![]() ![]() Even worse is, we have created a culture that has achieved many wonderful things that don't ultimately matter, while at the same time hiding in fear from the idea of forgiveness. The sorrow is not just that we do such things. All the great and beautiful and loving things people have done in history are the work of people who have also done some nasty, cruel and selfish stuff. We are all capable of breaking the things we most love. In his terrific essay Unapologetic: Why, Despite Everything, Christianity Can Still Make Surprising Emotional Sense, Francis Spufford says none of us can reach any honest Christian faith unless we are first honest about what he calls HPtFtU, ''the human propensity to F- things up''. ![]() He seems to suggest that the cross brings to light the extent of our humanity the resurrection tells of the elusive and intangible mystery of God alive among us. Rembrandt throws paint at our usual expectations. In the second, the risen Jesus is shadowy. In the first, the broken body of Christ is bathed in light. For my money, two of Rembrandt's great works are The Descent from the Cross (1633) and Christ at Emmaus (1629), the first portraying the last gasp of Christ's human catastrophe, the second based on a story from the time after Jesus rose from the dead. Some of his self-portraits are transparent self-deceptions, works that mock the ways they make him look good. Christianity, like all the great religions, believes humans are incapable of learning anything profound unless they deal first with their monstrous and hilarious egos. Religious faith will always be a work of sterile fiction unless the believer has lived with enough humility, and made enough mistakes, to be forced beyond the sweet and sickly fictions we all present to the world. He painted a lot of self-portraits, and I like to think it is these that help to make his religious paintings so rich in understanding. ![]() This is because he uses light to such dark effect. Rembrandt is an even better direction finder. It was so dilapidated that I keep it in the car, in the place vacated by Melways. I have never read it, only looked at the pictures. None of my discoveries has made a greater impact than a paperback about Rembrandt. The card was leaning immodestly against Psalm 92: ''He covers you with his feathers.'' I replaced the book but not before moving the card to Psalm 78: ''The Lord woke up to strike his enemies on the rump.'' I also found a copy of the Psalms with a postcard featuring burlesque dancers. ![]() I presume the owner was praying for the advertisers, not paying them. My small collection of free Bibles includes a paperback version in which I found a memorial card featuring the ''virgin most chaste'' as well as a page torn from a newspaper recommending ''adult services''. It is the only evidence of previous habitation. A previous owner has highlighted the words ''blessed are the peacemakers''. The title, however, might still give it away. It has a plastic camouflage cover: perhaps it was designed to accompany troops to wet places unsympathetic to Christianity and so it is both showerproof and proof against detection. I also have a New Testament that must have been provided by the Australian Army to its members. I have, for example, a book of Irish verse that reeks of beer and tobacco. I have occasionally swapped a copy of a book I already own for the same title just because the one in the free library has clues about previous readers. One is in Melbourne Central, conveniently near an optometrist, in case you have forgotten your glasses. Little free libraries are cropping up here and there. It goes to show that just because you can't give something away, it doesn't mean it won't get stolen. So I took it back in a huff but then, by mistake, left it in a cafe. A few days later, the book was still there but the money was gone. Desperate to be wanted, I slipped a $5 note inside the cover as an incentive. I once left an old copy of one of my own books. ![]()
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