He shall feed his flock like a shepherd: he shall gather the lambs with his arm, and carry them in his bosom, and shall gently lead those that are with young.
“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.”
—Matthew 11:28–30 (KJV)
LOOK: Good Shepherd mosaic, Ravenna
Christ the Good Shepherd, 5th century. Mosaic from the tomb of Galla Placidia, Ravenna, Italy. Photo: Fr. Lawrence Lew, OP.
LISTEN: “He Shall Feed His Flock” | Text: Isaiah 40:11; Matthew 11:28–30 (KJV) | Music by Georg Frederic Handel, 1742 | Arranged and sung by Tara Ward on Adventus by Church of the Beloved, 2010
He shall feed his flock Like a shepherd And he shall gather The lambs with his arm With his arm
He shall feed his flock Like a shepherd And he shall gather The lambs with his arm With his arm
And carry them in his bosom And gently lead those That are with young And gently lead those And gently lead those That are with young
Come unto him All ye that labor Come unto him Ye that are heavy laden And he will give you rest
Come unto him All ye that labor Come unto him Ye that are heavy laden And he will give you rest
Take his yoke upon you And learn of him For he is meek And lowly of heart And ye shall find rest And ye shall find rest Unto your souls
Take his yoke upon you And learn of him For he is meek And lowly of heart And ye shall find rest And ye shall find rest Unto your souls
Born out of a group of friends’ reading of Life of the Beloved by Henri Nouwen, the Church of the Beloved in Edmonds, Washington, was active from 2006 to 2019. It had a vibrant music ministry, led by Tara Ward, that put out four albums, including Adventus. One of the tracks on Adventus is Ward’s slow, ambient, synth-driven arrangement of “He Shall Feed His Flock,” an air from Handel’s Messiah. Charles Jennens, the librettist (lyricist) of the oratorio, combined passages from Isaiah and Matthew to evoke a sense of the deep soul-rest and care that Christ proffers. Church of the Beloved’s rendition so beautifully captures the weariness we often feel, whether we’re on a spiritual path or not, and is a gentle reminder that Christ is always calling us back into his bosom.
Max Ernst (German French, 1891–1976), Thirty-Three Little Girls Set Out for the White Butterfly Hunt, 1958. Oil on canvas, 137 × 107 cm. Museo Nacional Thyssen-Bornemisza, Madrid. Photo: Victoria Emily Jones.
Let the Christbrand burst! Let the Christbrand blazon! Dartle whitely under the hearth-fire, Unwind the wind, turn the thunderer, And never, never thinning, Forfend fear. Flare up smartly, fix, flex, bless, inspire, Instar the time, sear the sorcerer, And never, never sparing, Save all year. Let the Christbrand burst! Let the Christbrand blazon!
This poem appears in Scholastic 115, no. 10 (March 1, 1974), a publication of the University of Notre Dame. It is also kept in the Francis J. O’Malley Papers in the university’s archives (see CFOM 7/26), though they do not own the copyright and do not know who does. I post it under Fair Use.
Born in Massachusetts in 1909, Francis (Frank) J. O’Malley studied at the University of Notre Dame in Indiana as an undergraduate from 1928 to 1932 and earned his master’s in history there the following year. He wanted to pursue further studies in literature, but there were no UND doctoral programs in that field at the time. Even without a PhD, he was hired by Notre Dame to teach in the English department, which he did for forty-one years, until his death in 1974. For the entire duration of his career, he lived on campus in Lyons Hall, and he is buried in the university’s Holy Cross Community Cemetery.
O’Malley had a huge influence on students—not just literary but also moral and religious. His “Modern Catholic Writers” and “Philosophy of English Literature” courses are legendary, and he served as a mentor to hundreds. He also dabbled in writing poetry, his style influenced by Gerard Manley Hopkins, and he maintained correspondence with writers like Willa Cather and Jacques Maritain.
I don’t know what year O’Malley wrote his Hopkins-esque poem “At Christmas,” but it was sometime before 1966. Using the metaphor of a firebrand, it anticipates the kindling and flaring up of Christ’s kingdom in the world. I read it as an Advent prayer. I love not only its central image of the Incarnation as an ongoing blaze, but also its clever play with language and its rhythmic quality, formed in part by consonance (the repetition of consonant sounds).
To dartle means to shoot forth repeatedly, so the image in that line is of a crackling hearth fire, something homey and welcoming. The image then shifts to a piece of burning wood held aloft for light and protection—casting out shadows, thwarting attackers. (To forfend is to ward off something evil.)
