Resurrection – Art & Theology

Easter, Day 8: We Walk His Way

April 12, 2026April 13, 2026 Victoria Emily JonesLeave a comment

LOOK: The Resurrection by Severino Blanco

Blanco, Severino_Resurrection — Severino Blanco (Quechua, 1951–2020), *The Resurrection*, ca. 1984. Mural, Casa del Catequista (CADECA) Chapel, Cochabamba, Bolivia.

Severino Blanco (1951–2020) [previously] was a Quechua Christian artist from Ayopaya, Bolivia. His magnum opus is an extensive cycle of biblical paintings inside the chapel of the Casa del Catechista (CADECA) in Cochabamba, a center for training catechists (lay Catholic missionaries) and pastoral leaders to serve the sixty villages in the city’s archdiocese.

The centerpiece of the mural is an image of the risen Christ breaking through the chains of hell, trampling down its gates and leading an exodus of departed saints into new life. I can spot Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. of the United States and Archbishop Óscar Romero of El Salvador, martyrs of the faith, and I’m sure there are many other Latin American Christian preachers and activists pictured—those who walk the way of liberation.

Barefoot and glowing, Jesus bears the puncture wounds from his crucifixion, but they are now glorified, and he holds high a cacique’s (Indigenous chief’s) staff, signifying his leadership. Beneath his feet are symbols of some of the hellish obsessions or addictions from which he frees us: a rifle and a hydrogen bomb (war and violence), money (greed, materialism), a needle and a liquor bottle (substance abuse). He walks through a rainbow-rimmed portal that frames him and his followers like an aureole and that is surrounded by flowering tree branches.

Above this vignette is the blessing hand of God the Father, and below is the Holy Spirit as dove, from whom issues forth streams of living water (see John 7:37–39). The presence of these two other persons of the Trinity emphasizes the Resurrection as a Trinitarian event.

This image is used on the cover of the German-language book Von Befreiung und Erlösung: Bilder in CADECA Cochabamba/Bolivien (Of Liberation and Redemption: Pictures in CADECA Cochabamba, Bolivia) by Alois Albrecht. The book features reproductions of the mural scenes alongside relevant Bible passages and texts by Latin American theologians and other members of the church.

One of the texts reproduced in the book is a letter from a Paraguayan base community to European Christians. (The date is not provided, nor is the original Spanish.) Here’s Google’s translation from the German:

Good people, our brothers and sisters in Europe!

Here as there, we celebrate Easter these days. How do you celebrate the feast of the resurrection of our suffering Lord, his passing from death to new life?

Here, the few rich people pass by the suffering of the poor. It is said of Jesus that he did not cling to his divinity as if it were a prize. But here, the few rich people plunder everything from the poor majority: bread, land, work, wages, health, housing, security.

How is passing over to a new life, like Easter, like resurrection, possible then? Are we not all brothers and sisters, you there and we here? Easter is an international affair.

Our situation has international roots and is caused by those who make decisions in the world, carry out plans, and in doing so forget us, the little brothers and sisters of the suffering and slain Jesus.

Easter is the feast of hopeful departure, of joyful new beginnings, of enthusiastic new life. But who among us feels anything of departure, joy, new beginnings, new life? Yes, hope—we have it! Easter is a feast of expectation; for whoever is always on the way also reaches their destination.

So, brothers and sisters! Despite everything, let us go our own way, you there and we here, in the light of Christ, the Lord raised to new life, to seek together equality and freedom for all.

We Paraguayans need you there, and not just your money, but above all your sure and loud voice against the ideology that enslaves and kills us all, us poor and you rich alike.

We all live in the same danger of death. But our risen Lord has also made us all his equal brothers and sisters. Please don’t forget that!

Arnoldo and friends and family

Another text is an excerpt from a document of the Third General Assembly of the Latin American Episcopate in Puebla, Mexico, in 1979. Again, Google Translate:

In fulfillment of the commission he received from his Father, Jesus voluntarily offered himself up to death on the cross, which was the goal of his life’s journey. As the bringer of the freedom and joy of the kingdom of God, he wanted to become the decisive sacrifice for injustice and evil in this world. On the cross, he takes upon himself the pain of creation and offers his life as a sacrifice for all.

In this way, he is the high priest who is able to share our weaknesses with us. He is the Easter sacrifice that redeems us from our sins. He is the obedient Son who, in the face of his Father’s redeeming justice, incarnates the cry for liberation and salvation of all people. . . .

Therefore, the Father raises his Son from the dead. He exalts him in glory to his right hand, pours out upon him the life-giving power of his Spirit, appoints him as head of his body, that is, the church, and confirms him as Lord of the world and of history.

Jesus’s resurrection is a sign and guarantee of the resurrection to which we are all called, as well as of the final transformation of the whole world. Through him and in him, the Father wished to re-create what he had already created.

Amen, and amen.

Addendum: At my church this morning, an invited guest preached a sermon on Colossians 1:18–20 titled “Leading the Resurrection Parade” after Eugene Peterson’s translation of the christological descriptor “the firstborn from the dead” in verse 18. I instantly thought of this image I had posted just hours earlier, in which Jesus’s staff is reminiscent of a drum major mace! The preacher spoke of Jesus steering a resurrection train of people, the new humanity, and cross-referenced 2 Corinthians 2:14: “Thanks be to God, who in Christ always leads us in triumphal procession and through us spreads in every place the fragrance that comes from knowing him.”

LISTEN: “We Walk His Way (Ewe Thina),” a South African freedom song from the apartheid era | Translated by Anders Nyberg, Jonas Johnson, and Sven-Bernhard Fast, 1984 | Arranged by John L. Bell and performed by the Wild Goose Collective on We Walk His Way: Shorter Songs for Worship, 2008

Refrain (Xhosa):
Ewe thina, ewe thina
Ewe thina, ewe thina
Ewe thina, ewe thina
Ewe thina, ewe thina

Sizowa nyathela amadimoni
Ewe thina, ewa thina
Sizowa nyathela amadimoni
Ewe thina, ewa thina [Refrain]

Refrain (English):
We walk his way, we walk his way
We walk his way, we walk his way
We walk his way, we walk his way
We walk his way, we walk his way

Unarmed, he faces forces of demons and death
We walk his way, we walk his way
Unarmed, he faces forces of demons and death
We walk his way, we walk his way [Refrain]

He breaks the bonds of hell, dying on the cross
We walk his way, we walk his way
He breaks the bonds of hell, dying on the cross
We walk his way, we walk his way [Refrain]

The tree of freedom blooms by his empty grave
We walk his way, we walk his way
The tree of freedom blooms by his empty grave
We walk his way, we walk his way [Refrain]

Easter, Day 6: Mary Magdalene Sings Resurrection

April 10, 2026 Victoria Emily JonesLeave a comment

It is the day of Resurrection and an auspicious beginning. Let us be made brilliant by the feast and embrace each other. . . .

