For Me

by Donna-Jean Breckenridge

When my oldest daughter Bethany was just about six years old and our 'only,' I had begun using the 'Picture Study' that is one of the many hallmarks of a Charlotte Mason education. Simply put, it's to show a child a print of a great work of art (usually doing around six works of the same artist, over several weeks), letting them see it silently for a minute or two, and then having them, without looking at it, tell back what they've seen. That process is called narration - and that's it. No lecture, no added biography or lessons, no big teaching, just that. The painting speaks to the child. Then the print is usually hung nearby for that next week or so. 

We were doing Rembrandt. I had gotten prints from a respected family-company, and there were some interesting notes that went with it that helped me understand a bit more about Rembrandt. So one day at lunch, which was when we always had Picture Study, I showed her the large print I had gotten of Rembrandt's "Raising of the Cross." 

It's not a happy picture - Christ's nearly naked body is lit up on a diagonal, as the cross is being raised upright. There aren't the usual gashes or streaks of blood, but it's intense, nonetheless. Surrounding the cross, in increasing darkness, there are people - most notable is a man helping to lift the wood in place. He's dressed in clothes that don't fit Bible times - he's got a blue beret, and it's easy to understand that it's a self-portrait. Rembrandt put himself at the scene of the cross as one of the very people who crucified Jesus. It's jarring, haunting, even disturbing, and I admit that I wondered if I was introducing something too intense to my little girl.

There's another dominant figure in the painting - though not as significant as Christ and the self-portrait of Rembrandt. It's a man on a horse - like a centurion - looking official and noble. He's looking directly at the viewer - which is very different, even troubling - and his hand is outstretched. He's got something in his hand - and it appears to be a sword. But - the sword is held backwards - he's extending it hilt side out - so that you, the viewer, would grab it as if to use it yourself. Rembrandt seems to be saying, "I was there, I'm the reason Christ died, my sin is what crucified him - and now take the sword because you're a part of it, too."

Several days after this Picture Study moment, Bethany asked if she could paint. I always felt reluctant to get out the paints - it seemed as though I'd set up the easel in the kitchen, find the paints and brushes, spread newspaper on the floor, and her art time would take less than the time it took me to put it up and clean it afterwards. But that day I didn't make an excuse or try to distract her, and instead I found something else to do (no doubt something I thought was so vital at the time, but probably was very insignificant) while she fussed with her own art time. 

After a little while, I saw her painting. On her own, with garish, bold colors and with stick figures, she painted a kind of narration of Rembrandt's Raising of the Cross. There was Christ, hanging on the tree, and beside him was a little girl, her long yellow braids evident, holding her own sword, with a tearful face. 

The 27-year-old Dutch master had spoken across three hundred and fifty years to help my little girl see her part in Christ's death on the cross. There is no junior Holy Spirit. God speaks to children, too - and uses means we often think are too hard, too difficult, too complicated. 

I've never forgotten that - and the power of the truth of Good Friday. I have sometimes struggled with Good Friday services that focus on intense medical analyses of the torture Christ suffered - but I know I need to hear it. So I sit through whatever is presented, whether the details of the crucifixion, a dramatic or choral portrayal (grateful - or wishing - I was in it), or even an afternoon of the seven last words from the cross (like when I was a kid) - to remember that this is what Jesus did for me. I was there, because I was on His mind. It's all for me. 

I know it from the Gospels, from Rembrandt, and I know it from my own child. 

In the Storm with Jesus

by Donna-Jean Breckenridge

I was getting together my prints for our next Picture Study time with my granddaughters and I pulled out an old book I have called "Rembrandt and the Bible."

I looked over some of my favorites, and then my eyes fell on “Storm on the Sea of Galilee.” It’s not one of the six for this term, but I like it anyway.

And it brought back some memories. I recalled a time I taught a children’s Sunday School class, using Charlotte Mason principles and picture study. (As the church’s Christian Education Director, I had some liberty in curriculum. I used CM’s principles many times in that role over the years.)

I sat in the low chair with the kids at the round table, surrounded by bold murals of Noah’s Ark. (I’ve often wondered if those who use that account for church nursery decor recognize its full story of death and destruction, and of God’s deliverance to an obedient few. But I digress.)

We opened the large book and I showed them the picture. I introduced the idea of narration to them, and I gave them time to look carefully at the painting.

I closed the book, and they told it back to me. “There was this boat,” one of them began. “And a big wave!,” another chimed in. One child went on and on with quite a few details. Not to be undone, one boy said loudly, “I saw a guy throwing up!” (Truly, I had never noticed that before.)

And then we talked about how Jesus was in the boat during the storm. Because this was our church time, we opened the Bible and read the historical accounts from the different Gospels of this moment. One young observer asked why the artist hadn’t included the “other little boats.” And we talked about the miracle that followed.

The kids decided to re-enact the painting in a kind of tableau. It wasn’t done up with great costuming or beautiful sets. It was a jacket or two, a blanket from the nursery, more little chairs were arranged, someone was Jesus, and one kid was “the guy throwing up.”

I’ve often wondered what they told their parents about that Sunday School class that day.

But that painting has come to my mind a lot lately. I’ve thought about the period of time in Rembrandt’s work. It depicted a terrible storm - one that caused seasoned, professional fishermen on a familiar sea to be filled with terror. Wave crashed upon wave, unrelentingly.

And Jesus was in the boat. He was the same One they’d seen perform miracles; recently, even.

The big moment is yet ahead - Jesus will calm the storm, still the waves, and all will be well.

But often we’re stalled out in Rembrandt’s painting. No calm, no miracle, no stillness. Wave upon wave is hitting us, with no let-up in sight. Hardly the stuff of encouragement, of blessed assurances, of all-is-well.

And yet - Jesus was in the boat all along. Jesus is with me in my storms today. He has performed miracles in the past. And He may show His mighty power yet again. And I come to Him with my troubles and fear in my heart, asking for Him to do again what He’s done before, or for what I believe He can do now.

But in the meantime, I’m safe. It surely doesn’t look like it or feel like it. And sometimes I might feel more like the guy losing his lunch over the edge. But Jesus is with me, before, during, after. I’m safe. And He is safe to trust.

At AmblesideOnline, we're praying for you and yours today. Lean on Jesus. He’s with you, no matter what waves are hitting you.