An “instar” is a stage in the life of an insect between two successive molts. O’Malley uses the word as a verb, suggesting that Christ’s birth means the old is gone and the new is come. It’s a turning point in world history.
The sorcerer in line 8 likely refers to Satan, a reference reinforced by the alliteration of the letter s, which hisses like a serpent.
“Sparing” can have multiple meanings, but I think of Romans 8:32: “He who did not spare his own Son but gave him up for us all . . .” The speaker asks God to not withhold himself, to come again for his people, bringing redemption.
The word “firebrand” is commonly used to describe a person who is divisive, someone who creates trouble, who instigates. Jesus definitely fits that description! He rattled the powers and authorities of his day and initiated a new covenant through his blood, through the scandal of the cross. His coming lit a fire that has never thinned or tapered off but, on the contrary, gained intensity as it spread from Judea and Samaria into the uttermost parts of the earth. And that fire continues to burn brightly in communities from east to west, north to south, where the gospel is lived out and proclaimed.
Corita Kent (1918–1986) was an artist, educator, and advocate for social justice. At age 18 she entered the religious order Immaculate Heart of Mary, eventually teaching in and then heading up the art department at Immaculate Heart College. Her work evolved from figurative and religious to incorporating advertising images and slogans, popular song lyrics, biblical verses, and literature. Throughout the ’60s, her work became increasingly political, urging viewers to consider poverty, racism, and injustice. In 1968 she left the order and moved to Boston. After 1970, her work evolved into a sparser, introspective style, influenced by living in a new environment, a secular life, and her battles with cancer. She remained active in social causes until her death in 1986. At the time of her death, she had created almost 800 serigraph editions, thousands of watercolors, and innumerable public and private commissions.
LISTEN: “God in Flesh, Our Hope Divine” by The Brilliance (David Gungor and John Arndt), on Advent, vol. 2 (2012; reissued 2021)
God of heaven, Lord of earth We beseech thee Born of Mary, virgin birth Lord, we greet thee God in flesh, our hope divine Alleluia Babe of heaven, God’s own son Alleluia
Star of David, Son of Man God be with us Suff’ring servant, wounded lamb Bring peace to us Broken flesh, our hope divine Alleluia Lifted up for all mankind Alleluia
Gloria, gloria, gloria in excelsis Deo! (×2)
Root of Jesse which shall stand Lord, we need thee Banner o’er the nations We receive thee Glorious resting place for all Alleluia Jew and Gentile, welcome home Alleluia
Gloria, gloria, gloria in excelsis Deo! (×2)
“Come, Lord Jesus,” people sing We are yearning Give us back the garden We are longing On that day we’ll see thy face Alleluia This whole realm in your embrace Alleluia
Christopher Ruane (American, 1981–), The Nativity, 2014. C-print, 52 × 48 in. Click the link to zoom in.
This image by photographer and composite artist Christopher Ruane sets the Nativity of Christ on an urban street corner marked “Bethlehem” and casts racially diverse models in the biblical roles. Mary sits on the hood of an old beat-up car holding her sweet newborn with a protective grip—she has presumably just given birth in the backseat. She’s wrapped in a blue afghan, the color traditionally associated with the Virgin. Joseph leans over, gazing proudly at his new baby son. Instead of the traditional cow and donkey looking on, there’s a spotted dog.
In the foreground are the three “wise men,” which here are two men and a woman, offering their gifts to the family. One man brings a candle; another, a rose. A wealthier woman in a fur coat brings gold jewelry. They stand or kneel on the sidewalk before this miracle baby who will be their deliverer, the way strewn with flower petals.
In the middle ground are three young unhoused people around a trashcan fire, standing in for the shepherds. A cloud of steam rises up out of a manhole before their eyes and coalesces with a heavenly apparition, come to personally announce to them the Messiah’s birth.
In the windows of the apartment building in the background are various people occupied with various activities. In one room a couple is engaging in sexual foreplay. Across the way, a man is vegging out in front of a TV. One woman, whose closet is spilling over with clothes, is hugging her collection of designer shoes.
These represent different values or dependencies—for example, materialism, a literal clinging to one’s possessions. But there’s also pain.
On the top floor there’s a young man in a hoodie with a black eye. Maybe he’s abused by his father. Or bullied at school. Or in too deep with a gang. Either way, he is bitter and angry and scared and distrustful and has a gun.
Christ was born into this world of hurt and false loves. He came to call us out of the darkness of these and into light, to give us abundant life in God. The bright star above beckons us all to follow the light to the feet of Jesus, Emmanuel, God-with-us.
