A Recent Discovery - Is This The Earliest Image of Our Lady of Sorrows?

I was recently contacted by my friend Fr. Andrew Marlborough, a priest based in England, who has written for the New Liturgical Movement in the past about items of interest that appear in auction houses throughout Britain and Europe. Before becoming a priest, his career was in the commercial art world.

This time, he wanted to know if I could shed any light on a recent purchase he had made, which, he was speculating, might be the earliest known example of an image of Our Lady of Sorrows, dating back over 1,000 years and possibly as much as 1,400 years. I could not offer any new information, so I open this up to New Liturgical Movement readers. It was described in the auction house as early Byzantine, but Fr. Andrew thinks it might be of Ottonian or Carolingian origin. Here is the object, followed by the letter he sent to me, with his description and thoughts. 

Fr Andrew wrote:

I recently purchased this small gilt-bronze roundel (7.5 cm diameter) at an auction in London. It was catalogued as 6th-8th century Byzantine and described as the Virgin Mary ‘grasping a long staff’. But I could see that it is clearly an early image of Our Lady of Sorrows. It is generally thought that this devotion developed between the 12th and 15th centuries. Therefore, it seemed a rather important object that could rewrite a chapter in the history of Marian iconography. I suspect the Byzantine attribution is wrong and that it is a little later, possibly Carolingian or Ottonian. If so, it could be one of the earliest depictions in art of Our Lady of Sorrows, if not the earliest.

As well as the question of dating, there is also the question of function. The auctioneers described it as a Byzantine phalera. These were decorative metal roundels which adorned the chest armour of soldiers or the harnesses of their horses in antiquity. This is possible, but I wonder if it may have been some kind of ornament for religious processions, pilgrimages, or for membership of a confraternity. Markings visible only on one side of the reverse suggest it has been used as a brooch. The amount of hand-finished detail on the roundel is impressive and finely executed. The use of gilding also indicates that it was a costly and highly prized object.

Stylistically, it seems more Western. This is supported by the fact that Eastern depictions of the Virgin Mary without Jesus are very unusual. The style of the sword/dagger may also help identify its date and origin.

I’d be grateful if anyone can shed further light on this.

He asks that anyone with information write to him at: andrew.marlborough@gmail.com.

Icon Painting Workshop in Crete, August 1-10th, taught by George Kordis

I will be attending this 10-day residential course this summer. It welcomes all, from absolute beginners to seasoned artists, and can be a masterclass for professionals.

Writing the Light is a program of instruction in traditional Byzantine-style iconography that offers comprehensive training through its Certificate Program, from soup to nuts. Their classes are predominantly distance-learning or online, but are supplemented by in-person intensive workshops taught by master teachers, and led by the main teacher, renowned Orthodox iconographer George Kordis. The workshops are part of the full program, but you don’t need to be enrolled in the Certificate Program to attend. Many do so for personal enrichment and enjoyment without completing the whole program. They take place in various locations: Crete, Dublin, Ireland, and several in the US. I recommend Writing the Light instruction, especially to those who want a fully integrated training program that may lead to becoming working artists, and those seeking classes for personal enrichment.

The program emphasises a welcoming approach; many Catholics are enrolled as students. To register and read more about the class, follow this link.

My wife, Margarita, who teaches at Princeton, and I are looking forward to participating in this residential workshop. We have both been invited to speak to the group, but we will also be following George’s tutoring, and painting icons along with the group. As speakers, we represent the Scala Foundation, where Margarita serves as Executive Director, and I am Artist in Residence, and Pontifex University, which offers the Master of Sacred Arts program, where I also serve as Provost and Dean of the Faculty of Sacred Arts. Writing the Light encourages all their students to complement their practical training with the online intellectual and cultural formation that the Pontifex University classes offer.

In my talk, I will emphasise the relevance of traditional Byzantine iconography to all Christians, discuss the impact that sacred art has on the wider culture, and discuss the importance today to all painters of learning traditional iconography, at the very least as a foundational discipline, regardless of what form they eventually specialize in, if we want to re-establish a Christian culture of beauty in the secular West.

Margarita will speak on the importance of artistic practice in education—both K-12 and higher education—as a formative tool not just for future artists, but for the development of every student’s capacity for perception, imagination, and creativity; and how both the making and contemplation of sacred art, such as icons, can nurture a graced imagination that informs all human activity, where beauty, virtue, moral formation, and the love of God are not separate pursuits, but work in unity.

To register and read more about the class, follow this link.

George Kordis is one of the foremost iconographers of our time. His approach, rooted in and never straying from tradition, emphasises rhythmical and flowing line as the basis of form, bringing the tradition alive for contemporary artists. Whether you’re a beginner or a seasoned iconographer, the course is designed to meet you where you are, guiding you through the whole painting process.

Continue Reading this Article. . .

Entering Heaven on Earth with the Photography of Fr Lawrence Lew OP

One of our best Catholic photographers, Fr. Lawrence Lew, OP, whose work has very often been shared at NLM over the years, has given us a new book that will be of great interest to all readers here:

Entering Heaven on Earth: The Signs, Symbols, and Saints of Catholic Churches 

It’s a stupendous coffee-table encyclopedia comprising just what the subtitle of the book tells us. Fr. Lew himself is responsible for all the gorgeous photos as well as the crystal-clear, just-the-right-length, theologically profound commentary, fully worthy of a member of the Order of Preachers.

In Part I, Fr. Lew takes us through sacred architecture, the form of the Church, color and ornamentation, altar and tabernacle.

In Part II, he looks at living creatures and nonliving creatures as symbols.

In Part III, the way the Bible is depicted in sacred art, with the rosary mysteries, the Old Testament scenes and typology, depictions of God, angels, the Last Judgment, and the sacraments.

In Part IV, he takes us through artistic depictions and symbols of the saints: Our Lady, apostles, evangelists, and all the other categories, with their halos, habits, flora, fauna, objects, body parts, and instruments.

As I paged through the book I could not believe how thorough it is — there’s probably not a single thing you’ll ever see in a Catholic church, no matter how lavish its use of signs and symbols, that is not explained here!

One thing I especially appreciate is that Fr. Lew’s commentary is deeply traditional but also quite delicate — there’s no hammering. He simply takes things for granted, such as the communion rail, or black as a proper color for Requiems. He’s a “gentle traditionalist,” to use Roger Buck’s phrase.

