While they were eating, Jesus took a loaf of bread, and after blessing it he broke it, gave it to the disciples, and said, “Take, eat; this is my body.” Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he gave it to them, saying, “Drink from it, all of you; for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.”
—Matthew 26:26–28 (cf. Mark 14:22–24; Luke 22:17–20)
The Lord Jesus on the night when he was betrayed took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, “This is my body that is foryou. Do this in remembrance of me.” In the same way he took the cup also, after supper, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.”For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.
—1 Corinthians 11:23b–26
LOOK: TheLast Supper III by Bruce Onobrakpeya
Bruce Onobrakpeya (Nigerian, 1932–), The Last Supper III. Lino engraving on rice paper, 58 × 62 3/4 in. (147 × 195 cm). Edition 1/15.
A pioneer of modern African art, Bruce Onobrakpeya is an internationally renowned Nigerian printmaker, painter, and sculptor of Urhobo heritage. He was raised Christian and has fulfilled several commissions on Christian themes, especially from 1967 to 1981. (I wrote about his Stations of the Cross series of colored linocut prints on my old blog.) His work also explores Urhobo traditional religion, culture, and history and the modern world of Nigeria.
In Onobrakpeya’s Last Supper III, Jesus sits at the head of an oblong table with his twelve disciples, making eye contact with the viewer. The food and drink are highly stylized, but the men appear to be breaking bread. The background features the Ibiebe alphabet, a script of ideographic geometric and curvilinear glyphs that Onobrakpeya developed.
LISTEN: Adagio in G minor for violin, strings, and organ | Attributed to Tomaso Albioni, 18th century, but possibly entirely by Albioni biographer Remo Giazotto, 1958 | Performed by the Budapest Franz Liszt Chamber Orchestra
Today is the second day of Holy Week, the final week of Jesus’s life. One event that takes place during this period—on Wednesday, according to the chronologies of Matthew and Mark—is a woman’s anointing Jesus with oil. All four Gospel writers include the story, with variations (and Luke places it earlier in Jesus’s ministry). Love, hospitality, sacrifice, and honor are key themes. The woman is unnamed in the Synoptic Gospels, but John identifies her as Mary (of Bethany). Praising her initiative, Jesus clarifies to those gathered that she anoints him in preparation for his burial (Matt. 26:12; Mark 14:8; John 12:7). It was a solemn act.
Since the prophet in the Old Testament anointed the head of the Jewish king, the anointing of Jesus’ head must have been understood immediately as the prophetic recognition of Jesus, the Anointed, the Messiah, the Christ. According to the tradition it was a woman who named Jesus by and through her prophetic sign-action. It was politically a dangerous story. (xiv)
Sometimes it was a priest who anointed the new king, so the act could be read as not only prophetic but also sacramental. That is, Mary serving here as prophet and priest.
Someone, I forget who, once noted that Jesus would have gone to the cross with this aromatic fragrance still on him. The smell would have lingered with his sweat and blood and was perhaps a comfort to him in his hours of deepest distress, reminding him of the loving devotion of one of his disciples. It was also a proclamation to all the actors and bystanders, as he moved up Golgotha’s hill and was crucified, that he is indeed the Anointed One of God.
Easter Sunday is the most joyful day of the Christian year, kicking off a fifty-day season of feasting and celebration centered on the resurrection of Jesus Christ. While we celebrate the resurrection year-round (every Sunday is a “little Easter”), the liturgical calendar gives us this set-apart time to linger with and savor the mystery with particular focus and renewed fervor. Christ’s rising from the grave has far-reaching implications, which the church unpacks, most especially during Eastertide, through its liturgies, scripture readings, sermons—and music.
I compiled a Spotify playlist of songs and other musical pieces for this festal season—a mix of classical, gospel, choral, folk, and indie-pop, with some jazz and bluegrass. These selections span historical periods and geographic locales, ranging from early medieval hymns and liturgical refrains to newer releases, from Senegal, Tanzania, Chile, Tyendinaga Mohawk Territory (in Ontario), Serbia, Hungary, Germany, Ireland, France, the Middle East, and more.