Yesterday the lamb was slaughtered, and the doorposts were anointed, and the Egyptians lamented the firstborn, and the destroyer passed over us, and the seal was awesome and venerable, and we were walled in by the precious blood. Today we have totally escaped Egypt and Pharaoh the harsh despot and the burdensome overseers, and we have been freed from the clay and the brick-making. And nobody hinders us from celebrating a feast of exodus for the Lord our God. . . .

Yesterday I was crucified with Christ, today I am glorified with him; yesterday I died with him, today I am made alive with him; yesterday I was buried with him, today I rise with him.

—Gregory of Nazianzus, “On Pascha and on His Slowness,” an Easter sermon from ca. 362, trans. Nonna Verna Harrison in Festal Orations by Saint Gregory of Nazianzus (St. Vladimir’s Seminary Press, 2008)

LOOK: Miniature from the Tomić Psalter

Miriam's Dance — *The prophet Miriam leading the women with timbrels and dances*, from the Tomić Psalter, Bulgaria, ca. 1360. Tempera on paper, 30 × 25 cm. State Historical Museum, Moscow.

This miniature comes from a fourteenth-century illuminated psalter from Bulgaria, a masterpiece of the Tarnovo art school. It’s linked to Psalm 105, which exults in the memory of God bringing Israel up out of Egypt, providing for them in the desert, and establishing them in the promised land. “So he brought his people out with joy, his chosen ones with singing,” the psalmist writes (Ps. 105:43).

More directly, the image is an illustration of Exodus 15:20–21, an episode of female-led worship that occurs just after the crossing of the Red Sea:

And Miriam the prophetess, the sister of Aaron, took a timbrel in her hand; and all the women went out after her with timbrels and with dances.

And Miriam answered them, Sing ye to the LORD, for he hath triumphed gloriously; the horse and his rider hath he thrown into the sea.

The only percussion instrument mentioned in the Hebrew Bible, the timbrel (Heb. toph), or hand drum, consists of a hoop of wood or metal over which the skin of an animal is stretched. Some have jingles around the rim, like the modern tambourine, and some do not. The instrument is associated with women and celebration.

In the visual imagination of the anonymous Tomić Psalter artist, Miriam beats a drum with a stick while two of her companions clash cymbals and other women interlock arms and dance. The artist probably took inspiration from the folk music and dancing of women in his own culture.

LISTEN: “Da Mariae tympanum” (Give Mary a Tambourine) | Words by Peter Abelard, 1130s | Music by Georg Forster, 16th century | Performed by the Augsburg Early Music Ensemble on Medieval Pilgrimage to Santiago, 2003

Da Mariae tympanum 
resurrexit Dominus,
Hebraes ad canticum
cantans provocet,
Holocausta carminum
Iacob immolet.

Subvertens Aegyptios,
resurrexit Dominus,
Rubri Maris alveos
replens hostibus,
quos involvit obrutos
undis pelagus.

Dicat tympanistria,
Resurrexit Dominus,
illa quidem altera
re, non nomine,
resurgentem merita
prima cernere.

Cantet carmen dulcius,
resurrexit Dominus,
reliquis fidelibus
mixta feminis,
cum ipsa narrantibus
hoc discipulis.

Deo patri gloria,
resurrexit Dominus,
salus et victoria
Christo Domini;
par honor per saecula
sit Spiritui.

Give Mary a tambourine,
    for the Lord has risen;
as she sings, let her incite
    Hebrew women to song;
let too Jacob sacrifice
    holocausts of songs.

Egyptians he did overwhelm,
    for the Lord has risen,
filled the Red Sea’s submerged caves
    with his enemies,
whom the sea caught and buried
    in the waves below.

Let the timbrel player sing,
    For the Lord has risen,
a second Mary, different in
    her person, not in name,
she deserved to be the first
    to see him risen up.

Let her sing a sweeter song,
    for the Lord has risen,
as she mingles with the rest
    of the faithful women,
who with her proclaim the news
    to the Lord’s disciples.

Glory be to God the Father,
    for the Lord has risen,
health restored and victory
    to the Lord’s anointed;
equal honor through the years
    to the Holy Spirit.

Trans. Peter G. Walsh with Christopher Husch in One Hundred Latin Hymns: Ambrose to Aquinas (Harvard University Press, 2012)

This hymn is from the second book of the Hymnarius Paraclitensis (Hymnary of the Paraclete), a collection of over 130 Latin hymns composed by the French philosopher and theologian Peter Abelard (1079–1142) [previously] for the convent of the Paraclete near Troyes, headed by Héloïse. It imagines Mary Magdalene as the New Miriam (Mary is the anglicized form of the Hebrew Miriam), leading women in song and dance in celebration of God’s victory over the forces of sin and death through the resurrection of God’s Son, Jesus Christ.

In Christianity, the exodus is interpreted not just as a literal saving act in Israel’s history but also as a prefigurement of the Resurrection. In many churches, Exodus 14, recounting the Israelites’ crossing of the Red Sea, is part of the Easter liturgy. The Orthodox word for Easter, Pascha—a Greek word from the Hebrew Pesach—itself means “Passover,” further reinforcing the connection between the Israelites’ liberation from Egyptian slavery and the liberation of God’s New Testament people from spiritual bondage, both made possible by the blood of a lamb and requiring passage through the waters—sea versus baptismal.

Mary Magdalene was one of Jesus’s closest disciples, and it’s she, according to the Gospel of John, to whom he first appeared following his resurrection. He then commissioned her to go tell the other disciples—to beat the drum, as it were, announcing the good news that he is alive. The Gospels of Matthew and Luke have her joined in this task by other faithful women: “the other Mary” and “Joanna, Mary the mother of James, and the other women,” respectively.

I like the image Abelard gives us of Mary Magdalene rousing her female companions with a tambourine, leading them in the song and dance of resurrection. In the new exodus, Christ guides humanity into freedom, from death to life, as Mary praisefully proclaims, across the path he has paved by his own rising. “Resurrexit Dominus!” The men at first disbelieve her testimony . . . but once they see what she’s seen, they, too, rejoice.

The musical setting of Abelard’s text featured above is by the German Renaissance composer and physician Georg Forster (ca. 1510–1568).

Easter, Day 5: “Then so soft . . .”

April 9, 2026April 9, 2026 Victoria Emily JonesLeave a comment

LOOK: Magdalene: The Tomb by Greg Tricker

Tricker, Greg_Magdalene — Greg Tricker (British, 1951–), *Magdalene: The Tomb*, 2010. Oil, acrylic, and gold leaf on wood door, 33 3/8 × 32 1/2 in. (84.7 × 82.6 cm).