Some photos of the book:

The book is available from the publisher, from Amazon, and doubtless from other online shops too. This book is a good way to evangelize with beauty and tradition.

History, Salvation History, and the Christian Story in Art

There are different ways of portraying the truths contained in the Bible. One, of course, is to illustrate literally a particular event, as in this painting by Rubens of the gathering of manna by the Israelites in the desert.

Historians stress that in the past, sacred art was a traditional way of transmitting the truths of the Bible to the illiterate. This is true, although in practice it would be very difficult to know what was happening even in Rubens’ painting without being given an explanation of what we are looking at as well. Once we are told the story, it is illustrating that the art can help powerfully to enrich our grasp of that story by enlivening our imagination and, through its beauty, opening our hearts to want to learn the truths it portrays. Further, each time we look at this painting, all that we have been told about it comes back to us in an instant. It is a powerful aide memoir in this respect, rather than a device that transmits a story in isolation.

There is another way of portraying a Biblical scene in art, one that allows us not only to remember what happened, but also gives us a deeper understanding of the meaning of what is being described. Artists do this by inserting other events and people, from different times and places, into the scene, so that in the single moment of looking, we connect them together in the painting. In many ways, visual art can make such connections more powerfully than a written commentary. When we see two events connected in this way and reflect upon why, then if the artist has done his job well, we then understand the meaning of both more clearly.

Take for example this painting of Moses seeing the Burning Bush. In Exodus, chapter 3, we are told that God spoke to Moses in the desert from a bush that was burning, but which was paradoxically unconsumed by the flame. God told Moses who he was: ‘I am the God thy father worshipped, the God of Abraham, and Isaac, and Jacob. And Moses hid his face; he dared not look on the open sight of God.(Exodus 3, 6). Moses was then instructed to take off his shoes because he was standing on holy ground, after which, God gave Moses his mission to lead the Israelites out of Egypt.

Commenting on this event, St Gregory of Nyssa wrote in the 4th century AD: “What was prefigured at that time in the flame of the bush was openly manifested in the mystery of the Virgin, once an interval of time had passed. Just as on the mountain the bush burned but was not consumed, so also the Virgin gave birth to the light and was not corrupted. Nor should you consider the comparison to the bush to be embarrassing, for it prefigures the God-bearing body of the Virgin.” (On the Birth of Christ, PG XLVI, 1133)

This image by a contemporary iconographer called Seraphim O’Keefe, aa fresco painted on the wall of a church in South Carolina. The connection with the Mother of God is made explicit in this painting by showing her in the burning bush (others referred to as the ‘unburnt bush’). Her Son, Jesus Christ, is shown in her womb. The four letter IC XC are the first and last letters of each name Jesus Christ, in the Greek. The letters next to Mary are a similar abbreviation for the Greek words that mean Mother of God. We also see Moses taking his shoes off, and being handed the ten commandments by God from a heaven shown as a place with a dark interior, indicating a mystery beyond our full comprehension. Both of these events occurred at different times, but the way the artist has painted them connects in our minds the historical event of the burning bush with the Word of God (who is the Son) and with His mother.

This reinforces the general point that Christ is at the center of history. The Old Testament directs us to Him in the future, the New Testament speaks of His life, and together they can be interpreted so as to provide a template for our present and future pilgrimage to heaven. Each of us has a personal story to tell of our Christian journey, which a personal and unique participation in this grand story of all mankind, which cuts across all time, past, present, and future.

In regard to this latter point, the image of Our Lady portrays her uniqueness in being the God Bearer, (‘Theotokos’ in Greek). On the other hand the unburning fire in Mary is the fire of Pentecost by which the Church was established and which is the divine life, the gift of the Holy Spirit to all who are baptized into the Church.

This is ‘Salvation History’ - that narrative of the ark of time from the deepest past and which is given meaning by the Incarnation, life, death and Resurrection of Christ, and directs us to the furthest point in the future again under His divine governance.

Below is an icon of the burning bush, also by Seraphim O’Keefe.

Changing the Ethnicity of Christ and Our Lady in Art: When Is It Legitimate?

When depicting Christ or Our Lady, one always has to consider their individual characteristics (handed down to us by tradition); but at the same time, the artist can always consider modifying their appearance, so that those who are likely to see the painting will identify with Him or her. Here are some paintings by Chinese Christians, the first, from the 14th century and the second from the turn of the last century. 

In some respects Christ is the Everyman, the model for all humanity. When He (or indeed Our Lady and the saints) are painted, the image must also participate in a model of humanity that the audience can relate to and try to emulate in their own lives. But at the same time, to be convincing as a person, it must look like a unique individual with individual characteristics. We cannot emulate characteristics that are unique to someone else, but they must be in the artistic portrayal, otherwise the painting will not be convincing. All Christian sacred art is a balance of the general and the particular.

If those who are going to see the painting are going to be almost exclusively Chinese, as I am assuming would have been the case with the two paintings above, then it can be a legitimate approach, I would argue, to portray Christ and Our Lady as Chinese. There are many depictions of Christ by Western European artists that show him as Western European for the same reasons.

However, if those who are going to view the painting are used to seeing people from the Middle East, as might be the case in more cosmopolitan societies, such as exist today or was the case in the ancient Roman empire, then it is probably better to aim for a more historically convincing portrayal, 

It can be surprising which society chooses the Middle Eastern Christ or Our Lady.

In Russia, it seems, people expected a Middle Eastern complexion. I once had lessons from an icon painter in England who had been at one time a student of the famous Russian iconographer Leonid Ouspensky. Ouspensky was an expatriate living in Paris in the middle of the 20th century, and died there in 1987. She told me to use predominantly the green-brown color (called ‘avana ochre’) with highlights used sparingly in yellow ochre and white specifically because it matched the olive-brown Mediterranean complexion. Ouspensky’s argument rested on the desire for conformity to the Russian tradition, as this is what connected with Russian Orthodox Christians.

St Nicholas, Russian, late 12th century

Christ Pantocrator, by Ouspensky, 20th century

Our Lady of Kazan, by Ouspensky, 20th century

It seems that an artist has a choice in these matters. The governing principle is that he should aim to maximize his chances of communicating the person of Christ to those who are likely to see his work.

