SPOTIFY PLAYLIST: June 2024 (Art & Theology): Here are thirty selections of good, true, and beautiful music for your listening this month, spanning genres but leaning heavily into folk and gospel. The first song is written by my friend and Daily Prayer Project colleague Joel Littlepage!
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TV SERIES: Fargo, season 5: The latest season of the dark comedy anthology series Fargo, written by Noah Hawley and streaming on Hulu, has been my favorite so far, in part because of its subversive (i.e., redemptive) ending. (I also recommend seasons 1 and 2!) Set in the American Midwest, the series is inspired by the 1996 Coen brothers’ film of the same name but has all-new characters and plots, and each season is self-contained (though those who watch all the seasons will find Easter eggs). Viewer beware: the show contains graphic violence, and season 5 centers on domestic violence.
Debt is a major theme in Fargo’s season 5. In the first episode, two men invade main character Dorothy “Dot” Lyon’s (Juno Temple) home, having been sent by someone in her past who is collecting a debt, revealing her to be a hardcore survivalist. (We gradually learn more of her backstory, especially through a fantastic puppet sequence in episode 7.) Dot is married to the kindest man, Wayne (David Rysdahl), whose billionaire mother, Lorraine (Jennifer Jason Leigh), is the CEO of a debt collection agency. Both women eventually come to heads with Roy Tillman (Jon Hamm), an extreme alt-right Christian nationalist running for the office of police chief. One of his lackies is Ole Munch (pronounced “oo-lah moonk”) (Sam Spruell), a mysterious man from Wales via Scandinavia who we learn is a “sin-eater” wandering the earth without hunger, rest, or hope, taking on himself the sins of the powerful and privileged.
Injuries are inflicted back and forth in a seemingly unending cycle of violence and retaliation. How can the cycle be broken? When should a debt be forgiven? In its final twenty minutes, which at first feels like a coda but actually moves the story someplace new, Hawley explores the power of love and empathy, of baking and breaking bread together. The last shot (which is not the one pictured here; I don’t want to spoil it) is perfect.
Juno Temple as Dot in the finale of Fargo’s season 5, “Bisquik”
>> “Amazing Grace,” performed by Tori Kelly and Jon Batiste:Tori Kelly and Jon Batiste are both multiple-Grammy-winning artists who are unabashed Christians working in secular spaces. Here they perform a classic Christian hymn together on late-night television—unrehearsed!—with Kelly on vocals and Batiste on piano. The video was recorded live at Steinway Hall in New York City in August 2019 for The Late Show with Stephen Colbert. Kelly’s voice is gorgeous, and Batiste—my oh my, his talent blows me away. Listening to Kelly sing, he improvises a piano arrangement that follows and responds to her lead, weaving into and around those tones, providing ornamentation and support.
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ARTICLE: “12 Easy Ways to Improve Your Listening” by Blake Glosson: “True listening isn’t just hearing words but selflessly seeking understanding,” writes MDiv student Blake Glosson in this recent Gospel Coalition article. It’s not a fixed trait that you either have or you don’t, but rather a habit that can be formed with practice. He offers twelve tips for improving your listening so that those you converse with are heard and loved. These may seem obvious, but I found it helpful to have them listed all in one place, as I never really thought about listening in a systematic way. The “Ask engaging questions” and “Ask clarifying questions” is something I always appreciate when others do it for me and that I need to improve myself.
Two women, both pregnant, greet each other—and an instantaneous bond is formed between and deep within them, confirming their identities as bearers of life. In this astonishing moment of communion, each is strengthened in her calling.
This is the story of Mary and Elizabeth, but it is also the story of each of us. Truth always encompasses both the particular and the universal—which is why the ancient biblical account stirs such deep chords when women hear it.
In Luke’s description of Mary’s visit to Elizabeth, profound joy is predicated upon fear. The angel has just announced to the younger woman that she is to give birth; and she has accepted God’s calling to a pregnancy out of wedlock, in ancient Judea a crime of adultery against one’s betrothed. The punishment for such a sin, as Mary would have known, was death by stoning. This cultural background gives pointed meaning to the report that Mary “went with haste into the hill country . . .” The image is not so much Christendom’s traditional view of a young mother-to-be paying a visit to a beloved kinswoman but of a terrified, unmarried woman (perhaps, indeed, only a teenager) fleeing for her life to the temporary asylum of a “safe house” in the hills. The aged Elizabeth, the woman whom Mary seeks out for comfort, protection, and advice, is herself caught up in tenuous circumstances: well advanced in years and beyond the biological age of childbearing, Elizabeth must certainly have had her own collection of fears and hopes about her forthcoming delivery.
Both are women on the fringe of their society. The stirring words recalling their encounter and the spark of Life that it caused to leap within them weave a story of hope overcoming deathly fear. It is a reaffirmation of the importance of our mutual support, our community as women, in enabling us to continue bearing life into the world.
HYMN FOR THE FEAST OF THE VISITATION: “Somewhere I hear the church bells ringing” by Gracia Grindal: There are many church songs on the Magnificat, the canticle Mary sings in Luke 1:46–55 when she greets her cousin Elizabeth at Elizabeth’s home in the hills of Judea, but very few hymns, at least in Protestantism, that narrate the Visitation event that occasions it, including Elizabeth’s glad affirmations. Gracia Grindal’s “Somewhere I hear the church bells ringing” is one example of the latter—a four-stanza hymn she wrote in 2010 for the Feast of the Visitation, celebrated every year on May 31, with Elizabeth as the poetic speaker. The hymn captures the excitement of the Messiah coming into the world, and references an Alfred Lord Tennyson poem along the way.
On her blog Hymn for the Day, Grindal provides the lyrics and a reflection on this hymn, as well as sheet music that uses a melody Daniel Charles Damon wrote specifically for the text, which is also available in Damon’s collection Garden of Joy (Hope Publishing, 2011). For public-domain tune alternatives, Grindal suggests DISTRESS or KEDRON from William Walker’s Southern Harmony (1835), or the Renaissance tune by Thomas Tallis known as TALLIS’ CANON—all three of which are commonly used with Fred Pratt Green’s twentieth-century hymn “O Christ, the Healer, We Have Come.”
A professor emerita at Luther Seminary in St. Paul, Minnesota, Gracia Grindal is a prolific writer and translator with expertise in Scandinavian hymns. She has served on several hymn committees and boards and is the author of A Treasury of Faith, a three-volume series of over seven hundred hymn texts on the lessons of the Revised Common Lectionary (Wayne Leupold Editions, 2006–9); Preaching from Home: The Stories of Seven Lutheran Women Hymn Writers (Eerdmans, 2011); an English translation of Hallgrímur Pétursson’s Icelandic Passíusálmar (Hymns of the Passion) (Hallgrím Church, 2020); and Jesus the Harmony: Gospel Sonnets for 366 Days (Fortress, 2021), among many other books.
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SUBSTACK POSTS:
>> “The Slow Way: On Being ‘at Peace and in Place’” by Micha Boyett, The Slow Way: When her third child was born with Down syndrome, Micha Boyett, an emerging writer, knew she needed to release herself from the anxiety of producing and focus on parenting; she decided to slow down in order to be faithful to her son. Drawing on themes in her new book, Blessed Are the Rest of Us: How Limits and Longing Make Us Whole, Boyett reflects in this post on the slow, remarkable, intricate work God does when we “allow all that we are to nourish the place we find ourselves”; when we let go of plans and rest in the goodness of what God has for us at this moment. “Rest is something that nourishes our long-term lives. And rarely, if ever, does rest improve our influence, our finances, or our platforms,” she writes. “Rest is an invisible gift to ourselves that results in invisible growth, invisible peace, invisible relational wholeness.”
>> “Word Games with George Herbert” by Grace Hamman, Medievalish: This Herbert poem was new to me, and what a delight it is! It consists of five tercets, each with an end word that gradually diminishes through loss of a letter with each subsequent line—e.g., CHARM, HARM, ARM. Playing this word game, Herbert develops the conceit of himself as a tree in God’s enclosed garden-orchard.
