Christ Knocking
Religion always appears under two contrasted guises, corresponding to these two contrasted scenes. It is first an austere and disturbing challenge, and then it is a glorious and happy feast. Under the first of these guises religion is known to us all. In every man's life that first scene has been enacted. We all know what is meant by that stranger on the doorstep, and by that annoyingly persistent knocking, and by the terrible strain it puts on the man within. So much of religion is familiar to everybody. But the tragedy is that many a man's acquaintance with religion stops at that point, and he knows nothing of the second scene, when Christ is inside the room. That is why so many people carry with them all through their lives the idea of religion as a harsh and joyless thing, a thing that limits their freedom and cramps their spirits and makes them unhappy. That is why so many writers of books present religion as a morbid perversion of the human spirit. That is why so many of our novelists portray religious folk as peevish and morose kill-joys with long, sour faces and a melancholy and dyspeptic disposition. They are familiar only with the first scene, when Christ is outside the door; and of that scene every one of these things is true and not a whit exaggerated. It is quite true that when religion is known to men only as an unanswered summons, it can be the cause of more misery and melancholy and dyspepsia, more morbid introversion and more nervous disorder, than anything else in the world. Some men have just enough religion to make them desperately miserable. All some men know of religion is hell.
It also put me in mind of Nick Cave's introduction to the gospel of Mark. The whole thing is worth reading or listening to (here) but he says:
Here, I am reminded of that picture of Christ, painted by Holman Hunt, where He appears, robed and handsome, a lantern in His hand, knocking on a door: the door to our hearts, presumably. The light is dim and buttery in the engulfing darkness. Christ came to me in this way, lumen Christi, with a dim light, a sad light, but light enough. Out of all the New Testament writings - from the Gospels, through the Acts and the complex, driven letters of Paul to the chilling, sickening Revelation - it is Mark's Gospel that has truly held me.
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