Three wise men ridin’ hard through the cold Lost on some big city street with no place warm to go They are lookin’ for a manger, or a sign in the lights But they’re a long way from Bethlehem tonight
But they heard about a savior And a preacher in the park Who will camp with the homeless Where they shiver in the dark He’ll deliver salvation To the weary and the cold And he’ll bring joy, joy, joy to the wanderin’ soul
The cleaning lady sighs as she closes up the gate This job don’t quite pay the bills, and she’s always workin’ late But all in a moment comes a light from above It’s an angel speaking words of joy and love
And he tells her of a savior And a preacher in the park Who will camp with the homeless Under bridges in the dark He’ll deliver salvation To the weary and the cold And he’ll bring joy, joy, joy to the wanderin’ soul
Four in the mornin’ at the Tradewinds Motel The register reads, “All Full Up,” and the clerk thinks, “Just as well” But out in the toolshed by an old Coleman lamp A little family makes its meager camp
And the wise men bring presents And the angels gather round The cleaning lady slips in through the door without a sound And an old black dog looks on with the rest At the little babe upon his mother’s breast
And there comes a savior (Joy to the world) And a preacher in the park (The Lord is come) And he camps with the homeless (Let earth) Where they shiver in the dark (Receive her king) He delivers salvation To the weary and the cold (Let every heart sing) And he brings joy, joy, joy to the wanderin’ soul He brings joy, joy, joy to the wanderin’ soul
The American folk singer-songwriter Dave Carter was one half of the duo Dave Carter and Tracy Grammer, active from 1998 until Carter’s unexpected death in 2002. His songs have been covered by Joan Baez, Judy Collins, Willie Nelson, and others, and Grammer posthumously released several previously unreleased songs by Carter, including “American Noel.” She and Carter recorded the song sometime between 1999 and 2001 for a series of employee holiday gift compilations commissioned by the president of a hardware store chain.
Like Ruane’s digital photomontage, “American Noel” imagines the Incarnation happening on the margins of a modern American city, attracting low-wage workers and transients, among others. Jesus pitches his tent among the exhausted and despairing, “the weary and the cold,” coming not as an outsider to struggle but as one who will know it firsthand. His childhood, to say nothing of his adulthood, is marked by sudden flight from his homeland to escape a tyrannical king and by an upbringing in a country not his own.
City Church San Francisco put on a really enjoyable Lessons and Carols service last year, which was all-virtual given the COVID restrictions. Livestreamed December 13, 2020, it features guest vocalist Nicolas Bearde, the City Church Jazz Quintet (Patrick Wolff on tenor sax, Mike Olmos on trumpet, Marcus Shelby on bass, Adam Shulman on piano, and Jeff Mars on drums) with Karl Digerness, and a children’s ensemble. Here’s the abbreviated version I recommend, which is forty-five minutes:
The following songs are interspersed with scripture readings (the links will take you to the extracted song video on YouTube):
I suggest you light the fireplace (if you’re in a wintry clime, that is!), grab some hot cocoa, and gather the fam on the couch to give a listen together. Lyrics are printed onscreen for a few of the carols, for you to sing along with.
Or, perhaps you want to play the video while you’re doing some holiday baking!
The fuller-blown service, which is ninety minutes, includes a time of offering, a homily, communion, responsive prayers, church announcements, and a few additional songs and instrumental numbers that I’ve embedded below.
The City Church Little Big Band produced a Christmas jazz album in 2012, Go Tell It!, that includes recordings of many of the arrangements you hear here. Check it out.
Frank Kunert (German, 1963–), Geschlossene Gesellschaft (Closed Society), 2011. C-print, 40 × 30 cm. Edition of 50 + 3 ap.
