Last month I saw the exhibition Elizabeth Catlett: A Black Revolutionary Artist at the National Gallery of Art in Washington, DC, an impactful display of over two hundred prints and sculptures from throughout Catlett’s illustrious seven-decade career. Organized in partnership with the Brooklyn Museum of Art, where it first opened last year, the show focuses on Catlett’s advocacy, through her art and her on-the-ground activism, against poverty, racism, war, and gender oppression—her promotion of human dignity and freedom for all. Her work especially celebrates the beauty and strength of African American working-class women.
The exhibition title comes from a speech Catlett delivered in May 1970 by phone from Mexico to attendees at the Conference on the Functional Aspects of Black Art at Northwestern University outside Chicago, which she could not attend in person because the United States refused her entry to the country on the grounds of her allegedly dangerous politics: “I have been, and am currently, and always hope to be a Black revolutionary artist, and all that it implies,” Catlett stated.
Born in 1915 in Washington, DC, and raised there, Catlett witnessed class inequality, racial discrimination, and US imperialism firsthand, which formed her consciousness and influenced the direction her art would go. After graduating from Howard University, she spent time teaching in Durham (North Carolina), New Orleans, and Harlem and studying art in Iowa and Chicago before permanently settling in Mexico in 1946, becoming a Mexican citizen in 1962. She married the Mexican printmaker and muralist Francisco Mora in 1947, and they had three children together, all sons.
Black motherhood is a recurring subject in Catlett’s work, starting with her MFA thesis project in 1941 at the University of Iowa, a limestone sculpture of a mother and child that won first prize at the America Negro Exposition in Chicago that year but that is now lost. “Black women have been cast in the role of carrying on the survival of Black people through their position as mothers and wives, protecting and educating and stimulating children and Black men,” Catlett said. “We can learn from Black women. They have had to struggle for centuries.”
The social justice framework of the current retrospective exhibition leaves plenty of room for Catlett’s depictions of mothers with their children. What follows are photos I took of some such works.
Elizabeth Catlett (American, active in Mexico, 1915–2012), Mother and Child, 1956. Terracotta, 28.6 × 17.8 × 17.8 cm (11 1/4 × 7 × 7 in.). Museum of Modern Art, New York.
My favorite is a terracotta sculpture made just a year after the lynching of fourteen-year-old Emmett Till, whose mother Mamie Till’s response was an important catalyst of the civil rights movement. It brings two bodies—that of mother and infant son—into one volume. Art historian Leah Dickerman remarks on
the uncanny way that it seems both intimate and monumental at once. Intimacy lies in the way the weight of the child’s face presses against the mother’s breast, the mother’s right leg pushed back to stabilize her balance and her head nestled against the child’s scalp, breathing in that smell. Tenderness, both affectionate and shielding, is conveyed so keenly it almost aches. . . . Catlett seems to capture, somehow, the idea of remembering something fleeting, the sculpture a tiny memorial to loving protection that cannot be maintained.
Platformed across from this sculpture is another, in mahogany, this one modernist, abstracted:
Elizabeth Catlett (American, active in Mexico, 1915–2012), Mother and Child, 1970. Mahogany, 49.5 × 33 × 21 cm (19 1/2 × 13 × 8 1/4 in.). Currier Museum of Art, Manchester, New Hampshire.
It shows a mother holding her baby in a swaddle, his or her head gleefully poking out from the folds. While the baby seems happy, the mother seems stressed, as she turns her head away and grabs her head with her hand, which I interpret as her taking a deep breath to compose herself for several more hours of caregiving before bedtime.
Another mahogany sculpture is borrowed from the New Orleans Museum of Art:
Elizabeth Catlett (American, active in Mexico, 1915–2012), Mother and Child, 1983. Mahogany, 134.6 × 33 × 33 cm (53 × 13 × 13 in.). New Orleans Museum of Art, Louisiana.
The adjacent wall text quotes art historian Melanie Anne Herzog, author of Elizabeth Catlett: An American Artist in Mexico:
Becoming a mother, Catlett told me, was her most creative endeavor. She returned to the theme of maternity throughout her career in sculptures that illuminate the intimate physical bond between mother and child, a child’s comfort in its mother’s embrace, and the anguish of mothers who know they cannot protect their children from future harm. Catlett’s boldly corporeal rendering of maternity centers Black and Brown women in her depiction of this universal theme. I feel the fierce tenderness of this stately standing figure cradling her child, its body melded with hers. Her pensive expression and resolute stance call us to reflect on what she has endured and what her child, too, will encounter in the world that awaits.
One of Catlett’s earliest prints of the mother-child subject is a lithograph from 1944:
Elizabeth Catlett (American, active in Mexico, 1915–2012), Mother and Child, 1944, printed 1945. Lithograph, image: 19.7 × 14.3 cm (7 3/4 × 5 5/8 in.); sheet: 31.4 × 23.8 cm (12 3/8 × 9 3/8 in.). Canton Museum of Art, Canton, Ohio.
The label notes how it “recasts Christian Madonna and Child iconography in the context of a racially segregated United States. A leafless tree in the background and the mother’s protective clutch hint at the brutal history of lynching and violence against Black people.”
Even after her move to Mexico, Catlett remained connected to the Black liberation struggle in the US. Her Torture of Mothers from 1970 is based on the photograph by Bud Lee published on the cover of Life magazine’s July 28, 1967, issue, showing a twelve-year-old Black boy lying in a pool of his own blood in the middle of a street in Newark, New Jersey, having been shot by two stray police bullets. The police were trying to suppress the riots that had erupted in protest of the beating of a Black cab driver in Newark by two white police officers, and while Joe Bass Jr. was outside playing with his friends, he got caught in the crossfire.
Elizabeth Catlett (American, active in Mexico, 1915–2012), Torture of Mothers, 1970. Hand-colored lithograph, sheet: 38.1 × 56.5 cm (15 × 22 1/4 in.); framed: 48.3 × 66 cm (19 × 26 in.). Collection of Juanita and Melvin Hardy.
“Catlett’s composition visualizes the emotional toll such events have on Black mothers and women of color more broadly,” the gallery label reads—mothers whose minds are continually haunted by the racial violence, sometimes even state-authorized, that threatens the safety of their boys. “While Catlett was tracking police brutality in the US, she was also aware of similar state violence against Mexican youth, including the mass shooting of student protestors in 1968 by police at the Universidad Nacional Autónoma de México where Catlett taught.”
Several of the mothers in Catlett’s art are posed in a protective embrace that seeks to shield their children from harm. The arms of her 1982 Madonna, for example, wrap around a son and a daughter, though her averted eyes look worried:
Elizabeth Catlett (American, active in Mexico, 1915–2012), Madonna, 1982. Lithograph, sheet: 76.2 × 56.5 cm (30 × 22 1/4 in.). Stanley Museum of Art, University of Iowa, Iowa City.
In African American families, children are often raised by their grandmothers. Reflecting adaptability and support, such kinship care is memorialized in These Two Generations, which shows in profile a young boy and the primary maternal figure and caregiver in his life: his grandma.
Elizabeth Catlett (American, active in Mexico, 1915–2012), These Two Generations, 1979, printed 1987. Lithograph, image: 48.3 x 55.7 cm (19 x 21 15/16 in.); sheet: 56.7 x 76.2 cm (22 5/16 x 30 in.); framed: 69.9 x 80 cm (27 1/2 x 31 1/2 in.). Collection of Otis and Harryette Robertson.