Liturgical Art as Prophecy and Priesthood: Sacred Art and the Restoration of Human Dignity (Part 2)

This is the second part of the presentation given by Aidan Hart, my old friend and former painting teacher, at the Scala Foundation conference in Princeton, New Jersey, on Saturday, April 22nd. The first part was published on Tuesday. All the icons shown here are by him. 

Through this talk he traces the development of culture through the right worship of God. In order to make this argument he establishes and anthropology of man as body, soul and spirit who, through grace, partakes of the divine nature. He talks of how important sacred art is in this dynamic and closes by makes concrete suggestions as to how such artists might be trained.

I would like to give a shout-out for the liturgical art school that Aidan has established in Chichester, England. The teachers are Aidan, who is Orthodox, and two other Masters who were his apprentices, Martin Earle, who is Catholic and James Blackstone, who is Anglican. They are accepting apprentices from the USA and the UK and if anyone wishes to make a donation to help an apprentice then please contact me and I will put you in touch with Aidan or you can go to aidanharticons.com .

WHAT DOES IT MEAN TO BE IN GOD’S IMAGE AND LIKENESS?

We have examined how St Irenaeus shows us that all people are made in God’s image, but are also given a task, to grow in Christ’s likeness through deification. We have seen how these things entail the whole person, body, soul and spirit. We have seen how these principles are applied in worship, namely that man is made to be communal, that the destiny of the cosmos is inextricably intertwined with man as a eucharistic animal, and how worship is an icon and participation in heavenly life. As above, so below.

We shall now zoom in a little more to consider what this means for liturgical art, and explore some ways that we can live out this life. I have chosen to focus on the two ministries of prophet and priest.

Man as prophet

One is prophet (that is, Christ); some are prophets (those called specifically to this ministry, like Elijah or John the Baptist); and all are prophets, since every Christian is called to discern God’s voice in their daily lives. An integral part of man’s progress into deeper union with Christ is to discern his voice in every place and situation.

The ascetic tradition of both Eastern and Western Christendom identifies three stages in spiritual growth, and the middle one is prophetical. The first stage is purification (practical theology in Greek); the second is illumination (or natural theology); and the final is union, or mystical theology.

Purification opens the spiritual ear of the seeker to hear the divine logos speaking through each person and thing. This eventually prepares them for a more direct encounter with the Logos himself, which is mystical theology. Prophets are also called seers, ones who see, and so this intermediate stage can also be described as beholding the Lord in creation, as did Moses when he saw the bush that burnt, but without being consumed.

This leads us to the form or ‘style’ of liturgical art, as distinct from its subject matter. The way things are painted can help us to see the divine fire within and through them. The music with which psalms or hymns are sung has a profound effect on the soul of the hearer. This music, if good, will amplify the logoi of the words and open our hearts to their deepest meaning. We have all experienced the profound effect that great chant can have on our souls. If the music is poor, it will attract attention to itself and away from the words.

The visual arts of worship can assist our initiation in a similar way that good chant does. In the icon tradition, for example, we find that the lines of perspective often converge in the viewer, and not in a fictitious horizon within the image. The lines of this ‘inverse perspective’ thus enter the actual liturgical space in front of the icon, and engage the viewer with the saint depicted. They invite us to interact with the saint.

This so called ‘inverse perspective’ also presents the world from the point of view of the holy subject rather than of ourselves; we cease to be the centre of the universe. It gives the praying viewer a sense that the saint is contemplating them, as much as—or indeed, more than— they are contemplating the saint. Over the years of being exposed to these images, we gradually come to see that God is the prime activator in life, and our role is to respond to this. We learn to look and listen first, and then act and speak.

The way the icon is painted has thus assisted a turn from I to Thou. This is the essence of repentance, for which the Greek word is meta-noia, a change of nous. This nous is best described as the eye of the heart.

The movement from seeing to hearing to action is eloquently described in Moses’ encounter with God in the burning bush, described in Exodus chapter (3). Moses is about his daily work as a shepherd, then he sees ‘a great sight’, a bush that burns without being consumed. He draws near ‘to see why the bush is not burned up.’ Many people have this experience when they first encounter icons, a perplexity why they are painted the strange way that they are.

Then God calls to Moses by name: ‘Moses, Moses.’ The experience of divine beauty is not a mere aesthetic feeling, but always leads to personal encounter with the Lord. Moses replies: ‘Here I am!’ A dialogue is opened. Moses could have fled, just as Mary could have fled from the Archangel Gabriel and not accepted to bring forth God into the world. But Moses chooses to stay and to respond, ‘Here I am!’ Liturgical art is likewise always ecclesial in the literal sense of that word, as a work of the people; it always entails reciprocal work or synergy between God and the human person.

God then replies to Moses: ‘Come no closer! Remove the sandals from your feet, for the place on which you are standing is holy ground.’ So, while liturgical beauty attracts and reveals, it also veils, draws lines, and affirms what is inaccessible. It simultaneously says and unsays. It is sublime and awesome as well as attractive.

And then God gives Moses a mission. God tells him that he is filled with compassion for the suffering of his people, and he wants Moses to deliver them. ‘I have observed the misery of my people who are in Egypt; I have heard their cry on account of their taskmasters. Indeed, I know their sufferings …So come, I will send you to Pharaoh to bring my people, the Israelites, out of Egypt.’

So worship and its liturgical beauty is not solipsistic. Liturgy is not a private club for intellectual or aesthetic delectation. If it does not rebound to compassion for people on the street, then we have not worshipped in truth.