LISTEN: “The Ditchling Carol” (Roud 3216) | Words by William Robert Spencer, 1811 | Music by Peter Parsons, before 1901 | Performed by Waterson:Carthy on Broken Ground (1999; reissued 2013)
Be merry all, be merry all With holly dress the festive hall Prepare the song, the feast of all To welcome Merry Christmas
And all remember, gentles gay For you who bask in fortune’s ray The year is all a holiday The poor have only Christmas
When you with velvets mantled o’er Defy December’s tempest’s roar Oh spare one garment from your store To clothe the poor at Christmas
And all remember, gentles gay For you who bask in fortune’s ray The year is all a holiday The poor have only Christmas
When you the costly banquet deal To guests who never famine feel Oh spare one morsel from your meal To feed the poor at Christmas
And all remember, gentles gay For you who bask in fortune’s ray The year is all a holiday The poor have only Christmas
From blazing logs of fuel awhile Your homes are within summer’s smile Oh spare one log from off the pile To warm the poor at Christmas
And all remember, gentles gay For you who bask in fortune’s ray The year is all a holiday The poor have only Christmas
So shall each note of mirth appear More sweet to heaven than praise or prayer And angels in their carols there Shall bless the poor at Christmas
And all remember, gentles gay For you who bask in fortune’s ray The year is all a holiday The poor have only Christmas
This carol from Ditchling in East Sussex has a very Dickensian feel to it. More sobering than the usual Christmas fare, it contrasts the lavish holiday feasts of the well-off with the poverty that exists outside their doors. Think Lazarus and the rich man. The poor rely on the feelings of goodwill and generosity that Christmas engenders, but as this song acknowledges, the needs persist year-round. Those whom God has blessed with good fortune would do well to share it—not just with family and friends of like socioeconomic status but with neighbors of all classes, and not just during the “season of giving” but on a continuing basis.
Peter Parsons (1825–1901), a Ditchling shoemaker and leader of the village glee club, found the poem above on a broadside ballad sheet from the early nineteenth century and was moved to write a tune for it. I encountered the carol through a nineties recording by Norma Waterson, her husband Martin Carthy, and their daughter Eliza Carthy, who have been at the forefront of the English folk music scene for decades.
I would go even further than the lyrics do and say, don’t just give the poor a morsel or a log; invite them in! What might radical hospitality look like for you this Christmas? How might your merriment expand to embrace those who are typically excluded?
“There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in a cloud’ with power and great glory. Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.”
Then he told them a parable: “Look at the fig tree and all the trees; as soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is already near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near. Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all things have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.
“Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life, and that day does not catch you unexpectedly, like a trap. For it will come upon all who live on the face of the whole earth. Be alert at all times, praying that you may have the strength to escape all these things that will take place, and to stand before the Son of Man.”
—Luke 21:25–36
LOOK: Country Gospel Music by Robert Gwathmey
Robert Gwathmey (American, 1903–1988), Country Gospel Music, 1971. Oil on canvas, 40 × 50 in. Private collection.
LISTEN: “I Believe in Being Ready” | Appalachian spiritual, 19th century | Performed by Rising Appalachia on Leylines (2019) [see also this performance at the Yuba River in Northern California]
I believe in being ready I believe in being ready I believe in being ready For the time is drawing near
Brothers, sisters, please get ready Brothers, sisters, please get ready Brothers, sisters, please get ready For the time is drawing near
Oh there’ll be signs and wonders Oh there’ll be signs and wonders Oh there’ll be signs and wonders For the time is drawing near
We’ll turn round and just start over We’ll turn round and just start over We’ll turn round and just start over For the time is drawing near
I believe in being ready I believe in being ready I believe in being ready For the time is drawing near
I believe in being ready I believe in being ready I believe in being ready For the time is drawing near
For the time is drawing near For the time is drawing near
Whereas the Great Awakening may have brought about the first American break from established religious musical form, the Second Awakening and the rise of evangelical religious fervor, mostly in the Pennsylvania backcountry and southern mountains, left us with the spiritual folk songs, or folk hymns, that have a lingering legacy in West Virginia. This musical form developed during the period from the 1780s to the 1830s. The camp meeting was an old-world form brought by the Scots-Irish to America. The new spirituals that developed along with this form of worship on the frontier directly contributed to the religious fervor generated through the camp meeting.
“One might well remember, for example, that the camp meetings began and remained in nature surroundings, in the wilderness,” wrote [George Pullen] Jackson. Camp meetings in America (also called bush meetings, field meetings, and, today, brush-arbor revival or tent meetings) spawned a new emotion which materialized in song as the spiritual. At this point the chorus was introduced to the songs and became an identifying mark.
Choruses were repetitive, and verses were simplified for easy memorization by illiterate participants and where songbooks were nonexistent. Often only the introduction of a new person, as in mother, father, sister, and brother, differentiated one verse from another. Additional verses suggest more people such as sinner, preacher, playmates, etc. But it is the music—the old folk tunes clinging to all the sensitive and moving traits that attract many to folk music—that has caught the attention and held the fancy of West Virginians for as long as two centuries. These folk hymns are the predecessors to the “gospel hymns” that began about 1870 in the Protestant churches and continue to be sung today.