“The Nuingetonn Peeche” from the Tradescants’ Orchard, 1620–29. Oxford, Bodleian Library MS. Ashmole 1461, fol. 105r.
I always enjoy the literary works, which are mostly medieval or early modern, that Dr. Grace Hamman explores through her newsletter and podcast—and the “Prayer from the Past” she curates for each newsletter sign-off, like the one in this edition, by Richard Brathwait (1588–1673).
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SONG: “Te Atua” (Dear Lord): I heard this popular New Zealand hīmene (hymn) in the Taika Waititi–directed movieBoy (2010) (such a great movie!). It’s a traditional Māori Christian text, set to the Appalachian folk tune NEW BRITAIN (best known for its pairing with “Amazing Grace”) and performed in 1997 by the St. Joseph’s Māori Girls’ College Choir, featuring soloist Maisey Rika. The arrangement is by the college’s principal, Georgina Kingi. Bearing echoes of Jesus’s parable of the sower, this song is particularly appropriate for the season of Ordinary Time that we’re now in, during which the seeds that were planted in us in the first half of the Christian year germinate, grow, and bear fruit.
E te Atua kua ruia nei Ö purapura pai Hömai e koe he ngákau hou Kia tupu ake ai
E lhu kaua e tukua Kia whakangaromia Me whakatupu ake ia Kia kitea ai ngá hua
A má te Wairua Tapu rá Mátou e tiaki Kei hoki ki te mahi hé Ö mátou ngákau höu
Dear Lord, you have spread Your seeds of goodness Give us new hearts So that these seeds may grow
Dear Lord, do not allow These seeds to be lost But rather let them grow So that the results may be seen
May the Holy Spirit Guide us Lest our hearts should Return to our evil ways
>> Message Songs by the Porter’s Gate: For this album, the Porter’s Gate Worship Project partnered with the Eugene Peterson Center for Christian Imagination at Western Theological Seminary to set to music excerpts from Peterson’s best-selling translation of the Bible, The Message. Included are adaptations of Psalms 5, 16, 27, and 121, Matthew 11:28–30, Luke 15, and John 1—by a range of songwriters. The album release this month coincided with the publication of The Message Anniversary Edition, available from NavPress.
>> Volume 10 (Ordinary Time) of The Soil and The Seed Project: This double album—which is completely free!—features twenty-four songs by musicians of faith under the direction of Seth Thomas Crissman, a Mennonite pastor, educator, songwriter, and multi-instrumentalist from Harrisonburg, Virginia. Here’s one of the songs, “The Way Your Kingdom Comes” by Lindsey FitzGerald Stine, sung by her and her sister Rachel FitzGerald:
The music is one element of a larger project that also includes liturgies and newly commissioned artworks. Learn about the project’s free summer concert series on their Events page, which will feature contributors to the most recent album and other friends.
The Old Testament reading in the Revised Common Lectionary for this coming Sunday, Trinity Sunday, is Isaiah 6:1–8:
In the year that King Uzziah died, I saw the Lord sitting on a throne, high and lofty, and the hem of his robe filled the temple. Seraphs were in attendance above him; each had six wings: with two they covered their faces, and with two they covered their feet, and with two they flew. And one called to another and said,
Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts; the whole earth is full of his glory.
The pivots on the thresholds shook at the voices of those who called, and the house filled with smoke. And I said, “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips, and I live among a people of unclean lips, yet my eyes have seen the King, the LORD of hosts!”
Then one of the seraphs flew to me, holding a live coal that had been taken from the altar with a pair of tongs. The seraph touched my mouth with it and said, “Now that this has touched your lips, your guilt has departed and your sin is blotted out.” Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I; send me!”
Wow. What a truly awesome passage!
I’d like to share two songs inspired by it as well as two visual artworks. The first song is a choral work by the English composer and organist Sir John Stainer (1840–1901), titled “I Saw the Lord.” It was performed by The Sixteen under the direction of Harry Christophers and appears on the ensemble’s 2009 album A New Heaven.
The first stanza is the King James Version of Isaiah 6:1–4, and the second stanza is the third verse of “Ave, colenda Trinitas,” an anonymous Latin hymn of the eleventh century, translated by John David Chambers (1803–1893).
I saw the Lord sitting upon a throne, high and lifted up, and his train filled the temple. Above it stood the seraphims: each one had six wings; with twain he covered his face, and with twain he covered his feet, and with twain he did fly. And one cried unto another, Holy, holy, holy is the LORD of hosts: the whole earth is full of his glory. And the posts of the door moved at the voice of him that cried, and the house was filled with smoke.
O Trinity! O Unity! Be present as we worship thee, And with the songs that angels sing Unite the hymns of praise we bring. Amen.
Christian biblical commentators have discerned in Isaiah 6 two Trinitarian references: the three “holys” pronounced by the angels (v. 3), and the use of both a singular and plural pronoun in God’s question in verse 8: “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” (emphasis mine; cf. Gen. 1:26). Unity in plurality. Further, the New Testament relates this passage to both Jesus (John 12:41) and the Holy Spirit (Acts 28:25). That’s why it’s commonly read on Trinity Sunday, and why Stainer has appended to it a Trinitarian hymn text.
Of Stainer’s musical setting, William McVicker writes,
It is often said that I saw the Lord was written with the acoustics of St Paul’s [Cathedral in London] in mind. It is scored for double choir with an independent organ part. The music’s drama is achieved by the simple, largely homophonic texture, and the interplay of the two chorus parts with that of the organ. Stainer breaks into an imitative texture at the words ‘and the house was filled with smoke’ and again in the final verse section, which is reminiscent of a Victorian part-song.
The music is grandiose, majestic, as one would expect for the encounter it frames, which involves robes, thrones, angelic attendants, shaking doorposts, smoke, and an all-pervasive divine glory.
I suggest listening to Stainer’s choral piece as you look on the following page spread from a high medieval German manuscript produced in Reichenau. The manuscript is a copy of Jerome’s (Latin) commentary on Isaiah, with glosses added in the Alemannic dialect of Old High German, and these are the only two images inside.
Miniature depicting the prophet Isaiah’s vision of God and decorative initial page showing the cleansing of the prophet, from an Isaias glossatus made in Reichenau, Germany, ca. 1000. Staatsbibliothek Bamberg, Msc.Bibl.76, fols. 10v–11r. [browse full manuscript]
The island monastery of Reichenau on Lake Constance in southern Germany was an important center of illuminated manuscript production in the Ottonian period (919–1024) of the Holy Roman Empire. The miniatures painted there are among the finest of the Middle Ages. (For another example, see the one I shared back in 2020.)
On folio 10v of the Isaias glossatus that’s kept at the Bamberg State Library, God in the form of Christ sits in a mandorla from which trifold bursts of light shine forth, backed by mauve and powder-blue billows of smoke. In his right hand he holds a scroll that represents the word he speaks to Isaiah in 6:9–13, and the words he will continue to supply him with throughout his ministry. Hovering above a smaller-scale temple, God is attended by six seraphim (lit. “burning ones”), one of whom removes a hot coal from the altar with tongs. All this takes place within a green oval, which is surrounded by a brown and gold decorative border of vine tendrils housing two birds and two hares.
On the opposite page, folio 11r, the tong-bearing seraph touches the coal to Isaiah’s lips, purging his speech and thus fitting him for the office of prophet. This cleansing act is in response to Isaiah’s humble confession of sin, having beheld God’s holiness: “Woe is me! I am lost, for I am a man of unclean lips . . .” (v. 5). The artist shows Isaiah’s hands open and arms outstretched, welcoming God’s cleansing and accepting the call to service: “Here am I; send me!” (v. 8). Notice that this exchange takes place within the letter V, from the opening of Isaiah, “Visio Esaiae” (The vision of Isaiah . . .). The miniature is a historiated initial—that is, an enlarged letter at the beginning of a paragraph that contains a picture.