Man as priest

We come now to the second ministry, that of priesthood. While the emphasis of the prophetic ministry is to receive, that is, to hear and see God, the emphasis of the priestly ministry is to offer, to give. Irenaeus describes it in this way:

We are bound to make our oblation to God and thus to show ourselves in all things grateful to him as our Creator… We offer to him what is his own, suitably proclaiming the communion and unity of flesh and spirit… We make then, our offering to him, not as if he stood in need of anything, but giving thanks to his sovereignty and sanctifying his creation...He takes to himself our good endeavours to the end that he may repay us with his good things…(8)

There are three elements to this passage of St Irenaeus: offering; thanksgiving; and endeavour. We offer not grapes and wheat, but wine and bread, the fruit of man’s endeavours acting upon God’s gifts. We saw earlier how Irenaeus wrote of man’s journey into ever deeper union with God. Man also has a task to journey deeper into creation, not to get lost in it, but to fashion it into an Edenic garden in praise of its Creator. Our priestly interaction with the material word can be described as fashioning a hymn of praise, using not words but matter. Leontius of Cyprus (556-634) put it very boldly in this way:

The creation does not venerate God directly by itself, but it is through me that the heavens declare the glory of God, through me the moon worships God, through me the stars glorify him, through me the waters and showers of rain, the dew and all creation venerate God and give him glory.(9)

The essence of Adam and Eve’s fall was their failure to do just this. They took the raw material of God’s gifts, but instead of thanking the Giver for these, they turned their back on Him and tried to enjoy these gifts for their own sake. If, by contrast, they had given thanks for all the good things received, and ‘worked the Garden of Eden and taken care of it’, then in good time God would have granted them to partake of the tree of life, which is deification.

One way to understand the tree of knowledge of good and evil is that it is the whole created world, which if received and worked with thanksgiving to its Maker rebounds to knowledge of good, but if grasped for its own sake, rebounds to knowledge of evil and to death.

This is one reason why the central act of the Christian Church is the Eucharist, the service of thanksgiving. It is a microcosm of how we ought to live in paradise. Man offers bread and wine as the first fruits of his cultivation in Eden, and gives thanks for all God’s gifts. God in return offers to man the fruit of the Tree of life, which is the Holy Spirit.

I make liturgical art in a variety of media, such as painting icons and frescoes, carving in stone and wood, and mosaic. In all this I am acutely aware that I am, in a small way, participating in the priestly, prophetical and royal role incumbent on us all —that is, to fashion creation into an even more articulate hymn of praise to God and to offer it back in thanksgiving.

Consumerism is simply the repetition of Adam and Eve’s sin. It is the capital sin of our age. Ingratitude increases the spiritual hunger of the consumer, and steals food from the hungry. Consumerism is the antithesis of a eucharistic life. The billions of tons of rubbish we vomit back upon our earth each year proves that this consumerism does not satisfy.

But it need not be ever thus. Christ has gathered up this rotten way of life of ingratitude and buried it. He has become the second Adam and begun a new race through the Holy Spirit. In the phrase of Irenaeus, Christ has recapitulated all of humanity and returned it to the divine likeness:

He was incarnate and made Man; and then he summed up [anakephalaio] in himself the long line of the human race, procuring for us a comprehensive salvation, that we might recover in Jesus Christ what in Adam we had lost, namely, the state of being in the image and likeness of God.(10)

This is the Good News. It has already happened. Christ has ‘summed up in himself the long line of the human race.’ We just need to become what we already are in Him.

Christ’s transfiguration upon Mount Tabor is the most graphic visual expression of this recapitulation. Not only was his person transfigured (and in him, all of human nature), but so also were his garments. His garments represent all the cosmos, for cosmos means adornment in Greek. Inanimate matter was able to participate in Christ’s transfiguration because Christ had lived a prophetic and priestly life in the world. He had been master of his body and appetites, and continually gave thanks to the Father for all things. This obedience to the Father released divine grace back into the material world. As an Orthodox hymn of Transfiguration expresses it:

In His own person He showed them the nature of man, arrayed in the original beauty of the image….You were transfigured, and have made the nature that had grown dark in Adam to shine again as lightning, transforming it into the glory and splendour of Your own divinity. (Aposticha of Great Vespers)

Metaphorically, the liturgy is another Mount Tabor. The rituals, architecture and furnishings of authentic worship are Christ’s garment, tailored to the shape of His body. As the people are transfigured through the Eucharist, so too is the material cloth of liturgical art transfigured. This is why, in Saint Paul’s words, the cosmos eagerly awaits ‘the revealing of the children of God’, for thereby:

the creation itself will be set free from its enslavement to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. (Romans 8:21)

HOW THEN SHALL WE LIVE?

So far we have considered the grand scheme of things, viewed the Everest that we are called to ascend. I would like to finish with a brief discussion of some practical steps we take on this journey.

Education in liturgy

To repeat our opening words, we act as we see. The first step is therefore education, not education merely to swell our head knowledge, but to check, and if necessary, recalibrate, our vision of the world and of our worship. Such institutions can suggest ways that we can deepen and improve our liturgical life and thereby inspire personal and cultural repentance. Education in the fullest sense of the word is the beginning of repentance. It should stimulate wonder.

A vital early step on our journey is therefore to create networks and centres that teach this patristic vision of the world. The liturgy itself is, or should be, the highest source of such education—not just sermons, but the hymns and liturgical art. However, often the quality of liturgical art has become impoverished and itself needs educating. The establishment of teaching organisations such as Scala, the Orthodox Arts Journal, the Institute of Sacred Arts at St Vladimir’s Seminary, and the Institute for Orthodox Christian Studies in Cambridge, England are all good exemplars of this recalibration by returning to patristic sources. They aim to revive a patristic vision of our life in this world and provide a platform for discussion.

Training centres of liturgical art

A parallel need is to establish centres or networks that offer professional and specialist training in the making and performing of liturgical arts: church architecture; iconography (including wall painting, mosaic, and carving as well as panel painting); lighting design; furniture design; chanting, and so on. These need to offer training to a high level.

This training also needs to integrate these different disciplines so that they unite to create the most profound liturgy possible. Each medium is an instrument in an orchestra, not a soloist. I shall discuss some possible models for such training networks in a minute.

Why should we expend energy and resources on such training? Surely the Holy Liturgy is holy regardless of the skill with which it is executed? However, its effectiveness in transforming people’s lives is inhibited by lack of skill. Holy texts sung out of tune tend not to transform us as well as those sung beautifully. We all know the profound effect that St Andrey Rubliof’s icons have had and continue to have on people’s lives, and the story of how ancient Rus converted to Christ through the beauty of Hagia Sophia’s worship. We have surely all experienced that short journey from head to heart when we hear sacred music, or perhaps when we have entered a frescoed church.