The song is more commonly called “When This World Comes to an End” and has been recorded under that title in this millennium by, for example, Tim O’Brien, Ashley Cleveland, and David Powell. We know of it thanks to Maggie Hammons Parker (1899–1987) from Pocahontas County, West Virginia, whose family participated in camp meetings in the early twentieth century. Parker sang the song as she remembers it for Alan Jabbour on a 1970 field recording, with the following lyrics. For more information, see the 1973 American Folklife Center publication The Hammons Family: A Study of a West Virginia Family’s Traditions.
I believe in being ready, I believe in a-being ready, I believe in being ready, When this world comes to an end.
Oh, sinners, do get ready, Oh, sinners, do get ready, Oh, sinners, do get ready, For the times is a-drewing near.
Oh, there’ll be signs and wonders, Yes, there’ll be signs and wonders, Oh, there’ll be signs and wonders, When this world is to an end.
Oh, the sun, she will be darkened, Yes, the sun, she will be darkened, Oh, the sun she will be darkened, When this world is to an end.
Oh, the moon, she will be a-bleeding, Yes, the moon, she will be bleeding, Oh, the moon, she will be bleeding, When this world is to an end.
I believe in a-being ready, I believe in being ready, I believe in being ready, When this world is to an end.
Oh, the stars, they’ll all be a-falling, Yes, the stars will all be falling, Oh, the stars will all be falling, When this world is to an end.
Oh, sisters, do get ready, Oh, sisters, do get ready, Oh, sisters, do get ready, For the times is a-drewing near.
Oh, fathers, do get ready, Yes, fathers, do get ready, Oh, fathers, do get ready, When this world is to an end.
Oh, mothers, do get ready, Yes, mothers, do get ready, Oh, mothers, do get ready, For the times is a-drewing near.
For there’ll be them signs and wonders, Yes, there’ll be them signs and wonders, There will be them signs and wonders, When this world comes to an end.
For their 2019 recording of the song, the band Rising Appalachia adapted the lyrics and retitled the song after its first line. “Drawn to its haunting, modal melody and stark lyrics,” they write, “we put the heavy drum pulse of the bodhran behind it to rattle the ribcage. It is both apocalyptic and soothing to call forth and sing these words.”
Rising Appalachia was founded in 2004 by sisters Leah and Chloe Smith, who grew up in Atlanta, absorbing the city’s emerging hip-hop scene as well as traveling with their family to fiddle camps across the Southeast on weekends. Their music is a blend of folk, world, and urban. “Rising Appalachia has come out of this idea that we can take these traditions of southern music—that we’ve been born and raised with—and we can rise out of them, creating all these different bridges between cultures and stories to make them feel alive,” Leah says. “Our music has its foundation in heritage and tradition, but we’re creating a music that also feels reflective of the times right now. That’s always been our work.”
The Smiths are joined on the album Leylines by longtime band members David Brown (upright bass, baritone guitar) and Biko Casini (world percussion, n’goni) and by two new members: West African musician Arouna Diarra (n’goni, talking drum) and Irish musician Duncan Wickel (fiddle, cello). Special guests on the album include singer-songwriters Ani DiFranco and Trevor Hall and jazz trumpeter Maurice Turner.
“Then the kingdom of heaven will be like this. Ten bridesmaids took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish, and five were wise. When the foolish took their lamps, they took no oil with them; but the wise took flasks of oil with their lamps. As the bridegroom was delayed, all of them became drowsy and slept. But at midnight there was a shout, ‘Look! Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him.’ Then all those bridesmaids got up and trimmed their lamps. The foolish said to the wise, ‘Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.’ But the wise replied, ‘No! there will not be enough for you and for us; you had better go to the dealers and buy some for yourselves.’ And while they went to buy it, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went with him into the wedding banquet; and the door was shut. Later the other bridesmaids came also, saying, ‘Lord, lord, open to us.’ But he replied, ‘Truly I tell you, I do not know you.’ Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.”
—Matthew 25:1–13
LOOK: Byzantine fresco of the Parable of the Ten Virgins
Parable of the Ten Virgins, ca. 1600. Fresco, Chapel of the Virgin, Monastery of Saint John the Theologian, Chora, Patmos, Greece.
LISTEN: “ها هوذا الختن” (“Behold the Bridegroom”), a troparion (short hymn) in Arabic from the Antiochian Orthodox Church in Syria
من الليل تبتكر روحي إليك يا الله لإنّ أوامرك نورٌ على الأرض.
ها هوذا الختن يأتي في نصف الليل فطوبى للعبد الذي يجده مستيقظا، أما الذي يجده متغافلا فهو غير مستحق. فانظري يا نفسي ألا تستغرقي في النوم ويغلق عليك خارج الملكوت وتسلمي إلى الموت، بل كوني منتبهة صارخة : قدوس قدوس قدوس أنت يا الله، من أجل والدة الإله ارحمنا.
