'I know why the caged bird sings'

When I was studying festivals and rituals in Renaissance Venice as a post-graduate, evocative paintings full of religious processions and miracles, one thing that struck me was how the public space was highly ritualised and controlled. Most of the time women were prevented from taking part in the public rituals and had to watch from their windows (see above). When they were out in public space, their appearance was strictly controlled. 

'Being part of the governing structure of Venetian life, civic ritual was a male domain. A woman’s world was a distinctly smaller one than a man’s, while men made forays into the political and economic centres of the Piazza San Marco, the Rialto and further a field to the East in merchant galleys and the terraferma, women remained in small communities at home. Dennis Romano argues that a woman’s neighbourhood was the parish of her residence and perhaps one or two adjoining parishes, adding further that ‘generally speaking, men did not want their wives and daughters to appear on the city’s streets’ (1990, 343).'                                                    

 (M.A. Dissertation, Nay 2008)

We have all been deeply moved by the sight of Italians singing from their balconies; it feeds our stereotypes about the Italians, that they are emotionally freer than us Northern Europeans; and fills us with hope, giving us a sense of the tenacity of the human spirit. Think of the novel by Maya Angelou -'I know why the caged bird sings'.

Having our freedom taken away from us is a novel experience for the majority. It's made me consider what it's like to be in prison - to have your geographical existence so curtailed, or to be controlled and abused by an over-bearing partner. It has brought closer to my reality, the Christian command to visit those in prison (Matthew 25.36). I must admit the idea that the police are out there ready to stop you and ask what you are doing, has filled me with anxiety. It's a sign that our liberty has been seriously limited. It takes some getting used to. In a liberal society we have been used to a certain type of freedom. 

This Palm Sunday, we will be prevented from gathering outside, following a donkey, waving palms and heralding our humble and lowly King. It has led to some creative suggestions: hanging greenery on our doors, drawing a cross on the palm of our hands and sending out virtual waves - signs of resistance and the tenacity of the human spirit. How do we continue to particpate in the great drama and ritual of the Christian story from the confinement of our homes? 'How do we sing the Lord's song in a foreign land?' (Psalm 137.4)

Hardship, even of this relatively limited sort, may encourage us in our relationship with God. When Irina Ratushinskaya wrote the following poem, just after her imprisonment by the KGB had ended for writing 'political' poetry, and refusing to renounce her Christian faith, she recalled the powerful effect of prayer:

Believe me, it was often thus:

In solitary cells, on winter nights

A sudden sense of joy and warmth

And a resounding note of love.

And then, unsleeping, I would know

A-huddle by an icy wall:

Someone is thinking of me now,

Petitioning the Lord for me.

My dear ones, thank you all

Who did not falter, who believed in us!

In the most fearful prison hour

We probably would not have passed

Through everything – from end to end,

Our heads held high, unbowed –

Without your valiant hearts

to light our path.

‘Believe me’

Irina Ratushinskaya

(Kiev, 10 Oct. 1986)

We can pray. That is sometimes the last thing that we do. In this situation it is perhaps the first thing that we do. We proclaim a God who has set us free in Christ Jesus: 

'For freedom Christ has set us free' (Galatians 5.1). 

That freedom is a spiritual freedom, think of St Paul:

'I am an ambassador in chains' (Eph. 6.20); 

he saw his imprisonment as furthering the spread of the Gospel: 

'my imprisonment is for Christ' (Phil.1.13).

Some proclaim Christ from envy and rivlary, but others from goodwill. These proclaim Christ out of love, knowing that I have been put here for the defence of the Gospel-  Phil.1.15-16

Perhaps we have been put here, for the defence of the Gospel. This is our opportunity, once in a life-time to change the course of history, to usher in a new age of faith. The strength of man, his self-sufficiency, his pride has been dented. Will he turn again to God? If we make a faithful representation of Him to the people - one in which we turn away from our desire to be in control, and rather point towards the one who saves, the just judge and redeemer of the world.


Image: Giovanni Mansueti, “Miracle at the Bridge of San Lio,” Venetian Art, accessed April 1, 2020, http://library.bc.edu/venetianart/items/show/1537.