Iconography

Sacred Symbols: The Pelican

The pelican may seem an unlikely candidate to represent a deity. It doesn’t soar like the high-flying eagle nor does it symbolize peace like the mild-mannered dove. Nonetheless, thanks to some ancient beliefs about the pelican’s behavior with its young, the ungainly bird began a long association with Christianity at some point in the second century when an anonymous author wrote the Physiologus. Shortly thereafter, writes Charbonneau-Lassay in The Bestiary of Christ, North African potters were decorating lamps with scenes of a pelican and its chicks as a symbol for Christ and the church.

Symbolic pelican imagery is surprisingly common in American churches (photos 1 – 3 below).  Like the eagle (see Sacred Symbols: The Eagle, the post for August 2, 2014), this bird with a large beak and vast wing span shows up in the stained glass and sculpture of many Roman Catholic and Protestant churches. Its meaning, however, is somewhat obscure and may escape many modern observers. In this post we’ll briefly trace the pelican’s career as a sacred symbol as we visit two museums, a Belgian cathedral, and churches in Princeton, NJ, Chicago, IL, Iowa City, IA, and Washington, DC.

1. Pelican & Chicks, Princeton University Chapel, NJ

1. Pelican & Chicks Sculpture, Princeton University Chapel, NJ

2. Pelican in Vaulting Boss, 4th Presbyterian Church, Chicago, IL

2. Pelican & Chicks in Vaulting Boss, Fourth Presbyterian Church, Chicago, IL (click to enlarge)

Pelican & Chicks, St. Wenceslaus Church, Iowa City, IA

3. Pelican & Chicks, early 20th Century Stained Glass, St. Wenceslaus Church, Iowa City, IA

Pelican as a Symbol of Christ   One legend has it that pelicans revived their lifeless chicks by sprinkling blood on them. The father or mother pelican accomplished this by using its sharp beak to pierce its breast, and then sprinkled the blood from the wound on its young.  The blood would revitalize the chicks. The unknown author of the Physiologus, a collection of allegorical stories about various animals and birds, used these notions about the pelican to create a metaphor for Jesus Christ as “redeemer” of the world. Charbonneau-Lassay explains that, “like the pelican’s young, the human race is dead to the life of the spirit and soiled by its sins. The Savior poured his blood over humanity, purifying it by his sacrifice, and gave it back true life.” The pelican thus became a “type” for Christ (see Iconography 101: Types, the post for April 16, 2014).

Another version of the pelican legend describes the bird as having the greatest love among the creatures for its young, so much so that it feeds them with its own blood when other food is scarce. In any case, the main point is that people believed that the pelican was willing to wound itself to save its offspring.

This understanding of the pelican’s meaning continued well into the middle ages and inspired painters, metalworkers, and enamelers alike. Images of the pelican and its chicks commonly appear as a symbol for Christ’s sacrifice on processional and altar crucifixes, including these fine examples from Spain and Italy that are on display at the Walters and St. Louis Art Museums. Look for the pelicans near the top of each cross (photos 4 – 7, click to enlarge).

Silver Processional Cross, France, Walters Art Museum, Baltimore, MD

4. Processional Cross, Saragossa, Spain; 15th Century; Walters Art Museum, Baltimore, MD

Pelican & Chicks Enamel Inlay on Processional Cross, Walters Art Museum

5. Pelican Symbol Inlay on Processional Cross, Walters Art Museum, Baltimore (click to enlarge)

Painted Crucifix, 14th Century Italian, St. Louis Art Museum, St. Louis, MO

6. Crucifix with Pelican Symbol, 14th Century Italian, St. Louis Art Museum, St. Louis, MO

Pelican & Chicks atop the Crucifix, St. Louis Art Museum, St. Louis, MO

7. Pelican Feeding its Chicks, St. Louis Art Museum, St. Louis, MO

Pelican as a Symbol for Resurrection    When Honorious of Autun wrote the Speculum Ecclesiae (Mirror of the Church) in the twelfth century, the meaning of the pelican had evolved along lines that made the bird an even more useful symbol for Christian clerics. The pelican, Honorious and others believed, did not merely revive the chicks with her blood, but also that she waited three days to restore them to life. This happy coincidence with the Christian belief in Jesus’ resurrection from the dead on the third day enabled Honorius to assert that the pelican “revives them (the chicks) at the end of three days by opening her breast and sprinkling them with blood, even as on the third day God raised his Son.”

The use of a pair of pelicans in the base of a modern altar at Brussels’ Cathedral of Sts. Michael & Gudula creatively suggests the idea of “raising” as one bird lifts the plate glass altar top on its extended wings (photos 8 & 9). Ferguson wrote in Signs & Symbols in Christian Art that the pelican, through its association with Christ’s sacrifice, also represents the Sacrament of the Eucharist, or Lord’s Supper. The pelican altar makes the same point symbolically.

7. Pelican Altar, Cathedral of Sts. Michael & Gudula, Brussels

8. Symbolic Pelican Altar, Cathedral of Sts. Michael & Gudula, Brussels

8. Pelican Detail, Cathedral of Sts. Michael & Gudula, Brussels

9. Pelican Detail, Cathedral of Sts. Michael & Gudula, Brussels

Pelican as a Symbol of Self-Sacrifice and Charity  More recently, the pelican has acquired a third symbolic meaning.  According to Charbonneau-Lassey, at some point in the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, artists began to associate the pelican with self-sacrifice and charity.  Some placed the pelican alongside allegorical figures representing Caritas, or Charity, in their paintings. Then in the 1700’s, the Freemasons adopted the pelican as a symbol for the virtue of charity.

It is almost certainly in the sense of giving oneself for others that artist Joseph Reynolds, Jr. added a pelican to the “Sacrifice for Freedom” window (photo 10) at the Washington National Cathedral.

Sacrifice for Freedom Window, Washington National Cathedral, Washington, DC

10. Sacrifice for Freedom Window, Washington National Cathedral, Washington, DC (click to enlarge)

The pelican (photo 11) sets to the right of Agnus Dei, the sacrificial lamb of God, above three lancets with various scenes that exemplify the memorable verse in John’s gospel: “Greater love hath no man than this: to lay down his life for his friends.” One panel in the lower left corner of the larger window commemorates the self-sacrifice of the Four Chaplains. The chaplains—a Jewish rabbi, Roman Catholic priest, and ministers of the Methodist and Reformed faiths—helped soldiers board lifeboats after a German U-boat torpedoed the troop transport Dorchester in 1943. They gave up their own life jackets, said prayers, and led hymns as the ship sank beneath them (photo 12).  The window was installed in the cathedral’s War Memorial Chapel in 1952.