The more I study medieval churches and their iconography, the more I realize how profoundly well the ancients knew their art, and how crude we moderns are by comparison. Scholarly and scientific studies are revealing ever more clearly how masterful were these architects and artists. Our hubris has assumed an inevitable improvement with time, while these studies show that, in reality, we lack the refined and integrated knowledge that these liturgical artists possessed. My spiritual father on Mount Athos, Archimandrite Vasilios of Iviron, often said to me that there are epochs where it is difficult to get things wrong, and there are epochs where it is difficult to get things right. We are certainly of the latter.

That this is so has been borne out by recent collaborative studies, such as those led by Bissera Pentcheva, in particular her book Hagia Sophia: Sound, Space, and Spirit in Byzantium, (11) and by Sharon Gerstel.(12) Professor Pentcheva has shown just how skilful the Byzantine architects were in creating ideal acoustics.

She also discusses how the marble revetments were chosen for their water-like veining, to harmonise with the water symbolism used in the hymnography. She also suggests that some hymns were created for the particular resonance of Hagia Sophia, so that the cathedral itself partook of antiphonal singing.

Sharon Gerstel and her team’s collaborative work on Byzantine churches in Thessaloniki has shown that the architects created in the ambo (where readings are intoned) the short resonances that are ideal for speech, and the longer resonances in the choir that are ideal for chant.

Wassim Jabi and Iakovos Potamianos (13) have shown in their studies just how precisely the architect of Hagia Sophia in Constantinople—Anthemius of Trallis—designed the windows around the base of the great dome to maximise the even reflection of light onto the dome.

They used computer modelling to adjust the angle of the windowsills and found that the best angle is the one used by Anthemius. In this way he maximised the mystical effect of light.13 These new centres and networks for training liturgical artists need also to offer courses to future commissioners. Courses for seminaries and church leaders are needed to convince these leaders of the importance and methodology for commissioning liturgical art. It is no use training people to make things if their skills are not then commissioned. In fact, for Byzantine writers the word usually translated as maker—ktitores— refers not to the artist but to the commissioner. Without a commissioner, nothing is made.

With regards to training liturgical artists, I would like to end by describing three models for training, based on my own experience in the United Kingdom and from what I know of courses elsewhere.

Apprenticeships

There is no doubt that the best way to learn a craft is by apprenticeship. When I began my ministry as a liturgical artist forty years ago, in 1983, there was no formal way to learn the necessary skills, so I had to organise my own learning path. I had no other choice, but the journey of the autodidact tends to be much slower than that of an apprentice.

Over the past ten years I have had two full-time apprentices, Martin Earle and Jim Blackstone, and through this training they obtained in six years a level of skill that had taken me twelve years to reach.

I had been a professional sculptor before becoming a member of the Orthodox Church, which proved a good foundation for my sacred art. And my university training in Maths as well as English literature has helped me to be analytical, which helped me unearth the secrets behind masterpieces. However, this self-training was a very slow and arduous way to study this most difficult of arts. Apprenticeship is a much quicker, more in-depth and efficient way of learning.

The apprenticeship method is by and large self-funding, with the master employing the student, at low rates while they are learning, and then higher rates as they improve. Having said that, the learning process is greatly facilitated if there are scholarships. Martin, for example, received a three-year grant from the Queen Elizabeth Scholarship Trust (QEST) so he could dedicate each Friday to iconographic studies without financial stress. Jim had saved money from his previous employment so he could concentrate on his apprenticeship studies.

We are currently seeking more such scholarships to assist the training of other such liturgical artists.

Full-time or part-time schools

In traditionally Orthodox countries, such as Russia and Greece, there are full-time accredited courses in liturgical arts such as icon and wall painting. St Tikhon’s Orthodox University in Moscow, for example, runs a five-year degree course in iconography.

But such full-time courses are at present probably too ambitious for the Americas and Britain. Part-time but still serious versions are a more viable starting point. For the past fourteen years, for example, I have been running a three-year part-time course in icon painting, under the auspices of the Prince’s Foundation School of Traditional Arts. We meet seven times a year for three intensive days, and home studies are given which take around five to eight hours a week.

Though not of sufficient length to train students fully, this part-time programme does provide a solid but affordable foundation to people. One key advantage is that it is manageable for those who might have full-time jobs or family commitments. It is self-finding from fees of £2,700/year, which includes meals while on the course. A number of these students have since gone on to be full-time iconographers. These courses usually include one or two students from the USA, and up to three from Europe, as well as British residents.

Collectives

Two years ago I was contacted by the Chancellor of Chichester Anglican Cathedral, Canon Dan Inman, asking if I could help the Cathedral to establish a liturgical art centre. The Chichester Workshop of Liturgical Art (CWLA) has subsequently been founded. It is a sort of collective organised under the auspices of the Cathedral.

The CWLA’s mission has two aspects: it offers apprenticeship training in the liturgical arts, and education in the theology and need for liturgical arts for seminarians, clergy and other interested people.

The practical training is offered by a group of self-employed artists who work in a studio nearby, although soon they will move to a purpose-built studio in the Cathedral precincts. The two current masters are my qualified apprentices, Martin Earle and Jim Blackstone. We hope to add more. They offer training in icon painting, wall painting, mosaic, and stone and wood carving. They are developing a range of apprenticeship programmes, such as top-up courses for people already skilled in their craft but who need help to adapt this for liturgical art.

Each master is self-employed, supporting themselves primarily from commissions. The funding mechanism for apprenticeships varies depending on the job at hand. For example, Martin has just run a four-week internship in mosaic while making a large mosaic commissioned by a church. Martin was paid a pre-agree fee from Cathedral funds for the hours he spent teaching the intern one-to-one. When the intern was sufficiently trained, after a week or two, Martin was then able to pay her a wage of £10.50 per hour for a total of seventy hours. This wage was funded from the payment Martin received from the commissioner for the mosaic they were working on.

Martin, Jim (who has a doctorate from Cambridge in theology) and I are now working on the educational side, preparing a series of podcasts, publishing articles, running study days, and in particular, developing modules for seminaries.

The Workshop’s vision and theology for liturgical art is rooted in the Orthodox tradition, but this is being applied and adapted across the board to Anglican and Catholic churches. Martin is Roman Catholic, Jim is Anglican, and I am Orthodox. The Cathedral is Anglican, and the seminaries we are currently working with are Anglican, and we are hoping to do the same with Catholic seminaries. CWLA’s vision is to raise the standard of liturgical art to the highest possible level, and to explore ways of expressing the timeless principles of the tradition to our particular epoch and in the particular space of each commission.