Skipping ahead to this millennium, the exhibition includes Danys y Liethis, a portrait of the artist’s niece and great-niece:
Elizabeth Catlett (American, active in Mexico, 1915–2012), Danys y Liethis, 2005. Offset lithograph, sheet: 71 × 50.8 cm (27 15/16 × 20 in.); framed: 91.4 × 71.1 cm (36 × 28 in.). Collection of Barbara J. Luke.
Lastly, suspended from the ceiling at the exhibition’s entrance/exit, is Catlett’s most unique mother-child sculpture, Floating Family:
Elizabeth Catlett (American, active in Mexico, 1915–2012), Floating Family, 1995. Mexican primavera wood, overall length: 304.8 cm (120 in.). Collection of the Chicago Public Library.
In many of her depictions of motherhood, Catlett unifies the mother and child into a single form, emphasizing their intimacy. But I’ve been thinking about her large-scale sculpture Floating Family, which usually hangs above the circulation desk at the Legler Branch of the Chicago Public Library. Here, mother and daughter are still tethered together, but instead of standing upright they are now perfectly horizontal. Are they maple seed pods, spinning and falling to the earth to plant something new? Or a rotor, lifting upwards, leaving gravity behind? Despite the seeming precarity of the moment, the mother’s face is calm and set, and the daughter looks up at her, trusting.
I imagine that it does something different in the context of a library than as the closing object in a museum retrospective. For me in October, after seeing so many sculptures of mothers cuddling their children close, this work evoked the particular terror and thrill of parenting adolescents. Now, it suggests more than that: the labor and love we give not only our children but our communities and the way that hope can sometimes feel like a free fall.
Aminah Brenda Lynn Robinson (1940–2015) was an artist working in multiple media whose work celebrates Black history and culture. She was a lifelong resident of Columbus, Ohio, and bequeathed her art, writings, home, and personal property to the Columbus Museum of Art, who established the Aminah Robinson Legacy Project in 2020.
The drawing above is one of twenty-six from Robinson’s excellent book The Teachings: Drawn from African-American Spirituals (Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1992). These drawings, she writes in the introduction, “have grown from the stories and songs that were given to me by my family and my early teachers, and I offer them here to the children of today’s troubled world and the children of tomorrow. They carry a message of dignity, knowledge, and wisdom . . . speak of survival, of freedom and determination, of love and faith, of justice and of hope . . .”
The artist’s estate is represented in the US by Fort Gansevoort in New York, which is currently showing Aminah Brenda Lynn Robinson: Character Studies through January 25.
Another exhibition of her work, Aminah Robinson: Journeys Home, a Visual Memoir, will be touring nationally for the next few years: to the Springfield Museum of Art in Ohio (February 1–July 13, 2025), the Newark Museum of Art in New Jersey (October 16, 2025–March 1, 2026), the Mobile Museum of Art in Alabama (March 26, 2026–January 9, 2027), and two remaining venues to be announced. This is a major exhibition that brings together Robinson’s drawings, prints, paintings, textiles, collages, homemade books, dolls, “hogmawg” sculptures (made of a mixture of mud, clay, twigs, leaves, lime, animal grease, and glue), and “RagGonNon” pieces (monumental swaths of fabric encrusted with buttons, beads, and other found objects) to create a portrait of her life.
LISTEN: “Mary, What You Gonna Name That Pretty Little Baby?,” African American spiritual | Arranged by Alex Bradford, 1961 | Performed by Princess Stewart and Marion Williams on Black Nativity: Gospel on Broadway! (Original Broadway Cast), 1962
Mary, Mary, what you gonna name that pretty little baby? Mmm, mmm, pretty little baby Mmm, mmm, pretty little baby Glory be to the newborn King
Some call him one thing, I think I’ll call him Jesus Mmm, mmm, sweet Jesus Mmm, mmm, (ain’t he sweet?) sweet Jesus Glory be to the newborn King
Some call him Jesus, I think I’ll call him Wonderful Mmm, mmm, wonderful Mmm, mmm, he’s so wonderful Glory be to the newborn King
Some call him Wonderful, I think I’ll call him Emmanuel Mmm, mmm, King Emmanuel Mmm, mmm, (ain’t he the king?) Emmanuel Glory be to the newborn King
Some call him Emmanuel, I’m gonna call him the Prince of Peace Mmm, mmm, Prince of Peace Mmm, mmm, Prince of Peace Glory be to the newborn King
Some call him Prince of Peace, I’m gonna call him Jesus Mmm, mmm, sweet Jesus Mmm, mmm, (ain’t he sweet?) sweet Jesus Glory be to the newborn King
Mary, Mary, what you gonna name that pretty little baby? Mmm, mmm, pretty little baby Mmm, mmm, pretty little baby Glory be to the newborn King
This Christmas spiritual, a dialogue between an unnamed visitor and the new mother Mary, has been recorded by many artists. I think I like the original cast recording from the Langston Hughes musical Black Nativity best, featuring soloist Princess Stewart on the first verse and Marion Williams on the remaining six, backed by the Stars of Faith.
But here’s a handful of other versions I like. Because the song was passed down orally, it has taken on different lyrical variations and accrued new verses. Some reference the wise men.
>> “The Virgin Mary Had One Son” by the Staple Singers, arr. Roebuck “Pops” Staples, on The 25th Day of December (1962):
>> “The Virgin Mary Had One Son” by Josh Garrels, on The Light Came Down (2016):
>> “What ’Cha Gonna Call the Pretty Little Baby” by the National Lutheran Choir, dir. David M. Cherwien, arr. Ronald L. Stevens, on Christ Is Born (2016):
>> “Glory to the Newborn King” by Chicago a Cappella, dir. Jonathan Miller, arr. Robert Leigh Morris, on Holidays a Cappella Live (2002):
>> “Virgin Mary Had One Son” by Joan Baez and Bob Gibson, live at the 1959 Newport Folk Festival (see also “Virgin Mary,” a bonus track on the 2001 Vanguard reissue of Baez’s 1966 album Noël):
Jacob Riis (Danish American, 1849–1914), In the Home of an Italian Rag-Picker, Jersey Street, ca. 1890. Photograph, 7 15/16 × 9 3/4 in. (20.2 × 24.7 cm).
My soul magnifies the poor the sore the raw and my spirit rejoices in God my downcast my outcast my twig-bone wrong caste for He regards the low estate the no-go estate the empty plate and squats there with those generations.
For at Whose Name the cosmos shakes and canyons quake sought sanctuary within a womb a young girl’s chaste, unopened room a sparse, unblemished catacomb and holy is He amongst the lame.
His mercy is on those who fear Him hear Him those near Him in desert flapping bivouac or dehydrated barrio.
The night sky rolled out by His arm, the preening proud ignore His balm and slink towards the warlock charm of their small ambitions; and those on thrones end up alone replaced by fly-pecked innocents.
He only eats with the hungry, and if they don’t, He too refrains; and as for the rich – a table cannot be found for them.
My soul magnifies the poor the sore the raw and my spirit rejoices in God my outcast.
Stewart Henderson is a poet, song lyricist, and broadcaster. His children’s poems, taken from his three best-selling children’s collections (Poetry Emotion, All Things Weird and Wonderful, and Who Left Grandad at the Chip Shop?), are included in the UK’s national education curriculum. As a song lyricist, the music magazines Q and Mojo place his lyrics alongside those of Randy Newman and Radiohead. And as an award-winning presenter and producer of many documentaries for BBC network radio, he continues in the grand tradition, established by the likes of Dylan Thomas, Louis MacNeice, Cecil Day-Lewis, and others, of leading poets being commissioned to make primetime programs for Britain’s national broadcaster. Liverpool-born but long since residing on the southwest fringes of London, Henderson has been a regular participant, since its inception in 1974, in the Greenbelt Festival, an annual summer event in England dedicated to the arts, faith, and justice, for which Henderson served as a board director for twelve years.