You’ll find plenty of classic texts and tunes, some retunes and new arrangements of the classics and other oldies, and some through-and-through originals. And lots of Alleluias!
Sung in Byzantine-rite churches, the Paschal troparion—“Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and on those in the tombs bestowing life”—is represented here by a few different settings in a few different languages, including Georgian (“Krist’e Aghsdga”) and Greek (“Hristos Anesti”). Church of the Apostles does a version in English that works well with a contemporary worship band.
The medieval French melody known as NOEL NOUVELET is often paired with two different Easter hymn texts, both of which I’m very fond of: “Welcome, Happy Morning!” by Venantius Fortunatus, a sixth-century hymnographer in the Merovingian court and later bishop of Poitiers, and the early twentieth-century “Now the Green Blade Riseth” by J. M. C. Crum, which has this wonderfully poetic refrain: “Love is come again like wheat that springeth green.” Claire Holley [previously] recorded a subdued, guitar-picked rendition of the latter, and for the former, here’s Redeemer Knoxville’s [previously] super-fun arrangement, which includes mandolins, trumpets, and a raucous energy!
Christ’s death and resurrection initiated a new exodus, so to speak, so some of the songs, like “Carol of the Exodus” [previously] and “Mary, Don’t You Weep” [previously] use the language of Pharaoh’s armies (i.e., agents of death) being overthrown, and liberation.
Also included on the list is a Swahili praise song whose key phrase, “Yesu ni wangu, wa uzima wamilele,” translates to “Jesus is mine, he is (the God of) everlasting life.” Some English versions of the song translate it as “Jesus is mine, he’s alive and he’s eternal.”
Classical selections include the Sinfonia (instrumental opening) of Bach’s Easter Oratorio; “Dum transisset Sabbatum” (When the Sabbath Was Past), a Renaissance motet setting of Mark 16:1–2 by John Taverner; a movement from a piano sonata by modern Finnish composer Einojuhani Rautavaara inspired by the icon of the holy women at the tomb; and a movement from a violin sonata by Austrian Baroque composer Heinrich Ignaz Franz Biber.
The latter two are among the several allusive instrumental pieces on the list, which also include “Viriditas” on jazz guitar by Charlie Rauh (its title references Hildegard of Bingen’s concept of greening, freshness, new life) and “Phoenix” on oud by Egyptian Australian virtuoso Joseph Tawadros (the phoenix is a mythological bird that dies and rises again, which the medieval church embraced as a symbol of Christ).
Two gems I discovered while searching for Easter music are settings of Gerard Manley Hopkins’s poem “Easter”: one a Celtic-influenced choral setting by Steven C. Warner, the other an alt-rock version by Jon Green (JG Hymns):
A popular Easter song in Spanish-speaking churches throughout the world is “Resucitó” (He Is Risen) by Kiko Argüello:
There are a few songs here written for kids, like “Jesus Is Alive” by Rain for Roots and “Risen Today” by John Burland, but which I find enjoyable myself!
And there are a handful of songs by James Ward [previously], a gospel songwriter and pianist from New City Fellowship in Chattanooga, Tennessee—such as “Morning Sun,” which is included in the Trinity Hymnal:
For a closer, I chose “Love Divine, Victorious,” written by Karl Digerness and arranged by Minna Choi, musicians at City Church San Francisco [previously]. I love its blend of classical and folk-rock styles, with an orchestra interacting with a banjo and drum kit. (The album recording has a full orchestra and a choir; the video below is a pared-down version from last year, with string orchestra and two vocalists.) The song looks back in remembrance and forward in anticipation, quoting the traditional memorial acclamation “Christ has died, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.”
To listen to all 130-plus songs on Spotify, open the Art & Theology Eastertide Playlist link, then click on the More (…) icon and select “Save to Library.” Then the list will be easily accessible to you throughout the season and will reflect any new song additions I make.
Playlist cover art: Edward Burra, Resurrection, ca. 1948–50
O give thanks to the LORD, for he is good; his steadfast love endures forever!
Let Israel say, “His steadfast love endures forever.”
. . .
Open to me the gates of righteousness, that I may enter through them and give thanks to the LORD.
This is the gate of the LORD; the righteous shall enter through it.
