The juxtaposition of two images has taught me so much about what it means to receive forgiveness. One image is a masterpiece, universally recognizable, “The Return of the Prodigal Son” by Rembrandt (c. 1662). The other, “The Tree of Forgiveness” by Edward Coley Burne-Jones (c. 1882), is much less well known. It treats the legend of Phyllis and Demaphoon.
Both of these images render the same existential moment, namely the NOW in which a person comes face to face with the overwhelming power of authentic forgiveness. In Rembrandt’s vision, the prodigal kneels and buries his face in the embrace, humilated and relieved. In Burne-Jones’ vision, Demaphoon cannot bear it, and though embraced, wrests away from his lover, even while striving to maintain eye-contact with her. I know what that feels like. To be torn between fear and joy, revulsion and relief. Demaphoon’s body reveals the distortion of his spirit.
Terrifying as it is, nothing is more healing that receiving genuine forgiveness. Terrifying because it involves and engages our deepest selves, and because it renders us utterly vulnerable. Healing because it works grace into those exposed depths. The feelings of shame and guilt are washed away, consumed in the purity of the moment.
Like Demaphoon and Phyllis, the forgiver and forgiven – if their exchange is to be considered meaningful – stand completely “naked” before each other. Like Adam and Eve before the Fall, they are naked – and “unashamed.” The joyful upshot is: receiving forgiveness restores us to our most human state – the state of unashamed, naked, being-with-another. I can see that if all this is true, then our response should mimic the prodigal’s, and not Demaphoon’s.