I learned about Greg Tricker from Sister Wendy Beckett, a nun who narrated several BBC docuseries about art throughout the 1990s. In the following Piano Nobile video from 2011, Sister Wendy converses with Tricker at Gloucester Cathedral about his exhibition Pillars of Faith. While they don’t discuss Magdalene: The Tomb, which is shown at 1:03, they do discuss a similar painting at 7:11.

LISTEN: “They Have Taken Him” by The Soil and The Seed Project | Words by Greg Yoder, 2023 | Music by Greg Yoder, Valerie Bess, and Taylor Bess, 2023 | Performed by Valerie Bess and Taylor Bess on The Soil and The Seed Project, Volume 9: Lent, Easter, Pentecost, 2024

Early on the first day of the week
I slip into the darkness while the garden lies sleeping
Feel the dew upon my hand, cool from the weeping of the stone
Night still clings heavy like a shroud
I whisper to the emptiness, and the echo is as loud
As thunder, it’s a wonder the dead slumber and leave us here alone

They have taken him, and I do not know where he’s gone

Then all the world is in motion
Running like the waves trying to outrun the ocean
They overtake each other, brother tumbling over brother
To the threshold, but daring not go in
Standing in the flowers, unbelieving
Hearing voices in the garden, “Woman, why are you grieving?”
They have taken him away
And I do not know where they have taken him

They have taken him, and I do not know where he’s gone
Someone has taken him, and I do not know where he’s gone

Now I have seen the lilies of the field
And I have seen the sparrows winging o’er
But if this is how you show your love
I’m not sure that I can take much more

Early on the first day of the week
I slip into the darkness where the gardener is keeping
Watch over the mourning ones
He’ll watch until the morning comes aflame
“Sir, if you have carried him away
Tell me where you laid him so I may go to him today”
His silence breaks my spirit, then so soft I barely hear it
He remakes me with the whisper of my name

They have not taken him; I have seen the coming dawn
I know they have not taken him; I know I’ve seen the coming dawn

Easter, Day 4: They Were Afraid

April 8, 2026April 8, 2026 Victoria Emily JonesLeave a comment

The two earliest surviving complete manuscripts of the Gospel of Mark in Greek (the Codex Sinaiticus and the Codex Vaticanus), in narrating the visit of the women to Jesus’s tomb on Easter morning, do not include 16:9–20, the so-called longer ending of Mark. Instead, they end on an abrupt and astonishing note, stating that when the women saw the empty tomb and received the angel’s announcement that Jesus had risen, “they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement [or bewilderment] had seized them, and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid” (16:8). Fear, confusion, and silence—not a very triumphant way to cap off the story of Jesus’s life, death, and resurrection!

The longer ending provides more closure and galvanization. It recounts Jesus appearing to Mary Magdalene, to two disciples “walking into the country” (to Emmaus, most likely), and to the Eleven, whom Jesus commissions to preach the gospel throughout the world. He then ascends into heaven. This longer ending concludes with an exultant verse 20: “And they went out and proclaimed the good news everywhere, while the Lord worked with them and confirmed the message by the signs that accompanied it.”

Most biblical scholars, even the most theologically conservative, believe Mark 16:9–20 to be a later addition by another author, for reasons including its absence in early manuscripts, the ignorance of some church fathers such as Origen and Clement of Alexandria about the verses, and its differences in language and style from the rest of Mark. Thus, nearly all English translations of Mark place 16:9–20 in brackets.

However, the longer ending is quoted regularly by ecclesiastical writers, including from the patristic era, and became the almost universal ending of Mark in later manuscripts. Although it contains a few unique emphases, it is consistent with the rest of the New Testament, and no major doctrine is affected by whether one views verse 8 or verse 20 as the canonical ending.

I, for one, am intrigued by what most consider to be Mark’s original ending: “They were afraid.” It honors the complicated emotions of Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James, and Salome, who had just seen a celestial being and been notified of an event that would change the course of history. I’d be trembling too. Maybe they didn’t tell the others right away because they wanted to take a little time to gather themselves, to process. Maybe the shock had rendered them temporarily speechless, physically unable to utter a word.

But we know from the witness of the other Gospels (Matt. 28:8; Luke 24:8–11; John 20:18) that the women did, of course, tell the apostles the news—startling, joyous, transforming—and it birthed a global movement of Christ followers committed to sharing and embodying his message of love.

Read Mark 16 here.

LOOK: La casa blanca by José Clemente Orozco

Orozco, Jose Clemente_The White House — José Clemente Orozco (Mexican, 1883–1949), *La casa blanca* (The White House), ca. 1925. Oil on canvas, 25 3/16 × 30 1/2 in. (64 × 77.5 cm). Museo de Arte Carrillo Gil, Mexico City.

This easel painting by the famous Mexican artist José Clemente Orozco, best known for his murals, shows three frightened women standing in the dark outside a small rectangular stone or cement structure against which leans a dry tree. We don’t know what they’re reacting to, as it’s out of frame, but they are clearly alarmed and appear to be fleeing.

I first encountered The White House in the highly recommended book Imaging the Word: An Arts and Lectionary Resource, volume 3. The editors take for granted that it illustrates Mark 16:8, writing,

The response of the women at the tomb in Mark’s Gospel—to run away frightened—is depicted here. The Resurrection is suggested by the dazzling light reflected on the white building and in the faces of the women hastening away. (194)

In the object record on its website (which I accessed a few years ago but can no longer find), the Museo de Arte Carrillo Gil, which owns the painting, does not acknowledge this connection and speaks only in more general terms of an “invisible danger” and escape from a hideout.

But I think Imaging the Word’s reading is definitely valid.

LISTEN: “Evangile de la Résurrection (Mc 16, 1-8)” (Good News of the Resurrection, Mark 16:1–8) by the monks of Keur Moussa Abbey, on L’heure vient (The Hour Is Coming) (2007)

¹ Le sabbat terminé, Marie Madeleine, et Marie, la mère de Jacques, et Salomé achetèrent des parfums pour aller embaumer le corps de Jésus. ² De grand matin, le premier jour de la semaine, elles se rendent au sépulcre au lever du soleil. ³ Elles se disaient entre elles : « Qui nous roulera la pierre pour dégager l’entrée du tombeau ? » ⁴ Au premier regard, elles s’aperçoivent qu’on a roulé la pierre, qui était pourtant très grande. ⁵ En entrant dans le tombeau, elles virent, assis à droite, un jeune homme vêtu de blanc. Elles sont saisies de peur. ⁶ Mais il leur dit : « N’ayez pas peur ! Vous cherchez Jésus de Nazareth, le Crucifié ? Il est ressuscité : il n’est pas ici. Voici l’endroit où on l’avait déposé. ⁷ Et maintenant, allez dire à ses disciples et à Pierre : “Il vous précède en Galilée. Là vous le verrez, comme il vous l’a dit.” » ⁸Elles sortirent et s’enfuirent du tombeau, parce qu’elles étaient toutes tremblantes et hors d’elles-mêmes. Elles ne dirent rien à personne, car elles avaient peur.