I thank you that you have answered me and have become my salvation. The stone that the builders rejected has become the chief cornerstone. This is the LORD’s doing; it is marvelous in our eyes. This is the day that the LORD has made; let us rejoice and be glad in it. Save us, we beseech you, O LORD! O LORD, we beseech you, give us success!
Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the LORD. We bless you from the house of the LORD. The LORD is God, and he has given us light. Bind the festal procession with branches, up to the horns of the altar.
You are my God, and I will give thanks to you; you are my God, I will extol you.
O give thanks to the LORD, for he is good, for his steadfast love endures forever.
—Psalm 118:1–2, 19–29
The crowds that went ahead of [Jesus] and that followed were shouting,
“Hosanna to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest heaven!”
—Matthew 21:9
LOOK: Palm Sunday, Home Depot Parking Lot by Gary Bergel
Gary Bergel (American, 1943–), Palm Sunday, Home Depot Parking Lot. Digital photograph. Part of the traveling CIVA exhibition Again & Again.
“Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.”
—Matthew 11:28 (KJV)
LOOK: 62-33 (White Feathers on White Background) by Henk Peeters
Henk Peeters (Dutch, 1925–2013), 62-33 (White Feathers on White Background), 1962. Feathers and velvet on hardboard, 153 × 133 cm. Stedelijk Museum Amsterdam, Netherlands. Photo: Victoria Emily Jones. [object record]
But he was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the punishment that made us whole, and by his bruises we are healed.
—Isaiah 53:5
LOOK: Cuts by Johannes Phokela
Johannes Phokela (South African, 1966–), Cuts, 1990. Acrylic and string on canvas, 83 1/16 × 83 1/16 in. (211 × 211 cm). Smithsonian National Museum of African Art, Washington, DC.
For this gruesome artwork, Johannes Phokela slashed a canvas in many spots with a razor, then stitched up the gashes with heavy string. He then painted over the gashes from the back with crimson paint until it bled through, forming a deep red along the seams and a flesh-pink further out, evocative of scar tissue. Then, as if to memorialize the wounds, he painted twenty gold frames over them in rows of five across and four down.
Phokela often uses painted frames or grids as a compositional device in his work. “The grid gives another dimension to the work; it is a device to challenge the viewer’s perception of the image and form beneath,” he said in a 2002 interview with Bruce Haines. “It is intended to have an effect like an ornamental frame surrounding a mirror, or a glass pane mounting a picture. . . . You have to regard it as part of the work, just like the traditional frame of a painting. . . . It gives the work a sort of focal point that can stimulate the viewer’s reaction.”
I was simultaneously drawn to and repulsed by this painting when I saw it exhibited as part of Conversations: African and African American Artworks in Dialogue at the Smithsonian in 2014. It is large—almost seven square feet. From a distance the image looks rather rose-like, a concentric arrangement of short red lines slightly curled like petals. It wasn’t until I got closer that I saw it portrays the vulnerability of human flesh, savagely torn.
When I’m at an art museum I like to look at each artwork before reading its label so that I can register my initial impressions and begin to form an interpretation before I receive the curator’s. (I hope you do the same when you encounter artworks on this website!) When I saw this one, I thought of how Christ was wounded for our transgressions, but those wounds became his glory—and ours. In art history Jesus is sometimes shown with light emanating from the holes in his hands, especially in images where he is exalted in heaven. For me, the gold in Cuts suggests a redemptive framework—like it’s asking us to view the horrors of the cross through the lens of glory. In addition, the gold frames within the picture plane seem to emphasize that these wounds are something worthy of being looked at, even meditated upon, as frames show us what’s important, directing our gaze.
Well, here’s what the label said:
On a trip home to South Africa in 1989, Phokela was distressed to see the state of violence that existed as a result of political rivalry and unrest. Disturbed by the bandaged and scarred faces and bodies of his fellow citizens and by the fact that everyone seemed to accept the situation as normal, the artist created a canvas of cuts overlaid with gold frames to distance himself from the violence.
