Advent Meditation-Week 2: Rembrandt’s “The Adoration of the Shepherds”
The focus of the Advent reflections so far has been repentance—turning from our false selves to our true selves. I’ve considered how good Christmas movies often depict their main characters turning away from a false self, marked by selfishness and pride, toward a true self, marked by love, relationship, and self-giving. We can discuss this movement in terms of sin and repentance. However, without the gospel of Jesus, this movement is ultimately hopeless and little more than self-help motivation.
Today, as an exercise to help you consider this theme of repentance in the Advent narrative, reflect on The Adoration of the Shepherds by Rembrandt. Take a few minutes to sit with it. Take it in without analyzing it. Then ask some critical questions. Who is here? Who isn’t here? How does the artist use light and shadow? How are people oriented? What aspects of the painting raise questions?
At the time this was created, biblical scenes were painted to teach uneducated and illiterate people about the Bible. With that in mind, consider what Rembrandt might have wanted you to think or feel when you look at this painting. What aspect of this painting touches your imagination or your emotions?
After contemplating this painting for a few minutes, read John 1:1-18.
After reading the passage, come back to the painting and reflect on how the advent of Jesus as God incarnate calls us to repentance.
I’ll share my initial thoughts: I notice the dramatic shifts in light and dark. The central point of light is the baby, Jesus, shining in his manger-crib. The faces around Jesus are lit by his light. Rembrandt painted this work in 1646, long before the advent of electricity. Jesus is the source of the light that emanates from Him. I also notice that there are those who are joyful, basking in the light, and admiring the child. But some do not come as close. Two figures at the far right of the painting are not looking at the child. One is looking at the other who is looking down. What do we make of their apprehension to draw close? Not everyone was compelled to adore the little Messiah. Mary sings these words: “he has toppled the mighty from their thrones and exalted the lowly” (Lk 1:52). Likewise, Simeon prophesied, “Indeed, this child is destined to cause the fall and rise of many in Israel” (Lk 2:34). Certainly the puppet king, Herod, did not welcome the news about the Messiah’s birth. But maybe these bystanders simply have other things on their minds. It’s a busy time in Bethlehem. Maybe they are like Martha who, years later, will busy herself with the seemingly urgent needs of the moment and miss the singularly important task of being with Jesus.
I also notice that there is a mysterious source of light emerging from a wooden chest. There is a blanket or some fabric spilling out of it. It is certainly not on fire so we wonder, What is this strange light? I have a thought but I’m going to keep it to myself.
Finally, I notice how humble and small this moment seems. The eternal Word who, in the beginning, was with God—and who is God!—is bursting into the earthly realm. The creator is becoming a physical part of His creation. The course of human history will be forever changed by the event depicted in this painting. This is the moment that caused us to reverse the calendar as if everything before was working toward this moment and everything after is defined by it. And yet we see such an ordinary scene, remarkable only because of the humble state of those present and the baby who is, in fact, the light of the world.
The painting reminds me of Jesus’s short parable, “The kingdom of heaven is like leaven that a woman took and mixed into fifty pounds of flour until all of it was leavened” (Mt 13:33). This is what the kingdom of heaven looks like. A baby in a manger with mom, dad, and a few shepherds; the moment that changes everything comes like a whisper.
That’s my take, anyway. What do you think?