>> “Jack’s Bookshelf: Julian of Norwich” with Dr. Grace Hamman, Pints with Jack: The “Jack’s Bookshelf” podcast series explores the authors and books that influenced the life and writings of C. S. Lewis. Hosted by David Bates, this episode covers Julian of Norwich (ca. 1343–after 1416), an English anchorite and mystic who authored what editors call Revelations of Divine Love or The Showings, the first English-language book by a woman. The most famous quote from this work is “Sin is behoovely, but all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.” Medieval scholar Grace Hamman [previously] unpacks the quote and discusses other key passages and themes from Julian, as well as what little we know of her biography. An excellent introduction!
>> “Ben Myers—The Divine Comedy,”Life with God: One of the many gifts my parents have given me over the years was a four-month study-abroad stay in Florence during my junior year of college, where one of my courses was devoted to reading and studying—in its original Italian and in the author Dante Alighieri’s hometown!—the masterful trilogy of narrative poems known as La Divina Commedia, or The Divine Comedy in English. Moving through hell, purgatory, and heaven, it is an allegory of the soul’s journey toward God. I enjoyed hearing Dr. Benjamin Myers [previously], director of the Great Books Honors Program at Oklahoma Baptist University, discuss this deeply influential work from the early fourteenth century, and sharing one of his own poems, “Listening to Reggae at the Nashville Airport.”
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VIRTUAL TOURS OF CATHEDRALS:
Cathedrals are, among other things, repositories of sacred art. I’m so appreciative of digitization initiatives that seek to make some of those treasures available to global publics online. Here are two admirable examples.
>> The York Minster Stained Glass Navigator:York Minster in northeastern England has the largest collection of medieval stained glass in the UK, with the earliest pieces dating from the late twelfth century. On behalf of the Chapter of York, the York Glaziers Trust is undertaking to photograph it all. These photos are available for viewing online through the cathedral’s “Stained Glass Navigator,” which enables you to hover over panels to identify the scenes, zoom in for higher resolution, and see where each panel in situated in the context of the window’s larger narrative.
I especially recommend exploring the extraordinary Great East Window, which depicts the beginning and the end of all things. The top section opens with the seven days of creation, followed by other select scenes from the Old Testament, but the bulk of the window—and my favorite sequence—consists of scenes from the book of Revelation. The bottom row depicts historical and legendary figures associated with the history of York Minster.
John Thornton of Coventry (British, fl. 1405–1433), St. John Takes the Book from the Angel (Rev. 10:8–11), 1405–8. Stained glass panel from the Great East Window, York Minster, York, England. Photo courtesy of the York Glaziers Trust.John Thornton of Coventry (British, fl. 1405–1433), The Dragon Gives Power to the Beast (Rev. 13:1–3), 1405–8. Stained glass panel from the Great East Window, York Minster, York, England. Photo courtesy of the York Glaziers Trust.John Thornton of Coventry (British, fl. 1405–1433), Satan Chained in the Bottomless Pit (Rev. 20:1–3), 1405–8. Stained glass panel from the Great East Window, York Minster, York, England. Photo courtesy of the York Glaziers Trust.
>> Life of a Cathedral: Notre-Dame of Amiens: Located in the heart of Picardy in northern France, Amiens Cathedral is one of the largest Gothic churches of the thirteenth century, renowned for the beauty of its three-tier interior elevation, its prodigious sculpted decoration, and its stained glass. This website put together by Columbia University’s Media Center for Art History offers a detailed virtual tour of the cathedral, drawing attention to its architectural features and artworks, from the many stone relief sculptures over its four portals (my favorite) to the octagonal labyrinth that adorns the marble floor in the nave to the early sixteenth-century misericords in the choir stall.
Detail of voussoirs from the south transept portal of St. Honoré at Amiens Cathedral, ca. 1240, featuring Adam working the ground, Noah building the ark, Jonah being disgorged from the fish, Hosea marrying Gomer, and other biblical figures and vignettes
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SONG: “Adon Olam,” performed by the Maqamat Masters, feat. Nissim Lugas: The well-loved text of this traditional Hebrew prayer in five stanzas probably originated in medieval Spain, having been first found in a thirteenth-century siddur (Jewish prayer book) from Andalusia. Drawn from the language of the Psalms, it praises God for both his transcendence and his immanence. He is incomparably great, the ruler over all, and yet he’s also a personal God, a refuge for those who call on him. The prayer’s title and opening phrase translates to “Master of the Universe” or “Eternal Lord.”
Various tunes have been used for the singing of this prayer over the centuries. The Maqamat Masters perform it here with a melody based on the traditional Armenian folk tune NUBAR NUBAR, arranged by Elad Levi and Ariel Berli. They also add to the prayer a few lines from the ghazals of the Persian Sufi poet Saadi (1210–ca. 1292), about the burning fire of God’s love; Lugas sings this Farsi passage from 3:06 to 4:08.
“Maqamat Masters is a unique group of musicians that coalesced around their work together teaching at the Maqamat School of Eastern Music in Safed, Israel,” 12 Tribes Music writes. “Each of the musicians is a master in a different traditional musical genre from the Middle East, and they bring their personal voices and decades of explorations together, to create a magical, new and innovative sound.”
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VIRTUAL EXHIBITION: The Faras Gallery: Treasures from the Flooded Desert: In 1960, Faras, a small town in Sudan near the Egyptian border, was one of the archaeological sites designated for flooding by the waters of the Nile to create Lake Nasser. Responding to an international call by UNESCO to preserve the area’s cultural heritage before it would be buried beneath the new reservoir, a Polish team led by Professor Kazimierz Michałowski proceeded with salvage excavations in 1961–64. Their efforts uncovered the wonderfully preserved ruins of a medieval cathedral, active from the eighth to fourteenth centuries (it was built on the remains of an early seventh-century church) and containing over 150 religious paintings, a trove of Nubian Christian art. By agreement with Sudan, half of the findings went to Poland’s National Museum in Warsaw, while the other half are kept in Sudan’s National Museum in Khartoum.
Wall Painting with Bishop Marianos under the protection of Christ and the Mother of God, early 11th century, excavated from Faras Cathedral in modern-day Sudan. Secco tempera on plaster, 247 × 155.5 cm. National Museum, Warsaw.
Curated by Paweł Dąbrowski and Magdalena Majchrzak and hosted by Google Arts & Culture, this virtual exhibition spotlights the wall paintings and artifacts from Faras that are housed in Warsaw. It discusses the importance of the discovery of the cathedral and the technical challenges of detaching the paintings (tempera on dry mud plaster) from the walls. It also includes digital reconstructions of the cathedral’s interior and exterior in 3D stereoscopy, as well as video elements. Here is one of the four videos from the exhibition:
All photos in this post, except for the last one (of the processional icon), are my own.
(Note: WordPress seems to have disabled the feature that allows you to expand an image upon clicking, but if you’re reading on a computer, you can right-click an image and open it in a new tab to view it in full resolution; if you’re reading on a phone, you can pinch to zoom.)
Located in the Horn of Africa and with access to the Red Sea, Nile River, Mediterranean Sea, and Indian Ocean, Ethiopia stands at the nexus of historical travel, trade, and pilgrimage routes that brought it into contact with surrounding cultures and influenced its artistic development. Coptic Egypt, Nubia, South Arabia, Byzantium, Armenia, Italy, India, and the greater African continent were among those influencers. But Ethiopia not only absorbed influences; it transmitted them too.