Now let’s shift gears to two Isaiah 6–based works that were made in a folksier idiom. Take in this pen, ink, and watercolor image by the award-winning Austrian illustrator Lisbeth Zwerger, from her book Stories from the Bible (North-South Books, 2002), originally published in German as Die Bibel in 2000:
Lisbeth Zwerger (Austrian, 1954–), Isaiah’s Calling, 2000, an illustration from Stories from the Bible (North-South Books, 2002)
This book contains some of the most imaginative biblical artworks of the past century (I shared a sampling on Instagram), and I recommend it for all Christian bookshelves!
In contrast to the frontal wide shot given by the anonymous Reichenau artist, in Isaiah’s Calling Zwerger zooms in on just one detail of the scene, structured along a diagonal. Isaiah stands at the bottom right in the dark, dwarfed by the immense train of God’s robe, which is pure light. It contains letters that I can’t make out into words; can you? I would have assumed they spell out the passage from Isaiah 6 (in German?), but it’s possible they’re not meant to be intelligible—just a further indicator of God’s mysteriousness. The artist has also deliberately chosen not to show God’s face.
Five blue- and red-plumed seraphim—one mostly out of frame, save for one of his wings—stand at the hem of the royal garment, while a sixth flies down toward Isaiah with that burning coal.
At the hem of Christ’s robe is where the woman from Capernaum with the issue of blood finds healing (Luke 8:43–48), and it’s also here at God’s hem that Isaiah is made well, restored.
For a musical complement to Zwerger’s painting, I recommend the song “Lofty and Exalted” by Lenny Smith. It’s from 1993, but Smith didn’t release a recording until 2020, on the album Splendor and Majesty.
Lofty and exalted, reigning from your throne The train of your robe fills the temple Seraphim above you, calling out your name Proclaiming how good and how lovely
Refrain: Holy, holy, Lord The earth is full of your glory Holy, holy, Lord The earth is full of your praise
“God’s real exalted status and prestige is that He loves being with the lowest of the low,” Smith writes on the song’s Bandcamp page. And in the YouTube description for the song, he reminisces, “Oh for the days when a bunch of us just got together in my basement and just played and sang for hours . . . to our hearts’ content. We had no ulterior motives at all. It was just fun and exhilarating. No audience or pastors or video cameras or aspirations to become worship leaders or famous artists. Oh for those simple, lovely days!”
Smith was involved in the Jesus Movement of the 1960s and ’70s. He has written some two hundred church songs, the most famous of which is “Our God Reigns.” I know him best for “But for You,” through the cover by the Welcome Wagon on their debut album.
Stylistically, this musical adaptation of Isaiah 6 is much different from John Stainer’s. The composition is simple, just a few chords and easily singable (it would work great congregationally), and the instrumentation consists of guitar and piano. It’s also exuberant in tone. Perhaps Stainer’s piece better holds the gravitas of Isaiah’s vision, but Smith’s captures its joy.
In his Prophecy of Isaiah: An Introduction and Commentary, J. Alec Motyer writes, paradoxically, that God’s “transcendent holiness is the mode of God’s immanence, for the whole earth is full of his glory” (77), reminding us that however otherworldly this mystic moment might have felt to Isaiah, the glory of God is profoundly thisworldly too, suffusing the everyday. “God’s glory isn’t ‘up there’ away from us,” writes SALT Project in their lectionary commentary for this Sunday, “but rather fills the whole earth and is intimately, actively involved in our lives, calling and sending us in service to God’s mission in the world.”
Every artistic interpretation—visual, musical, or what have you—of a scripture text has the potential to open us up to the text in new ways. No single interpretation should become totalizing; we need all kinds! I’m so appreciative of those who take the time to sit with a Bible passage and then respond to it in paint or in song, whether that be medieval monks laboring away in the scriptorium with their gold leaf and color pigments or contemporary storybook illustrators with their watercolors, a Victorian organist knighted by the queen and serving a cathedral or folk musicians jamming with friends in informal, at-home worship.
In February I shared a few of the Vespers services offered at this year’s Calvin Symposium on Worship at Calvin University in Grand Rapids, Michigan, which I was privileged to attend. Here are two of the full-fledged services that give you a sense of what the larger corporate gatherings are like. (The theme was Ezekiel.) I love the cross-cultural sharing that goes on, learning new songs alongside others, getting refreshed by prayer and formed by liturgy, sitting under the teaching of wise ministers of God from various backgrounds, and taking Communion with friends new and old.
>> “God’s Glory Departs from Israel,” February 8, 2024 (with bilingual Korean-English music and liturgy): This worship service was led in Korean and English by the Woodlawn Christian Reformed Church Choir, directed by Chan Gyu Jang; the Living Water Church Worship Team, directed by Yohan Lee; and members of the Calvin University and Calvin Theological Seminary Korean communities. Rev. Dr. Anne Zaki from Evangelical Presbyterian Seminary in Cairo, Egypt, preached on Ezekiel 10–11.
This is an example of bilingual worship done really well! (I’ve seen it done poorly: with lack of communication of intention, one-sided involvement in the design or execution, inadequate pronunciation coaching for non-native speakers at the mic, unclear instructions that create confusion as to who is supposed to say or sing what, unintelligibility, etc.) I’m so grateful for all the creativity and thoughtfulness that went into creating this service—with a special shout-out to the bulletin designers and livestream technicians.
The bulletin provides this note on bilingual worship:
Two languages are intertwined together in this bilingual service. At times, words are spoken in one language, and their translation—unspoken—is provided on the righthand column; at times, the leaders demonstrate to the congregation how to sing or speak the words through transliteration; and at other times, the leaders and congregation converse in both languages, providing meaning to each other, so that no word sung or spoken is left unintelligible. We seek understanding and order in the sharing of our gifts.
In our pursuit, however, we practice patience and hospitality. In this service, we are called not only to speak and sing, but also to listen, to take turns. By listening, we create a room—a shelter—for travelers and strangers in this land, since language and music have power to transport one’s soul homeward. By taking turns, we practice the pace and posture of dialogue, even monolingual dialogue.
Beautiful! Here are three songs I’ll call out for special attention:
9:14: “Joo-yeo, Come, O Lord” by Sunlac Noh: This song, which is particularly well suited for Advent, originated in the Anglican Church of Korea and was translated into English last year by Martin Tel (see podcast interview below). The version we sang at the symposium preserves two of the Korean titles for Jesus.
23:36: “우리에게향하신” (Woo-ri-e-ge Hyang-ha-shin) (Never-Ending Is God’s Love) by Jin-ho Kim, based on Psalm 117:2: Sung entirely in Korean, this was used as a refrain during the Assurance of Pardon and the Prayers of the People. A simple, repeated line, either sung or spoken, is a good way to involve non-native speakers of a given language.
1:14:37: “주님다시오실때까지 / Rise, My Soul, Till Jesus Comes Again” by Hyeong-won Koh: The closing song is a charge to continue in the way of Jesus, all the way Home. The vocalists on stage sang the song themselves in its original Korean the first time through, and then we all joined in in English for the second time.
All the song credits are provided in full in the YouTube video description.
I want to especially draw your attention to 23:31, where Floyd premieres an extraordinary new song of hers, “God Breathed.” It opens and closes with a flute, and in between are her powerful jazz vocals, singing an original poetic text based on Ezekiel 37, accompanied by James Weidman on piano. (Update: Here’s a standalone video of the song.)
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PODCAST EPISODE: “Fighting Back Against the Storms of Life with Martin Tel,”Psalms for the Spirit: Host Kiran Young Wimberly interviews Martin Tel, director of music at Princeton Theological Seminary and senior editor of Psalms for All Seasons: A Complete Psalter for Worship (2012), about the Psalms—the importance of psalm singing in his Dutch Reformed upbringing; the Psalms as a form of resistance and protest; the Psalms as a means of praying our own prayers and those of others; our need to overhear some psalms as being prayed against us (that is, have you considered that you might be someone else’s oppressor?); and ideas for framing a psalm with a refrain, such as these:
Combine the Charles Albert Tindley gospel song “The Storm Is Passing Over” with Psalm 57 (“In the shadow of your wings I will take refuge, until the destroying storms pass by . . .”). Sing into the storm.