So, Phokela, a Black South African who was born and raised in Soweto but had been living in London since 1987, painted this as a response to the violence of apartheid in his home country. Whoever wrote this text sees the frames as putting us at further remove from the cuts that are represented, as they form an intervening layer between us and them. A legitimate reading, though I haven’t found any statements from Phokela that express this intent. What I did find from him regarding his use of frames in general, I quoted above.
Having learned the particular context out of which this painting arose, I then considered what Jesus’s crucifixion has to say to human suffering today. What relevance has a Galilean man’s torture and execution two thousand years ago to present-day men and women who are beaten and abused?—in this case, because of their race.
Jesus’s death exposed and put to shame the powers of evil, those which assault God and God’s image-bearers. Surely there was much more going on with his death than just that (whole volumes, whole series of volumes, have been written to articulate a theology of the cross). But bringing to light the crimes of humanity—and at the same time, God’s supreme love—is one aspect. Opening up pathways of transformation, healing, reconciliation, and liberation is another.
LISTEN: “By His Wounds” by Bifrost Arts, feat. DM Stith, on He Will Not Cry Out, 2013 | Words by Isaac Wardell, 2011 | Music by Philip Hayes, 1786
By his wounds, his wounds, will we be healed And for our transgressions, his passion has made us well Let us come again and feed on him, our Lord Emmanuel
This melody was originally written in the eighteenth century by English composer, organist, singer, and conductor Philip Hayes (1738–1797), who published it in The Muses’ Delight: Catches, Glees, Canzonets, and Canons as a round setting of Psalm 137:1–2 (“By the waters of Babylon . . .”). The song became widely popular after Don McLean recorded it on his 1971 album American Pie and even more so in 2007, when it was used in a memorable montage in the TV series Mad Men.
Isaac Wardell, cofounder of the Bifrost Arts music collective and now director of The Porter’s Gate, put different words to Hayes’s melody in 2011, retaining the canon form. The first two lines reference the well-known Suffering Servant passage from Isaiah 53, and the last is an invitation to come to the Lord’s table—to take in unto ourselves the body and blood of Christ.
Denise Weyhrich (American, 1956–), Tabernacle, 2010. 70,000 used communion cups, 7 silver ribbons, plexiglass base, 42 × 42 in. Sasse Museum of Art, Upland, California. Photo: Jeff LeFever. [object record]
From Easter 2008 through Yom Kippur 2009, installation artist Denise Kufus Weyhrich collected unwashed cups from weekly communions at St. John’s Lutheran Church in Orange, California, and a few neighboring churches, leaving them out to dry in her studio. Over that year and a half when they accumulated, the room was filled with the fragrance of wine, she told me.
Once she had collected 70,000 cups into stacks—seven is the number of completion or perfection in Judaism and, by extension, Christianity—she arranged the stacks on a plexiglass disc and bound them together with six silver ribbons, like a sheaf of wheat. The seventh ribbon she threaded through all the cups and up to the ceiling, which could be read as the love of God coming down and through the people, uniting them, and/or the people’s thanksgiving going up to God through this ritual act of celebrating the Eucharist.
Each one of those wine-stained cups represents a person being fed by the body and blood of Christ. Their collective presentation is such a beautiful picture of the church and of God’s ongoing bestowal of grace and forgiveness. Weyhrich named the piece Tabernacle, the place where God dwells.
Weyhrich is the codirector, with Cindi Zech Rhodes, of Seeds Fine Art Exhibits, a nonprofit that supports artists of faith by transforming galleries into sacred spaces. “Our exhibits always have a central theme which invites contemplation of ‘that something other’ than the purely physical world,” she says. They just wrapped up California Redemption Value, a solo show by assemblage artist Leslie Caldera, and are now showing work by Teri Shagoury through May. Their gallery is located inside Full Circle in Orange, California.
Jesus said to them, “I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and whoever believes in me will never be thirsty. . . . Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.”
—John 6:35, 49–51
LOOK: Painting by Pablo Sanaguano
Painting by Pablo Sanaguano (Ecuadorian, 1964–), 2021
This song was written for the Porter’s Gate album Neighbor Songs, which released in 2019. Diana Gameros, a member of the collective, sings on the recording and plays guitar. Here she is a year later, singing the song with Minna Choi for a City Church San Francisco [previously] virtual worship service.