English translation:
My spirit seeks you early in the night watches, for your commandments are a light on the earth. Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia.
Behold, the Bridegroom is coming in the middle of the night, and blessed is the servant he shall find awake and watching; but unworthy is the one he shall find neglectful. Beware, therefore, O my soul. Be not overcome by sleep, lest you be given over to death and shut out from the kingdom. But return to soberness and cry aloud, “Holy, holy, holy are you, our God.” Through the Theotokos, have mercy on us.
In Orthodox churches the parable of the ten virgins is read, and “Behold the Bridegroom” sung, on Tuesday of Holy Week. In the West, however, the parable is associated more with Advent, since its focus is on Christ’s return.
When I was at the Museum Catharijneconvent in Utrecht, Netherlands, in 2019, one of the standout pieces I saw was an early fifteenth-century altarpiece from the Middle Rhine region of Germany. The central section, which I imagine would have been a sculpted Crucifixion scene, has been lost, and the surviving panels are arranged in a modern frame.
Altarpiece from the Middle Rhine, ca. 1410. Tempera on panels. Museum Catharijneconvent, Utrecht, Netherlands. Photo: Ruben de Heer.
Ten panels depicting eight scenes from the life of the Virgin Mary decorate what would have originally been the interior wings—that is, visible when the altarpiece was open.
I’ll describe the first four, as they’re my favorites.
All photos in this post are from the museum’s website, which courteously provides them in high resolution under an open-access policy, promoting scholarship and digital engagement. The Annunciation image is a composite I made from two separate photos.
The Annunciation
In the Annunciation, Mary sits in her bedroom beside a window in front of an open pink chest (her dowry chest?), quietly reading the scriptures, when the angel Gabriel slips in through an open door, holding a banderole that bears his greeting: Ave gratia plena d[omi]n[u]s tecum (“Hail, favored one, the Lord is with you,” Luke 1:28). He then goes on to tell her that she has been chosen to bear God’s Son into the world.
What will Mary say? Four little angels look on in eager anticipation from a tower in the panel above, while in the room two angels already start rolling out the royal treatment, holding up a gilt-brocaded velvet “cloth of honor” behind the young maiden in recognition of her high calling.
A thin column divides Gabriel’s space from Mary’s, creating a sense of threshold. It marks a boundary that is about to be crossed. The separation between God and humanity will be broken down by the Incarnation.
Mary ultimately responds to the surprise invitation with acceptance: Ecce ancilla d[omi]ni fiat michi s[e]c[un]d[u]m verbu[m] t[uu]m (“Behold the handmaid of the Lord, be it unto me according to thy word,” Luke 1:38).
Mary’s yes triggers the release of a thick stream of light—it looks to me like a golden conveyor belt!—from the heart of God the Father, who is peering down through an upper window. Riding that stream is a haloed dove (the Holy Spirit) followed by a tiny yet fully formed infant Christ who’s holding a cross and headed straight toward Mary’s womb.
“Weeee!!!”
The homunculus (“little human”) motif in Annunciation images, though relatively rare, always makes me chuckle. It’s one way artists came up with to visualize the unvisualizable mystery of Christ’s conception, one that includes the Second Person of the Trinity as an actor in the event and shows a very literal descent. Not long after the motif started appearing in the fourteenth century, it was disapproved of by theologians, such as Antoninus of Florence and Molanus, and it was finally banned in the eighteenth century by Pope Benedict XIV as being heretical, since it suggests that Jesus did not take his body from Mary.
For brief commentary on this particular scene by Msgr. Herman Woorts, a Dutch art historian and an auxiliary bishop in the Roman Catholic Church, see this video produced by Katholiekleven.nl:
(To translate the Dutch into your language, click the “CC” button on the player, then the cog icon, and select Subtitles→Auto-translate.)
The Visitation
In the Visitation panel, Jesus and John the Baptizer are visible in their mothers’ wombs, each encased in a mandorla (almond-shaped aureole). This visual device of showing the cousins in utero was not uncommon at the time, especially in the Low Countries; art historian Matthew J. Milliner amusingly calls it “ultrasound Jesus”! Here you can actually see little John kneeling before his cousin in adoration.