A major art exhibition is centering Ethiopia’s artistic traditions in a global context. For Ethiopia at the Crossroads at the Walters Art Museum in Baltimore (running through March 3), curator Christine Sciacca has brought together more than 220 objects from the Walters’ own extraordinary Ethiopian art collection and private and institutional lenders both domestic and international. Icons, wall paintings, processional crosses and hand crosses, illuminated Gospel books and psalters, sensuls (chain manuscripts), healing scrolls, and more are on display throughout the galleries, whose walls have been painted bright green, yellow, and red—the colors of the Ethiopian flag. To round off the exhibition, guest curator Tsedaye Makonnen, an Ethiopian American multidisciplinary artist, was tasked with curating a few works from contemporary artists of the Ethiopian diaspora.
The majority of objects are Christian, made for liturgical or private devotional use. Ethiopia is one of the world’s oldest Christian nations: in the early fourth century, persuaded by a missionary from Syria, King Ezana of Aksum embraced Christianity, and it has been the dominant religion of Ethiopia ever since. But the exhibition does also include some Islamic and Jewish objects.
One of the first works you’ll encounter is a mural that would have originally been mounted on the outer wall of an Ethiopian Orthodox church sanctuary (mäqdäs), portraying the Nativity, the Presentation of Christ in the Temple, and the Adoration of the Magi.
Nativity, Presentation of Christ in the Temple, and Adoration of the Magi, Ethiopia, 18th century. Glue tempera on overlapping canvas pieces mounted to a new stretched canvas, 49 3/16 × 66 15/16 in. (124.9 × 170 cm). Walters Art Museum, Baltimore. [object record]
Remarkably, at the Nativity, there is a feast taking place, and Jesus is feeding his mother with what looks like a Communion wafer! As the theologian Lester Ruth has said, “The sound from most baby beds is a cry to be fed. But the cry from the manger is an offer to feed on his body born into this world.”
One of history’s most famous Ethiopian painters is Fre Seyon, who worked at the court of Emperor Zara Yaqob (r. 1434–1468) and was of the first generation of Ethiopian artists who painted icons on wood panels. He was also a monk. He likely introduced one of the characteristic features of Ethiopian icons of the Virgin and Child: the archangels Michael and Gabriel flanking them with drawn swords, acting as a kind of honor guard.
Fre Seyon (Ethiopian, active 1445–1480), Triptych Icon with the Virgin Mary and Christ Child Flanked by Archangels and Saints (center), Twelve Apostles and Saints (left), and Prophets and Saints (right), mid- to late 15th century. Tempera on gesso-primed wood. Institute of Ethiopian Studies, Addis Ababa University, acc. no. IESMus4186.
My two favorite details of this triptych by Fre Seyon are (on the right wing) the image of the Ancient of Days surrounded by the tetramorph, his wild gray locks being blown about, and in the center, the bird that Christ holds, its feet grasping at a three-branched twig. On a literal level, the bird is a plaything for the boy that charmingly emphasizes his humanity (in the late Middle Ages, at least in Europe—I’m not sure about in Ethiopia—it was common for young children to keep tame birds as pets). On another level, the bird may be symbolic. In traditional Western art, Jesus sometimes holds a goldfinch, a bird with distinctive red markings that’s fond of eating thistle seeds and gathering thistle down and thus came to be read as a prefiguration of Christ’s thorny, blood-spilt passion. I’m not sure whether Fre Seyon intended a symbolic significance for this bird.
Here’s another triptych from the exhibition, this one from a century and a half later:
Triptych Icon with the Virgin Mary and Christ Child Flanked by Archangels, Scenes from the Life of Christ, Saint George, and Saints Honorius, Täklä Haymanot, and Ewostatewos, Ethiopia (Tigray), early 17th century. Glue tempera on panel, 16 3/4 × 22 5/16 in. (42.5 × 56.7 cm). Walters Art Museum, Baltimore. [object record]
The composition of the Virgin and Child is based on prints of a painted icon from Santa Maria Maggiore in Rome brought to Ethiopia by Portuguese Jesuit missionaries—but it innovates. As the wall text notes, “Mary’s cloak stretch[es] out in either direction to embrace the scene of Christ Teaching the Apostles below. Umbrella-like, Mary appears as both the protector and personification of the church.”
On the right wing, angels hold up chalices to collect the blood that flows from Jesus’s wounds on the cross, while below that, Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus carry Jesus’s wrapped corpse to the tomb. On the left wing is one of my favorite traditional religious scenes: the Harrowing of Hell, or Christ’s Descent into Limbo, in which, on Holy Saturday, Jesus enters the realm of his dead to take back those whom Death has held captive, first of which are our foreparents Adam and Eve. Below that scene is an image of the dragon-slaying Saint George, a late third-century figure from the Levant or Cappadocia who is the patron saint of Ethiopia.
At the bottom center is a scene of Christ teaching the twelve apostles, plus two Ethiopian saints. They all hold hand crosses, like those carried by Ethiopian priests and monks.
Hand Cross with Figure, Ethiopia, probably 18th–19th century. Wood, 13 3/8 × 4 3/16 × 9/16 in. (34 x 10.7 × 1.4 cm). Walters Art Museum, Baltimore. [object record]Coptic-Arabic Book of Prayer, Egypt, 18th century. Tempera and ink on parchment, 11 3/4 × 9 in. (29.8 × 22.8 cm). Melikian Collection. [object record]
One of the hallmarks of the exhibition is its multisensory nature: attendees are immersed not only in the sights of Ethiopia but also in the sounds and smells. Scratch-and-sniff cards invite people to take a whiff of frankincense, which would have filled the censer on display. Or to smell berbere, a hot spice blend that would have been stored in the woven baskets nearby.
This olfactory element was produced by the Institute for Digital Archaeology, which, as part of its efforts to record and preserve ephemeral culture, has launched an ambitious program to preserve the heritage of smells. “The aim is to provide the technical means for documenting the aromas of today for the benefit of future generations – and to find new methods and opportunities for experiencing the odors of the past.”
Also in the exhibition there are screens where you can watch videos of Ethiopian Orthodox worship, including music and liturgies, where you will see some of the objects in use. You can also listen to interviews with members of the local Ethiopian diaspora community. (The Washington metropolitan area has the largest Ethiopian population outside Ethiopia.)
Further contextualizing the objects and enhancing the sense of place, pasted onto the wall is a blow-up photograph of a Christian holy-day celebration wending through the streets. This serves as a backdrop to two physical artifacts present in the room: a qämis (dress) and a debab (umbrella).
The inscriptions on many of the Ethiopian icons and manuscript illuminations, which identify the figures and scenes, are in Ge‘ez (aka classical Ethiopic), an ancient South Semitic language that originated over two thousand years ago in what is now northern Ethiopia and Eritrea. It’s no longer spoken in daily life, but it is still used as the language of the Ethiopian Orthodox Church and taught to boys in Sunday school. I really wish I could read it, as it would be a great help in interpreting the Ethiopian images I come across in my studies!
Contrary to what some may assume, Ethiopians in the medieval era were not an isolated people. They traveled—to Rome, to Jerusalem, and so forth. Evidence of Holy Land pilgrimage is suggested by an early fourteenth-century Gospel book that includes the domed Church of the Holy Sepulcher as the backdrop for Christ’s resurrection:
Gospel Book with the Crucifixion and Christ’s Resurrection, Ethiopia (Tigray), early 14th century. Ink and paint on parchment, 10 1/2 × 6 11/16 in. (26.7 × 17 cm). Walters Art Museum, Baltimore, W.8.36, fols. 6v–7r. [object record]
This is an extraordinary book, one of the oldest surviving Ethiopian manuscripts and the oldest in North America. Ethiopian artists weren’t yet depicting Jesus on the cross, so to represent the Crucifixion, this artist has painted a living lamb surmounting a bejeweled cross, with the two thieves crucified on either side.
