Green Butterfly Frederick Buechner says that you never know what may cause them − a piece of music, an old photograph, a movie, a field of golden flowers. Any of these things may cause tears to trickle down. But whenever unanticipated drops roll over the cheek, he says it is well to pay close attention.

Such was the case on the ninth of May when a group of Methodist pilgrims approached Reims Cathedral in northeastern France. We knew to look for the rich body of sculpture decorating the exterior, the famed smiling angel at the great arched entrance, the rose window featuring superb 13th century stained glass. We had read of the grandeur of this celebrated coronation site of the kings of France and were soon absorbed in the vast elegance of the massive Gothic structure.

Silently we passed through the ring of chapels surrounding the splendid altar, all the while marveling at the intricate array of ribbed vaults in the 3-story ceiling. Still, we were not prepared for the amazing triptych waiting for us in the east window. Marc Chagall’s work is always startling, but this cubist array fairly defies description. Swirls of pulsing light, arresting splotches of color, and floating figures invite the viewer into the mystery of God’s work throughout history.

The whole of the huge central window is dedicated to Christ, an all white crucified Messiah. Around him are situated stories of his ancestors, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. In the window to the left the Green Madonna shines prominently. She hugs her baby tightly and stares straight ahead, eyes penetrating to the core. Mary hovers above the kings of Judah and the tree of Jesse from which the Virgin and child stem. The third window is devoted to the story of the Good Samaritan. There we see a man rejected by all, taking care of the wounded, carrying him on his own donkey to the innkeeper.

I moved to the coarse stone ledge at the back of the altar, now shiny and smooth from folks sitting there through the years, staring across at the effervescent windows. They say Chagall himself often meditated in that spot. I wondered how this Russian Jew, who had personally known persecution because of his faith, could have captured the very essence of Christianity. Someone once asked the artist about this and he replied: I believe in love. That is why I do this work.(1) He knew that art could be the road to faith and that God’s holy light could permeate even history’s most tragic events. The cathedral’s vicar said the Chagall window is a reminder that at the end of our lives we shall all be judged on our love, whatever our religion or social status.

That night I mentioned to the group that I was surprised to find tears in my eyes as I viewed the Chagall window; several others confessed their reaction had been the same. Then we pondered Buechner’s words: Tears are not only telling you something about the secret of who you are, but more often than not, God is speaking to you through them of the mystery of where you have come from and is summoning you to where...you should go to next. (2)

Chagall’s figures float through time, retelling the ancient stories, stories that call us to move beyond the boundaries of race, gender, culture, and faith tradition. Our 10-day pilgrimage took us to other magnificent spaces in France, but we remained under the spell of the Green Madonna. And we remembered our tears. (3)

(1) Marc Chagall’s Stained Glass Windows, Jean-Marie Guerlin, Editions la Goelette, 1975, p. 2.
(2)Listening to Your Life, Frederick Buechner, Harper Colins, 1992, p. 236-237.
(3)A print of the Chagall Window of Reims Cathedral can be viewed in the church library.

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