Choose a Gospel passage of someone in deep lament (e.g., the ten lepers in Luke 17:11–19), surround it with Psalm 88, and have the congregation sing “Kum Ba Yah” (Gullah for “Come by Here”) in minor mode as a refrain (“Someone’s crying, Lord . . .”). A choir can hum the spiritual while the reader(s) read the scriptures.
Intersperse the verses of Psalm 14 (“Fools say in their heart, ‘There is no God.’ . . . They have all gone astray . . .”) with the refrain “Prone to wander, Lord, I feel it . . .” to help the congregation members see their own foolishness instead of assuming it’s someone else who’s the fool.
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ARTICLE: “The Mysteries of Liturgical Sincerity” by John Witvliet, Worship (reprinted Pray Tell), May 2018: Some Protestants accuse the more liturgically inclined Christians, like me, of not valuing sincerity in worship because we value prewritten prayers and other set forms. But just because something is scripted or done habitually does not make it “rote” or “empty.”
“Among my mostly Protestant students, no theme is more contested, misunderstood, or cherished” than sincerity, writes John D. Witvliet, director of the Calvin Institute of Christian Worship and professor of worship, theology, and congregational and ministry studies at Calvin University and Calvin Theological Seminary. In this article he explores several different definitions of sincerity, which vary widely across cultures, centuries, philosophical frameworks, and Christian traditions, and then offers six “corrective lenses” to common astigmatisms in the free-church Protestant way of viewing the world: outside-in sincerity, vicarious sincerity, trait sincerity, symbiotic sincerity, sincerity as gift, and aspirational sincerity.
This article is SO GOOD. I have been greatly influenced over the years by Dr. Witvliet’s teachings on liturgical formation, and I strongly encourage you all to read this piece.
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EKPHRASTIC POEMS:
An ekphrastic poem is a poem written in response to a work of visual art. Here are two examples I like from the past two years:
>> “Christ Preaching”by Keene Carter, Image: “I forgive the absent boy,” begins this poem based on a Rembrandt etching, directing our attention to the young child in the foreground who has turned away, disinterested, from Jesus’s sermon, drawing on the ground instead. Jesus gives grace to those in the crowd with averted gazes or who are distracted, simply continuing to preach on on the virtue of empathy—of seeing yourself in others—and on true life.
Rembrandt van Rijn (Dutch, 1606–1669), Christ Preaching (La Petite Tombe), ca. 1652. Etching, engraving, and drypoint on paper, 6 1/4 x 8 5/16 in. (15.9 × 21.1 cm). National Gallery of Art, Washington, DC.
>> “L’Angélus”by Seth Wieck, Grand Little Things:The Angelus is a traditional Christian prayer whose name comes from its opening words in Latin, “Angelus Domini” (The angel of the Lord). For centuries it was prayed by the faithful three times a day—at 6 a.m., noon, and 6 p.m.—the times announced by the ringing of bells from church towers. In the nineteenth century Millet famously painted two peasant farmers at dusk pausing from their labor in the fields to bow their heads and pray the Angelus. Seth Wieck interprets the painting through poetry, homing in on the part of the prayer that says, “Let it be done to me according to thy word,” expressing an attitude of surrender to God’s will. Wieck imagines the hard life of the man and woman shown pulling up potatoes from the earth—the same earth in which, shortly hence, they’ll bury a child, lost to sickness. The poem becomes a meditation on death, harvest, and acceptance.
Jean-Franҫois Millet (French, 1814–1875), The Angelus, 1857–59. Oil on canvas, 55.5 × 66 cm. Musée d’Orsay, Paris.
The Descent of the Holy Spirit, from a benedictional made in Regensburg, Germany, ca. 1030–40. Tempera colors, gold leaf, and ink on parchment, 9 1/8 × 6 5/16 in. (23.2 × 16 cm). J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles, Ms. Ludwig VII 1 (83.MI.90), fol. 47v. As is traditional in artistic depictions of this subject, the apostle Paul (with brown beard) is seated in a prominent position opposite Peter, receiving the Spirit like the other eleven apostles. Paul was not present at the event, but he was later mystically joined to it.
. . .
Peter, speaking like this to the apostles, roused them to prayer, And standing in their midst, he spoke as follows: “On bended knee let us beg and pray That we shall make this chamber a church, for so it is and has become. Let us be eager to cry unto God, ‘Send us thy good spirit So that it may lead all of us to correct knowledge Which thou hast prepared for those who worship and praise The All-Holy Spirit.’”
When they heard this, those who had been called with him gathered together As lambs in the presence of the shepherd, charmed by his speech; And silently they specified what they desired, And they held up to the Pantokrator the prayers which pressed for these things: “To the Lord of angels and the King, To the Ruler of humankind and the Maker of the world, To the One who holds sway with his nod over those in heaven and earth, Thy friends and servants cry to thee: ‘Quickly send us The All-Holy Spirit.’”
Immediately after completing their prayers, they wrote their names under them, And sealing them in faith, they sent them on high— Prayers which the Master recognized and he said: “Comforter, descend as thou dost wish, of thy own initiative, and without being summoned; The disciples expect thee; they are the ones Whom I gather together for thee and the Father, The ones whom I educated when I said: ‘Teach the nations, Extolling the Father, and worshiping the Son, and praising The All-Holy Spirit.’”
God heard their wants, and his Comforter Descended on those who were praying. The Ineffable One was not removed from one place to the other, Nor was there alteration, nor accommodation, nor did he endure diminution, For he was above, and below, and everywhere; For the divine nature is ineffable and not to be touched; It is not seen by the eyes, but it is apprehended through faith; It is not grasped in the hands; but it is felt in hearts of faith— The All-Holy Spirit.
When the divine Pentecost was complete, the eleven chosen ones set up a din. As they persevered in their prayers, And as the passage read from Acts says, When the sound of the powerful wind of the spirit suddenly came resounding from heaven, The whole chamber was filled with fire. Indeed, it amazed the beloved disciples rather too much. When they saw the dwelling tossed like a boat, they cried: “O Master, check the storm and send The All-Holy Spirit.”
When the disciples recognized that the whole upper room was shaken as by an earthquake from the wind, They all lowered their eyes in fear; And lo! Another trembling still more to be shuddered at, And one upon another marvel brought a second trembling in addition to the first fear, For fiery tongues touched them anew And began to appear on the heads of the chosen group. Indeed, the fiery tongues did not burn their hair but lighted up their hearts And sent them forth cleansed and purified— The All-Holy Spirit.
Peter, seeing all the things which were happening, cried out: “Brothers, Let us hold in reverence what we see, and let us not examine it. Does anyone say what it is that has been done? For what has been accomplished transcends belief and defies thought. Spirit and fire are united—a true miracle; Air and flame are joined together—awesome sight! Along with winds, torches; along with dew, sparks of fire. Who has seen, who has heard of this? Who is able to speak of what is produced by The All-Holy Spirit?
“Do you, then, dearly beloved, stand and simply observe the fire Which the One who is in heaven has sent from on high; Do not fear, for the coals do not burn; Do not be amazed that the fire does not burn, but as prudent men remember How long ago the fire received kindly the three children, How their bodies were not burned, nor their hair, How the furnace revealed the three as four, For it gave back those whom it received with interest, since it feared The All-Holy Spirit.
“Then, brothers, let the One descended upon us cast out fear from our minds, And make a show of love to the Ascended One. Since he loved those whom he called, Since all the things which he prophesied, he has fulfilled, and since he has done as he said, Why, then, should we be afraid of a flame which does not burn? Let us consider the fire as roses, which indeed it is. It has been placed upon our heads like flowers, And on our heads it has formed a crown, an ornament, and illumined us, This All-Holy Spirit.”