Also from the fourteenth century, a manuscript opened to a page spread of Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem:
Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem, folios added from an earlier Gospel book to a Ta’ammera Maryam manuscript, Ethiopia, 14th century. Tempera and ink on parchment. Private collection.
I like how the scene extends across both pages, creating a sense of forward progression, and the two onlookers above the city gate.
One of my favorite objects from the exhibition is a sensul from Gondar depicting ten scenes from the life of Mary. A sensul is an Ethiopian chain manuscript, in this case pocket-size, created out of a single folded strip of parchment attached to heavy hide boards at each end, which creates a small book when folded shut. Here’s a detail showing the Annunciation:
Annunciation, from a Gondarine sensul (chained manuscript), Ethiopia (Gondar), late 17th century. Ink and paint on parchment, each panel 3 5/8 × 3 1/8 in. (9.2 × 9 cm). Walters Art Museum, Baltimore. [object record] [GIF]
It’s a common misconception that Ethiopians have always depicted biblical figures as dark-skinned to reflect the local population. Such treatment didn’t become normative until the eighteenth century, although some earlier artists did choose black complexions for holy persons:
Virgin and Child, from a Psalter with the Wəddase Maryam (Praise of Mary) and Mähalǝyä Näbiyyat (Canticles of the Prophets), Ethiopia, 15th century. Ink and pigments on parchment with wooden boards, open: 8 7/8 × 6 11/16 × 3 15/16 in. (22.5 × 17 × 10 cm). Toledo Museum of Art, Ohio. [object record]The Opening of the Gospel of John, from a Gospel book, Ethiopia, ca. 1504–5. Tempera on parchment, 13 9/16 × 10 7/16 in. (34.5 × 26.5 cm). J. Paul Getty Museum, Los Angeles, Ms. 102, fols. 215v–216r. [object record]Triptych Icon with the Virgin Mary and Christ Child Flanked by Archangels (center), the Kwer‘atä re’esu (Man of Sorrows) and Saint George (left), and Saint Gäbrä Mänfäs Qeddus and Abba Arsanyos (right), Ethiopia (Gondar), late 17th–early 18th century. Tempera on gesso-primed wood. Institute of Ethiopian Studies, Addis Ababa University, acc. no. IESMus3492.
In the triptych shown above, not only is the infant Jesus depicted as Black, but he also wears a necklace made of cowrie shells, which are traditionally given to Ethiopian children for protection!
My favorite artwork from the exhibition is probably this triptych:
Triptych Icon with the Crucifixion (center), Entombment and Guards at the Tomb (left), and Temptation in the Wilderness and the Resurrection of Christ (right), Ethiopia, late 16th century. Tempera on gesso-primed wood. Institute of Ethiopian Studies, Addis Ababa University, acc. no. IESMus4126.
Its central panel depicts the Crucifixion, Christ’s head bowed in death and his fingers gesturing blessing, even as his palms are nailed. At the top, the sun and the moon mourn his passing. As we saw before, angels catch the blood that drips from his body (notice the cute little hand sticking out from behind his torso!). At the base, the two larger-scale figures are the Virgin Mary and St. John, while next to Mary on a smaller scale is Longinus, the centurion who pierces Christ’s side with a spear.
The left wing shows the Entombment of Christ, with two guards, wearing pointed turbans, sleeping at their post. The right wing shows a scene that the label identifies as “Temptation in the Wilderness” (presumably a translation of the inscription on the tree) but that looks to me more like an Agony in the Garden. Below that is the Resurrection, with Christ holding a victory banner, standing atop Hades. An angel blows a shofar and the dead rise up out of their graves, following Christ, the firstfruits of the resurrection (1 Cor. 15:20–22). Christ wears a short-sleeved, knee-length jacket with frog closures, and bunched sleeves and trousers, both of which reflect clothing from regions east of Africa.
The wall text notes the fine, wavy lines used to render the figures’ draperies, perhaps influenced by Armenian artists from the Lake Van region.
Yovsian of Vaspurakan (Armenian), Leaf from a Gospel book with the Resurrection of Christ and Visit of the Women to the Tomb of Christ, ca. 1350. Tempera on cotton paper. Private collection.
Here’s another Crucifixion, this one painted in what’s called the Second Gondarine style, characterized by smoothly modeled figures, often with darker skin tones, and wide horizontal bands of red, yellow, and green filling the background:
Diptych Icon with the Crucifixion (left) and the Mocking of Christ (right), Ethiopia, late 17th–early 18th century. Wood, polychrome, 13 1/2 × 9 7/8 in. (34.3 × 25.1 cm). Virginia Museum of Fine Arts, Richmond. [object record]
The squiggles behind Christ at the top left may simply be a decorative motif, but to me they look like falling stars, an apocalyptic sign, and as if the sky is weeping.
The right panel of the diptych shows Christ being cruelly fitted with a crown of thorns.
Two other passion images I want to share are a Last Supper wall painting and an Entombment from a disbound album.
Last Supper, Ethiopia, 18th century. Tempera on linen, mounted on panel, 16 3/4 × 24 in. (42.6 × 61 cm). Virginia Museum of Fine Arts, Richmond. [object record]Album Leaf with the Entombment of Christ, Ethiopia (Sawa?), late 17th century. Pigments on vellum. Minneapolis Institute of Art, 2009.39.3y. [object record]
In the Last Supper, Jesus and Judas both dip their bread (injera!) into the same bowl and exchange a knowing glance.
In the Entombment, Jesus, wrapped in white linen, is lowered into the ground, mourned by several of his women followers. The portrayal of his mother Mary’s weeping, her hands covering her eyes and her face stained with tears, is particularly poignant. This leaf is from a set of forty-four, now matted separately but originally arranged in series and likely painted on several long sheets of parchment that were sewn together and folded accordion-style to form a sensul.
One of the most extraordinary objects on display is a rare folding processional icon that adopts the form of a fan, from the late fifteenth century:
Folding Processional Icon in the Shape of a Fan, Ethiopia, late 15th century (Stephanite). Ink and paint on parchment, thread, extended: 24 1/4 × 154 1/8 × 4 3/4 in. (61.6 × 391.4 × 12 cm). Walters Art Museum, Baltimore. Photo courtesy of the museum. [object record]
Thirty-eight identically sized figures span the surface of this elongated parchment: the early Christian martyrs Julitta (Juliet) and Cyricus, St. George, St. John the Baptist, the archangel Michael, the Virgin Mary, the archangel Raphael, St. Paul, the Ethiopian artist-priest Afnin, and unidentified Old Testament patriarchs and prophets. There would have been a wooden handle attached to either end that, when pulled together, created a double handle for a giant wheel to be displayed during liturgical processions and church services (see here). As the museum website notes, “The Virgin Mary, whose hands are raised in a gesture of prayer, is then at the top of the wheel. By depicting Mary in the company of saints and angels, the icon powerfully evokes the celestial community of the church.”
This is just a sampling of all the wonderful art objects that are a part of the Ethiopia at the Crossroadsexhibition. I’ll share more photos on Instagram (@art_and_theology) in the coming weeks.
I strongly encourage you to go see this! I think it would be enjoyable for children as well, especially Christian children, who will be able to identify many of the painted stories. For Christians, it’s an opportunity to connect with our artistic heritage and with African church history. If you can’t catch the exhibition at the Walters in Baltimore before it closes March 3, it will be traveling to the Peabody Essex Museum in Salem, Massachusetts (April 13–July 7, 2024), and the Toledo Museum of Art in Ohio (August 17–November 10, 2024).