English translation (NRSVue):

¹ When the Sabbath was over, Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of James and Salome bought spices, so that they might go and anoint him.² And very early on the first day of the week, when the sun had risen, they went to the tomb. ³ They had been saying to one another, “Who will roll away the stone for us from the entrance to the tomb?” ⁴ When they looked up, they saw that the stone, which was very large, had already been rolled back. ⁵ As they entered the tomb, they saw a young man dressed in a white robe sitting on the right side, and they were alarmed. ⁶ But he said to them, “Do not be alarmed; you are looking for Jesus of Nazareth, who was crucified. He has been raised; he is not here. Look, there is the place they laid him. ⁷ But go, tell his disciples and Peter that he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him, just as he told you.” ⁸ So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them, and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.

This setting of the words of Mark 16:1–8 in French, sung to a tenor kora accompaniment, comes from Keur Moussa Abbey in Senegal [previously]. According to the liner notes of the CD, the melody is inspired by a Mandinka scale reminiscent of the Latin Gospel chant of the Easter Vigil.

Easter, Day 3: Christ Is the Song

April 7, 2026April 7, 2026 Victoria Emily Jones1 Comment

The flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle[dove] is heard in our land.

—Song of Solomon 2:12 (KJV)

LOOK: Mann mit Vögeln by Max Hunziker

Hunziker, Max_Man with Birds — Max Hunziker (Swiss, 1901–1976), *Mann mit Vögeln* (Man with Birds), n.d. Lithograph, edition 56/120, 81 × 58 cm.

LISTEN: “The Song of the Birds” | Words by Arthur Cleveland Coxe, 1862 | Music by Wilder Adkins, 2023 | Performed by Wilder Adkins with Eliza King on Cardiphonia’s Resurrect, vol. 1, 2023

The winter is over and gone at last;
The days of snow and cold are past.
Over the fields the flowers appear;
It is the Spirit’s voice we hear, voice we hear.

Refrain 1:
The singing of birds, a warbling band,
And the Spirit’s voice,
The voice of all truth,
And the fountain of youth
Is heard in our land, is heard in our land.

The tomb, it was sealed, a rock at its door;
But winter is gone and comes no more.
The seal is broken and now are seen
Valleys and woods and gardens green, and gardens green.

Refrain 2:
The singing of birds, a warbling band,
And flowеrs are words
Which even a child,
So free and so wild,
May undеrstand, surely understand.

And Christ is the song of everything,
For death is winter, and Christ is spring.
Fountains that warble in purling words,
Hark, how they echo the song of birds, the song of birds.

Refrain 3:
The singing of birds, a warbling band,
And the purling words
Of sea and of surf
And mountain streams pure,
Are heard in our land, are heard in our land.

This hymn text originally appeared in A New Service and Tune Book for Sunday School by Alfred Bailey Goodrich (Utica, New York, 1862), and its author, Rev. Dr. A. Cleveland Coxe, the second Episcopal bishop of Western New York, later compiled it in his collection of original poems The Paschal: Poems for Passion-tide and Easter (New York, 1889). Wilder Adkins has lightly adapted it and set it to music—a light, gentle, lilting melody.

Many hymns connect springtime, with its flowering abundance and sunshiny warmth, to Christ’s resurrection. But Coxe bowled me over with these two lines that articulate the metaphor so freshly: “And Christ is the song of everything, / For death is winter, and Christ is spring.” Wow!

Easter, Day 2: Et Resurrexit

April 6, 2026April 13, 2026 Victoria Emily Jones1 Comment

LOOK: The Resurrection, from an Ethiopian Gospel book

Resurrection (W 912) (Ethiopian) — *The Resurrection*, from an Ethiopian Gospel book, 18th century. Ink and pigment on parchment, 38.5 × 32.5 cm. Dublin, Chester Beatty, W 912, fol. 30r.

This painting comes from an illuminated manuscript of the Gospels of Matthew and Mark, made in Ethiopia in the eighteenth century. Christ’s tomb is at the bottom, empty, its interior in shadow, for Christ has burst forth from it. The Roman soldiers tasked with standing guard are portrayed mostly as buffoons—one with his hat over his face, another asleep on his shield. Only the feather-helmeted third seems to be aware of what has happened, and ponders it.

Chained at Christ’s feet are personifications of Death (a pale corpse) and Hell (a winged, horned devil), derived from Revelation 1:17–18, where Christ says, “I am the First and the Last and the Living One. I was dead, and see, I am alive forever and ever, and I have the keys of Death and of Hades.” He has made these enemies his footstool.

Christ points upward to the Father, to whom he’s ascending. The angels make a pathway for him through the clouds and pay him reverence as he passes. His green mantle and flag suggest life, hope, renewal.

LISTEN: “Et resurrexit” (And He Rose Again) by Johann Sebastian Bach, from his Mass in B minor (BWV 232), 1749 | Performed by The English Concert, dir. Harry Bicket, 2012

Et resurrexit tertia die,
Secundum Scripturas.
Et ascendit in caelum:
Sedet ad dexteram Patris.
Et iterum venturus est cum gloria,
Judicare vivos et mortuos:
Cujus regni non erit finis.

And he rose again the third day,
According to the scriptures.
And he ascended into heaven:
He sits at the right hand of the Father.
And he shall come again with glory
To judge the living and the dead:
Of his kingdom there shall be no end.

Comprising twenty-seven movements across four parts, Bach’s (primarily) B minor setting of the Latin Mass [previously] is widely regarded as one of the highest achievements of classical music. “Et resurrexit” (And he rose again) is the sixth movement of part 2, “Symbolum Nicenum” (Nicene Creed). Composed in D major in a baroque dance form, it is a triumphant five-part chorus (Soprano I, Soprano II, Alto, Tenor, Bass) backed by trumpets, flutes, oboes, timpani, violins, viola, and basso continuo. Its triple meter reinforces the idea of the third day.

Can you hear how much Bach loves the words he ornaments? Melismatic figures, rising octave leaps—such ebullience and play!

Easter, Day 1: He Died . . . But He Rose!