Jesus, bread of life Manna from heaven Broken for the world Offered up for every man
The feast of angels becomes food for the weary And hungry hearts are filled When you open up your hand When you open up your hand
O Lord, come fill us with your love This table laid for us There is more than enough Jesus, bread of life
Sister, take what you need Anything I own There is no famine here Jesus’ love will multiply
Brother, what’s mine is yours You are not alone There is no shortage here Jesus’ love satisfies Jesus’ love satisfies
O Lord, come fill us with your love This table laid for us There is more than enough Jesus, bread of life
“Alegbegbe Mawu Lɔ̃ Xexeame” (or “Alegbegbe” for short) is a choral setting of the scriptural passage John 3:16 composed by Dr. Ephraim Amu, one of the leading composers of Ghanaian art music. As do many of his works from the 1950s onward, this composition uses a technique called counterpoint—that is, the sounding of independent melodies simultaneously in different vocal lines, which are nevertheless integrated into a single harmonic texture. The words are in the Ewe language (pronounced ā-wā, with long a’s as in way), spoken in the Volta region of Ghana as well as in southwestern Togo and parts of Benin.
I’ve chosen a recent performance that was captured on video, but for an audio-only performance by the West Volta Presbytery Church Choir, conducted by Amu’s daughter, Misonu Amu, click here.
Dr. Paul Neeley of Global Christian Worshipwrites, “Dr. Ephraim Kɔku Amu (1899–1995) was a Ghanaian composer, musicologist, and teacher. He was a pioneer in contextualizing life and Christian faith in the African context, starting in the 1920s. He was not afraid to rock the boat of cultural and church norms of the time. He composed hundreds of songs, many of them choral songs in the major languages of Ewe and Twi, and some are still popular today.”
LOOK: Allegorical Representation of the Crucifixion with Saints Andrew and Paul by Francesco Traini
Francesco Traini (Italian, active 1321–1363), Allegorical Representation of the Crucifixion with Saints Andrew and Paul, ca. 1350–60. Tempera and gold leaf on panel, 41 1/4 × 16 5/8 in. (104.8 × 42.2 cm). Carnegie Museum of Art, Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Photo: Victoria Emily Jones. [object record]
In this panel painting from late medieval Italy, two of Christ’s apostles—Andrew and Paul—embrace the cross where Christ hangs crucified, his blood running down from his hands and side. The Latin inscriptions unfurl as speech from each. Paul, on the right, says, MICHI AUTEM ABSIT GLORIARI NISI IN CRUCE DOMINI NOSTRI JESU CHRISTU PER QUEM MICHI MUNDUS CRUCIXUS EST ET EGO MUNDO (“But God forbid that I should glory save in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom the world is crucified unto me, and I unto the world” [Gal. 6:14]).
And Andrew exclaims, SALVE CRUS SPETIOSA SUSCIPE DISCIPLULUM EIUS QUI PENEDIT IN TE MAGISTER MEUS CHRISTUS (“Hail lovely cross, receive the disciple of him who hung on you, my master Jesus Christ”). This is one of the antiphons from the Feast of Saint Andrew, spoken by Andrew in response to being presented with the instrument of his martyrdom.
Francesco Traini is one of the few artists of the period to use raised gesso (plaster) and gold leaf texts on the surfaces of his paintings. He also often used punches, as here, to create elaborate borders.
I’m really compelled by the portrayal of the cross as a forked tree. (Note the similarity to Friday’s featured painting!) Granted, that artistic choice was probably dictated mainly by the narrow dimensions of the panel.
LISTEN: “येशूलाई क्रूसमाथि सब हेर” (Yeshulai Krusmaathi Sab Hera) (Down at the Cross) | Original English words by Elisha A. Hoffman, 1878 | Music by John H. Stockton, 1878 | Performed in Nepali by Psalms Unplugged, 2019 [HT: Global Christian Worship]
१. येशूलाई क्रूसमाथि सब हेर, हाम्रो दुःख उनैले बोकेर, डाक्दैछन् सबलाई प्रेम गरेर, येशूलाई हेर ।
Art & Theology 