Two major exhibitions of African art are currently running in Manhattan and Baltimore, containing many Christian objects, some of them never before seen in the US. I attended both, and they’re excellent. I want to write a full-on review for each, but because I don’t know that I’ll have time to do so before they close, I wanted to at least make you aware of them in this abbreviated form in the hopes that you’ll have a chance to go see them. I will share more photos soon.
>> Africa & Byzantium, Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York City, November 19, 2023–March 3, 2024: Curated by Dr. Andrea Myers Achi. “Art history has long emphasized the glories of the Byzantine Empire (circa 330–1453), but less known are the profound artistic contributions of North Africa, Egypt, Nubia, Ethiopia, and other powerful African kingdoms whose pivotal interactions with Byzantium had a lasting impact on the Mediterranean world. Bringing together a range of masterworks—from mosaic, sculpture, pottery, and metalwork to luxury objects, paintings, and religious manuscripts—this exhibition recounts Africa’s central role in international networks of trade and cultural exchange. With artworks rarely or never before seen in public, Africa & Byzantium sheds new light on the staggering artistic achievements of medieval Africa. This long-overdue exhibition highlights how the continent contributed to the development of the premodern world and offers a more complete history of the vibrant multiethnic societies of north and east Africa that shaped the artistic, economic, and cultural life of Byzantium and beyond.”
The Annunciation, from a miscellany, Egypt, Fayyum Oasis, 913–14. Ink on parchment, 10 9/16 × 13 13/16 in. (26.8 × 35.1 cm). Collection of the Morgan Library and Museum, New York. Photo: Victoria Emily Jones.Diptych with Saint George and the Virgin and Child, Ethiopia, late 15th–early 16th century. Paint on wood, 20 1/2 × 26 5/16 × 1 3/16 in. (52 × 66.8 × 3 cm). Collection of the National Museum of African Art, Smithsonian Institution, Washington, DC. Photo: Victoria Emily Jones.
Exhibition tour:
Smarthistory video of one of the extraordinary early icons on display, borrowed from St. Catherine’s Monastery in Mount Sinai, Egypt:
>> Ethiopia at the Crossroads, Walters Art Museum, Baltimore, December 3, 2023–March 3, 2024: Curated by Dr. Christine Sciacca. “Ethiopia at the Crossroads is the first major art exhibition in America to examine an array of Ethiopian cultural and artistic traditions from their origins to the present day and to chart the ways in which engaging with surrounding cultures manifested in Ethiopian artistic practices. Featuring more than 220 objects drawn from the Walters’ world-renowned collection of Ethiopian art and augmented with loans from American, European, and Ethiopian lenders, the exhibition spans 1,750 years of Ethiopia’s proud artistic, cultural, and religious history.
“Seated in the Horn of Africa between Europe and the Middle East, Ethiopia is an intersection of diverse climates, religions, and cultures. Home to over 80 different ethnicities and religious groups, a large portion of the historic artistic production in Ethiopia supported one of the three Abrahamic faiths (Judaism, Christianity, and Islam), all of which have early roots in Ethiopia. As one of the oldest Christian kingdoms, Ethiopian artists produced icons, wall paintings, crosses of various scales, and illuminated manuscripts to support this religious tradition and its liturgy. . . .”
The exhibition will travel to the Peabody Essex Museum in Salem, Massachusetts, April 13–July 7, 2024, and to the Toledo Museum of Art in Ohio August 17–November 10, 2024.
Detail of a sensul (chained manuscript), Ethiopia, 15th–early 16th century. Parchment, ink, paint, and leather. Collection of the Peabody Essex Museum, Salem, Massachusetts. Photo: Victoria Emily Jones.Mänbärä Tabot Icon with Eight Panels and Painted Scenes, Ethiopia, ca. 1850. Carved wood and glue tempera. Private collection, United States. Photo: Victoria Emily Jones.
Also, as Lent starts on February 14, don’t forget about my Lent playlist! Since its original publication in 2021, I’ve added songs to the bottom.
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BLOG POST: “The True Purpose of Theology” by W. David O. Taylor: Professor Taylor shares seven things about theology that he opens his first theology class lecture with each term at Fuller. So important. I hope I reflect these on my blog.
>> Sung by Kristyn Getty and Dana Masters: Keith and Kristyn Getty, a powerhouse couple in the Christian music industry, have chosen “O Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go” as their Family Hymn of the Month for February, providing some background on the writer, a free sheet music download of their arrangement, and a video performance from 2021 with guest vocalist Dana Masters. The Gettys’ large platform among evangelicals is sure to get this lesser-known hymn into many homes!
>> Sung by Westminster Chorus: Here Westminster Chorus (from Westminster, California) performs David Phelps’s a cappella arrangement of the hymn in Petrikirche in Dortmund, Germany. I previously shared a video of Phelps singing this version with three of his fellow Gaither Vocal Band members, which is itself moving, but with a thirty-four-person choir, the effect is tremendous.
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VIDEO: The Greeter’s Guild Goes to Times Square: Ryan Pemberton, director of community cultivation for Image journal, introduced me to “the moustachioed motivator of the high street,” Troy Hawke, in the January 18 installment of ImageUpdate. His videos are so delightful! Pemberton writes,
Call me quaint, but at the start of a presidential election year, what I’m most looking for in books, film, and certainly in public life is kindness. Under the circumstances, I can’t stop recommending Troy Hawke to friends. A character created by British comedian Milo McCabe, Hawke is a 1930s throwback, eloquent in speech and dapper in dress. His go-to wardrobe includes a smoking jacket worn over loose-fitting linen pants and Oxford dress shoes. As founder (and only member) of the Greeters Guild, he offers hyper-specific and articulate compliments to strangers—guests entering a Waitrose, commuters at a public transit hub, or those stopping at an EV charging station. After being invited to “try that in New York,” Hawke has been spotted offering compliments to passersby in Central Park. His intentional and attentive praise is a refreshing contrast to so much vitriol pouring its way through my screens and speakers. These public encounters call to mind Kierkegaard’s Works of Love, in which he notes that the work of love is to see and name the love already present in others, and, in so doing, to catalyze that love’s growth into its fullest expression (all while refusing to take credit—it was there the whole time). In this way, Hawke is both prophetic and timely. Fred Rogers, in an interview offered toward the end of his life (captured in the 2018 documentary Won’t You Be My Neighbor), shared that the most pressing work facing our species in this millennium is “making goodness attractive.” To that end: Thank you, Mr. Hawke; I can’t look away.
Virgin and Child, from the Rabbula Gospels, Syria, 586 CE. Biblioteca Medicea Laurenziana, Florence (Plut.1.56, fol. 1v).
Among the earliest works of Byzantine iconography, this painting is from a sixth-century manuscript of the Gospels in Syriac (Peshitta version), completed at the Bēṯ Zaḡbā Monastery in northern Syria. It shows the Virgin Mary standing under a colorfully patterned aedicule, holding her son Jesus, who faces us. Perched on the roof are two peacocks, a symbol of resurrection and eternal life.
For a blog post on one of the Rabbula Gospels’ other full-page miniatures, see here.
I love you, Lord I love you, Lord Jesus, Jesus Jesus
Eight days after his birth, Jesus was circumcised as the Jewish law stipulates (Lev. 12:1–3) and given his name: “When the eighth day came, it was time to circumcise the child, and he was called Jesus, the name given by the angel before he was conceived in the womb” (Luke 2:21). Thus many churches celebrate January 1 as the Feast of the Holy Name of Jesus.