Conclusion

Before questions and discussion begin, I would like to end by reading a passage from the letter to the Hebrews. This passage affirms so graphically that when we come to Christ, we come to the whole worshipping community. It is this city of the living God which our liturgical art and our vision for the world should orient towards:

…you have come to Mount Zion, to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem. You have come to thousands upon thousands of angels in joyful assembly, to the church of the firstborn, whose names are written in heaven. You have come to God, the Judge of all, to the spirits of the righteous made perfect, to Jesus the mediator of a new covenant… (Hebrews 12:22-24)

Notes:

(8) St Irenaeus op. cit., IV, xviii 4,5,6 (Bettenson p.95)

(9) St Leontius of Cyprus, PG, xciii, 1604AB (transl. Kallistos Ware).

(10) St Irenaeus op. cit. III.xviii.1 (Bettenson, p. 82)

(11) The Pennsylvania State University Press, 2017.

(12) ‘Soundscapes of Byzantium’, Spyridon Antonopoulos, Sharon E. J. Gerstel, Chris Kyriakakis, Konstantinos T. Raptis, and James Donahue (Speculum 2017 92:S1, S321-S335).

(13) W. Jabi and I. Potamianos, ‘A Parametric Exploration of the Lighting Method of the Hagia Sophia Dome’, in The 7th International Symposium on Virtual Reality, Archaeology and Cultural Heritage VAST (2006). Accessed 2023.4.16: https://diglib.eg.org/bitstream/handle/10.2312/VAST.VAST06.257-265/257-265.pdf?sequence=1&isAllowed=y

Chichester Cathedral, England

The Feast of St Luke the Evangelist

Although Ss Mark and Luke are given the title “Evangelist” in the liturgy, but are not called “Apostles”, the former is really a subcategory of the latter, and the liturgical texts of their feasts do not differ significantly from those of the other Apostles. One distinguishing feature of St Luke’s feast is that it is not kept with a vigil on the day before, since vigils were reserved for martyrs. The tradition accepted in the West is that he did not die as a martyr; his Preface in the Ambrosian Missal specifically calls him a “confessor”, and the liturgical commentator Sicard of Cremona says in the later 12th century that “he did not end his life by martyrdom.” (Mitrale 9.47) The only other Apostles who have no vigil are Barnabas, who was not one of the Twelve, and the three whose feasts occur in Eastertide, from which penitential observances are excluded: St Mark on April 25th, and Ss Philip and James on May 1st.

The Vision of Ezekiel, by Raphael, 1518

Already towards the end of the second century, St Irenaeus of Lyon identified the four animals (or “living beings”) seen by Ezechiel in the vision at the beginning of his book as prophetic symbols of the four Evangelists. These are a man, a lion, an ox and an eagle, the same four which later appear to St John in Apocalypse 4. This tradition was followed by Ss Augustine, Jerome, and Gregory the Great, although they differ from Irenaeus as to which animal symbolizes which Evangelist. (Jerome’s explanation, confirmed by Gregory, eventually prevailed.) They all agree, however, that the ox, an animal commonly used in temple sacrifices in the ancient world, including those of the Jews, is the symbol of St Luke, who begins his Gospel with the story of St John the Baptist’s father, the priest Zachariah. This interpretation is also strongly suggested by Ezechiel’s words, “the face of a man, and the face of a lion on the right side of all the four: and the face of an ox, on the left side of all the four: and the face of an eagle over all the four.” (1, 10) The man and the lion, who represent Matthew and Mark respectively, are both on the right, since their Gospels are very similar to each other; Luke records many stories that are not in the other two Synoptics or John, hence the ox which represents him is on the left; while John says the most about the divinity of Christ, and hence his eagle is placed above the others.

The traditional Gospel of St Luke’s feast is taken from his tenth chapter, verses 1-9, Christ’s instructions to the seventy-two whom He sent out in pairs to preach “in every city and place where He himself was to come.” It is also read on St Mark’s day, and was later extended to the feasts of various Confessors.

The revised liturgies which held sway in most of France from the mid-17th to the later 19th centuries, (now often called “Neo-Gallican,”) contain a great many lapses in taste and judgment which almost beggar belief. Like most people who put their hand to changing historical liturgies, the Neo-Gallican revisers were painfully obsessed with making everything “more Scriptural,” but in the process of expanding the Missal’s corpus of readings, they did manage to make a number of rather clever choices. One of these was to read St Luke’s prologue as the Gospel on his feast, as in the 1738 Parisian Missal.

Forasmuch as many have taken in hand to set forth in order a narration of the things that have been accomplished among us; according as they have delivered them unto us, who from the beginning were eyewitnesses and ministers of the word: it seemed good to me also, having diligently attained to all things from the beginning, to write to thee in order, most excellent Theophilus, that thou may know the verity of those words in which thou hast been instructed. (Luke 1, 1-4)

In the original Greek, this passage is written in a notably higher style than the rest of the Gospel, perhaps a signal that the author is indeed a man of education, and hence suitable to the writing of such an important work. It is likely that he received his education while training as a doctor in his native city of Antioch, one of the most important cities in the Eastern Mediterranean at the time, which he mentions several times in the Acts.

St Luke writing his Gospel, and the beginning of the Gospel, from the 9th century Evangeliary of Ebon (folios 90v and 91r. Bibliothèque nationale de France

A tradition attested since the sixth century states that St Luke once (or more than once) painted an image of the Virgin Mary, for which he has long been honored as a patron Saint of artists as well as doctors. This tradition may have arisen as a metaphorical way of describing the “portrait” of the Virgin which he gives in his Infancy Narrative; the first two chapters of his Gospel recount the events of Christ’s conception and birth from Her point of view, as it were, where St Matthew speaks more about St Joseph’s role. It is also he who records most of the actual words spoken by the Virgin, far more than the other three combined. However the story arose, there are a number of ancient icons which are said to be the original painted by St Luke himself, or a faithful early copy thereof, and “St Luke Painting the Virgin and Child” has been a popular subject for artists in both East and West.

On the other hand, the Byzantine Office makes only one glancing reference to this tradition, in the following text from Matins.