Pelican Roundel, Sacrifice for Freedom Window, Washington National Cathedral

11. Symbolic Pelican Roundel, Sacrifice for Freedom Window, Washington National Cathedral, DC

12. Four Chaplains Panel, Sacrifice for Freedom Window, Washington National Cathedral

12. Four Chaplains Panel, Sacrifice for Freedom Stained Glass Window, Washington National Cathedral, DC

Finally, it’s worth noting that the pelican sometimes appears in a secular context. Louisiana’s official seal and state flag feature the pelican as a symbol of charity and self-sacrifice as a public virtue (photos 13 & 14). Thus, New Orleans’ professional basketball team is named the Pelicans.

13. Louisiana's Seal, image courtesy of Wikipedia

13. Symbolic Pelican on Louisiana’s Seal, image courtesy of Wikipedia

14. Flag of Louisiana, image courtesy of Wikipedia

14. Symbolic Pelican on Louisiana’s State Flag, image courtesy of Wikipedia

Mike Klug, mikejklug@aol.com, 8/27/14

Sacred Symbols: The Eagle

As “king of the birds,” the eagle has been associated with political power since antiquity. It has served as the emblem for Russian czars, German kaisers, American presidents, and countless rulers of long-forgotten nation states and empires. In this post we’ll briefly survey the symbolic meanings and historical associations of the eagle as we view eight images that contain it.

Eagle as a Gospel Symbol  My last post about the Four Evangelists described how the eagle is widely seen as a symbol for St. John’s gospel. This connection between the eagle and John dates to Christianity’s early days, and was a popular subject for stained glass artists and sculptors in the middle ages. The eagle appears at least three times at Chartres Cathedral to signify St. John, including in a stained glass medallion embedded within the West Rose (photos 1 and 2). The association between the fabled raptor and St. John continues in our time and is common in the art of modern churches (photos 3 and 4).

1. St. John's Eagle (below) and Abraham Rocking Souls in His Bosom, West Rose, Chartres Cathedral, France

1. St. John’s Eagle Symbol and Abraham Rocking Souls in His Bosom (above), West Rose Window, Chartres Cathedral, France

2. West Rose & Lancets, Chartres Cathedral, France

2. West Rose Window & Lancets, Chartres Cathedral, France (click to enlarge)

2. Eagle, Symbol for St. John, Trinity Cathedral, Davenport, Iowa

3. Eagle Symbol for St. John, Trinity Episcopal Cathedral, Davenport, Iowa

3. St. John with Eagle, Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, Washington, DC

4. St. John with Eagle, Our Mother of Africa Chapel, Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, Washington, DC (click to enlarge)

Along with the connection to John’s gospel, medieval scholars ascribed several other meanings to the eagle that are less familiar to most modern observers. The twelfth century understanding of the eagle was based in large part on an anonymous second century work called the Physiologus (the Naturalist) that was translated into Latin and circulated widely in medieval Europe. The Physiologus combined accepted “facts” about various creatures (often based on dubious science) with interpretive stories about them drawn from Biblical texts. The Physiologus provided source material for fables, bestiaries, and even sermons. These in turn gave inspiration to medieval artists from different backgrounds (photo 5).

 

2. Eagle Fibulae (clasps for robes), 6th Century

5. Eagle Fibulae (cloak fasteners), 6th Century Visigoth, Walters Art Museum, Baltimore

Eagle as a Symbol of Christ  Honorius of Autun, a twelfth century theologian, saw in the eagle a symbol for Christ’s Ascension. According to Emile Male in the The Gothic Image, Honorius’ sermon for the feast of the Ascension made the point that, “The eagle is of all creatures that which flies highest and alone dares to gaze straight into the sun…. Even so did Christ ascend into Heaven higher up than all the saints to his place on the right hand of the Father.”  Perhaps the ivory carving on the head of a crozier, with an eagle standing on a book and confronting an “evil” serpent, derives from this symbolic link between the eagle and Christ, the mystical “Logos,” or Word, of whom St. John wrote (photo 6).

3. Crozier with Eagle and Serpent, Walters Art Museum, Baltimore

6. Crozier with Eagle, 13th Century, Walters Art Museum, Baltimore (click to enlarge)

Eagle as a Resurrection Symbol  Rabanus Maurus, writing in the ninth century, saw the eagle as a symbol for the Christian way of life. He wrote that the Christian must be as the eagle that flies upward looking straight into the sun, and so with eyes focused heavenward “contemplates the things of eternity.”  For others, the eagle was a symbol for renewal or resurrection. This line of thinking goes back at least to pre-Christian Syria where tombs depict eagles leading souls of the deceased to heaven.  It was thought that when eagles singe their feathers by approaching the sun that they could restore their plumage by plunging into water. A verse in Psalm 103, written hundreds of years before Christ, reinforced this view. The psalmist wrote, “Bless the Lord…who satisfies you with good as long as you live so that your youth is renewed like the eagle’s.”

6. Eagle Lectern, St. Mark's Episcopal Church, Philadelphia

7. Symbolic Eagle Lectern, St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, Philadelphia

7. Eagle Lectern, St. Mark's Episcopal Church, Grand Rapids, MI

8. Symbolic Eagle Lectern, St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, Grand Rapids, MI

Eagle as a Symbol of God’s Power  One of my favorite eagle meanings hearkens back to the bird’s association with royal power. According to The Encyclopedia of Religion, the Romans expressed the divinity of their emperors through eagle symbolism. After the fourth century, Christians adopted the eagle as a symbol for the transformative power of the divine word. That’s why lecterns–where scripture is read to the congregation–are often cast in the form of an eagle. The great bird’s presence suggests that the Word of God has the power to lift the soul to spiritual heights, just as the eagle soars effortlessly and ever higher on an invisible updraft likened to the breath of God (photos 7 & 8, above).

Mike Klug, 08/02/2014, mikejklug@aol.com

 

Sacred Symbols: The Four Evangelists (Tetramorph)

The sidewalks of New York are probably not the first place most of us would look for an ancient symbol that dates to the eighth century BCE. But there it is, overlooking the corner of Fifth Avenue and 53rd Street in mid-town Manhattan. The faces of a man, lion, bull, and eagle look out from St. Thomas Episcopal Church on a city that epitomizes modernity (photos 1-2). You can also find the four faces in uptown Manhattan at the Cathedral of St. John the Divine. They flank Christ the King as he sits imperiously on a rainbow (photo 3). In fact, the four figures who make up what some call the tetramorph (Greek for “four forms or shapes”) are fairly common in North America. You’ll see them in the art of several denominations including Roman Catholic, Episcopal, Lutheran, and more. In today’s post, we’ll visit two cathedrals in Europe and several churches in the U.S. on a quest for the tetramorph.