. . .
This passage constitutes strophes 4–12 of a sixth-century Pentecost kontakion (poetic homily) by Romanos the Melodist, translated by Marjorie Carpenter in Kontakia of Romanos, Byzantine Melodist; I: The Person of Christ (Columbia: University of Missouri Press, 1970). For the original Greek, see #33 in the critical edition edited by Paul Maas and Constantine Athanasius Trypanis, Sancti Romani Melodi Cantica Genuina (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1963).
Three details stand out to me: the prayers of the apostles for the Spirit being sent up like signed, sealed letters to the heavens, eliciting God’s affirmative response; the paradoxical mingling of dew and fire (two seemingly incompatible elements) in the Spirit’s descent, both refreshing and enflaming; and the image of the Pentecostal flames as roses that crown the apostles’ heads!
Romanos is known for his kontakia, a form of hymn in the Byzantine liturgical tradition that Romanos is believed to have introduced. The kontakion is basically a poetic sermon that was sung, containing highly dramatic features, including dialogue, but it was not staged. At its inception in the early sixth century and through the seventh, a kontakion consisted of a prologue (the prooimoion or koukoulion) followed by eighteen to thirty metrically identical strophes (oikoi or ikoi, i.e., stanzas; sing. oikos or ikos) linked by a refrain. (In the example above, the refrain is “The All-Holy Spirit.”) The first letter of each of the strophes often forms an acrostic.
Kontakia were written to be sung at the Daily Office, not Mass, on feast days. Unfortunately, none of the music Romanos wrote for his survives.
By the eighth century, the kontakion had become shortened, and it lost its homiletic character and its dialogue.
Romanos the Melodist (fl. 536–556 CE) was a preeminent Byzantine hymnographer and composer who is said to have written, in Greek, nearly a thousand kontakia, of which fifty-nine (text only) survive, his best known being on the Nativity of Christ. He was born in the late fifth century to a Jewish family in Emesa (modern-day Homs), Syria, but was baptized into Christianity as a young boy. He later moved to Berytus (Beirut) and was ordained a deacon of the Church of the Resurrection there. During the reign of Emperor Anastasius I (r. 491–518) Romanos moved to Constantinople and served as sacristan at Hagia Sophia, residing in that capital city until his death. He was sainted by the Greek Orthodox Church, which celebrates his feast on October 1. The famous Akathist Hymn to the Theotokos is attributed to him.
LIVING PRAYER PERIODICAL: Pentecost 2024: The latest edition of the Daily Prayer Project’s Living Prayer Periodical is available for purchase! Pentecost is this Sunday, May 19, so grab your copy soon. The booklet provides a distinct liturgy of scripture and prayer for each day of the week, through August 31, as well as art with accompanying reflections, songs, spiritual practice essays, and, new this issue, a poem! I curate the art and poetry for the DPP. The cover image is cropped from a painting by the Guatemalan artist Juan Francisco Guzmán (it’s reproduced in full in the interior). And the poem we feature, which I wrote a short commentary for to help readers engage it more meaningfully, is “Not Like a Dove” by Mary F.C. Pratt; I’m grateful to the directors for taking a risk with this unusual, even difficult, poem, which rewards those willing to sit with its imagery over time.
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SERMON (text only): “When the Spirit Comes” by N. T. Wright: Preached May 23, 2010, at Durham Cathedral, where he was bishop at the time, this Pentecost sermon by the esteemed N. T. Wright is a rousing call to stand, like Jesus, at the place where heaven and earth collide: in the Spirit. Here are two excerpts:
“The point about Pentecost is that it’s the point at which two worlds collide and look like they are now going to be together for keeps. The two worlds are of course heaven and earth. . . . The whole point of heaven and earth in Jewish thought is that they are meant to meet and merge. And the point of the gospel story as Luke has told it in his first volume is that Jesus had come to bring the life of heaven and earth together. That is the meaning of the ‘kingdom of God’. Thy kingdom come, he taught us to pray, on earth as in heaven. The disciples, we may presume, had been praying that prayer, among others, in the fifty days since Easter. And now the prayer is answered.”
“When the Spirit comes, the Spirit will prove the world wrong [in how things are run] . . . which is not a comfortable message, and it’s not meant to be. But if we can at least recognise that discomfort, and see it as the thing you should expect when the two worlds collide, we can put our shoulders back, take a deep breath – in other words, breathe in God’s breath – and get on with the task to which the New Testament commits us but in which . . . we feel a strange reluctance. Of course we can get it wrong, and of course we will find it awkward. But how much more wrong would it be not to try! How much more awkward, when God finally brings heaven and earth fully together, will it be to discover that we had continued to live in the split-level world when we were invited, by Ascension and Pentecost together, to dare and to risk the possibility of bringing them together in our own lives and in our own witness! Because of course none of this is in the last analysis ‘about’ us. If we are embarrassed at the heaven-and-earth conjunction, we are forgetting that we are not, after all, the centre of attention in all this. Jesus went on to say that the Spirit would glorify him, not us: he will take what belongs to Jesus and declare it to us and through us to the world.”
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MUSIC:
>> “All Flesh” by Steve Thorngate: This playfully serious song is rooted in Joel 2:28–29, which Peter quotes in his sermon at Pentecost: “I will pour out my spirit on all flesh; your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, and your young men shall see visions. Even on the male and female slaves, in those days I will pour out my spirit.” Thorngate wrote it several years ago, but this recording, new this year, is the first he’s released, and it’s available only on Bandcamp for now.
>> “Ruach” by Delvyn Case, performed by the Mivos Quartet: Inspired by the story of Pentecost in Acts 2, this sacred concert work for string quartet, writes composer Delvyn Case, “bring[s] to our awareness many different ways ‘breath’ and ‘spirit’ can become sonically and dramatic present. Throughout the piece the performers are asked to make various kinds of breath sounds with their instruments and their own voices, blurring the line between music and sound. Overall, the piece emphasizes idea of the spirit as a powerful force that is surprising, shocking, and fundamentally resistant to control.”
>> “Sweet, Sweet Spirit” by Doris Akers, performed by Ruah Worship: Consisting of siblings Joshua Mine, Julia Mine, Erika Grace Izawa, and Marian Mine, Ruah Worship from Japan performs original worship songs as well as covers. I especially love their a cappella arrangements of Black gospel songs. Here they sing a song by Gospel Music Hall of Famer Doris Akers (1923–1995), about the sweetness of the Holy Spirit, who revives communities and fills them with love.
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ART INSTALLATION: Fanions et Carillons by Pinaffo & Pluvinage: I learned of this kinetic sculpture by the French artist duo Marion Pinaffo (b. 1987) and Raphaël Pluvinage (b. 1986) in a Colossal article in February and thought of the movement of the Holy Spirit. Fanions et Carillons, French for “Pennants and Chimes,” was commissioned by Fontevraud Abbey and was on display earlier this year in one of the abbey’s twelfth-century chapels. Inspired by the historical striking clocks of churches, the automaton comes to life every half hour, sending fourteen pennants of blue, red, pink, and purple swinging and swirling.
Marion Pinaffo and Raphaël Pluvinage (aka Pinaffo & Pluvinage), Fanions et Carillons, 2023. Painted wood, motor, silk, electronic, 4 × 2 × 7 m. Temporary installation at the Chapelle St-Benoît, Abbaye Royale de Fontevraud, Anjou, Maine-et-Loire, France.
On their website, Pinaffo & Pluvinage write of the piece, “Although its mechanics are simple and rudimentary, using rotational or pendulum movements, it doesn’t produce the sound of bells, but rather animates fabrics. A set of 14 inert pennants awaken in turn to create ephemeral forms that mutate, respond and compose. Like a harmony of chimes creating a melody, this ensemble creates a choreography lasting a few minutes at regular intervals.” Whereas one might associate a certain rigidness and predictability with clocks, in this piece there’s a freedom, with the pennants moving at different rates and occasionally reversing direction.