April 5, 2026April 5, 2026 Victoria Emily Jones4 Comments

Christ is risen! He is risen indeed! Happy Easter, friends.

LOOK: Crucifixion sur la ville and Résurrection by Arcabas

Arcabas_Crucifixion and Resurrection — Arcabas (French, 1926–2018), *Crucifixion sur la ville* (Crucifixion over the City) and *Résurrection*, from the Petite suite en noir et or (Little Suite in Black and Gold), 1975. Oil on canvas.

There is very little written in English about the sacred French artist Jean-Marie Pirot (1926–2018), known as Arcabas [previously]—which is a shame, because his work is fantastic. I’d love to see it in person someday. Much of it is concentrated at L’église de Saint-Hugues-de-Chartreuse, near where he lived from 1950 until his death. One published source of information about the artist is Dr. David Lyle Jeffrey’s wonderful book In the Beauty of Holiness: Art and the Bible in Western Culture (Eerdmans, 2017); he devotes the book’s final section, pages 349–63, to Arcabas, reproducing in full color seven of his paintings and translating material from French interviews. Jeffrey cites Kirsten Appleyard’s honors thesis at Baylor University from 2009, which he supervised, as the most complete study of the artist’s work available in English, which I believe is still the case.

Unfortunately, the website arcabas.com, from which I gathered photos of many of Arcabas’s works some ten years ago, is now defunct. That’s where today’s featured image was sourced from. The panels are from a larger polyptych, which you can view in this photo of its temporary exhibition at L’église Saint Ignace in Paris. I’m not sure where it resides now.

The left panels portray Jesus being crucified outside the city walls. But the cityscape is not of first-century Jerusalem; it’s a modern French village. As have many artists before him, Arcabas collapses the distance between Jesus’s life and times and his own by transposing Jesus’s death to a familiar setting.

On the right is a lamb whose legs are bound in preparation for sacrifice—an emblem of Christ, who was led “like a lamb . . . to the slaughter” (Isa. 53:7). Opposite the lamb is a snarling wolf, a reference to Psalm 22:16–18:

For dogs are all around me;
a company of evildoers encircles me;
they bound my hands and feet.
I can count all my bones.
They stare and gloat over me;
they divide my clothes among themselves,
and for my clothing they cast lots.

The Crucified One bows his head. His hands, nailed by the wrists to the cross, are contorted in pain. His ribcage protrudes from his emaciated torso. But as he gives up the spirit, it spills out, a silhouette of his form, in gold, dissolving into a sun/halo behind his head. His golden arms are strong, vigorous, alluding to the Resurrection and capturing something of the paradox of the cross, a site of both shame and glory.

In the right panel, which is on a larger scale than the others, granting it preeminence, Christ emerges victorious from a multicolored sarcophagus. He rises bodily, but his form is transfigured, shiny, especially his eyes. Stepping out of the box that cannot contain him, he lifts his hands to reveal the wounds of crucifixion, signs of our redemption. The lustrous swirls about his head could be his wild, windswept hair, or else some kind of electric or mystic force.

This is one of several Resurrection images Arcabas painted during his lifetime. Another one, you can hear the artist discuss (in French) in the following 2005 interview, cued up at 20:26:

This whole KTO TV segment, nearly an hour long, is worth watching if you’re a French speaker! I am not, but a generous follower of my blog, knowing my enthusiasm for Arcabas, translated significant portions of it for me into English.

Since Arcabas’s death, a new online hub has sprung up to showcase his work: https://arcabas.net/. While it doesn’t host as many image files as its .com predecessor, this archive provides helpful location and copyright information, and I believe it’s in a state of expansion.

LISTEN: “The Resurrection” by Richard Smallwood (based on Rachmaninoff’s “Vocalise”), 1982

And he died
For our sin and our shame
Jesus died
For our sins
He hung high
On a hill called Calvary
To save a wretch undone
Like you and me

I can’t forget how he died for me
He suffered so much on Calvary
I can’t forget how they pierced his side
And he bowed his head and died

But he rose
Conquered death, hell, and grave
And he rose
With all power
Jesus rose
Now he lives forevermore
Through Christ we now are saved eternally

Richard Smallwood (1948–2025) was a legendary gospel composer, pianist, and singer, known for blending classical music with traditional gospel. For “The Resurrection,” which debuted on the album The Richard Smallwood Singers (1982), he adopted the main theme of Rachmaninoff’s wordless song “Vocalise” as the basis. Meditating on Christ’s crucifixion and then resurrection, Smallwood’s song evolves in tone from elegiac to triumphant.

This is the first post in a daily series for the first eight days of Easter, each one of which will pair a visual artwork with a piece of music to encourage celebration of the risen Christ.

The Lüneburg Goldene Tafel (Golden Panel): An International Gothic Masterpiece

March 27, 2026March 30, 2026 Victoria Emily Jones1 Comment

Other than the second one, captioned with a copyright notice, all photos in this article are my own.

When visiting the Landesmuseum (State Museum) in Hanover, Germany, last fall, I was struck by a monumental medieval altarpiece depicting thirty-six scenes from the life of Christ. Scholars refer to it as the Goldene Tafel (Golden Panel) after the now-lost large gold repoussé plaque, originally designed (most likely) as an antependium in the twelfth century, that was once at the center of its inner display, depicting Christ seated in a mandorla flanked by the twelve apostles.

One of the most important northern German works in the International Gothic style, the altarpiece was created in the 1420s for the high altar of the newly built Benedictine monastery of St. Michael in Lüneburg. It was the work of carpenters, sculptors, and two painters, one from the circle of the Westphalian artist Conrad von Soest, and the other probably based in Cologne or even Lüneburg.

The Golden Panel altarpiece, in its original design, had two pairs of hinged wings that could be opened or closed over a fixed central shrine, offering three possible configurations. The shrine, irrecoverably robbed in 1644 and 1698, housed the monastery’s treasury, especially its reliquaries, displayed in a cabinet of twenty-two richly decorated rectangular compartments surrounding the eponymous, aforementioned “golden panel.” This main body of the altarpiece (called the corpus) was dismantled in 1792–94 and its remaining objects melted or sold. The predella (base) has also been lost.

However, the wings, replete with panel paintings and figural sculptures, have survived to the present day and, having been restored in 2016–19, are proudly displayed at the Landesmuseum Hannover for visitors to enjoy. When you enter the gallery, you are greeted with the full cycle of thirty-six painted scenes (nine per panel) from the life of Christ, read from left to right in long rows. Then you can walk behind to see the panels’ other sides, which would not have been simultaneously on view to the monks of St. Michael’s with the altarpiece’s original construction.

The scale model in the following photograph gives you a good sense of the three distinct viewing states that were originally possible.

