St. Martins of the Field, London
As I explore the bustling streets of central London I keep one eye scanning for my goal while my other eye remains on the traffic jam in front of me. Like any other metropolis, London’s arteries tend to flow more than ebb. Everyone has somewhere to be. The shrill honking of horns and the waves of sirens keep the flow moving if only at a snail’s pace. If there is a traffic jam waiting to happen in London, Trafalgar Square will most likely be the place. I zigzag around the frozen vehicles on foot, thankful that I am not in the auto-coma that surrounds me.
My objective sits on the opposite side of Trafalgar Square. The Square has been a gathering point for political demonstration for hundreds of years. Multitudes of people are eating lunch, basking in the sun, or just neighboring in the Square. They look like strange creatures caught in one of those drive through safaris, giving the drivers that slowly rotate around them something to stare at on their painfully dawdling ride around the plaza. The spire of St-Martin-in-the-Field Church rises out of the southwest corner of the Square. It is the oldest building on Trafalgar. I have come to visit both the Café in the Crypt, which sits under the church, and gather information on their concert series for future groups that we will lead into London.
As I climb the steps of the Greek colonnade porch to that leads the entrance of the sanctuary I am halted by an unusual stone sculpture that dominates the middle of the large covered entrance. A hewn block of granite stands almost at eye level. Bare in its form, and cold to the touch, the four smoothed cubed sides have a simple inscription that wraps around the top of the obelisk. “IN THE BEGINNING THERE WAS THE WORD. THE WORD BECAME HUMAN & LIVED AMONG US.” St. John 1:1, 14.
Unlike its sides, the top of the obelisk is rough and pock-marked, like a lake suddenly barraged by a violent rainstorm. Out of the middle of that stone, as if pushed through the rock into the world, rises the newborn God-Child. His eyes are still closed as he emerges out of his mother’s womb. He is naked, exposed to the elements, still attached to the umbilical cord that winds back into the rock.
It is the beautiful disturbing mystery, captured within this memorial that unexpectedly holds me bound between two worlds for these few minutes. The idea of the Incarnation, God come to earth wrapped in human flesh, both comforts and confounds me. Yet, without this mystery we have an untouchable invisible God. Literal incarnation separates Christ from humanities great labyrinth of gods. To have a God that wrestled in the mud of humanity, that experienced pain and loss, that I can never say, “You don’t understand” too; that is a God that seeks me. The transcendence I toil and trouble over starts with His incarnation. He has broken through creation, into the world of his making. The Author has entered the story as the central character but in doing so he decided to follow by our rules.
This baby, pushed through the granite, is vulnerable, and in need of the protection and sustenance of others. Vulnerable omniscience, vulnerable omnipotence, vulnerable omnipresence; my head spins while my heart flies.
A walk away, onto my tasks, remembering the Word became flesh. A child of stone was sent to soften the stony hearts of humanity. My stony heart just softened a bit more.
Also, Where are the artists of today creating this sort of impacting, anointed art? I long for more of that in the church and in the marketplace.
I think I will read this and show the picture to the family tonight as we move toward Christmas. This is a wonderful art-scripture combo that packs a punch into my heart. I felt the same way in St. Paul’s in London where there is a huge painting of Jesus standing with his lantern knocking at a door. The scripture was Behold I stand at the Door and knock, will you not let me in? This was a favorite for our whole team that had just returned from Uganda, Africa as we were taking 2 days to tour London on our way back to the States.
Wow. You write beautifully, Shawn.
Thanks Adam. Hope your doing well.
Hi Shawn. What an amazing and powerful metaphor! Why have we not heard of this incredible piece of art before? Thanks for giving it the sorely needed attention it (and the message it shares) deserves!
Thanks ladies. Always good to hear from you.
What a visual impact the Stone Child must have been for you on that trip to London. Not what one would expect to see at a structure of antiquity, yet how insightful of having it there.
The infant saviour only comes into our conscious thought during the holidays, yet we need to be reminded of how he did come. Just as we do, naked, unaware of anything but our own needs. As adults we need to think about his vulnerability as a man who gave all he had for us.
Amidst a day filled with the sense of feeling overwhelmed at my current situation, the revelation that “the Word became flesh. A child of stone was sent to soften the stony hearts of humanity. My stony heart just softened a bit more” speaks peace to me!
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