Luke, apostle of Christ, revealer of ineffable things, and teacher of the nations, with the divine Paul, and the holy Mother of God, about whose divine image thou didst inquire, pray for us who bless thee, and honor thy holy falling-asleep, o beholder of God, and all-wise revealer of the divine mysteries.

The vagueness of “about whose divine image thou didst inquire” is significant, because the Canon with which this is sung was written by one Theophanes, who, together with his brother Theodore, is honored as a Saint for his defense of the holy images in the days of the iconoclast heresy. (They are called “the written-upon ones”, since the iconoclast emperor Theophilus had lines of verse cut into their skin.) Arguments from silence vary in force according to circumstance. However, it seems likely that if the tradition that St Luke made an image of the Virgin rested on a solid historical foundation, a defender of the holy icons would make much of that fact when writing a Canon in honor of him.

St Luke Drawing the Virgin and Child, by Rogier van der Weyden 1435-40

The Byzantine Office also refers explicitly to an Eastern tradition that St Luke was one of the two disciples who met Christ on the way to Emmaus, the one not named in the Gospel itself. This would be in accord with the common ancient practice of authorial anonymity; for the same reason, it was sometimes supposed that St Mark was the anonymous follower of Christ who escaped arrest in the garden of Gethsemani by running out of his clothes, an episode which is mentioned only in his Gospel. (14, 51-52) However, this story was completely unknown in the West; St Ambrose, for example, says that Cleophas’ companion was called Ammonas.

From thy writings we know, as thou said, the verity of the words which thou set forth and revealed under divine inspiration; since thou didst put thy hand to write for us of the matters of which thou were fully informed, and as the eye-witnesses handed on to thee. And thou becamest their equal, and a servant of the incarnation of the Word, whom thou didst see at Emmaus after the Resurrection; and with burning heart, thou ate together with Cleophas. Fill also our souls with His divine fervor as we honor thee.

Another text from Vespers admirably sums up the whole career of St Luke as follows.

Rejoice, thou who alone in joy did write for us “Rejoice!” (Χαῖρε, Ave), the Gospel of the Holy (Virgin), and of her giving birth to the Lord, of the Baptist speaking from the womb, of his conception, and the Incarnation of the Word, His temptations and miracles, His discourses and sufferings, the Cross and Death, and the Resurrection, which thou saw, and the Ascension, and the descent of the Spirit, and the deeds of the heralds, especially of Paul, whose companion thou wert, healer, revealer of the mysteries, and enlightener of the Church, which do thou ever guard!

Christ Appears to Cleophas and Luke on the road to Emmaus; the Supper at Emmaus; Cleophas and Luke report the Resurrection to the Apostles (Luke 24, 13-35). Fresco of the 15th century in the nave of the Gračanica Monastery in Kosovo; St Luke is named in each of the captions. (Click to enlarge.)

Bulgakov on the Holy Guardian Angels

In this type of icon the guardian angel is shown holding and protecting the soul in his care

October 2 is the feast of the Holy Guardian Angels, although this year (in 2022) it was supplanted by the Seventeenth Sunday after Pentecost (or, in some places, the external solemnity of Our Lady of the Rosary). Each year I feel, more strongly than before, that we must turn our minds and hearts to our angel guardians and rekindle a warm devotion to these resplendent companions on our journey, persons to whom the Lord entrusts us from our conception onward, into, we hope, a joyous eternity of friendship. Indeed, we should consider consecrating ourselves to our guardian angels, as I explain here.

Readers of my recent work at NLM will be aware that I have a bit of a fascination with Sergius Bulgakov’s Spiritual Diary, recently translated into English for the first time and published by Angelico Press. Apart from a few stray anti-Roman comments, I found it a nourishing book to read, with many profound spiritual insights and (at times harrowing) accounts of the author’s spiritual struggles, which he seems to have “worked out” for himself through immersion in liturgical prayer—something I find entirely relatable and believable, as it has been my experience too over time.

I was particularly struck, reading it, at how often and how movingly Bulgakov’s mind turns to his guardian angel or to the angels in general. I have gathered the finest of these passages here for the reader’s edification.

The icons reflect a few of the different types that exist in the Byzantine tradition. It is rather difficult to find good images of guardian angels in Western art.

21.X.1924

Lord, here I begin a new day of your grace, a new page of life. Help me so that the day may not remain barren on account of my laziness, as has been true of most days of my life, and that it may not be covered over by my vile sins, both voluntary and involuntary, committed in knowledge and in ignorance,55 but grant that this day may be marked by even the smallest bit of service to You. Guard me and my dear friends through your holy angels on this day, shield them from every evil, grant it to all of them this day to fulfill Your will so that You may not repent, all-blessed Lord, that You gave us, unworthy as we are, this day of our life [cf. Gen. 6:6]. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. (82)

In this type of icon the guardian angel is shown with a cross in one hand and a sword in the other

11.XI.1924

We pray and appeal to our guardian angel. He is our friend, given to us by God, yet how faintly and weakly does our heart sense this friend, how little it gives thanks and how little it loves! If only our eyes could be opened, then we would constantly see him, the “guardian of our souls and bodies.” We would comprehend that, in those situations when—by some sort of confluence of circumstances—we were unexpectedly saved from deadly troubles or misfortunes, it was he who saved us, our luminous guardian. And when some good word or thought came into our hearts, it was he, our friend, who implanted this thought in us. Our entire life would appear to us not so lonely and gloomy as we see it, but as a life of two, a life with a loving, solicitous friend. Yes, our guardian angel has been appointed to us by God, but he is no superintendent; rather, he is a friend, he loves us, we are loved by him. And this is why, according to the Church’s pious belief, our angel “weeps” when we sin or perish, and he fights for us and with us (but only in the spiritual world) against the spirits who tempt us.