Golden Panel model — Dr. Bastian Eclercy, curator of Old Master paintings at the Landesmuseum Hannover from 2010 to 2013, presents a historical model of the Golden Panel. Photo © Landesmuseum Hannover.

View 1: The Brazen Serpent and The Crucifixion

View 1, the closed view, juxtaposes a scriptural type and antitype: the brazen serpent in the wilderness, raised on a pole for the life of the people, and the crucifixion of Christ.

Numbers 21:4–9 tells of how, wandering the desert after God delivered them from slavery in Egypt, the Israelites complained about how life was better before. As punishment for their ingratitude, God sent poisonous serpents into their camp, and fatalities ensued. The people realized their sin and repented, asking Moses to intercede with God for relief. God told Moses to craft a bronze serpent and lift it high on a pole, and to instruct the people that if they are bitten, to look on the sculpture and they will be spared.

In John 3:14–15, Jesus interpreted this story as foreshadowing his being raised on a cross to bring healing: “And just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the wilderness,” he told Nicodemus, “so must the Son of Man be lifted up, that whoever believes in him may have eternal life.”

The anonymous artist shows the gleaming snake on a tau cross that mirrors the one Jesus hangs on in the opposite panel. The lower banderole reads, from the Vulgate, “Peccavimus quia locuti sumus contra Dominum et te ora ut tollat a nobis serpentes” (We have sinned, because we have spoken against the Lord and thee: pray that he may take away these serpents). I can’t make out the text on the upper banderole, other than aspexerit, “shall look,” but presumably it communicates God’s antidote to the snake bites.

Moses has horns, as is typical in Western iconography, because of a literal translation of the Hebrew qaran in Exodus 34:29–30:

And when Moses came down from Mount Sinai, he held the two tables of the testimony, and he knew not that his face was horned from the conversation of the Lord. And Aaron and the children of Israel seeing the face of Moses horned, were afraid to come near. (Douay–Rheims)

Almost all English translations say instead that Moses’s face “shone” or “became radiant,” interpreting qaran as horned with rays of light. This artist splits the difference and shows, growing out from under Moses’s hat, two bony protrusions that are luminous!

The Crucifixion scene shows a Roman spearman piercing Jesus’s side to confirm his death, while Jesus’s mother, two other Marys, and the apostle John mourn under his right hand. A centurion in the crowd exclaims, “Vere Filius Dei erat iste” (Truly this man was the Son of God).

View 2: The Life of Christ

When these two outer panels were opened in their day, they would reveal view 2 of the altarpiece (pictured at top of article), or the first open view, displaying scenes from Jesus’s infancy, passion, and resurrection across four panels.

Golden Panel 1 — The Annunciation; The Visitation; The Nativity; The Raising of Lazarus; Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem; The Last Supper; Christ Carrying His Cross; Christ in Distress; The Crucifixion

Golden Panel 2 — The Annunciation to the Shepherds; The Circumcision of Christ; The Adoration of the Magi; Christ Washing His Disciples’ Feet; The Agony in the Garden (2); The Deposition; The Entombment; The Harrowing of Hell

Golden Panel 3 — The Presentation in the Temple; The Massacre of the Innocents; The Flight to Egypt; The Arrest of Christ; Christ before Pilate; Christ before Herod; The Resurrection; The Holy Women at the Tomb; The Ascension

Golden Panel 4 — Christ among the Doctors in the Temple; The Wedding at Cana; The Baptism of Christ; The Flagellation of Christ; Ecce Homo; The Mocking of Christ; The Descent of the Holy Spirit; The Death of the Virgin; The Coronation of the Virgin

I’ll share a few of my favorite scenes.

The Nativity features what I call the industrious Joseph motif [previously], as rather than sitting off to the side with his head in his hands, as he’s commonly shown, Jesus’s dad is hard at work trying to make his family comfortable. He pumps a bellows to supply air to the small fire he has going, either to warm his wife and child or, as he does in a handful of other medieval German Nativities, to cook a simple meal. Mary reclines with the infant Christ on a woven straw mattress while angels peek in from over a curtain to adore him.

The Last Supper I found especially charming because of how the apostle John shelters under Jesus’s cloak, relaxed, secure. The image of John resting on Jesus’s breast rose to popularity in fourteenth-century Germany, a commemoration of the two’s bosom friendship and a call to, like John, abide in Christ. It’s based on the description in John 13:23, which says that at Jesus’s last meal, at Passover time, “one of his disciples—the one whom Jesus loved—was reclining close to his heart.” This verse alludes to the typical eating posture assumed at ancient Greco-Roman banquets, at which men reclined with their heads near a low table and their feet pointing away from it. But in Christian interpretation it has come to signify, more than simply a seating arrangement, the proximity of John to the heart of Christ.

In the Golden Panel’s Last Supper, Jesus enfolds John much like a mother hen would her chick (cf. Matt. 23:37; Luke 13:34), his garment like a wing. Even in this moment before his greatest trial, when most would be inclined to turn inward, Jesus shows concern for those he loves—he covers, protects. And nourishes. He stretches his hand across the table, laid with dishes of lamb and fish, to feed Judas a morsel of bread that resembles a eucharistic wafer. He sups with the man he knows will betray him. He does not turn him away.

Further along in the narrative, the scene of Christ carrying his cross with the help of Simon of Cyrene stands out to me because of the man pulling Jesus’s hair as he walks. The cruel mocking and assault continue outside the courtroom and en route to Golgotha.

Called Christus im Elend (Christ in Distress) or Christus in der Rast (Christ at Rest), the subject depicted in the bottom center of the far left panel first started appearing in northern Germany in the second half of the fourteenth century. It shows Jesus sitting pensively, usually on a stone, waiting for his cross to be raised.

In the Golden Panel, Jesus, naked, bleeds all over while the soldiers roll dice and fight over who will get to keep his seamless tunic. The two men in the foreground, one with a flagrum tucked in his belt, tumble and tear at each other, pulling and biting, exemplifying the human penchant for violence that will culminate in the killing of God’s Son. (The basket of hammer and nails that has been procured for the task sits temporarily off to the side.) Combative and puerile, this is the humanity Christ has come to save.

The interior Crucifixion painting is fairly standard, but oh, isn’t it lovely? One notable feature is how Christ’s blood flows from his side, his final wound, down to his groin, where he received, at eight days old, his first wound, the cutting off of his foreskin in a ritual circumcision. Scholars such as Leo Steinberg have remarked how this diversion of the blood’s natural path (which would be to the right thigh) was an intentional device some painters used to connect these two sheddings of blood, and thus the incarnation and the atonement.

