St Luke
A sermon preached by the Revd Canon Dr Alison Joyce on 18th October 2009 (The Feast of St Luke )
In the name of the living God, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.
At our Remembrance Sunday service here a couple of years ago, some of you may remember me describing a remarkable sequence of wall paintings, created during the Second World War, which these days are referred to as the ‘Changi Murals’. They were the work of a British serviceman, imprisoned by the Japanese in the notorious Prisoner of War camp at Changi, in Singapore. Last time I spoke about them I focussed particularly on the image of the Crucifixion which forms part of that sequence. This morning I would like to talk about another of the paintings, but for a very different reason, as will soon become apparent
As some of you may remember, the story behind the murals is a remarkable one. Within the Prisoner of War camp at Changi, a place that was legendary for the horrific treatment suffered by its inmates, Barrack Block 151 was used as a hospital for the allied prisoners, many of whom were dying of dysentery, malaria, and the effects of malnutrition. A forces chaplain called Padre Stallard, who was himself a prisoner in the camp, somehow managed to persuade their Japanese captors to allow him to turn a room within that hospital block into a chapel for the prisoners. The prisoners found some benches, and made their own altar and a lectern. This makeshift Chapel, appropriately enough, was dedicated to St Luke, the patron saint of physicians, whom we are commemorating here today.
In May 1942, an allied prisoner of war called Stanley Warren, himself grievously ill with a severe renal disorder and amoebic dysentery, was transferred to Changi, and sent to its hospital block. Warren was a talented artist: before the war he had studied at the Hornsey School of Art in London. He was also a man with a profound Christian faith. By the August of 1942, he had made a slight recovery and, although still extremely weak and unwell, he was asked by another of the imprisoned Chaplains if he would paint murals on the walls of the hospital chapel. He agreed to do so, and proceeded to read all four gospels to choose appropriate biblical stories that he could illustrate in his pictures. He had no painting materials, of course, but somehow his fellow prisoners managed to provide him with bits and pieces - some brown camouflage paint, a small amount of crimson and white oil paint – and a blue pigment that was made from crushed billiard cue chalk. He made his brushes out of human hair. Warren was so weak that he could only manage to paint for about fifteen minutes a day. And yet, despite all this, and out of such incredibly limited resources, Stanley Warren managed to produce a sequence of five large murals. He later reflected that his sheer determination to see that project through was the thing that kept him alive, and enabled him to survive the ordeal of that terrible Prisoner of War Camp, somewhat against the odds.
Back in 2002, a family holiday took us to Singapore, and I was able to see for myself the life-size reproductions of these murals that are now on display in the Prisoner of War Museum at Changi. Four of the five paintings depict very well-known gospel events: the birth of Christ; the Last Supper; the Crucifixion; and the sending out of the disciples by the Risen Christ
But I must confess that I found the fifth and final mural of the series rather baffling. I shall describe it to you in a moment, but, if you are interested, there is a small reproduction of the painting itself on the table just this side of our main entrance, so do have a look at it later.
There are various reasons why the last of Stanley Warren’s murals is rather odd. To begin with, it is the only painting of the series that does not depict an event from the gospels. It is also the only one of the five that does not have the figure of Jesus centre stage. Indeed, Jesus does not feature in the picture at all.
And alongside that, the biblical text that has been selected for this picture seems a very odd choice. It is a seemingly unimportant, almost throwaway phrase, that happened to feature in our first reading this morning from the Second Letter to Timothy. It is the simple text, ‘Only Luke is with me’.
What is even more bizarre, is that the painting does not actually seem to depict at all accurately the text that it is supposedly illustrating, for reasons that I shall explain. But in my experience, when that happens it is almost always a clue to the onlooker that there is more going on here than meets the eye. We have to look deeper.
So first, let’s think about that Bible reading from 2 Timothy in a bit more detail. In our first reading this morning, from which the phrase ‘Only Luke is with me’ was taken, we are shown the apostle Paul, writing from prison to his younger colleague, Timothy. Paul reflects on his own profound suffering, conscious that his life is nearly at an end. He laments the fact that he has been abandoned by some of his erstwhile supporters, Demas, Crescens and Titus. Only Luke, he tells us, is with him.
But that is one of the things that makes Stanley Warren’s depiction of this incident, so peculiar. Because, the central figure in his painting is not Paul – the suffering, and the abandoned prisoner – at all, although that is what we might reasonably expect from the text. No, the subject of Warren’s painting is the figure of Luke. Luke is portrayed in his picture as a somewhat frail-looking man, who nevertheless exhibits a steely determination as he sits deeply engrossed in the task he is shown undertaking – writing on a scroll with a quill pen, utterly oblivious to all that is going on around him. This is clearly Luke the evangelist, imprisoned, but completely immersed in the task of writing the gospel that now bears his name.