1. St. Thomas Episcopal Church, NYC

1. St. Thomas Episcopal Church, NYC

2. Rose Window with Winged Man, Lion, Eagle and Bull; St. Thomas, NYC

2. Rose Window with Tetramorph (Man, Lion, Eagle and Bull in the corners); St. Thomas Episcopal, NYC (Click to enlarge)

3. Christ in Majesty with the Four Figures of the Tetramorph, Cathedral of St. John the Divine, NYC

3. Christ in Majesty with the Four Figures of the Tetramorph, Cathedral of St. John the Divine, NYC (click to enlarge)

The winged figures of the tetramorph are prominent in many Christian churches because, writes Emile Male in The Gothic Image, “from the earliest Christian times,” they were the “accepted symbols of the four evangelists.”  How did this curious connection between four creatures and the gospel writers develop?

The Eagle, Symbol for John's Gospel, Cathedral of the Epiphany, Sioux City, IA

4. The Eagle, Symbol for John’s Gospel, Cathedral of the Epiphany, Sioux City, IA

Biblical Sources  Two Bible passages describe the tetramorph. The first is found in the prophet Ezekiel’s description of an apocalyptic vision he had beside the river Chebar during the Israelites’ Babylonian captivity around 600 BCE. Ezekiel wrote, “As for the likeness of their faces, each had the face of a man in front…a lion on the right side…an ox on the left side…and an eagle at the back. And their wings spread out above; each creature had two wings….”  (Ezk. 1:10-11). Some scholars believe that Ezekiel drew his imagery from figures in the Babylonian zodiac. [See the article at http://mesocosm.net/2011/12/22/the-tetramorph-the-sumerian-origins-of-a-christian-symbol/]. Thirteenth century glass at the Sainte-Chapelle in Paris depicts Ezekiel’s vision (photo 5).

5. Ezekiel and the Four Creatures; Ste. Chapelle, Paris, France

5. Ezekiel and the Tetramorph; Ste-Chapelle, Paris

Approximately 700 years later, St. John of Patmos described a vision of heaven in the Book of Revelation where four creatures, bearing a striking resemblance to Ezekiel’s man, lion, ox, and eagle, surround the throne of God. John wrote, “And round the throne are four living creatures full of eyes in the front and behind; the first living creature like a lion, the second like an ox, the third with the face of a man, and the fourth like a flying eagle.” Each creature has six wings and sings “Holy, holy, holy is the Lord God Almighty, who was and is and is to come!” (Rev. 4:6-8).  John’s vision inspired thirteenth century artists at Chartres Cathedral to craft a rose window where the tetramorph’s four figures, along with eight angels holding censers, encircle the majestic Christ. The four creatures also appear around Christ at the center of the Washington National Cathedral’s south rose, installed in 1962 (photo #6-9).

South Rose Window Detail, Chartres Cathedral, France

6. South Rose Window Detail, Chartres Cathedral, France. The four creatures appear in the smaller circles at 2, 4, 8, and 10 o’clock (click to enlarge)

5. Eagle, emblem of St. John, and angel; South Rose, Chartres Cathedral

7. Symbolic Eagle for St. John and angel with censer; South Rose Window, Chartres

6. Winged Man (top) and Angel with Censer, Chartres Cathedral, France

8. Winged Man (top) for St. Matthew and angel with censer, South Rose Window, Chartres

7. South Rose (postcard), Washington National Cathedral, DC (click to enlarge)

9. South Rose Window (postcard), four creatures at the Throne of God, Washington National Cathedral, DC (click to enlarge)

Tetramorph in Art  It’s fairly certain that Christian artists were drawing pictures of Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John by the early fourth century, C.E. It is not clear, however, when they began to portray the evangelists with their accompanying symbols from John’s vision. It probably began after St. Jerome (perhaps best known for translating the Bible into Latin) wrote a commentary on Matthew’s gospel around 400 C.E. in which he explained that, “the first face of a man signifies Matthew, who began his narrative as though about a man….”

Matthew & Mark; St. Mark's Episcopal Church, Grand Rapids, MI

10. Symbols for Matthew & Mark; St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, Grand Rapids, MI

10. Symbols for Luke & John; St. Mark's Episcopal Church, Grand Rapids, MI

11. Symbols for Luke & John; St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, Grand Rapids, MI

Then around 800, a German monk named Rabanus Maurus (later the archbishop of Mainz) wrote a commentary on Ezekiel in which he explained how the four creatures have three meanings that involve the identity of the evangelists, the life of Christ, and the Christian way of life.  Others who have written about Christian iconography, including George Ferguson in Signs and Symbols in Christian Art, say that Matthew’s sign is a winged man because his gospel emphasizes Christ’s human ancestry. The winged lion connotes Mark because he presumably stressed Christ’s royal dignity. The winged ox—a sacrificial animal—represents Luke because he emphasized Christ’s priesthood. Finally, the eagle symbolizes John because, says Emil Male, that gospel “transports men to the very heart of divinity,” just as the eagle soars above the clouds and looks straight into the sun. The creatures appear, with the evangelists’ names on scrolls, in 19th century stained glass at St. Francis Xavier Basilica in Dyersville, Iowa (photos 12-14).

Lion, symbol for St. Mark; St. Francis Xavier Basilica, Dyersville, IA

12. Symbolic Lion for St. Mark; St. Francis Xavier Basilica, Dyersville, IA

Ox, symbol for St. Luke, St. Francis Xavier Basilica, Dyersville, IA

13. Symbolic Ox for St. Luke, St. Francis Xavier Basilica, Dyersville, IA

Eagle, Symbol for St. John the Evangelist; St. Francis Xavier Basilica, Dyersville, IA

14. Symbolic Eagle for St. John the Evangelist; St. Francis Xavier Basilica, Dyersville, IA

Tetramorph in the Middle Ages  Not long after Rabanus Maurus wrote in the ninth century about the triple meaning of the tetramorph, sculptors of the subsequent Romanesque and Gothic periods chiseled the images of the winged man, lion, ox, and eagle above the portals of many cathedrals and abbey churches in Europe. One of the most famous examples, dating to the 1100’s, appears above Chartres Cathedral’s Royal Portal (photo 15).

Christ in Majesty with Tetramorph, Chartres Cathedral, France

15. Christ in Majesty with Tetramorph, Royal Portal, Chartres Cathedral, France (click to enlarge)

Along with representations of the four creatures in rose windows and above doorways, Gothic architects and artists found other ways to present the tetramorph. At the Cathedral of Saints Michael and Gudula in Brussels, built around 1400, sculptors carved the four creatures into the circular “bosses” in the ribbed vaulting of the ceiling. You have to crane your neck to see them high above the nave floor (photos 16-19). They also appeared in illuminated manuscripts (photo 20) and decorative plaques on the covers of gospels and devotional books during the Gothic period (photo 21).

