Rembrandt’s The Return of the Prodigal Son

When I was about 14, I told my mother I really wanted to go to Russia someday.  At the time, I wasn’t sure why I said that.  After all, Russia was America’s sworn enemy (think Berlin Wall, Cuban Missile Crisis (just happened), Cold War, Khrushchev’s UN shoe pounding).  Mother’s reaction (which, to be fair, was probably what I was going after in the moment) was less than enthusiastic.  But the desire never left me, admittedly sublimated by intervening life, but there nevertheless.

Then, about 15 years ago, I had the chance to attend a study of Henri Nouwen’s book, The Return of the Prodigal Son, with an Episcopal priest who had studied under Nouwen at Harvard.  The book is a record of what can only be called a life-changing encounter Nouwen had with Rembrandt’s iconic painting housed in the Hermitage in St. Petersburg.  To Nouwen, the painting became a voice, a siren song calling him home.  At the time, he didn’t know what “home” meant or even that he had wandered far from it.  But, to his credit, he was willing to listen to the voice.  He sought permission, which was granted, to sit in front of the painting–for a week.  His book records the kaleidoscope of insights that eventually rewired his soul.  And, in those weeks of book study, it fueled the latent desire in me to go to Russia.

So–when a dear friend asked me what I thought about traveling with her to the Baltic Sea, I knew the time had come.  The itinerary included several stops–cities in five different countries–but the two days in St. Petersburg were the draw for me.  The spark that began so long ago for an unknown reason, fanned by the bellows of Father Vann’s study, had created the flame I could no longer ignore and the quenching of which I could no longer postpone.  The trip became my pilgrimage, something I needed to see before I die.

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This amazing artist rendering of the most famous story of loss and restoration and redemption is an arrow to the heart in my spiritual journey–therefore, an entirely necessary wound. Healing is exceedingly slow, but God always provides in the moment. 🦋