[…]

How can we open our hearts to our guardian angel, how can we come closer to him? By praying to him, thinking about him, reaching for him, by attending inwardly to that barely audible whisper that resounds in our hearts at the time of prayer and after it, in those blessed hours when prayer envelops us. For he is our “kind guide,” he guides us with open eyes while we walk blindly, for we do not know the world of spiritual beings that surrounds us, we do not know the beginning and the end of the path. Be attentive then and hearken to the secret whisper of your soul, for that is the voice of your guardian angel. (91)

Ask of God faith and patience. Ask of God a guardian angel for our souls and bodies. Know that without his help and protection we would be torn to pieces in body and soul by demons: the insanity of demoniacs and of Soviet rule is only a partial example of what demons wish to do to us due to their hatred of God, their hatred of God’s creation, their hatred of man. Before us would be revealed a world of dark powers (which we in our frivolity at times recklessly try to catch a glimpse of), all possible ailments would assault us, we would not last even one hour if we did not have an angel of peace, a faithful guide, a guardian of our souls and bodies. For the Apostle says that the devil, like a roaring beast, seeks whom he may devour [1 Pet. 5:8]. And can we really stand before him on our own strength without the constant protection of our guardian angel? (97)

In this type of icon the angel is shown holding the hand of and guiding his charge

31.I.1925

Holy guardian angel, pray to God for us! What joy, what cheer, what comfort it is to know that we have a guardian angel, a true and buoyant and good friend, and that we may call upon him in prayer. Immediately after praying the canon to one’s guardian angel, there is such a freshness and clarity in the soul, as if he—a true guide and friend—had brushed me with his wing, as if my soul had drunk from the cup of celestial beings. And somehow, my soul joyfully knows and believes that it is he, yes, he, that is with me and with all of us. What immeasurable joy there will be when our eyes are opened and we see the entirety of our life, and, through it all, our faithful companion, preserving us and our sweet loved ones from plunder, from being torn apart, from evil demons and from those who serve them; what immeasurable joy there will be when we discover this love for us (which we have done absolutely nothing—besides being neglectful—to merit) and discover this prayer that is uttered for us, together with the angelic doxology, before the throne of the Most High. (116)

10.II.1925

Holy guardian angel, pray to God for us. What comfort and strength we find in prayer to our guardian angel, to our friend who is always close and who belongs to us. We must at least once in our life see our guardian-friend, we must find him in prayer so that we may carry in our hearts the joy and hope he brings. What fear, but also what great joy, await us when we will come to know him face to face, to see him after we cross the threshold of this earthly life, when we depart from the flesh. How great a teacher and guide in this life we have in him, who knows our life, who has lived all of it with us, who has wept over our falling and rejoiced in our rising again. He knows how to teach us the first lessons we need for the new life that awaits us after the grave. Oh, we shall not be alone there, we shall not be abandoned. For no human friendship—not even the loftiest and most tender—can compare with this spiritual friendship: disinterested, not disdainful of our foulness and stubbornness, but conquering all things through love. Even here he is with us, he stands behind us, covering us with his wings. Holy angel, our guardian appointed by the Lord, pray to God for us! (119)

Western depictions, where they exist, tend to be of the last sort

Book Recommendation: Festal Icons by Aidan Hart

Festal Icons by Aidan Hart is a beautifully produced book, richly illustrated and well thought-out. It contains descriptions of the 12 Great Feasts of the Byzantine liturgical year, together with Great and Holy Friday, and the Resurrection for a total of 14. In discussing these feasts and their icons, Hart writes in a clear and easily readable style, even when dealing with difficult theological concepts. This book is recommended as much for readers who worship in the Roman Rite as it is for those from the Byzantine Rite churches. It is available on Amazon, here and on Aidan Hart's site here. 

In each case, he describes why the feast is celebrated, the history of its celebration, and then the history of its iconographic representation. I am not aware of another book that does so in such detail. In doing so, he draws on the writings of the Fathers and the Ecumenical Councils, the words of the hymns of the feast (primarily the Troparion and Kontakion), and the Scriptural readings for the day. In the final part of each chapter, he draws all of this together with a detailed explanation of the content of the icon as it is most commonly represented today. Contained within the descriptions of the theology associated with the celebration of each feast are many of the basic principles of the Faith. We learn through this book, therefore, the principles themselves and their basis in Scripture and apostolic teaching, together with the visual vocabulary by which they are communicated in imagery.

In order to help us understand this dialogue of image and word, Hart devotes the first chapter, The Icon Tradition East and West: History and Renewal, to a description of the general development of the iconographic form. I have read many overviews of the iconographic tradition, but this was especially interesting for its focus on the development of style over time. He takes us from the starting point of pagan Roman art, and then recounts changes that occurred subsequently due to the influence of various regional artistic styles as Christianity spread. In order to illustrate the general principles by which change can occur over time once Christianity is established, he focuses on the story of the particular development of the Western variants of iconography in the British Isles through to the 13th century.

Hart lives and works in England, and the style of his own work, of which there are many wonderful examples shown in the book, is a contemporary development that picks up and continues that line of British iconography. This work of Hart and other contemporary iconographers constitutes the renewal referred to in the title of the chapter.

Through this he demonstrates the wide variety of styles that are nevertheless authentically iconographic, and therefore have more in common with each other than non-iconographic styles such as the Gothic or the Baroque.

Furthermore, to a degree that I have not seen before in any book describing such themes, the focus is not primarily on the understanding of theological concepts or even of an artistic vocabulary, rather it is liturgical. As Hart puts it in the Introduction:

The profound meaning of festal icons is to be found not primarily in a book, but in living the Church’s liturgical life in the beauty and holiness and desire for God.

In each case, he directs us to apply what we read by participating in the feast itself through the liturgy. He explains how those feasts form a coherent whole so that each celebration simultaneously builds upon and directs us to consider every other, while leading us to the still center, the portal of Pascha - Easter. To the degree that we pass through that portal, where heaven and earth meet in Christ, it deepens our capacity to worship the Father, through the Son in the Spirit, with an ultimate end of loving union with God, and partaking of the divine nature. This is the path of a joyful life and it is this path that Hart is encouraging us to take.

This book is recommended to those of the Roman Rite for a number of reasons. Firstly, many of these feasts are celebrated in the Roman Rite too, and regardless of the style of art used, the content of these festal icons can be used in paintings intended for Roman Catholic churches. Second, the logic that underlies the symbolism of this content can be extended to paintings for feasts that are unique to the Roman Rite, and so further enrich our artistic heritage. This is desirable because, since the Baroque period in the 16th-17th centuries, the Roman Church has lost many of the fundamentals that connect theology and our liturgy to art, and the study of this book could help re-establish an authentic culture of faith that might re-establish that connection.

I attach some photographs, the majority are from the 40-page chapter on the Nativity of the Lord.

My intention is to do occasional features on these feasts as they occur through the upcoming year based upon the contents of this book.