I’ve always enjoyed looking at stained glass windows in churches. During moments when my mind wanders, my eyes do as well, and they always land on the stained glass windows. As I gazed at their colors, images, and symbols, my heart always felt closer to God (even though my mind was wandering in church).
The Sorrow
In the sanctuary of my childhood church is a stained glass window that I loved. In the shape of a pointed arch, the large center panel was Jesus praying in the Garden of Gethsemane (the picture based on the Christ in Gethsemane painting by Heinrich Hoffman). The surrounding panels contained symbols of the Gospel, baptism, salvation, and the Greek letters Alpha and Omega.
The colors always seemed a bit dark in tone, even when the sun was shining through. The mood was one of significance and sorrow. The symbols around the edge of the window conveyed the weight of the decision to follow Christ. That central image expressed to me the anguish and suffering of what was to follow after Jesus prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane.
As much as I loved looking at that window, I always came away feeling serious and a little sad.
The Hope
That image of Jesus praying is one I’ve now seen in countless churches, including the one I attend now, which happens to be my husband’s childhood church. A recent Sunday found me gazing at that same image of Christ in the Garden that I saw in my own childhood. Only the image here feels different.
Why? Because it looks different. The image here uses brighter glass for the central image, which is somewhat smaller than the image in my home church. Other than the Alpha and Omega and the names of the couple who donated the funds for the window, the image of Jesus is surrounded by vines and shapes—and the entire window is brighter. For a few moments that Sunday morning, the sun was shining through the window so brightly that the halo around Jesus’s head glowed. The bright surrounding panels bring a balance to the darkness and gloominess of the central image.
The main image is the same as the dark and gloomy one of my childhood—yet it looks and feels completely different. It brings to mind not the gloom and sorrow of Gethsemane, but the joy and hope of what came later.
The Messages
My husband and I grew up seeing the same image in our childhood sanctuaries, but they looked different.
The windows had different lighting. Different surroundings. Different messages.
The same basic image can come across differently depending on what surrounds it and how it is illuminated.
Just think about this in light of marriage.
How many other things did we see differently as we grew up? What did we see and learn about marriage? About God’s design for sex?
What about you and your husband? What did you both see that came across in different ways? Did you see marriage and sex presented as a dark and gloomy experience where you suffered in silence so your husband could have his needs met? Or did you see something that spoke of the joy and hope that you could experience through sex?
Illumination
I loved that stained glass window that captured my childhood gaze. The somberness it evoked in me is part of what has grown into my gratitude for Jesus’s suffering on my behalf.
But even more than that, I love the version of the image that I see every Sunday morning now. I still see the sorrow, but it is transformed into joy. I feel hopeful when I see this image.
Likewise, what I learned about marriage and sex in my youth was mostly gloom and doom, which didn’t exactly encourage me to try to address my struggles with sex. But now? I see sex as something that can bring great joy and connection. It is such a better image than what I saw in my youth.
If you are learning anew about God’s design for sex in marriage, consider the tone of what you see. Pay attention to what illuminates the subject in a way that can bring you joy and hope.