Moving two pictures down the line, the Entombment scene caught my eye because of the tender care shown to the dead Christ before he’s laid to rest. Nicodemus anoints Christ’s wounds with myrrh and aloes, applying them with a spatula, while Joseph of Arimathea, who has donated his tomb, prepares to enshroud the body.

In a quintessential Easter scene, three faithful women come to the burial site after the Sabbath to complete the anointing ritual, only to find a finely feathered angel perched atop the skewed lid of Christ’s now-empty sarcophagus. Mary Magdalene, holding a golden jar, points into the vacant space as if to ask, “Where’s my Lord?” To which the angel responds that he is risen!

View 3 (Partial): Sculptures of the Saints

View 3 of the Golden Panel altarpiece—the fully open view, saved for important feast days—cannot be replicated because the shrine that formed the corpus is lost. But flanking the shrine would have been two wings that have survived largely intact, displaying polychrome wood sculptures of twenty (mostly male) saints and, in the intermediate row, smaller statuettes of six female saints (the other six are missing).

The identities of the main figures are listed below. The ones I couldn’t confirm but for which I proffer my best guess are followed by a question mark.

Top left: John the Baptist, Thomas(?), Matthew, Simon(?), George
Top right: Mary Magdalene, Lawrence (deacon), Benedict, Cyriacus (deacon), Michael
Bottom left: Madonna and Child, Peter, Paul, James the Lesser(?), James the Greater
Bottom right: Bartholomew, John the Evangelist, Jude (Thaddeus)(?), Andrew, Philip

In the sculpture of the Madonna and Child, Mary holds an inkwell that Jesus dips his pen into as he writes on a scroll. How delightful! It’s a rare iconography but one that’s shared by the Tintenfassmadonna in Hildesheim Cathedral, sculpted around the same time.

The figure to the right of Mary is Peter. He holds a handle with a dowel hole on the underside; originally, a set of keys was attached to it and hung down.

The diminutive figure above Mary is Catherine of Alexandria, identifiable by the fragmented wheel she holds, a symbol of her martyrdom.

To learn more about the Golden Panel, see the book Die Goldene Tafel aus Lüneburg, edited by Antje-Fee Köllermann and Christine Unsinn (Michael Imhof, 2021), from the Niederdeutschen Beiträge zur Kunstgeschichte (Low German Contributions to Art History) series. Only three of its twenty-five chapters are in English; the rest is in German. It’s highly technical, the product of an interdisciplinary research project carried out from 2012 to 2016. There’s not much in it about the actual content of the images. But it provides ample color illustrations, which I always appreciate, as well as stylistic comparisons, historical inventories, and more.

Roundup: “Poetry for All” podcast, startling Crashaw poem, despair and grace, and more

October 2, 2025October 6, 2025 Victoria Emily Jones3 Comments

SPOTIFY PLAYLIST: October 2025 (Art & Theology)

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PODCAST: Poetry for All, hosted by Joanne Diaz and Abram Van Engen: Poetry for All “is for those who already love poetry and for those who know very little about it. In this podcast, we read a poem, discuss it, see what makes it tick, learn how it works, grow from it, and then read it one more time.” I’ve consistently enjoyed this podcast since its launch in 2020, having learned about it through cohost Abram Van Engen [previously], an academic who often writes and speaks about poetry for general Christian audiences. Here are some of my favorite episodes of the ninety-seven that have been released to date:

Three haiku by Kobayashi Issa, translated from the Japanese by Robert Hass: The first: “The snow is melting / and the village is flooded / with children.” Learn the characteristics of what Joanne Diaz calls “the perfect poetic form.”
“spring song” by Lucille Clifton: One of my favorite poems by one of my favorite poets. “This joyful poem caps a sequence of sixteen poems called ‘some jesus,’ which walks through biblical characters (beginning with Adam and Eve) and ends on four poems for Holy Week and Easter. [Clifton] wrote other poems on the Bible as well, including ‘john’ and ‘my dream about the second coming,’ which reimagine a way into biblical characters to make their stories fresh.”
“Elegy for My Mother’s Mind” by Laura Van Prooyen: This episode is unique in that it has the poet herself on to read and discuss the poem, which in this case navigates the complexities of memory, loss, and familial relationships.
“View but This Tulip” by Hester Pulter: Ashamedly, I had never heard of this seventeenth-century female poet before listening to this episode, so I’m grateful to guest Wendy Wall, cocreator of the award-winning Pulter Project website, for introducing me to her! “In this episode we discuss [Pulter’s] work with emblems, her scientific chemistry experiment with flowers, and her wonderment (both worried and confident, doubtful and awestruck) about the resurrection of the body and its reunification with the soul after death.”
“From Blossoms” by Li-Young Lee: A much-anthologized poem ostensibly about eating summer peaches, but more deeply, it’s about joy. “One of the things that draws me to this poem,” says Van Engen, “is that joy is actually very hard to write about . . . without it sounding naive or sentimental or withdrawn or unaware.”
“Primary Care” by Rafael Campo: Dr. Rafael Campo is both a poet and a practicing physician. Here he uses blank verse to explore the experience of illness and suffering.

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POEMS:

>> “For V. the Bag Lady, Great in the Kingdom of Heaven,” “Damascus Road,” “The Sower,” and “Crosses” by Paul J. Pastor: The Rabbit Room received permission to reproduce four poems from Paul J. Pastor’s [previously] new poetry collection, The Locust Years, which “explores a world of mystery and sorrow, desolation and love. Rooted in the Pacific Northwest, these poems offer readers an invitation to walk along a path pebbled with profound joy and deep loss.” I’ll be sharing another on the blog next week, courtesy of Wiseblood Books.

>> “Undone” by Michael Stalcup: The rise of blogging in the aughts and its descendant, Substacking, in the last few years has meant that poets and other writers can share their work directly with their reading publics and give them insight into their creative process if they wish. On his Substack, the Thai American poet Michael Stalcup [previously] recently shared one of his new poems that’s based on the story of the woman caught in adultery in John 8:1–11. He explains how the poem’s form, a blend of the Petrarchan sonnet and the chiasmus, contributes to its meaning.

Jayasuriya, Nalini_Go, Sin No More — Nalini Jayasuriya (Sri Lankan, 1927–2014), *Go, Sin No More*, 2004. Mixed media on cloth, 23 × 19 in. Published in *The Christian Story: Five Asian Artists Today*, ed. Patricia C. Pongracz, Volker Küster, and John W. Cook (Museum of Biblical Art, 2007), p. 119.

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POEM COMMENTARY: “The Crèche and the Brothel: The Poetic Turn in Crashaw’s Infamous Epigram” by Kimberly Johnson, Voltage Poetry: The seventeenth-century Anglican-turned-Catholic poet Richard Crashaw [previously] was a master of the epigram, and this is one of my favorites of his:

Blessed be the paps which Thou hast sucked.
—Luke 11:27

Suppose he had been Tabled at thy Teats,
Thy hunger feels not what he eats:
He’ll have his Teat ere long (a bloody one).
The Mother then must suck the Son.