15. Saints Michael & Gudula Cathedral, Brussels, Belgium

16. Saints Michael & Gudula Cathedral, Brussels, Belgium

16. Ribbed Vaulting, Sts. Michael & Gudula Cathedral

17. Ribbed Vaulting in Nave, Sts. Michael & Gudula Cathedral

Winged Lion Boss, Symbol of St. Mark, Sts. Michael & Gudula Cathedral

18. Symbolic Winged Lion, Vaulting Boss in Sts. Michael & Gudula Cathedral, Brussels

Winged Bull, Symbol of St. Luke, Sts. Michael & Gudula Cathedral

19. Symbolic Winged Ox Boss, Vaulting Boss in Sts. Michael & Gudula Cathedral, Brussels

Tetramorph in St. Louis Bible, circa 1230; Reproduction at St. Louis Cathedral, New Orleans, of Original in Toledo, Spain

20. Tetramorph in St. Louis Bible; reproduction at St. Louis Cathedral, New Orleans; original at Cathedral of Toledo, Spain (ca. 1230)

19. Christ in Majesty Plaque (French champleve enamel) , ca. 1200, Walters Art Museum, Baltimore

21. Christ in Majesty with Tetramorph Plaque, French champleve enamel , ca. 1200, Walters Art Museum, Baltimore (click to enlarge)

Tetramorph Today In the United States, the winged man, lion, ox and eagle have now made their way onto baptismal fonts, pulpits, and altar railings (photos 22-25).  As noted above, they appear in the churches of various denominations, including the stained glass windows of several Wisconsin Synod Lutheran churches in the Upper Midwest. To view a large collection of their photos, see http://www.welsstainedglass.org/Symbols/GospelWritersPage.htm.

Baptismal Font Cover, St. Matthew's Cathedral, Washington, DC

22. Baptismal Font Cover with Four Figures of the Tetramorph, St. Matthew’s Cathedral, Washington, DC

Ox or Bull, Symbol of St. Luke on Baptismal Font Cover; St. Matthew's Cathedral, Washington, DC

23. Symbolic Winged Ox or Bull for St. Luke, Baptismal Font Cover; St. Matthew’s Cathedral, Washington, DC

St. John holding an Eagle, Pulpit Sculpture, Washington National Cathedral, DC

24. St. John holding an Eagle, Pulpit Sculpture, Washington National Cathedral, DC

23. St. Luke holding book with bull on cover; Lectern sculpture; Washington, National Cathedral

25. St. Luke holding book with a bull on the cover; Lectern Sculpture; Washington, National Cathedral (click to enlarge)

The winged man, lion, ox, and eagle have endured as sacred symbols for thousands of years, taking on new meanings as the times and people changed. You never know where they’ll show up next, and that’s the “gospel truth!”

Mike Klug, mikejklug@aol.com, 7/21/14

Sacred Symbols: The Mandorla

Today’s post differs from the others that have come before in that I’m writing a reflection on a specific symbol called the mandorla (for which I’ve named this blog). What is a mandorla? First of all, it is not a mandala, nor is the distinction between the two a small matter of pronunciation or semantics as in, “You say mandorla…I say mandala!”  There really is a big difference!

A mandala, with which many people are familiar, is a symbol that takes its name from the Sanskrit word for circle. Mandorla, in contrast, is an Italian word that means “almond.” The Dictionary of Art states that it is an “almond-shaped light (or aura) enclosing the whole of a sacred figure.”  One of the most striking mandorlas in medieval stained glass appears atop the Life of Christ lancet at Chartres Cathedral in France (photos #1 & 2).

1. Mary & Christ Child in Mandorla, Chartres Cathedral, France

1. A Mandorla with Mary & Christ Child, Life of Christ Window, Chartres Cathedral, France

Chenrezig Sand Mandala for the Dalai Lama's Visit to the House of Commons, UK, 2008 (photo from Wikipedia Commons)

2. A Mandala: Chenrezig Sand Mandala made for the Dalai Lama’s Visit to the House of Commons, UK (photo from Wikipedia Commons, 2008)

The mandorla is indeed a shape that many artists have used to enclose images of Christ, Mary, and sometimes the saints. It is not, however, exclusive to Christianity or the west. Artists in China and Japan have used mandorlas to embrace the Buddha in paintings and statuettes. Yet, to simply describe the mandorla as a shape somehow misses the point. It is an ancient symbol formed by two identical intersecting circles that holds multiple meanings, much like a word with a double meaning (photo #3). We’ll ponder the mandorla’s various meanings as we see how it shows up in cathedrals, churches, and museums on both sides of the Atlantic. I’ll end the post with an anecdote about how this blog got its name.

3. Mandorla in Purple, by artist Elsah Cort

3. Mandorla in Purple, by artist Elsah Cort

Origins The Encyclopedia Brittanica says that the mandorla’s origins are uncertain but notes that fifth-century Christians were using it in mosaics in Rome. Other sources indicate that the symbol pre-dates Christianity in Britain and point to Glastonbury’s Chalice Well. It comprised two large circles whose intersection formed a mandorla (http://www.chalicewell.org.uk/). The ancient Greeks used the mandorla too. During a visit to Berlin’s Pergamon Museum in 2012, I spotted a gold signet ring dating to 4 BCE that shows two lovers sitting side by side within a mandorla (photo #4). Apparently, the ring symbolizes their union in the intersection of two unseen circles that represent the genders.

As a quick aside, I’ve often wondered how an Italian word came to be associated with a symbol whose roots in our culture extend much deeper than those of the Italian language. In Latin, the symbol was called vesica piscis, or “bladder of the fish.” But who dubbed it a mandorla? I suspect that “mandorla” came into use by the 15th century as early Renaissance painters in Italy extended the old artistic tradition of enclosing sacred figures in the shape of an almond. If you can point me to a definitive answer, please use the blog’s comment function or email to reach me.

4. Postcard of Siegelring mit Liebespaar (Signet ring with lovers), 4 BCE, Pergamon Museum, Berlin

4. Siegelring mit Liebespaar (Signet ring with lovers) in Mandorla, 4 BCE, Pergamon Museum, Berlin

My first mandorla   I think I first noticed a mandorla during a visit to the Washington National Cathedral in the late 1980’s. There, behind the high altar, in a limestone screen called a reredos is a sculpted figure of Christ in Majesty framed by an almond shape (photos #5 & 6). Intrigued, I went to a library and learned that artists used the mandorla to convey the Christian belief that Christ is both god and man. One circle represents Christ’s divine nature and the other his human nature.  He occupies the mystical space created where the two circles intersect.

Christ in Majesty in Mandorla, Washington National Cathedral, Washington, DC

5. Altar & Reredos, Washington National Cathedral, Washington, DC

Christ in Mandorla, Washington, National Cathedral, Washington, DC

6. Christ in Majesty Mandorla, Washington National Cathedral, Washington, DC

Since then, I’ve kept my eye out for mandorlas and have found them in the Gothic cathedrals of France and England (photos #7 & 8), and in churches throughout the United States (photos #9 & 10).