The eyes of all the other characters in the painting are fixed upon him – including those of St Paul, who is sitting next to him, his arm draped over Luke’s shoulder in a gesture of support and companionship. Immediately behind Luke stands an angel, hands lifted in a gesture of prayer or protection; looking towards him from the other side of the prison bars, with a look of touching affection is Mary, the mother of Jesus, accompanied by a man, who is perhaps the beloved disciple. Even the Roman Centurion, the jailer, looks on, relaxed and almost indulgent in his attitude towards the evangelist.
Rather strangely, at Luke’s feet, in the foreground of the painting, is what appears to be a paint pot containing some brushes. And strangest of all, the prison in which Luke and Paul are held is, as you will see if you have a look at the reproduction at the back, is in fact no prison at all. The walls have crumbled and broken down. This is a prison without walls.
Warren had been asked to paint a mural depicting St Luke, for the rather obvious reason that the hospital chapel at Changi was dedicated to him. But why this particular text, and why is it so strangely presented? Well, firstly, because, interestingly enough, it depicts Luke, not as doctor but as prisoner, in solidarity with the Prisoners of War who would visit that chapel, and who were themselves incarcerated. And what of the Centurion looking on? It is very interesting that despite the fact that none of the allied prisoners ever actually asked the Japanese for permission to paint the murals, at no stage did they try to stop Warren’s work. Indeed, many years later Stanley Warren described how, and I quote: ‘The Japanese soldiers would come in, the Japanese sergeant and Korean guards … they would look on and never interfere.’ And that is precisely what the Centurion is doing in the picture. The jailer looks on, while the prisoner does his creative work. Stanley Warren was depicting what he was experiencing.
And why is Luke shown so deeply engrossed in the task of writing, which consumes all his energies and focus? Well, strangely enough, perhaps a clue is to be found in the pot of paint and brushes that stand in the foreground in front of the seated figure of Luke.
Something that Stanley Warren would have known, because of course, he had studied art formally, was that there is a long and well-established tradition within western art of depicting St Luke, not merely as a writer, but as a painter. Indeed, it is often forgotten that Luke is the patron saint of painters, as well as physicians. There was a mediaeval tradition that a painting of the Madonna and Child at Santa Maria Maggiore in Rome, was by St Luke himself. This doubtless gave rise to the common motif in portraits of St Luke that depicts him in front of an easel painting the Virgin and Child.
You see, it seems to me that in portraying this biblical text as he did, showing Luke the evangelist, but also the painter, imprisoned, but utterly and single-mindedly focussed upon the completion of his task, oblivious to all else around him, Stanley Warren was in a sense portraying himself: a man who only managed to survive the horrors of a Japanese prison camp, by focussing his entire attention, and all his energies on completing the task that God had given him to do – to paint Christian murals on the walls of that hospital chapel. Like Luke he was a prisoner – and like Luke he was himself a painter.
Now, in the light of that, listen again to the words we heard in our first reading this morning from 2 Timothy:
As for me, I am already being poured out as a libation and the time of my departure has come. I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith … But the Lord stood by me and gave me strength, so that through me the message might be fully proclaimed, and the Gentiles might hear it.
Listening to these words again, it is hard to avoid hearing them in the mouth of Warren himself, a dying man, utterly fixated on completing the task that had been entrusted to him; producing paintings that could, just possibly, help to bring a glimmer of hope into the lives of the sick and dying prisoners of war who would visit that chapel and see those pictures.
And it is here, too, that we perhaps find the clue to why in Warren’s picture the prison walls are shown broken down. It is said that Warren took his inspiration for this from the famous poem by the C17 writer Richard Lovelace, the final verse of which goes as follows:
Stone walls do not a prison make,
Nor iron bars a cage;
Minds innocent and quiet take
That for an hermitage;
If I have freedom in my love
And in my soul am free,
Angels alone, that soar above,
Enjoy such liberty.
Stanley Warren’s murals are a truly remarkable testimony of the power of hope in the midst of utter despair. They are an affirmation of the love and grace of God, in a place of great darkness. And that is why, ultimately, the Christian faith really is life-changing – because it can speak to, and speak out of, the grim reality of human despair, and yet affirm with absolutely certainty and conviction that whatever happens, there is always the promise of new life; there is always hope; there is always the possibility of redemption. Because, as Stanley Warren knew, the power of God’s love really can conquer all.
Amen.