Scholar Kimberly Johnson [previously] unpacks these four lines about the body of Christ, who as an infant drank milk from his mother’s breast, and whose sacrificial death opened up his own breast whence flows the blood that nourishes us all. Johnson teases out the overlap of physical and spiritual in the poem, highlighting the maternal sharing of one’s own substance that links both couplets. At the eucharistic table, we are bidden to come and eat; or, in the stark metaphorical language of Crashaw, come and suck Christ’s bloody teat.

I plan to write an essay sometime about Christ as a nursing mother, as I’ve seen the image pop up in medieval writings and some visual art, including from Kongo and Ethiopia. In the meantime, here’s an illumination of the sixth vision in part 2 of Hildegard of Bingen’s Scivias (Know the Ways), painted under the supervision of Hildy herself. It shows the crucified Christ feeding Ecclesia (his bride, the church) with blood from his breast.

Hildegard of Bingen_Crucifixion — “The Crucifixion and the Eucharist,” from *Scivias* (Know the Ways) II.6, Rupertsberg Abbey, Germany, before 1179. Rupertsberg Codex, fol. 86r, Hildegard Abbey, Eibingen, Germany. The original manuscript from Hildegard’s lifetime was lost in 1945, but a faithful copy was made in 1927–33, which is the source of the color reproductions now available.

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ESSAY: “Only One Heart: The Poetry of Franz Wright as Emblem of God’s Grace” by Bonnie Rubrecht, Curator: “Are You / just a word? // Are we beheld, or am I all alone?” These three lines typify the poetry of Franz Wright (1953–2015), the Pulitzer Prize–winning author of Walking to Martha’s Vineyard, God’s Silence, and other collections. “Wright’s work is often described as confessional, colored by irony and humor. His irreverence, juxtaposed with honesty and humility, make his poetic voice unique in addressing God. Writers and poets often traffic in spiritual themes, but few modern poets echo the prophetic Old Testament tradition of crying out, approaching God with the concision and raw emotion that Wright does. He excels in voicing the concerns and ruminations of the human experience of suffering, while simultaneously shifting towards his own embodiment of grace.”

Flemish Tapestry with Scenes of the Passion

September 28, 2025September 29, 2025 Victoria Emily Jones3 Comments

This month I traveled to parts of Germany and Belgium to experience some of the art of those countries, with a focus on medieval religious art. In Brussels, besides exploring the famous Oldmasters Museum (part of the Royal Museums of Fine Arts of Belgium), I visited the lesser-known Art and History Museum, whose collection includes not just western European art from prehistoric times through the nineteenth century, but also art from Asia (China, Korea, India, Pakistan, Afghanistan, Sri Lanka, Tibet, Nepal, Turkey, Iran, Cambodia, Thailand, Burma), Oceania, the pre-Columbian Americas, and ancient Egypt, Greece, and Rome.

I spent the most time with the medieval European art on the ground floor—wooden statuettes, ivory and alabaster carvings, stained glass, paintings, metalworks, and tapestries. With the Google Translate app open, I hovered my phone over the Dutch and French descriptive labels to read them in English.

My favorite tapestry I saw, from fifteenth-century Tournai, portrays three scenes from the passion of Christ: Christ Carrying the Cross, the Crucifixion, and the Resurrection. The museum gallery it’s displayed in also houses a large medieval loom, which is what’s protruding at the bottom right corner of the following photo.

Tapestry of the Passion — *Scenes from the Passion*, Tournai, ca. 1445–55. Tapestry of wool and silk, 424 × 911 cm. Art and History Museum, Brussels, Belgium, Inv. 3644. All photos by Victoria Emily Jones.

Tapestries made in the Flemish city of Tournai were among the most sought after in the fifteenth century. These large-scale wall hangings were bought by royalty, nobles, and high-ranking clergy to decorate their palaces. This one, nearly thirty feet long, is the second of a two-part hanging whose first part (portraying Christ’s Entry into Jerusalem, the Last Supper, and the Arrest of Christ) is in the collection of the Vatican.

Below are some detail shots.

First, Christ carries his cross. A soldier pulls him forward by a rope tied to his wrists, while tauntingly standing on the vertical wood beam and hitting him with a baton. On a less serious note, those are some spiffy face-shaped shoulder scales on the right.

Christ crucified:

A group of four women mourn—the Virgin Mary up front in the blue mantle, backed by three other Marys—alongside a curly-haired apostle John in green.

On Christ’s right (the viewer’s left), the penitent thief, with his last breaths, says, Memento mei, Domine, dum ven[eris in regnum tuum] (Remember me, Lord, when you come into your kingdom) (Luke 23:42).

The pointing man below the cross to Christ’s left, our right, is the Roman centurion (officer in command of one hundred soldiers) who, when Jesus died, proclaimed, Vere filius Dei erat iste (Truly this man was the Son of God!) (Matt. 27:54; Mark 15:39; cf. Luke 23:47).

On the other side of the cross, a Roman spearman, to whom tradition gives the name Longinus, points to his eyes. That’s because according to a medieval legend, Longinus was blind, but when he pierced Jesus’s side to verify his death, some of the blood from the open wound fell into Longinus’s eyes and restored his sight, after which he confessed allegiance to Christ.

Despite these three stories—two biblical, one apocryphal—of Christian conversion at the cross, Christ’s death did not move all the hearts of those present. At the base of the cross, two men fight with knives over Christ’s garment, their greed and aggression a foil to Christ’s selflessness and gentleness, and an example of the sin he came to redeem us from.

And again, pacifist though I am, I can’t help but remark on the fine-looking armor in the crowd:

The right-most third of the tapestry portrays vignettes of the Resurrection.

At the bottom, Christ emerges triumphant from his tomb, holding a banner in one hand and bestowing blessing with the other.

In the middle ground, the three Marys arrive at the empty tomb, ointments in hand, where they meet an angel who informs them that Christ has risen from the dead. Mary Magdalene is the one with her hair uncovered.

The risen Christ appears again at the top right, harrowing hell, a realm that is represented as a turreted fortress from whose windows fiery red demons glower and smirk. Christ has come to break down the doors and release the Old Testament saints being held captive—that is, those who died trusting in Yahweh and who were awaiting Christ’s redemption in the netherworld.

Let’s zoom in closer, shall we?

This is just one of the many artistic treasures, woven and otherwise, at Brussels’ Art and History Museum. I highly recommend a visit! I easily spent several hours there.