12 June 2020 | All the colours of the rainbow

The rainbow has become a key symbol of our resolve, gratitude and hope during the pandemic. Ironically, you won’t have seen many real rainbows since lockdown until maybe quite recently. You can’t have rainbows without rain! We certainly had the necessary sun, but barely any rainfall. But, instead, children have drawn colourful rainbows to put in their windows or have chalked them on paths. You may also have come across the butterfly rainbow created by the artist Damien Hirst in honour of the NHS.

The Queen, in her broadcast to the UK & Commonwealth on 5 April, described the rainbows drawn by children as symbols of the ‘self-discipline, quiet good-humoured resolve and fellow-feeling (that) still characterise this country’.
 

Lockdown Rainbow © Philip Richter

I was wondering where the idea of creating rainbows during the lockdown had sprung from. According to the BBC, the person credited with popularising the idea is a mum from Ipswich, called Crystal Stanley, who set up the Rainbow Trail Facebook page, after seeing something similar in Italian social media. Crystal sees the rainbow pictures as signs of ‘positivity, hope and togetherness’ in these difficult times. As with all good ideas, other people may have had the same idea at the same time, but what a good idea it was!

It’s not the first time that the rainbow has been used as a symbol of hope and resolve. Archbishop Desmond Tutu, you may recall, coined the term ‘Rainbow Nation’ to characterise post-apartheid South Africa. He was drawing inspiration from a much older use of the rainbow symbol in the Book of Genesis. Coming at the end of the story of the Great Flood and Noah’s Ark, the rainbow became a sign of God’s enduring love for humankind and all living creatures. God told Noah that every rainbow would, in future, be a reminder of God’s promise never to repeat the Great Flood. The rainbow would be a sign of a new beginning - an eternal covenant between God and every living thing. Because God wanted to save the world, not to destroy it. Similarly, centuries later, Jesus would assure us: ‘God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him’ (John 3:17).

In more normal times, Rosemary and I would have been in Salisbury recently, celebrating the 800th anniversary of the founding of the Cathedral. Back in 1831 the artist, John Constable, painted a much-loved picture of the Cathedral from the water meadows, replete with a magnificent rainbow. The painting measures six-feet across and is held by the Tate Gallery. There are menacingly dark clouds above the Cathedral. Art critics have suggested that these reflect both Constable’s grief at his wife’s death, three years earlier, and a sombre national mood at that time, in the face of widespread poverty and controversial political reform. The Bishop of Salisbury, Nicholas Holtam, recently pointed out that ‘their uncertainty and anxiety must have been much as we feel now with this wretched virus after years of austerity and Brexit’ (BBC Radio 4 Sunday Worship, 3 May). 

John Constable (1776-1837) ‘Salisbury Cathedral from the Meadows’, first exhibited 1831, Photo © Tate, Creative Commons Licence CC-BY-NC-ND (3.0 Unported)

However, there is also light breaking through the storm clouds in the painting, lighting up the west front of the Cathedral and the soaring spire. Originally, when it was first exhibited, there was no rainbow in the picture – Constable added it a little later, probably in 1834. It was a master final touch to the painting. The rainbow imparts a powerful note of hope and, I love the way it embraces the Cathedral, reminding us that all churches are signs of hope and new beginnings.

Churches in England will soon be allowed to reopen for private prayer (13 June). Not every church will have the capacity to do this, but this relaxation to the pandemic regulations comes not a moment too soon. It would have been ludicrous for non-essential shops to reopen and for churches to remain completely closed. Maybe the government momentarily forgot that faith is one of the ‘key activities’ of our society! We don’t know when we will be allowed to gather for worship, but, when we do, I’ll be looking forward to singing the great hymn ‘O love that wilt not let me go’ with its beautiful verse:

O Joy that seekest me through pain,
I cannot close my heart to thee;
I trace the rainbow through the rain,
and feel the promise is not vain
that morn shall tearless be.

Evidently, George Matheson wrote the whole hymn in a burst of inspiration in just five minutes on 6 June 1882. He became a renowned Church of Scotland minister, despite having, tragically, gone completely blind, aged eighteen, over twenty years before. Even though he could no longer see a rainbow, he was confident in God’s promises and could ‘trace the rainbow through the rain’. Let’s hope it won’t be too long before we can sing this together!

Philip