The Broad and the Narrow--chap.1

Let me scratch this thing. 

I've been itching to say something about a wall hanging in our library, for at least two reasons: first, because it's a wall-hanging in our library. I put it in a frame and gave it a place beside all sorts of treasures, including the old samurai sword my dad grabbed on his way home from the South Pacific, and my grandfather's 1897 Parkersburg High diploma. 

There it hangs, on the wall, for mysterious reasons.

And second, because this old religious print somehow came alive. 

I didn't know the lady well, just enough to tip my hat maybe--I never wore a hat--probably said "hi" is all. She lived on the southwest corner of the block, a widow, her husband gone long before we moved into the neighborhood. In those early years of our marriage, we had house, a place to live, but not much at all for furniture. I went to a lot of auctions, and this one was right on our own block. When the widow passed away, her earthly possessions made it out on her front lawn, among them a print of this odd Sunday School lesson--men, women, and children going one of two ways most everyone who's reading these words can identify, even if you don't know the language (Dutch).

Let me bring some of it closer.

As you can imagine, there are far more people on the road to eternal fire (upper left) than are on their way to Celestial City across the way. I have no idea what that train is doing up top, but by the looks of things it's not "bound for glory." The way to perdition is wide and widely peopled, and it includes some major businesses--that place  across the street and to the left is, of course, a bank. (For the record, I have a few bank stocks I inherited when my father died. Yes, he was a banker.) 

Let me bring some of this fascination in for closer inspection.

Here's the demarcation zone. The thin striped sign at the entrance, shaped like a cross, communicates caution and features the essence of the choice: Dood (death) or Leven (life) on the cross section. I'm sure I don't need to translate or explain it all away. The three dandies hiking up in the wrong direction are behind a street sign that says, simply, Rijk der Wereld ("the rich of the world"). Politics aside (no, this isn't socialism--put away your MAGA hats), remember what Jesus said about rich men finding their way into and through needles' eyes. Those are his words, not mine. I'm pretty well off actually.

Meanwhile, there's an un-fancy young dominie with his arms raised like a traffic cop, pointing toward destruction while simultaneously directing a mom, a daughter, and her son up the path that leads to door they'll all have to bow to get through. Behind him, John 3:36 is set upon the wall: "He that believeth on the Son hath everlasting life: and he that believeth not the Son shall not see life; but the wrath of God abideth on him." It's that simple.

The open Bible at the base of the cross is turned to II Timothy 3:16 and 17, proclaiming the divine inspiration of the scriptures, as you might well imagination. 

At the auction on the corner, I dug this old print out of a box of sale items, found it perfectly charming, in large part because although I knew no Dutch, I understood enough of what was going on, even the scriptures. I loved it, in the way I can love a museum piece because the Broad and Narrow had me in it somehow. Some part of me was born and reared in this remarkable cartoon, at least somewhere not far away.

But I didn't bid--or, if I did, I didn't want it bad enough to pay what others did. Couldn't have gone for much either, I don't think--old print, cheap frame. Besides, how would I explain the odd sense of my being in this whole scheme? I went without it--not really missing it either. I'm sure I walked back across the block smiling. What stayed was the memory, which, mysteriously, in a way I had even before I saw it. Does that make sense?

Then how did the Broad and Narrow get up on my wall? Tune in tomorrow for chapter two.