Transfiguration Panel with Christ in Mandorla, Chartres Cathedral, France

7. Transfiguration Panel with Christ in Mandorla, Chartres Cathedral, France

Christ in Mandorla, West Facade Gable, Salisbury Cathedral, England

8. Christ in Mandorla Sculpture, West Facade, Salisbury Cathedral, England

St. John's Vision of the Apocalyptic Christ, Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception, Albany, NY

9 St. John’s Vision of the Apocalyptic Christ (in a mandorla), Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception, Albany, NY

Holy Family in Mandorla above South Portal, Cathedral of St. John the Divine, NYC

10. Holy Family in Mandorla above Southwest Portal, Cathedral of St. John the Divine, NYC

Mandorla Connections   It surprised me to learn that mandorlas are as prevalent as they are. But it surprised me even more to see how closely some mandorlas in the U.S. resemble those in Europe’s cathedrals. Compare the mandorlas in the tympanum sculptures above the main doorways at Chartres Cathedral in France (photo #11) and Princeton University Chapel in New Jersey (photo #12, click to enlarge). Both scenes contain figures of Christ in Majesty (based on a vision in the Book of Revelation) surrounded by the traditional emblems of the four gospel writers.  The sculpture at Chartres dates to the 12th century and Princeton’s to the 1920’s (http://www.princeton.edu/religiouslife/chapel/history/).  At first glance, the figures of Christ, accompanying mandorlas, and gospel symbols look alike. But on close inspection, you’ll see that Princeton’s mandorla contains the small faces of 24 crowned men, a reference most likely to the 24 Elders of the Apocalypse who St. John the Divine (not to be confused with the gospel writer) describes in the Book of Revelation. At Chartres, the 24 Elders appear in the series of arches that frame the composition.

Christ in Majesty, Royal Portal Tympanum, Chartres Cathedral, France

11. Christ in Majesty, Royal Portal Tympanum, Chartres Cathedral, France

Christ in Majesty, Princeton Chapel, Princeton, NJ

12. Christ in Majesty, Princeton University Chapel, Princeton, NJ

A Mind for Mandorlas   During the Middle Ages, mandorlas appeared in religious objects such as reliquaries (photo #13), book covers (photo #14), and devotional pieces. The extensive medieval collection at the Walters Art Museum in Baltimore contains one of the most unique mandorlas—and interesting devotional ivories—that I have seen. The Vierge Ouvrante (“Opening Virgin” in French) was carved somewhere in the Champagne region of France between 1180 and 1220, about the same time that Chartres Cathedral and its famous windows were under construction.  The Vierge Ouvrante, when closed, takes the form of a seated Virgin Mary holding the Christ child on her lap (photo #15), and when open, reveals scenes of Christ’s Passion (photo #16). But look more closely. You’ll see that the artist made the point that Mary kept her mind on Christ by embedding a mandorla with a miniature image of Christ the Teacher in Mary’s head (photo 17)!

Reliquary in Shape of Mandorla, Walters Art Gallery, Baltimore

13.  Almond-shaped Reliquary, Walters Art Museum, Baltimore

Christ in Mandorla Ivory, Walters Art Gallery, Baltimore

14. Trinity in Mandorla, Walters Art Museum, Baltimore

Photo of the Vierge Ouvrante closed. Walters Art Gallery, Baltimore

15. Photo of the Vierge Ouvrante closed. Walters Art Museum, Baltimore

Vierge Ouvrante, Open, Walters Art Gallery, Baltimore

16. Vierge Ouvrante, Open, Walters Art Museum, Baltimore

Mandorla in Mary's Head, Vierge Ouvrante, Walters Art Gallery, Baltimore

17. Mandorla in Mary’s Head, Vierge Ouvrante, Walters Art Museum, Baltimore

To wrap up this post, I’d like to share the story of how my blog, “Mandorlas in Our Midst,” got its name. Four years ago, when I knew my job was about to end, I read a book about life transitions that asked, “What’s waiting in the wings?” One of my answers was, “I’d like to give talks about the symbolic connections between cathedrals in Europe and churches in the North America.”  With that thought in mind, and before I made any plans to give a talk, I visited the Washington National Cathedral to take a photo of “my first mandorla” (photo #6, above). The mandorla is a dynamic symbol that one can use to represent the link between many familiar dichotomies: divinity & humanity, male & female, spirit & matter, heaven & earth, conscious & unconscious, right brain & left brain, and more. I sensed that I would eventually need a mandorla for my power point presentation.

I returned home and over the weekend a curious thing happened. On Sunday, our pastor reported that she had just returned from a workshop in Chicago where she learned about a symbol called a mandorla.  She used her hands to form two intersecting circles in the air and explained, “It’s like a Venn diagram from high school geometry!” I was surprised, and the coincidence—she had never spoken about sacred symbols before—moved me. After the service, we talked and within minutes scheduled my first presentation. I called it “Mandorlas in Our Midst” with a focus on how mandorlas and other sacred symbols cut across denominational lines (photos #18-21) and connect people of different religious traditions. Mandorlas appear in churches throughout the United States and, I believe, remind us of a common thread that extends back to a time, eons ago, when humans first contemplated the mystery of what it means to have a body and soul and be both human and divine.

Good Samaritan Window, St. Mark's Episcopal Church, Grand Rapids, MI

18. Good Samaritan Window with Subtle Mandorla Outline, St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, Grand Rapids, MI

19. St. Paul on his Missionary Voyage, St. Patrick's Cathedral, NYC

19. St. Paul on his Missionary Voyage, St. Paul Window at St. Patrick’s Cathedral, NYC

20. Bible in Mandorla, United Church of Christ, Iowa City, IA

20. Bible in Mandorla, United Church of Christ, Iowa City, IA

21. Icon from Anastasis (Resurrection) Fresco, Church of the Holy Savior in Chora, Istanbul, Turkey

21. Modern Icon based on ca. 14th Century Anastasis (Resurrection) Fresco, Church of the Holy Savior in Chora, Istanbul, Turkey

Mike Klug, mikejklug@aol.com., July 2, 2014

The Symbols of Summer

With Iowa’s green corn fields in mind, I’m writing today’s post about summer and its representation in stained glass and sculpture in Europe’s Gothic cathedrals. We’ll visit three cathedrals in France, and show how the themes they carry about time are linked to churches in the United States such as the Washington National Cathedral and two parish churches in Iowa.  Toward the end of this post, we’ll highlight the incomparable Calendar Window at Chartres Cathedral (photo #1 below; click to enlarge) since it’s one of the best surviving examples of its type. Along the way we’ll learn a few things about life on the farm in the summer of 1234.

