Void

A great windstorm arose, and the waves beat into the boat, so that the boat was already being swamped. [Jesus] woke up and rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, “Peace! Be still!” – Mark 4:37, 39 (NRSV) 

There’s much to delight a visitor to Boston’s Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum: the atrium, the collection, the realization of all that a rich lady with a vision can achieve. What always moves me, though, is what’s not there. Back in 1990, thieves got away with 13 pieces from the museum’s collection, including Rembrandt’s only known seascape, a depiction of the text above. Little was left for investigators but a lot of loose ends and a zillion clues of dubious utility. 

Part of what makes the Gardner heist so compelling is that, due to a stipulation in Isabella Stewart Gardner’s will, the art in the various galleries must remain exactly where she placed it when alive. No buying new works to fill in for the stolen ones, no scooching paintings over to hide the discolored spot. You walk into the Dutch Room and are smacked in the face by empty gilt frames, the wall showing through behind. I don’t actually care about paintings all that deeply, but the first time I walked into that room, tears sprang to my eyes. 

Everybody has a theory; nobody knows. Meanwhile, the lacunae remain all over the museum, teeth missing from an otherwise perfect smile. Isabella’s heart won’t let the loss be hidden. 

And like a lost coin, or a wandering sheep, or a wayward son, what’s missing is a thousand times more compelling than what’s still safely on the walls. 

Prayer
Help us keep searching until all the lost—paintings or people—have been found. Until then, don’t let us pretend the loss isn’t real. Amen.

About the Author
Quinn G. Caldwell is Chaplain of the Protestant Cooperative Ministry at Cornell University. His most recent book is a series of daily reflections for Advent and Christmas called All I Really Want: Readings for a Modern Christmas. Learn more about it and find him on Facebook at Quinn G. Caldwell.