I was passing through a trial of faith in 1982. I had come under the influence of philosophers such as Ayn Rand and had begun to reject the tenets of Christianity, although deep in my heart I could not reject Christ. Outwardly in word and deed I adopted an attitude of caring lesser for people I encountered and more for the pursuit of my own selfish needs. My husband John and I were living and working in Calcutta. We had been to Kathmandu on work in June 1982. The place, teeming with Buddhist and Hindu art combined with the ritualistic fervor and religiosity of the people, both attracted and repelled me. I had very deep tensions within me, tensions I could not share with anyone, even my husband. I started isolating myself and retreating into the world of art. I had come to the conclusion that art was the only thing in life worth living for and in July, I made a solemn pledge that I would never again seek happiness in any person or thing apart from the pursuit of art.
A week later I fell ill. The doctors diagnosed typhoid. I was not too disturbed, thinking that medicines would set me right in two weeks. A month passed by and I was still in bed. During this time I was trying to discover the ‘Hidden Teaching beyond Yoga’ and such like. My husband enquired one Sunday if I wanted our Parish priest to come over and give me Communion. To please him I agreed. Our parish priest came and gave me the Sacrament of the Sick. He did not ask if I wanted to confess and I did not offer to say that I did, either. He gave me a general pardon and administered the Eucharist to me. After he and the family left my room, I realized that I ought not to have received that Communion as I needed spiritual healing much more than physical healing. I guess that was the beginning, of my conversion. My fever continued unabated, doctors were at a loss to know why as they could not find anything wrong. Months passed. I was thrown into isolation by Divine purpose as I now see it. All I could observe were the passing clouds as they drifted past my window…and I wondered about God…Who was He?…Where was He?….He seemed so far away.
One afternoon I reached out for my Bible and turned to the Gospel of St. John. I had always liked the opening lines, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God and the Word was God...” There was a kind of solemnity in those lines which spoke of His presence. I read on, for the first time right through to the end of the Gospel, the WORD taking life in my soul. I was stirred to the very depths of my being. I sensed His living power; here was no intellectual rationalizing, but a living presence. I stood in awe and then was down on my knees weeping as never before. I could see the chasm, the terrible distance I had placed between God and me. Sure I was searching for Him in my own way, there was that yearning to know Him, but the more I searched the greater seemed the distance. How desperately I wanted to close that gap, how I longed to unveil those mists that shrouded His Image. I could remember how as a child He had always seemed so close at hand, how often I had walked in the safe comfort of my hand in His, but now, I felt the loneliness of sin as He confronted me with my life.
On the 20th November my doctor had advised a complete medical checkup and tests on the 22nd November 1982. Since I was supposed to go to Bangkok, for similar tests I was reluctant to have the tests done locally. On the 21st November was the Feast of Corpus Christi. We went for the 7 a.m. Mass. A priest was at the Confessional. Something prompted me to make my Confession especially after hearing the Gospel reading about the paralytic who was let down from the roof, and received forgiveness and healing. When I returned to my place I said to the Lord, ‘Jesus when you healed people you always forgave them, today I believe you have forgiven me, but I want a proof of your forgiveness, take my fever away.’ It was a simple prayer. I did not even think I was putting God to the test. All I know is that I was afraid to take my temperature though my normal habit was to reach out for that thermometer almost every hour. I was afraid to know the answer, if I had fever then I would have to admit there was no God, on the other hand, if I had no fever, then I would have to admit that God existed, and He existed in Christ Jesus. Either way I was cornered. At 2 p.m. as planned, my family came to our place. Our flat on the tenth floor overlooked the grounds of St. Xavier’s College in Calcutta where the people congregated for the Procession. The plan was that my Dad, who was old and fragile, and I, would remain at home and watch the Procession from our balcony. However, when they arrived, I could resist no longer and took my temperature. It had dropped below normal for the first time in almost five months! I decided to go for the Procession. All along the way my heart rejoiced in the Lord Who had paid heed to my prayer. The fever never came back again. We went to Bangkok as planned in December and had a good holiday. I didn’t need to do any further tests.
The outcome of all this was a new reverence for my Faith. I realized I needed to do a lot of spiritual spring-cleaning, my search had not ended - it had only just begun! I started turning to religious writings, such as the ‘Divine Milieu’, seeking a personal encounter with the Living Christ. These books though good, did not satisfy. They were too intellectualized; I could not touch the heart of Christ. Then I came across, ‘The Turin Shroud’ by Ian Wilson. Here was something vital, it carried the Face of Jesus on the cover, and a history and research documentation on the latest findings on the Shroud. I was interested, stirred deeply. It was also the beginning of Holy Year. I made a new promise to keep the year Holy and seek happiness only in the Lord.
A friend in Italy sent me a book on the Shroud which had an enlargement of the Face. I started studying the Face, its structure, its proportions. I was fascinated. I made a few sketches, gaining new insights into its human quality. A desire started growing within me to recapture the living Christ as He appeared to me from the negative, on canvas. I had been painting portraits for some time. I was convinced this negative could be painted. I thought I would try. But the question arose in my heart that I was unworthy to attempt painting the Divine. I went through several waves of hesitation and doubt whether I could or should attempt such a task. I prayed and asked for guidance. I found the urge growing stronger than ever. I knew I just had to paint it. I remembered as a young girl, on seeing frescoes of Christ’s suffering in a Church in Mangalore, I had made a promise to Jesus that someday I would paint Him crucified; if it had to be the last thing I would do before I died. I wondered if Jesus would hold me to that promise! In fact I knew I would paint the crucified Christ, but I had sub-consciously kept deferring it, thinking that once I did it, I would die… And I didn’t feel ready to die! In a way Christ has held me to that promise, yes, I am dying to self, as I allow Him to cleanse out and rebuild the temple of my heart, and not in the way that I had anticipated!
On the 16th April 1983 I finally got ready. At Mass I prayed that He would give me the grace to faithfully recapture His Image from the negative. I started around 8.30 a.m. and worked non-stop till around 4.30 p.m. with a short break for lunch. I believe His Hand guided every stroke; I just could not leave the canvas till the picture was finished. I was completely lost in it. All I remember was the feeling of a pleasurable tiredness, of being near to Him, energized in Him, as I drew strength and sustenance from His wounded Image. It was food for my soul. I had never experienced such deep satisfaction from any other painting I had done before. The Face was etched deep in my heart. I carried the Image of His Face before me for months after that. It haunted me; I just could not get away from it. And I believe much of my spiritual growth since then has come from the Image of His Face. I am grateful to God for this wonderful gift He has given me, and especially for the grace and privilege of painting His Face, unworthy as I am, and for using me as His vehicle, for His honour and glory, not mine, as I had once pledged.
The Late Fr. Robert Herzer, TOR with whom I came in contact in 1984, quite providentially, through the picture of my painting of the Holy Face, had said with reference to my painting, “It is not a picture of a dead Christ as we understand it as applied to a corpse. It is the Body of Christ waiting in restful repose for the moment of Resurrection. Looking at that sacred picture one knows without a shadow of doubt that Resurrection had to follow. This picture speaks only to those who love but speak it does to those so favoured.”
On 21st October, 2009 I finally presented my painting of the Holy Face of the Shroud of Turin to the Vatican. It was not easy to part with this painting so greatly loved and so intrinsically a part of my life, however, I was only able to do so after I was inspired to make a second painting in 2008 modeled on the Face of the Shroud, but this time, taking the liberty of opening those closed eyes and relaxing the mouth as I perceive the Lord would have appeared at the moment of His Resurrection.
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