The name Jesus—or Yeshua (יֵשׁוּעַ), as he would have been known to his fellow Aramaic speakers (“Jesus” is the Greek transliteration)—means “Yahweh saves.”
This post is part of a daily Christmas series that goes through January 6. View all the posts here, and the accompanying Spotify playlist here.
>> “How Asian Artists Picture Jesus’ Birth from 1240 to Today” by Victoria Emily Jones, December 18, 2023, Christianity Today: My first CT article was published this week! I was asked to curate and introduce a sampling of Nativity art from across Asia. By representing Jesus as Japanese, Indonesian, or what have you, these artists convey a sense of God’s immanence, his “with-us–ness,” for their own communities—and for everyone else, the universality of Christ’s birth.
I Wayan Turun (Indonesian, 1935–1986), In Bethlehem, 1958. Acrylic on canvas, 46 × 64 cm. Collection of Stichting Zendingserfgoed (Missionary Heritage Foundation), Zuidland, Netherlands.
>> “The Story of Christ in Chinese Art: Scholars at Peking University Make a Christmas Portfolio for LIFE,”Life, December 22, 1941, pp. 40–49: In doing research for my Christianity Today article, I found this old article from Life magazine that features eight Chinese watercolors on silk from the collection of Dr. William Bacon Pettus (1880–1959), an American educator and president of the California College of Chinese Studies in Peking (Beijing) in the 1920s and ’30s, which were being exhibited at New York’s American Bible Society at the time. With the ordination of six Chinese bishops by Pope Pius XI in 1926, the Chinese Catholic Church was transitioning from a mission church to an indigenous local church, and Chinese-style religious art—much of it coming out of the art department of the new Catholic University of Peking (Beiping Furen Daxue)—was part of that localization. Productivity seems to have continued at Furen during the Japanese occupation, as this article attests. Many of the students and faculty were recent converts to Christianity, though the article reports that non-Christians also enrolled and taught in the art program.
Lu Hongnian (Lu Hung-nien) ( 陸鴻年) (Chinese, 1914–1989), The Birth of Jesus, ca. 1941. Chinese watercolor on silk.
Here is one of the paintings by Lu Hongnian, who sometime after this article was published, in part through his having engaged the New Testament as inspiration for his paintings, became a Christian and took the name John. It shows the Holy Family in a mountainside cave, Mary gazing adoringly at her newborn son as Joseph brings more straw to cushion him. Beside them, an angel holds up a lantern for light, while two shepherd children approach from the entrance, eager to meet their Savior.
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SONGS:
>> “Philippians 2:5–11” by HARK Music: This song takes a traditional Thai melody, arranged by Tirasip Kraitirangul, and puts it to a Thai translation of the famous Christ Hymn from Philippians 2. It’s performed by the HARK Duriya Tasana Singers (feat. Somchairak Sriket and Damrongsak Monprasit) and Dancers, filmed on location at Chaloem Kanchanaphisek Park in Bangkok. The song is from HARK’s Thai Hymns Album (2014), which can be downloaded for free at https://harkpublications.com/?product=thai-hymns-album-2. The two-stringed bowed instrument you see at 3:21 is a saw u.
The Duriya Tasana (“Curators of the Arts”) ensemble was formed in 2012 under the commission of the Thai-Psalms Project, an endeavor to create Thai traditional and classical music settings for the psalms of the Bible. Many of the members are affiliated with the Bunditpatanasilpa Institute of Fine Arts in Bangkok. Thanks to my friend Janet, whose sister is preparing a move to Thailand, for alerting me to this group!
>> “Jesus You Come” by Tenielle Neda, performed with Jon Guerra: This song by the Australian singer-songwriter Tenielle Neda [previously], which she sings with Jon Guerra, makes a nice complement to the Thai song above. The performance is from “Songs for Hope: A TGC Advent Concert” on December 6, 2020.
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MIDDLE ENGLISH LULLABY: “As I lay upon a night”: Medievalist Eleanor Parker introduces a charming Christmas lullaby from fourteenth-century England, a dialogue between Mary and the Christ child, and provides a modern English translation of its thirty-seven stanzas. In the Middle Ages, says Rosemary Woolf, the subject matter of lullabies was often a prophecy of the baby’s future—presumably a romantic promise of great and happy achievements. But here it is the child who relates the future to his mother, thus providing the material for his own lullaby.
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ART VIDEO: “Third Sunday of Advent: Ethiopian Art: Gospel Book” by James Romaine: Every December, my friend James Romaine, an art historian who teaches at Lander University, publishes four videos on his Seeing Art History YouTube channel related to the themes of the season, part of his annual Art for Advent series. This year he’s chosen to focus on Ethiopian art, covering illuminations from two different manuscripts, a diptych icon, and a rock-hewn church.
In this video Romaine discusses the formal qualities of two paintings from a sixteenth-century Ethiopian Gospel-book, the identity of the figures, and the liturgical context of the book, including the use of the red veil that’s attached at the top, which, Romaine says, “both protects and sanctifies the icon,” creating a sense of anticipation for the Orthodox believer who, in faith, lifts the veil to see what is revealed.
Wood scuplture of the Madonna and Child, Yorubaland, Nigeria, mid-20th century. Photo: Lee Boltin.
This sculpture by a Yoruba artist from Nigeria shows the Christ child seated on the lap of his mother, Mary, who wears a traditional Yoruba hairstyle and dress. If I had to guess, I’d say it’s probably by George Bandele Areogun (1908–1995), as it is commensurate in quality and style with his other work.
The image appears as figure 27 in the 1974 book The Faces of Jesus by Frederick Buechner (which contains an excellent selection of full-color art from around the globe!) with the vague caption “Madonna and Child, wood, Africa, contemporary.” At the time of publication, the sculpture was in the private collection of Maurice Lavanoux (1894–1974), a specialist in church art living in New York, but I don’t know its current whereabouts.
LISTEN: “Et incarnatus est” (And was incarnate) by J. S. Bach, from his Mass in B minor, BWV 232, completed 1749 | Performed by Robin Johannsen, Marie-Claude Chappuis, Helena Rasker, Sebastian Kohlhepp, Christian Immler, and the Akademie für Alte Musik Berlin, dir. René Jacobs, 2022
Et incarnatus est de Spiritu Sancto, ex Maria virgine; et homo factus est.
English translation: And [he] was incarnate by the Holy Spirit, of the Virgin Mary; and was made man.
Comprising twenty-seven movements in four parts, Bach’s B minor setting of the Latin Mass is widely regarded as one of the highest achievements of classical music. “Et incarnatus est” is the fourth movement of part 2, “Symbolum Nicenum” (Nicene Creed).
This post is part of a daily Advent series from December 2 to 24, 2023 (with Christmas to follow through January 6, 2024). View all the posts here, and the accompanying Spotify playlist here.
LOOK: Virgin and Child with a Prophet catacomb fresco
Virgin and Child with a Prophet, 3rd century. Fresco in the Catacomb of Priscilla on the Via Saleria, Rome. Photo: Scala / Art Resource. [view wider shot]
Deep in the Catacomb of Priscilla in Rome, one of the early Christian underground burial places (named after the donor of the land), is an arched ceiling fresco of a woman breastfeeding her child under an apple tree. Beside her a man points up to a star that’s resting over their heads among the fruit.
Dating to the third century, this image is the earliest known depiction of the Virgin Mary, and one of the oldest of Christ. The identity of the third figure is less sure, but it’s most likely the Gentile prophet Balaam, who, in the power of God’s Spirit, prophesied to King Balak of Moab that “a star shall come out of Jacob, and a scepter shall rise out of Israel” (Num. 24:17).
