siedell, the art critic and author of Who’s Afraid of Modern Art? argues for the painting to “act upon you.” The painting is confronting you, affecting you—whether it’s a positive or negative response. It’s all useful. He likens it to God’s word of conviction, shining a mirror on us through the Law. Christians tend to worry about whether this or that art is appropriate or good. So Siedell goes on to invite Christians to be listeners, receivers, connecting first with our own pain to the works we see.[1]

Jesus rode the scribble of childhood and all its “interruptions” to bring me back to his grace. To help me enjoy my children, all children. His grace always interrupts. Thank God.

[1] Daniel Siedell, Who’s Afraid of Modern Art? Essays on Modern Art and Theology in Conversation, Eugene, OR: Wipf and Stock, pg. 31.