We call this Holy Week.  The reasons are clear; I won’t argue against it. Still, it hasn’t felt all that set apart.

I wrote earlier today that the edges of these days have felt much the same as the middles.  The Lovely Lady asked me the date a while ago and I had no answer for her.

It’s hard to observe Maundy Thursday when you don’t remember if Tuesday or Wednesday preceded it.

And yet, the calendar said it was Maundy Thursday.  The day many followers of Jesus remember His servant heart as He washed the feet of His disciples.  They read the scripture over again and perhaps even celebrated His Last Supper with wine and bread.

Me?  I looked at a painting on my wall.  That’s it up above.  A still life, they call it.

As if.

I shared the painting with a few online friends today, along with a poem about still life paintings a poet friend had pointed out a day or two ago.  I thought that would be the end of it.

It wasn’t.

Somehow, the painting won’t keep still.  Not in my mind, anyway.

I first saw this particular piece of art hanging on the wall of an old saint.  I’ve written of her before.  Miss Peggy was a faithful servant of her God all the days of her life.  But, this story isn’t about her, although she did leave the painting to me after her passing.

The artist is also a friend, another faithful servant of God.  Sam is a native of China, having come to this country in the 1980s as a student.  There were other reasons for him to leave his native land, but I’d just get the details wrong if I told it, since it’s not my story.

Besides, this story isn’t really about him either.

In a way, it’s about me, stuck here in still life.  You know, the life prescribed for me by the medical experts of the day, along with the political powers, who are endeavoring to fight an invisible enemy by dividing and conquering.

Still life.  Perhaps, the story is about a reader or two, as well. You’ll know if it is.

Most artists choose their subjects based on aesthetics.  Do the colors coordinate; do they clash just enough to draw the eye?  Are the objects balanced in their placement?  Do the items demonstrate the ability of the artist to capture light and shadow, or texture?

This painting ticks those boxes.  It appeals to the eye.  It even causes me to admire the talent of the artist.

But, I know Sam.  He’s not interested in my praise.  Or, yours.

This still life is meant to capture the heart of the observer, to squeeze the soul, and to cause us to walk away with a new vision of who we are.

The bowl is not for food, but for water.  A basin, intended to wash away the dust and grime of the world.  Perhaps, something like the basin our Savior used as He washed the feet of those who would use those same feet to walk away from Him that very night.  (John 13:5)

The kettle and teacup represent comfort and calm.  From a culture that views tea as much more than a drink to start the day, but as a celebration of life, the pouring out of this precious liquid quiets the turbulent spirit and brings peace.

Like cups of cold water that meet much more than a physical need, we share the necessities of spiritual comfort with our fellow travelers. (Matthew 10:42)

The meaning of the medicine bottle, along with the mortar and pestle, is clear.  Healing comes as we minister and are ministered to.  Using the tools at hand, gifts from our Great Healer, we help to heal the hurts and ease the pain of this world.

The crying prophet is assured that there is medicine enough, and there is a Physician, but wonders why they haven’t been applied. (Jeremiah 8:22)

It’s still a good question today.

Washing. Comfort. Healing.  How well we know the necessity of all three in this time of sickness and separation.

As I write, Good Friday is upon us.  It is the day when we remember the incredible sacrifice made for us.  A sacrifice made to heal our great sickness.

His torment was the result of our rebellion; our deeds caused Him to be crushed.  His pain was to heal our hurt; His wounds have made us whole. (Isaiah 53.5 ~ my paraphrase)

Perhaps, especially on this day, our contemplation in this still life we’ve become part of could be a place to begin.  Before we walk away, will our hearts be captured, our souls squeezed, and that new vision be ours?

It is, after all, not just another still life.

“Comfort, comfort my people,”
Says your God.
(Isaiah 40:1 ~ NET)