Some Christians are uncomfortable with art that transposes biblical events into other cultural contexts. But I think it’s a beautiful picture of the global character of the gospel, which has taken root in countries all over the world. As the authors write, in addition to celebrating a historic event, Chinnawong’s Pentecost “prompts us to see this as another event altogether: the outpouring of the Spirit in a room in 21st-century Bangkok rather than first-century Jerusalem. Chinnawong sets the scene here not out of disregard for the historical particularity of the original event but as a means of imagining and visually praying for the Spirit’s presence in his own historical moment. For Chinnawong, the Holy Spirit’s filling is not isolated to a single event, a particular moment, or one place but may be repeated at any time and place and for any people. Thus the circle of believers being filled with the Spirit is repeatedly repopulated and renewed.”
Last summer my husband and I drove up to Chadds Ford, Pennsylvania, to see the Joseph Stella: Visionary Nature exhibition at the Brandywine Museum of Art, which ran June 17–September 24, 2023. (Before that it was shown at the Norton Museum of Art in West Palm Beach, Florida, and the High Museum of Art in Atlanta.) It was lovely! There’s an accompanying catalog still available.
Joseph Stella (1877–1946) was born in the mountain village of Muro Locano in southern Italy, near Naples, and immigrated to New York at age eighteen, becoming a US citizen in 1923. He traveled much throughout his life—between his native country and his adopted country, but also for extended stays in Morocco, Chad, Algeria, France, and Barbados. In Paris in 1911–12 he met many of the leading artists of the European avant-garde, including Matisse, Picasso, and Modigliani, and was exposed to the full range of developments in modern art—postimpressionism, Symbolism, fauvism, cubism, surrealism, futurism, dadaism.
Though Stella absorbed some of these influences, he never aligned with a single group or movement. Art historian Abram Lerner says Stella is difficult to pin down, describing him as “a multiple stylist of unusual scope and energy,” both a modernist and a traditionalist. [1] In terms of content, his oeuvre is divided fairly evenly between urban industrial subjects—his most famous paintings are probably those from his series on the Brooklyn Bridge—and joyful and abundant nature.
Joseph Stella: Visionary Nature, curated by Stephanie Heydt and Audrey Lewis, spotlights the latter. Many of Stella’s paintings feature birds and foliage hieratically positioned around a central axis, such as Dance of Spring (Song of the Birds).
Joseph Stella (Italian American, 1877–1946), Dance of Spring (Song of the Birds), 1924. Oil on canvas, 42 3/8 × 32 3/8 in. (107.6 × 82.2 cm). Kemper Museum of Contemporary Art, Kansas City, Missouri. Photo: Victoria Emily Jones. [object record]Dance of Spring (Song of the Birds) (detail)Dance of Spring (Song of the Birds) (detail)
“Here,” reads the wall text,
Stella assembles a classical temple of flora and fauna—in his own words, culled “from the elysian lyricism of the Italian spring.” Flowers rise from a pink lotus at the base of a central column, culminating in the curious combination of lupine and a longhorn steer’s head flower, a floral form that resembles a bull’s skull. Below perch three sparrows, the national bird of Italy and a favorite of Stella’s.
At over six square feet, Stella’s Flowers, Italy is an even more epic floral composition, a symphony of vitality and color.
Joseph Stella (Italian American, 1877–1946), Flowers, Italy, 1931. Oil on canvas, 74 3/4 × 74 3/4 in. (189.9 × 189.9 cm). Phoenix Art Museum, Arizona. Photo: Victoria Emily Jones.
From the wall text:
Order and symmetry are in constant tension with the spontaneity of organic ornamentation. The canvas overflows with colorful depictions of flowers and birds within a setting evoking Gothic architecture: pillars of gnarled tree trunks extend outward from the center, as if aisles of a cathedral. Lupine, gladiolas, and birds-of-paradise fill the vertical spaces with a spectrum of colors simulating stained glass windows. Like a congregation in the pews, a host of smaller flowers and plants are gathered below.
Flowers, Italy (detail)Flowers, Italy (detail)
Despite the title, the flowers depicted are not all native to Italy; Stella culled them from his world travels, and some are his own mystical inventions.
Stella sought to portray the voluptuousness and spirituality of his Italian homeland. He was raised in the Catholic faith, and although he didn’t practice as an adult, he remained proud of that heritage. Devotion to the Virgin Mary was a prominent aspect of his religious experience growing up, and in the 1920s he began painting a series of Madonnas, three of which were part of this exhibition.
Art historian Barbara Haskell identifies some of the artistic influences on these paintings:
The garlands of fruits and flowers that surrounded his Madonnas and their embroidered garments of lacy floral patterns recalled the work of the fifteenth-century Venetian Carlo Crivelli, while their impassive countenances, downcast eyes, and long, slim hands folded under translucent cloaks owed a debt to the Dugento masters Cimabue and Duccio. Yet Stella’s paintings were equally influenced by the flat, naive, and colorful images of the Madonna that proliferated in the popular devotional images and folk art of Southern Italy . . . in prayer sheets and books, scapulars, and ex-votos as well as in the profusion of silk and plastic flowers on altars and religious images. [2]
Joseph Stella (Italian American, 1877–1946), The Virgin, 1926. Oil on canvas, 39 11/16 × 38 3/4 in. (100.8 × 98.4 cm). Brooklyn Museum, New York. Photo: Victoria Emily Jones. [object record]
His 1926 Virgin from Brooklyn Museum is my favorite. It shows Mary enshrined among the fruits and flowers of the Mediterranean, with tendrils sweeping up and down her mantle and robe, adorning her neck like a necklace, sprouting out of her prayerful hands, and encircling the womb where she gestated Jesus. The Joseph Stella: Visionary Nature curators provided the following commentary in the wall text:
Eyes downcast and hands folded in a traditional Christian gesture of spiritual humility, Stella’s Madonna is set against the distinctive topography of Naples. Visible in the background is Mount Vesuvius, the smoldering volcano that erupted in AD 79 and a landmark of Southern Italy. The halo-like orb surrounding the Virgin’s head, seemingly nestled into the profiles of the mountains, transforms the modern Naples into a site of religiosity. Stella described “the Virgin praying [. . .] protected, on both sides, by almond blossoms, crowned above by the wreath of the deep and clear gold of the orange and lemon trees.”
Stella captures the wild beauty, the fecundity, the blossoming of Mary when the Holy Spirit plants his seed in her and she conceives God’s Word. Her acceptance of the divine call that the angel Gabriel relays to her produces life that redounds to all of humanity and indeed to the whole world. It’s why Mary’s cousin Elizabeth exclaims to her, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb!” (Luke 1:42).
The Virgin (detail)The Virgin (detail)
There’s a long tradition in Christianity of describing Mary’s conception of Jesus as a flowering and of honoring her with flowers. I’m reminded especially of the twelfth-century mystic Hildegard of Bingen’s many hymns and antiphons that celebrate Mary in such terms.
Yes your flesh held joy like the grass when the dew falls, when heaven freshens its green: O mother of gladness, verdure of spring. [3]
Pierced by the light of God, Mary Virgin, drenched in the speech of God, your body bloomed, swelling with the breath of God. [4]
You glowing, most green, verdant sprout,
in the movement of the spirit, in the midst of wise and holy seekers, you bud forth into light.
Your time to blossom has come.
Balsam scented, in you the beautiful flower blossomed. [5]
The Brooklyn Virgin could be read as an Annunciation image, the Incarnation taking place inside this young woman who said yes to God. The sailboats on the sea, their movement reliant on the wind, may allude to the Holy Spirit who blew onto the scene in a major way in Luke 1 to move salvation history forward.