1. Calendar (left) and Life of Mary Windows, Chartres Cathedral, France

1. Calendar window (left) and Life of Mary window, Chartres Cathedral, France

Labors of the Month  Because medieval theologians thought of manual labor, along with contemplation, as aspects of humanity’s participation in the divine plan for redemption, sculpted calendars with “labors of the month” scenes are prominent on cathedrals throughout Europe. Artists followed a pattern of pairing the zodiac signs with mostly rustic scenes that people of that time could easily associate with each month.

To illustrate this, let’s look first at some sculpture from Chartres and St. Denis. Thirteenth century sculpture on Chartres Cathedral’s north porch shows, for example, a man using a sickle to harvest wheat and a man stomping grapes in a barrel to represent August and September (photo #2). A maiden holding a flower (Virgo) and a woman holding scales (Libra) appear opposite them (photos #3 & 4).

2. Statues representing August and September, Chartres Cathedral

2. Figures representing August (above) and September, Chartres Cathedral

3. Virgo, Chartres Cathedral

3. Virgo, Chartres Cathedral

4. Libra (Balance), Chartres Cathedral

4. Libra (Balance), Chartres Cathedral

An earlier example of this sort of pairing appears on the jambs of a main doorway at the Abbey Church of St. Denis, located in the Paris suburb of the same name. The original sculpture at St. Denis was most likely installed in the eleventh century. Four circular scenes representing the summer months appear on the left door jamb (photo #5). Read from top to bottom. The first scene, representing June, shows a man harvesting winter wheat with a sickle. A man in a field mowing hay with a scythe symbolizes July. Next, two men filling a wine barrel signify August. In the last of these summertime chore scenes, a man shakes an oak tree as acorns drop to the ground to feed a pig. For medieval farmers, September was the month to fatten the swine. Opposite them on the right door jamb, you’ll see a crab-like creature (Cancer) and, above, a seated woman holding scales (Libra).

5. Summer Months, Abbey Church of St. Denis

5. Summer Months linked by the “Green Man,” Abbey Church of St. Denis

Cancer and Libra (above), Abbey Church of St. Denis

6. Cancer (below) and Libra (above), Abbey Church of St. Denis

It’s worth noting that some medieval artists in France and elsewhere in Europe probably never saw an actual crab. That may explain why Cancer sometimes looks like a crayfish (photo #7), as at Chartres.

7. Cancer sculpture, Chartres Cathedral

7. Cancer sculpture, Chartres Cathedral

God and Time  Along with their views on the sanctity of work and its connection to the church calendar, medieval thinkers conceived of God as Chronocrator, or Lord of time, a term they borrowed from the ancient Greeks who used it to describe some of their gods. Theologians of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries took this idea in two directions. They thought of God as being both the beginning and end (alpha and omega) of linear time and as the central figure in cyclic time. The stained glass and sculpture they helped create gives visible form to this conception of God embracing all of time. To convey the idea of God as the beginning and end of time, Christ appears enthroned between the Greek letters alpha and omega atop the Calendar Window lancet at Chartres (photo #8). The two letters that start and end the Greek alphabet also commonly appear in the modern glass, sculpture, and carvings of North American churches (photos #9 and 10).

Christ as the Alpha & Omega in the Calendar Window, Chartres Cathedral

8. Christ as the Alpha & Omega in the Calendar Window, Chartres Cathedral

Alpha & Omega Carvings, Trinity Episcopal Church, Iowa City, IA

9 Alpha & Omega Carvings, Trinity Episcopal Church, Iowa City, IA

10. Alpha & Omega, St. Francis Xavier Basilica, Dyersville, Iowa

10. Alpha & Omega, St. Francis Xavier Basilica, Dyersville, Iowa

To communicate the belief that God is the central figure in the cycles of time, medieval artists placed Christ at the center of great circular rose windows whose “petals” sometimes number twelve or twenty-four. The South Rose at Notre Dame of Paris is a prime example because it combines the numbers twelve and twenty-four in its structure to suggest both the twelve months of the year and 24 hours of the day (photo # 11). Each of twelve main petals extend from the center and subdivide into two circles. The petals continue to extend outward to twenty-four medallions that outline the window’s perimeter. The South Rose at the National Cathedral in Washington, DC is similar with Christ at the center of twelve petals ringed by twelve circles (photo #12).

South Rose Window, Notre Dame of Paris

11. South Rose Window, Notre Dame of Paris

South Rose, Washington National Cathedral, Washington, DC

12. South Rose, Washington National Cathedral, Washington, DC

Chartres’ Calendar Window  We’ll conclude this post with several stained glass images depicting the summer months from the Calendar Window at Chartres. As with the sculpted scenes above, this shimmering lancet pairs delightful scenes of rural life with a corresponding zodiac sign. By way of context, Chartres sets in the midst of France’s Beauce country, a fertile wheat-growing region southwest of Paris. Grape growers and bell ringers (photo #13, bottom left and center) donated the Calendar Window. It dates to the 1200’s and reads from bottom to top. Above the donors in the center medallion, you can see January represented by a man with three faces (an eye toward the past, present and future) next to Aquarius, the water carrier. In the upper left and right, the huddled figure warming his hands and Pisces denote February.

Donors, January, and February, Chartres Cathedral

13. Donors, January & Aquarius, February & Pisces, Calendar Window, Chartres Cathedral, France

June (Junius) appears about midway up the Calendar Window, represented by a man harvesting wheat with a sickle. Leo, the fierce lion, proudly strides next to him (photo #14).

June & Leo

14. June & Leo, Calendar Window, Chartres Cathedral, France

A peasant wearing a wide-brimmed hat to protect himself from the summer sun wields a scythe, evidently mowing hay (photo #15). He symbolizes July (Julius) and appears opposite Cancer, an eight-legged crab who seems to be missing his pincers (photo #16).

July

15. July, Calendar Window, Chartres Cathedral, France

Cancer

16. Cancer, Calendar Window, Chartres Cathedral, France

The  scene for August (Augustus) shows a man threshing wheat; that is, beating the grain out of the husks (photo #17). Lovely Virgo, holding red roses in her raised hands, stands next to him (photo #18).

August

17. August, Calendar Window, Chartres Cathedral, France

Virgo

18. Virgo, Calendar Window, Chartres Cathedral, France

In September, the grape harvest and wine production are well underway. We see two men in a large vat. One picks bunches of green grapes off a tangled vine while the other stomps the grapes into the pulpy juice that will eventually yield a fine white wine (photo #19). The vintners are paired with Libra, or “Balance,” holding her scales. The image below (#20) comes from a postcard I bought at the cathedral. I forgot to take a photo of Libra, and that’s reason enough to go back to Chartres to correct the glaring omission!