Elizabeth has emerged from a door at the right, whose frame is labeled “Civitas Juda,” City of Judah (and notice the dog in the doorway! a traditional symbol of faithfulness). As she and Mary embrace each other in celebration of their miraculous pregnancies and imminent salvation, scrolls unfurl with their words from the Gospel of Luke: Et unde michi hoc q[uo]d mater d[omi]ni mei venit ad me (“And why is this granted to me that the mother of my Lord should come to me?” Luke 1:43), at right, and at left, Magnificat a[n]i[m]a mea d[omi]n[u]m. Et exultavit sp[iritu]s meus i[n] deo salutalutari (sic) meo (“My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,” Luke 1:46–47). The scrolls provide a delicate, wing-like framing around the two women.
And at their head, in the center, an open-beaked dove descends, signifying the Holy Spirit—an extremely rare appearance in Visitation images. This is God breathing on his daughters, blessing their ministries, receiving their praise. Like the prophets of old, they are filled with God’s power and truth spills forth from their lips.
At their feet flows a spring of water, a possible allusion to Isaiah 35:6b–7a: “waters shall break forth in the wilderness, / and streams in the desert; / the burning sand shall become a pool, / and the thirsty ground springs of water.” Not to mention the Living Water that is Christ (see John 4).
Another charming detail of this panel is the angels, with their wispy red wings, peeking in at this intimate moment from behind rocks. I’m reminded of the epistle of 1 Peter, whose author says that the mysteries of salvation are “things into which angels long to look!” (1:12). Here they seem to whisper their song that will be exclaimed at full blast on the night of Jesus’s birth: Gloria in exelsis deo (“Glory to God in the highest,” Luke 2:14).
The Nativity
Poor Joseph is often overlooked as a player in the Christmas story, and yet he, too, faithfully responded to a (quite terrifying!) divine calling: to be the adoptive father of Jesus, raising him as his own. Though he initially had doubts about Mary’s story of supernatural conception—who wouldn’t?—an angel set him straight, and he ultimately acted in love and loyalty to Mary, and to God. He was an advocate and a provider for his family, looking out for their best interests all along the way.
I mention this because the Middle Rhine Altarpiece shows an actively caring and resourceful Joseph at the Nativity, cooking porridge over an open fire to nourish his hungry and tired wife, who reclines on a rollout mat with her newborn.
Also, notice that his left foot is bare. A legend of unknown origin says that Joseph removed his stockings (German hosen) following Jesus’s birth, cutting them into strips in order to swaddle the child. This narrative detail appealed to popular imagination and was referred to in stories, poems, songs, and the visual arts from the fourteenth through sixteenth centuries in the Netherlands and the Rhineland. At the time this altarpiece was made there was even a venerated relic at Aachen Cathedral purported to be the stockings-turned-swaddling bands.
As had become standard in images of the Nativity, this one includes an ox and an ass. The canonical Gospels don’t mention any animals at the birth—though the mention of a manger in Luke 2:7 implies an animal presence. The seventh-century Gospel of Pseudo-Matthew specifically names the ox and ass, citing their supposed adoration of the Christ child as a fulfillment of an Old Testament “prophecy”: “And on the third day after the birth of our Lord Jesus Christ, the most blessed Mary went forth out of the cave, and entering a stable, placed the child in the stall, and the ox and the ass adored Him. Then was fulfilled that which was said by Isaiah the prophet, saying: The ox knows his owner, and the ass his master’s crib (Isa. 1:3).” These two domestic animals are also mentioned in the Nativity account that appears in the Golden Legend, an immensely popular text from the thirteenth century.
Here the ox is nose-deep in straw, while the ass looks up with his mouth agape. Perhaps he’s excited at having just spotted the Spirit-dove under the rafters.
The shepherds are about to arrive at the stable, as in the right background the birth is announced to them. The scroll held by the angel reads, Evanglizo vob[is] gaudi[um] magnu[m] (“I proclaim great joy to you,” Luke 2:10), and above the shepherd is the inscription Transeamu[s] us[que] Betleem (“Let’s go to Bethlehem,” Luke 2:15).
The Adoration of the Magi
In the Adoration of the Magi panel, Mary holds the Christ child on her lap, who is nude save for a thin diaphanous drape, emphasizing his full humanity. She wears a crown, alluding to her identity (in Catholic tradition) as Queen of Heaven. As in the Annunciation, she’s backed by a cloth of honor, which Joseph pulls aside to see what new visitors have come calling. And again, the ever-present Holy Spirit hovers above!
The pointing angel at the top, with the aid of a star, has directed three magi, portrayed here as kings, from their far-off homelands to the Christ child. Ite in iudeam ubi / nascit rex iudeor[um] (“Go to Judea where the king of the Jews was born”), he says.