Joseph Stella (Italian American, 1877–1946), The Virgin (Virgin of the Rose and Lily), 1926. Oil on canvas, 57 1/2 × 44 3/4 in. (146.1 × 113.7 cm). Private collection, courtesy of Collisart, LLC, New York. Photo: Victoria Emily Jones. [object record]
The reference to outdoor religious processions with painted wooden Madonnas in southern Italy is more pronounced in Stella’s Purissima, in which the Mary figure, nearly life-size, is very stiff, statuesque. Co-curator Stephanie Heydt from the High Museum of Art introduces the work in this three-and-a-half-minute video:
Joseph Stella (Italian American, 1877–1946), Purissima, 1927. Oil on canvas, 76 × 57 in. (193 × 144.8 cm). High Museum of Art, Atlanta, Georgia. Photo: Victoria Emily Jones. [object record]
“Mater Purissima” (Purest Mother), or “Virgo Purissima” (Purest Virgin), is one of Mary’s titles in Catholicism. The artist gave the following description of the painting:
Clear morning chanting of Spring.
BLUE intense cobalt of the sky—deep ultramarine of the Neapolitan sea, calm and clear as crystal—and alternating with zones of lighter blue, the mantle multicolored (an enormous lily blossom turned upside down).
SILVER quicksilver of spring water, quilted with the rose, green, and yellow of the gown—greenish silver, very bright—mystic DAWN-white—of the Halo.
WHITE as snow for the two herons, whose gleaming white necks enclose, like a sacred shrine, the prayer of the VIRGIN.
YELLOW very light—for the edges of the mantle—to bring it out clearly with diamond purity, and reveal the hard firm modeling of the virginal breast. The lines of the mantle fall straight over the long hieratic folds of the gown, forming a frame—and the full, resonant yellow of unpeeled lemons at both sides of the painting like echoing notes of the propitious shrill laughter of SPRING.
VIOLET mixed with ultramarine for the zigzag motif in the panel along the edge of the mantle, and bright, fiery violet at the top of Vesuvius, near the white fountainhead of incense—light violet tinged with rose, for the distant Smile of Divine Capri.
GREEN soft, tender, like the new grass—intense green for the short pointed leaves that enclose the lemons—and a dark green, both sour and sweet, for the palms that fan out at the sides like mystic garlands.
PINK strong—rising to the flaming, pure vermilion borders—of the Rose, brilliant as a jewel, in contrast to the waxy pallor of the hands clasped in prayer—and infinitely subtle, delicately modulated rose for the small flowers that with the others of various colors weave of dreams and promises and splendid bridal gown of the “Purissima.” [6]
Like his Brooklyn Virgin, this painting is also set in the Bay of Naples, with Mount Vesuvius gently erupting in the right background, and the island of Capri rising up out of the sea on the left.
Purissima (detail)Purissima (detail)
Three pink lilies create a frame around the Purissima, their long stalks rising up on either side of her, with one flower bending down to crown her head with its filaments and anthers. She is attended not by angels but by herons, along with other critters at her feet. This is a Madonna both earthy and supernal.
Here are a few more photos from the exhibition:
Joseph Stella (Italian American, 1877–1946), Aquatic Life (Goldfish), ca. 1919–22. Pastel on paper. American University Museum, Washington, DC. Photo: Victoria Emily Jones.Joseph Stella (Italian American, 1877–1946), Lyre Bird, ca. 1925. Oil on canvas, 54 × 30 1/8 in. (137.2 × 76.5 cm). Addison Gallery of American Art, Phillips Academy, Andover, Massachusetts. Photo: Victoria Emily Jones.Joseph Stella (Italian American, 1877–1946), Tree, Cactus, Moon, ca. 1928. Gouache on paper, 41 × 27 in. (104.1 × 68.6 cm). Reynolda House Museum of American Art, Winston Salem, North Carolina. Photo: Eric James Jones. [object record]Joseph Stella (Italian American, 1877–1946), Banyan Tree, ca. 1938. Oil on canvas, 36 1/2 × 31 1/2 in. (92.7 × 78.7 cm). Myron Kunin Collection of American Art, Minneapolis, Minnesota. Photo: Victoria Emily Jones.
1. Abram Lerner, foreword to Judith Zilczer, Joseph Stella: The Hirshhorn Museum and Sculpture Garden Collection (Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press, 1983), 6.
2. Barbara Haskell, Joseph Stella (New York: Whitney Museum of American Art / Harry N. Abrams, 1994), 151.
3. From Hildegard of Bingen, “Hymn to the Virgin,” trans. Barbara Newman, in Symphonia: A Critical Edition of the “Symphonia armonie celestium revelationum” (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1988, 1998), 123.
4. From Hildegard of Bingen, “Antiphon for the Virgin,” in Symphonia, 137.
5. FromHildegard of Bingen,“A Song to Mary,”rendered by Gabriele Uhlein, in Meditations with Hildegard of Bingen (Rochester, VT: Bear & Co., 1983), 119.
6. English translation from Irma B. Jaffe, Joseph Stella (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1970), 99–100. For the original Italian, see appendix 1, #29.
Since the Middle Ages, the Roman Catholic Church has celebrated May, a time of new growth, as “Mary’s month.” The calendrical placement of this celebration probably has to do in part with the fact that the ancient Greeks celebrated a festival to Artemis, the goddess of fecundity, in May; the ancient Romans, Flora, the goddess of flowers and spring. Because Mary, by the power of the Holy Spirit, conceived in her womb and brought to birth the life of the world, Jesus Christ, Christians see her as standing at the threshold of an eternal springtime.
POLL QUESTION: Before moving on to the six roundup items below, if you are a regular reader of this blog or other media like it, would you please help me out by answering the following poll question? (I’m trying out this WordPress feature for the first time!) Over the years I’ve gathered a lot of compelling poems and artworks on the Annunciation, encompassing a variety of eras, styles, and perspectives, and I’d like to pursue the idea of turning one or the other, or both, into a book. Which kind of Annunciation-themed book would you be most inclined to buy? Keep in mind that a book with art would cost significantly more because it would be in full color and probably a larger hardcover. Also note that a book that combines art and poetry would obviously have fewer selections of each than a book dedicated fully to one or the other.
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UPCYCLED MARY STATUETTES:Soasig Chamaillard is a French artist who, since 2006, has been acquiring small, damaged statues of the Virgin Mary—either from garage sales or received donations—and restoring and transforming them, often with reference to children’s toy lines and media franchises, comic book heroes, or other pop-culture icons. Some are silly or irreverent; others, merely quirky. Here are two I like, which both modernize Mary, by her dress or her reading material. Click on the images to view detail photos of the final product, and see here and here for blog posts that document the transformation process.
Before/After. Right: Soasig Chamaillard (French, 1976–), Jeans-Marie (Jeans Mary), 2015. Plaster, acrylic paint, resin, metal frame, height 48 cm.Before/After. Right: Soasig Chamaillard (French, 1976–), Nouvelle Bible (New Bible), 2008. Plaster, acrylic paint, resin, digital print, height 40 cm.
The first shows Mary in high-waisted jeans and red Converse high-tops with rosettes on the tongues. The second one, a Madonna del Parto, shows her pregnant and reading the book J’élève mon enfant (Raising My Child) by Laurence Pernoud, picking up tips on being a new mom.
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ESSAY: “Mary: Evolution of a Bookworm” by Joel J. Miller: “It’s unlikely the historical Mary could read at all, but medieval Christians transformed her into an icon of literacy,” often showing her with a book in hand, whether as a child learning to read from her mother, Saint Anne; at the Annunciation, with the book of Isaiah, the Psalter, or a book of hours splayed open on her lap; or teaching her own child, Jesus, how to read. Drawing on the research of Laura Saetveit Miles, author of The Virgin Mary’s Book at the Annunciation: Reading, Interpretation, and Devotion in Medieval England [previously], Joel J. Miller discusses how images of Mary reading “rode a wave of rising female literacy and simultaneously encouraged its expansion.”