September

19. September, Calendar Window, Chartres Cathedral, France

Libra Postcard

20. Libra Postcard, Chartres Cathedral, France

Finally, with the calendar in mind, I want you to know that, for the time being, I hope to post to this blog on a monthly basis. Enjoy the summer and go visit a farm (or winery)!

mikejklug@aol.com, 6/25/14

Noah and the Flood

Mercedes and Cora, my wife and daughter, recently went to see the film “Noah” at a local theater. When they came home, Cora reported that this modern version of Noah has talking rocks and carries an environmental stewardship message. The film’s slight deviation from holy writ evidently prompted its distributors to issue this advisory:

The film is inspired by the story of Noah. While artistic license has been taken, we believe that this film is true to the essence, values and integrity of a story that is a cornerstone of faith for millions of people worldwide….

It occurred to me that it’s not the first time the Flood story has been refashioned.  The author of the Genesis account almost certainly drew inspiration from the older Babylonian Epic of Gilgamesh in which Utnapishtim, his family, and scores of animals ride out a devastating flood in a large boat. Some of the Gilgamesh Epic’s cuneiform fragments date to 2,000 BCE, nearly two centuries prior to Hammurabi’s groundbreaking code and possibly up to 1,400 years before the book of Genesis was put to paper. With the movie and such thoughts about the distant past in mind, I thought it might be a good time to write a post about Noah as he appears in stained glass.

What does Noah Mean? Over the centuries, the story of Noah and the Great Flood has meant many things to those millions for whom it has been “a cornerstone of faith.” For some, it is a cautionary tale of an angry God’s power to judge and punish. For others, Noah offers a thought-provoking example of what it means to be a “righteous man” in a world of rampant “corruption and violence.” With the purpose of this blog in mind, we must ask, what did Noah, the Ark, and the Flood mean to those who built Europe’s great cathedrals in the Gothic age? (We’ll consider Noah and the rainbow in a later post.)

Chartres Cathedral, France

1.Chartres Cathedral, France

Probably the best place on earth to look for an answer to that question is at Chartres Cathedral in France. Its “Noah Window,” installed in the thirteenth century, is incomparable in scale and pictorial quality (photo #2, below, click to enlarge). The window’s forty-plus panels illustrate most of the familiar scenes recorded in Genesis, chapters 6-9. It also identifies the donors and throws in a few angels for good measure! It reads from bottom to top, and generally from left to right. We’ll also view some windows in New Jersey and Iowa that extend into modern times some of the themes in Chartres’ Noah Window.

2. Noah Window, Chartres Cathedral, France

2. Noah Window, Chartres Cathedral, France

You’ll find carpenters, coopers, and wheelwrights–thought to be the Noah Window’s donors–hard at work at the bottom of the window (photo #3, below). Given that Noah fashioned the Ark from gopher wood, folks in the middle ages assumed that he was adept with carpentry tools. Thus, he became the carpenters’ patron. Similarly, as a man who planted a vineyard and worked with wood, Noah was a patron to the coopers who assembled the oak barrels that held the wine for which France was famous even then. A modern lancet window at the Princeton Chapel carries forward this theme of Noah as a carpenter (photos 4 & 5, below).

3. Carpenters, Coopers and Nephilim; Noah Window, Chartres

3. Carpenters, Coopers and Nephilim; Noah Window, Chartres Cathedral, France

Abel, Noah, Abraham, Melchizadek and Job, Princeton Chapel

4. Abel, Noah, Abraham, Melchizadek and Job, Princeton Chapel, New Jersey

Noah, the Carpenter and Ark Builder, Princeton Chapel

5. Noah, Carpenter, on the Right;  Princeton Chapel, New Jersey

The Genesis account starts with scenes depicting giants, the “Nephilim” mentioned in Gen. 6:4, “who were on the earth in those days” and are seen conversing with much shorter companions (center and upper right in photo #3, above). The story continues in a diamond-shaped panel on the next level in which God (who bears a striking resemblance to Jesus) tells Noah to build an Ark (photo #6, below).

4.

6. “Build an Ark,” Noah Window, Chartres Cathedral, France

Noah wastes no time in constructing the Ark and, with help from one of his sons, makes quick work of it. You’ll see Noah wielding an ax as his son carries wood planks on his back (photo #7, below). Meanwhile, a group of women, looking perplexed, observe and discuss the unusual construction activity taking place (photo #8, below).

5. Building the Ark, Noah Window, Chartres Cathedral

7. Building the Ark, Noah Window, Chartres Cathedral, France

6. Women Talking, Noah Window, Chartres Cathedral

8. Women Talking, Noah Window, Chartres Cathedral, France

When the Ark is complete, the animals come two by two. One of the scriptural directives reads: “And of every living thing of all flesh, you shall bring two of every sort into the ark, to keep them alive with you; they shall be male and female.” Four panels in the Noah Window show pairs of horses, lions, elephants, camels, dogs, and various species of birds coming to the Ark. The horses, camels, and birds appear below (photos #9 &10).

7. Horses, Noah Window, Chartres Cathedral

9. Horses & Birds, Noah Window, Chartres Cathedral, France

8. Camels, Noah Window, Chartres Cathedral

10. Camels & Birds, Noah Window, Chartres Cathedral, France

The Ark rises on churning flood waters as people and animals drown (photos #11 & 12, below). Observe the Ark. It looks nothing like the vessel we saw Noah and his son building in photo #7, above. It now has masonry arches and stone columns. Why?

Noah's Ark, Noah Window, Chartres Cathedral

11. Noah’s Ark, Noah Window, Chartres Cathedral, France

People and Horse Drowning, Noah Window, Chartres Cathedral

12. People and Horse Drowning, Noah Window, Chartres Cathedral, France

The Allegorical Method  To answer that question, we’ll need some historical context. Medieval Christian theologians thought of the Hebrew Bible, what they and many people call the Old Testament, as both history and allegory. Some of them, however, regarded many Old Testament books almost exclusively from an allegorical perspective. That is to say they viewed scripture symbolically through a peculiarly Christian lens. Emile Male, the eminent art historian, wrote that people of the middle ages held “a conviction that both history and nature must be regarded as vast symbols.”

One of the byproducts of that conviction were elaborate treatises, such as the Glossa Ordinaria, that compiled symbolic interpretations–both “moral” and “mystical”–for nearly every Old Testament verse. The Glossa provided material for sermons, commentaries, and medieval artists. It became one of the main sources of subject matter for stained glass designers during the Gothic period, and remained in popular use until the Renaissance. The Catholic Church suppressed the allegorical method following the Protestant Reformation, and after the Council of Trent between 1545 and 1563 the Glossa Ordinaria and similar works fell into disfavor.

Isidore of Seville (San Ysidro, California, is named for him) was a major contributor to the Glossa Ordinaria. Isidore seems to have specialized in the mystical branch of allegorical interpretation. While he could be quite imaginative at times, Isidore’s views on the the meaning of Noah, the Ark, and the Flood stuck closely to the Church’s symbolic tradition. He wrote that the Ark—as a means of salvation for its inhabitants—symbolized the Church. The Church, so this line of reasoning goes, is like the Ark because it is the means of salvation for believers. The artists communicated this theological concept by converting the Ark into a floating church (photo # 13, below). But there’s more.