Although this prophecy had a more immediate fulfillment in King David, it has also been interpreted in a messianic sense since as early as Justin Martyr (ca. 100–165), who wrote, “And that he [Christ] should arise like a star from the seed of Abraham, Moses showed beforehand when he said, ‘A star shall arise from Jacob, and a leader from Israel’” (Dialogue with Trypho, chap. 106).
Irenaeus (ca. 130–200) wrote that the star the magi followed to seek out the newborn Christ was the one prophesied by Balaam (Against Heresies, bk. 3, chap. 9.2), and Origen (ca. 185–254) maintained that Numbers 24:17 was the Hebrew Bible verse the magi found that instigated their journey (Against Celsus, bk. 1, chap. 60).
Arched ceiling detail from Gallery 3 of the Catacomb of Priscilla, Rome. The central image, in stucco, portrays a shepherd and two sheep, while at the far right, oriented in a different direction, is a fresco of the Virgin and Child. The artworks are damaged by age.
Other suggestions put forward as to the identity of the pointing figure in this catacomb fresco have been a magus; the Hebrew prophet Isaiah, who declared that “a virgin shall conceive” (Isa. 7:14) and enjoined his people to “arise, shine; for thy light is come, and the glory of the Lord is risen upon thee” (Isa. 60:1); and, from Hans-Ruedi Weber, John the Baptist, who “came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe. . . . The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world” (John 1:6–9).
LISTEN: “There Shall a Star from Jacob Come Forth” (original title: “Es wird ein Stern aus Jacob aufgeh’n”), from Christus, Op. 97 | Original German text compiled by Christian Charles Josias von Bunsen, 1846, from Numbers 24:17 and the hymn “Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern” by Philipp Nicolai, 1599; English translation of lines 4–10 by Catherine Winkworth, 1863 | Music by Felix Mendelssohn, 1846–47, based on Nicolai’s hymn tune | Performed by the St. Olaf Choir, the St. Olaf Cantorei, the St. Olaf Chapel Choir, the Manitou Singers, Viking Chorus, and the St. Olaf Orchestra, dir. Robert Scholz, on Love Divine, Illumine Our Darkness: Christmas at St. Olaf, 2002
There shall a star from Jacob rise up, And a sceptre from Israel come forth, To dash in pieces princes and nations.
How brightly beams the morning star! With sudden radiance from afar, With light and comfort glowing! Thy word, Jesus, inly feeds us, Rightly leads us, Life bestowing. Praise, oh praise such love o’erflowing.
The musical work “Es wird ein Stern aus Jacob aufgeh’n” (There Shall a Star from Jacob Come Forth) is from an unfinished oratorio by Felix Mendelssohn (1809–1847), which the composer’s brother Paul gave the name Christus and published posthumously as Opus 97. The first performance took place in 1852.
The first three lines are taken from Numbers 24:17, while the latter portion is from the Lutheran hymn “Wie schön leuchtet der Morgenstern” (How Brightly Beams the Morning Star) by Philipp Nicolai, written in 1597 and first published in 1599 with the title “Ein geistlich Brautlied der gläubigen Seelen von Jesu Christo ihrem himmlischen Bräutigam, gestellet über den 45. Psalm des Propheten David” (A spiritual wedding song of the faithful soul about Jesus Christ, her heavenly groom, made over the 45th psalm of the Prophet David). The tune it was published with was adapted by Nicolai, it appears, from an older tune found in the Strasbourg Psalter of 1538—which is further adapted here by Mendelssohn.
In Mendelssohn’s piece, the first two lines about an emerging luminary from the lineage of Jacob are lovely and lofty, repeated in different and overlapping voices over the course of a minute-plus. But then the third line cuts in with emphatic force: “To dash in pieces princes and nations.” Its violence is jarring, very far from the peaceful sentiments we’re used to associating with this time of year! Even as it adds drama and interest to the composition, its militant language is unsettling.
But it does honor the larger context of Balaam’s prophecy:
So he [Balaam] uttered his oracle, saying,
“The oracle of Balaam son of Beor, the oracle of the man whose eye is clear, the oracle of one who hears the words of God and knows the knowledge of the Most High, who sees the vision of the Almighty, who falls down but with eyes uncovered: I see him but not now; I behold him but not near— a star shall come out of Jacob, and a scepter shall rise out of Israel; it shall crush the foreheads of Moab and the heads of all the Shethites [a Moabite tribe]. Edom will become a possession, Seir [an alternative name for Edom] a possession of its enemies, while Israel does valiantly. One out of Jacob shall rule and destroy the survivors of Ir [‘City’].”
(Num. 24:15–19)
The mercenary prophet Balaam had been hired by Balak, king of Moab, to curse Israel. See, the Israelites had escaped slavery in Egypt some forty years prior and were looking for land to settle. Having been refused passage through, they had just conquered Amorite country, which used to belong to Moab, and Balak feared Moab would be next.
Despite being a non-Israelite, Balaam heard words from Yahweh, Israel’s God. Balak recognized Balaam as an authority, as did others, and thought he might be persuaded for a fee to issue a prophecy in Moab’s favor. But Balaam told him he would speak only the words of Yahweh.
The passage above is the fourth and final oracle Balaam pronounced on this mission to Moab. In it he says that Moab and Edom would be conquered—a prophecy that came to pass with King David (2 Sam. 8:2–12; cf. Ps. 60:8).
Christians, as we have seen, often extract verses from longer Old Testament passages, prophetic or otherwise, and read into them messianic significance—pointers to Jesus Christ. Even the New Testament authors, and Jesus himself, did this. Did the Old Testament authors intend such meanings? Probably not in most places, not to the extent that premodern Christian interpreters suggested. (That’s not to say Jesus didn’t fulfill biblical prophecies. Quite the contrary!)
But many Christian biblical scholars acknowledge what’s been called the sensus plenior, or “fuller sense,” of scripture—a term popularized by Raymond E. Brown in his book The Sensus Plenior of Sacred Scripture (1955). Sensus plenior, Brown writes, is “that additional, deeper meaning, intended by God but not clearly intended by the human author, which is seen to exist in the words of a biblical text (or group of texts, or even a whole book) when they are studied in the light of further revelation or development in the understanding of revelation.”
Some people consider this kind of reading to be distortive. But others, including myself, consider it creative. Rabbinical literature often does the same thing: finds meaning in and beyond a scripture passage’s strict historical context that the original authors likely did not intend but that open up the text in new ways. Sensus plenior says that studying a book of the Bible only in its historical and immediate textual context and for what it would have meant to its original audience is limiting, incomplete. Of course, the opposite approach, which does run rampant in many Christian communities, is also problematic: divesting scripture passages of their contexts, reflexively backfilling all the Old Testament with “Jesus” at the expense of understanding the texts on their own terms.
I think the application of “To dash in pieces princes and nations” (a paraphrase from Balaam’s prophecy) to Jesus’s birth is confusing, as Jesus was nonviolent, rejecting conquest. Perhaps you could say that Christ’s rule would (rhetorically) dash Herod’s kingdom to pieces, as it challenged the modus operandi of empire. There’s a new caesar in town, a new king on the throne, and his law of love, his gospel of peace, trumps the laws and proclamations of all earthly rulers.
The last six lines of Mendelssohn’s song return to the sweet, gentle tones of the song’s opening, exulting in the radiant glory of Christ, the Morning Star (Rev. 22:16), who shines forth from the pages of God’s word.
This post is part of a daily Advent series from December 2 to 24, 2023 (with Christmas to follow through January 6, 2024). View all the posts here, and the accompanying Spotify playlist here.