Ivory plate of the Annunciation from the Brunswick Casket, made in Metz, France, ca. 860–70. Herzog Anton Ulrich Museum, Braunschweig, Lower Saxony, Germany. This is the earliest known representation of the Virgin Mary with a book at the Annunciation.Lorenzo Costa (Italian, 1460–1535), Annunciation (Mary Reading), first third of 16th century. Oil on panel, 62 × 60.5 cm. Gemäldegalerie Alte Meister (Old Masters Picture Gallery), Dresden, Germany.
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CONVERSATION: “Sacra Conversazione” with Walter Hansen and Bruce Herman: In this written conversation from Image no. 62, artist Bruce Herman [previously] and patron Walter Hansen discuss the two large altarpieces Herman produced comprising six paintings on the life of the Virgin Mary: Miriam, Virgin Mother and Second Adam. The article is about the creative process and Herman’s collaboration with Hansen and with student apprentices in Orvieto, Italy, but it’s also about attempting to recover Mary’s image from a heap of the saccharine or overly exalted on the one hand, and ironic detachment on the other. Herman says,
I had vivid memories of Boston art critics and museum people back in the 1980s telling me that [religious] subject matter could only be approached ironically, but I had a persistent feeling that they were wrong. I’ve sensed for many years that the tradition of biblical imagery in art is far from exhausted—maybe simply stalled out due to loss of nerve or imagination. To me, much of the recent religious imagery we’ve inherited is fairly shallow. I know this might sound odd, given more than a thousand years of tradition, but I honestly believe that new insights are arrived at in every generation. Why can’t a contemporary artist paint the Virgin Mary without irony—and maybe even specifically attack the problematic nature of much Marian imagery? Why can’t a century of experimentation in painting yield something relevant to that tradition?
It’s an excellent conversation! You may have to subscribe to Image journal to access it, but it’s well worth it for all the wonderful content they put out quarterly and access to their archives.
Bruce Herman (American, 1953–), Miriam, Virgin Mother, 2007. Oil on wood with silver and gold leaf, 95 × 154 in. (241.3 × 391.2 cm).
Read more about the two altarpieces and view more photos at www.bruceherman.com/magnificat, and in the beautifully produced catalog magnificat, with a foreword by Hansen and essays by Rachel Hostetter Smith and John Skillen. The book also features four paintings from Herman’s related Woman series.
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ART VIDEOS:
What follows are my two favorite videos from the Visual Commentary on Scripture’s twelve-episode series “Unlocking Christian Art: The Virgin Mary,” in which theologian Ben Quash and art historian Jennifer Sliwka discuss religious artworks from museums in Berlin.
>> “Holy Kinship”: The subject of this video is a late medieval German limewood carving by Hans Thoman depicting Jesus’s extended family on his mother’s side. He and his mom, grandma, grandpa, step-grandpas, aunts, and cousins pose for this matriarchal family portrait that reflects a medieval legend (rejected by the Council of Trent) that Saint Anne was grandmother not just to Jesus but also, through two subsequent marriages, to five of the twelve apostles: James the Greater, Simon, Jude, James the Less, and John the Evangelist. Also included in this sculpture group are Elizabeth and Zechariah with their son, John the Baptist, and Emelia with her son Servatius of Tongeren, a fourth-century saint whom legends name a distant relative of Jesus. [view object record]
>> “Leave-Taking”: From the same period and general region as the above sculpture comes a painting by Bernhard Strigel (1460–1528) that shows Jesus taking leave of his mother just before his entry into Jerusalem the week of his death, a popular subject in northern Europe in the sixteenth century. The episode derives from a versified Marienleben (Life of Mary) from the early fourteenth century written by the Carthusian monk Philipp von Seitz, aka Bruder Philipp, from Middle Franconia. [view object record]
SONG: “Mary” by Patty Griffin: “Mary, you’re covered in roses, you’re covered in ashes, you’re covered in rain . . .” From the 1998 album Flaming Red by the country-folk artist Patty Griffin, the song “Mary” is a tribute to the woman who mothered Jesus and mothers us all. A compassionate presence who lives on in heaven at her son’s right hand, she feels the pain of other mothers who’ve lost their children. Griffin sings of Mary’s beautiful, big, humble, suffering, nurturing, pondering heart.
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POEM: “Christ’s Mother Reflects: His Childhood”by Micha Boyett: This is the last in a series of five Advent poems written from the perspective of Mary for John Knox Presbyterian Church in Seattle in 2010, the other four being on the subjects of the Annunciation, the boy who is snatched away by a dragon in Revelation 12, the Visitation, and the Nativity. Here, after Jesus’s death, Mary reflects back on his life—an early heartbreak of his, his contemplative nature, a question he once asked, his delight in scripture study, the hard choices he made, her own unfulfilled hope for normalcy on his behalf, the tearing of his flesh that mends us.
Soichi Watanabe (Japanese, 1949–), To God Be the Glory, 2009. Acrylic on canvas, 52 × 39 in. Collection of the Overseas Ministries Study Center at Princeton Theological Seminary.
This is the paschal feast, the Lord’s passing from death to life: so cries the Spirit. No type or telling, this, no shadow. Pasch of the Lord it is, and truly.
You have protected us, Jesus, from endless disaster. You spread your hands like a mother and, motherlike, gave cover with your wings. Your blood, God’s blood, you poured over the earth, giving life, because you loved us.
The heavens may have your spirit, paradise your soul, but oh, may the earth have your blood!
This feast of the Spirit leads the mystic dance through the year. New is this feast and all-embracing; all creation assembles at it.
Joy to all creatures, honor, feasting, delight! Dark death is destroyed and life is restored everywhere. The gates of heaven are open. God has shown himself human, humanity has gone up to God. The gates of hell are shattered, the bars of Adam’s prison broken. The people of the world below have risen from the dead, bringing good news: what was promised is fulfilled. From the earth has come singing and dancing.
This is God’s passing! Heaven’s God, showing no stinginess, has joined us together with God in the Spirit. The great marriage hall is full of guests, all dressed for the wedding, no guest rejected for want of a wedding garment. The paschal light is the bright new lamplight, light that shines from the virgins’ lamps. The light in the soul will never go out. The fire of grace burns in us all, spirit, divine, in our bodies and in our souls, fed with the oil of Christ.
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Join, then, all of you, join in this great rejoicing. You who’ve been working the vineyard from the early hour and you who came later, come now and collect your wages. Rich and poor, sing and dance together. You who are hard on yourselves, you who are easy, honor this day. You who have fasted and you who have not, make merry today.
The meal is ready: come and enjoy it. The calf is a fat one: you will not go away hungry. There’s kindness for all to partake of and kindness to spare.
Away with pleading of poverty: the kingdom belongs to us all. Away with bewailing of failings: forgiveness has come from the grave. Away with your fears of dying: the death of our Savior has freed us from fear. Death played the master: he has mastered death. The world below had scarcely known him in the flesh when he rose and left it plunged in bitter mourning.
Isaiah knew it would be so. [Isa. 14:9] The world of shadows mourned, he cried, when it met you, mourned at its being brought low, wept at its being deluded. The shadows seized a body and found it was God; they reached for earth and what they held was heaven; they took what they could see: it was what no one sees. Where is death’s goad? Where is the shadows’ victory?
Christ is risen: the world below [hell] is in ruins. Christ is risen: the spirits of evil are fallen. Christ is risen: the angels of God are rejoicing. Christ is risen: the tombs are void of their dead. Christ has indeed arisen from the dead, the first of the sleepers.
Glory and power are his for ever and ever. Amen.
This text is a composite of excerpts from two Easter sermons spuriously attributed to John Chrysostom (ca. 347–407) and drawing inspiration from Hippolytus of Rome (ca. 170–ca. 235), which I adapted from Walter Mitchell’s English translation from the original Greek that appears in Adalbert Hamman, OFM, ed., Early Christian Prayers (Chicago: Regnery Gateway, 1961), 31–35. The source texts can be found in the Patrologia Graeca59:741–46 and 59:721–24. They probably date to the fourth century.
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Art & Theology 