Having cast his crown at the child’s feet, one of the magi kneels down and kisses the hand of the King of kings. He presents a container of gold coins as tribute, which Jesus rifles through with curiosity (ooo, shiny!).
Two other magi stand behind with their gifts of frankincense and myrrh. One of them, whom tradition calls Balthazar, is African. In the eighth century the historian Bede described Balthazar as having a “black complexion,” and from around 1400 onward he came to be portrayed that way in art, reflecting the growing visibility of other races in Europe.
Exterior Panels
Just to give you a full picture of the altarpiece as a whole . . .
So all together, the altarpiece would have told the gospel story from Christ’s conception and birth to the Crucifixion to the Resurrection and Ascension to Pentecost. And it would have served as the backdrop to the celebration of the Eucharist, spiritually forming parishioners week after week.
Art museums are full of such treasures as these. I encourage you to visit one of your local museums (or maybe take a weekend trip to one), find a piece of historical art that intrigues you, and sit with it for at least ten minutes. What do you notice? What is strange to you? What makes you smile? What was the object’s original context? What lineages is it a part of (e.g., what communities has it passed through, what iconographies or textual traditions does it draw from and develop, etc.)? What theological ideas, if any, does it express?
If you struggle to meaningfully engage with an artwork, I’m sure a docent would love to help you.
You might also take a photo of the artwork and share it on your social media. Ask your friends what stands out to them.
And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying,
“See, the home of God is among mortals. He will dwell with them; they will be his peoples, and God himself will be with them; he will wipe every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more; mourning and crying and pain will be no more, for the first things have passed away.”
And the one who was seated on the throne said, “See, I am making all things new.”
—Revelation 21:2–5a
LOOK: The New Jerusalem by Sassandra
Jacques Richard Sassandra (French, 1932–), The New Jerusalem (Rev. 21:1–4a), 1970–80. Paper collage with AquaLac, 86 × 110 cm.
Jacques Richard, whose artist name is Sassandra, was born in 1932 to a French missionary family in Sassandra, Ivory Coast, where he spent his youth. Upon returning to France, he studied art, followed by theology, and soon became an art teacher in Paris public schools while also maintaining a studio art practice of drawing, painting, collaging, and woodblock printing.
It shows the hands of God lovingly lowering the heavenly city to earth—the two realms reunited at last. The cross is at the center, forming the trunk of the tree of life, and the Holy Spirit spreads her wings over all.
LISTEN: “New World Coming” by Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil, 1969 | Performed by Nina Simone on Here Comes the Sun, 1971
There’s a new world comin’ And it’s just around the bend There’s a new world comin’ (joy, joy, joy . . .) This one’s comin’ to an end
There’s a new voice callin’ And you can hear it if you try And it’s growing stronger With every day that passes by (yeah, yeah, yeah . . .)
There’s a brand-new mornin’ Rising clear and sweet and free There’s a new day dawning That belongs to you and me
Yes, a new world’s comin’ You know the one I’m talking about The one we’ve had visions of And it’s comin’ in peace, comin’ in joy Comin’ in peace, comin’ in joy Come in peace, come in joy Comin’ in love
And I saw another sign in heaven Great and marvelous Seven angels having the seven last plagues For in them is filled up the wrath of God And I saw, as it were, a sea of glass mingled with fire And them that had gotten the victory over the beast And over his image And over his mark And over the number of his name Stand on the sea of glass Having the harps of God all around them
There’s a new world comin’ And it’s just around the bend There’s a new world comin’ This one’s comin’ to an end
There’s a new voice callin’ And you could hear it if you would just give it a try And it’s growing stronger With every day that passes by
And there’s a brand-new mornin’ Rising clear and sweet and free There’s a new day dawning That belongs to you and me
Yes, a new world’s comin’ The one we’ve had visions of
Comin’ in peace, yeah Comin’ in joy, yeah Comin’ in peace now, yeah Comin’ in love now, yeah Comin’ in peace now, yeah Comin’ in joy now, yeah Comin’ in peace now, yeah Comin’ in love, yeah Comin’ in peace . . . Comin’ in joy . . . Comin’ in love (joy)
This song, as you may have noticed, includes a recitation of Revelation 15:1–2:
Then I saw another portent in heaven, great and amazing: seven angels with seven plagues, which are the last, for with them the wrath of God is ended.
And I saw what appeared to be a sea of glass mixed with fire, and those who had conquered the beast and its image and the number of its name, standing beside the sea of glass with harps of God in their hands. (NRSV)
After a cosmic battle between good and evil, peace, love, and joy come to roost.
Art & Theology 