Noah, as a savior figure in Isidore’s system, mystically foreshadowed Christ. Emile Male explains: “The ark was built by Noah, the only just man of the ancient world, just as the Church was built by Christ, the supremely just man.”  To convey this abstraction, the artists changed the Ark’s colors in a subsequent panel to red and green, the symbolic colors of the cross and Christmas (photo #14, below; also see the post for April 18). The panel also shows a dove flying from a window at the top of the Ark. According to scripture, the bird will return with an olive branch to signal that the flood waters have receded and that it’s time to free the animals.

Noah's Ark, Noah Window, Chartres Cathedral

13. Noah’s Ark on Churning Waters, Noah Window, Chartres Cathedral, France

Ark and Dove; Noah Window, Chartres Cathedral

14. Ark and Dove; Noah Window, Chartres Cathedral, Frnce

Finally, the Flood itself took on a mystical meaning as a symbol for the cleansing waters for the Christian sacrament of baptism. As the flood washed away evil in the world, Isidore wrote, so too does baptism wash away the sins of the faithful. The number eight also factored into this interpretation. The book of Genesis identifies eight people who survived the flood: Noah and his wife along with their three sons and their wives. In Christian iconography, the number eight has long symbolized rebirth and immortality, and octagonal fonts often provide the symbolic link to baptism’s regenerative power.

Our Redeemer Lutheran Church, Iowa City, IA

15. Our Redeemer Lutheran Church, Iowa City, IA

The striking Baptism Window at Our Redeemer Lutheran Church in Iowa City (photos #16 & 17, below) continues this tradition of representing the Flood as a symbol for baptism. It combines images of the Ark and a scallop shell embedded in a swirling tri-foil storm cloud that appears to signify the Christian belief in a Triune God.  The scallop shell became a symbol for baptism through its association with St. James’ (a.k.a. San Diego or Santiago) missionary work in first century Spain (photos #18 & 19, below). The antique baptismal font in the Bishop’s Garden at the Washington National Cathedral has the traditional octagonal shape (photo #20, below).

Baptism Window, Our Redeemer Lutheran Church, Iowa City, IA

16. Baptism Window, Our Redeemer Lutheran Church, Iowa City, IA

Scallop Shell and Trinity, Our Redeemer Lutheran Church, Iowa City, IA

17. Scallop Shell in “Trinity Cloud,” Our Redeemer Lutheran Church, Iowa City, IA

Scallop Sidewalk Tile on the Pilgrimage Route to Santiago de Compestela, Spain.

18. Pilgrim & Scallop Sidewalk Tile on the Pilgrimage Route to Santiago de Compestela, Spain.

Scallop Shell on Baptismal Font, Our Redeemer Luther Church

19. Scallop Shell on Baptismal Font, Our Redeemer Lutheran Church, Iowa City, IA

Baptismal Font, Washington National Cathedral

20. Baptismal Font, Washington National Cathedral, Washington, DC

Mike Klug, 5/8/14, mikejklug@aol.com

Resurrection

Resurrection stems from resurrectio, the past participle of resurgere, a Latin word that means “to rise or appear again.” It goes back a long way. But myths about resurrected god-men go back even further. The ancient Greeks had Dionysus whose mother was mortal and whose father was Zeus. The Phrygians had Attis who died and was reborn. His cult first appeared around 1250 BCE in what is now Turkey, and later spread to Greece. The Egyptians had Osiris, a god of regeneration and rebirth, whose recorded worship goes back even further to 2400 BCE. The Book of Kings in the Hebrew Bible tells how God raised a young boy from the dead through Elijah’s intercession. Resurrection, it seems, is an enduring theme in the myths and sacred texts of western civilization.

For Christians, Jesus’ resurrection from the dead is a defining moment that colors our understanding of theological concepts like sin, redemption, sacrifice, reconciliation, atonement, hope, the love of God, and more.The Very Rev. Dean Gary Hall, the head pastor at the Washington National Cathedral, summed up Christian doctrine nicely in his sermon for Easter Sunday when he observed that Jesus’ resurrection liberates believers from “the power of sin” and “the power of death.” http://www.nationalcathedral.org/worship/sermonTexts/grh20140419.shtml?utm_source=SilverpopMailing&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Easter%20Message%202014%20(1)&utm_cont

Perhaps because it was difficult for medieval artists to depict abstractions like “liberation from sin” without adding snarling dragons to their stained glass, or more likely because they were operating under strict orders from local clerics, they stuck close to the Biblical accounts of Jesus’ resurrection. The stained glass in most Gothic cathedrals typically illustrates the resurrection entirely on the basis of the four canonical gospels. Deviation from the text is rare, with at least one notable exception.

1. Nave, Kolner Dom (Cologne Cathedral), Germany

1. Nave, Kolner Dom (Cologne Cathedral), Germany

The Elder Biblical Window at Cologne Cathedral, installed around 1260, contains the outlier. One scene shows Jesus emerging triumphantly from the tomb, wearing a regal red robe, holding a multicolored pennant, and standing over two cowering guards (photo #2, below; click to enlarge). All four gospels mention trembling or frightened guards, but none says a thing about Jesus striking a victorious pose and planting a flag pole in one of the guard’s belly!

Resurrected Christ, Elder Biblical Window, Cologne Cathedral, Germany

2. Resurrected Christ, Elder Biblical Window, Cologne Cathedral, Germany

This idea of Christ as a victor over death and evil has its origins in the writings of some early Church Fathers who I suspect were influenced by passages in St. Paul’s letters. Apparently, the artistic tradition of “Christus Victor” had come into its own by the thirteenth century and we can see that it continued through the Renaissance and well into the modern period. The nineteenth century Resurrection Window at the Church of the Gesu on Marquette University’s campus in Milwaukee (photos #3 & 4, below) portrays a radiant Christ raising his right hand in blessing as he holds a white banner with a red cross in his left. Look closely at the inscriptions on Jesus’ garment. They appear to be the IHS monogram for Jesus that’s associated with the Society of Jesus, commonly called the Jesuits. Marquette is a Jesuit university.

Church of the Gesu, Milwaukee, WI

3. Church of the Gesu, Milwaukee, WI

Resurrected Christ, Church of the Gesu, Milwaukee, WI

4. Resurrected Christ, Church of the Gesu, Milwaukee, WI

Let’s turn now to the gospel accounts of Jesus’ resurrection by moving on to Chartres Cathedral. It has a large thirteenth century window dedicated to Mary Magdalene, the first witness to Jesus’ resurrection (photo #5, click to enlarge; read bottom to top, L to R).The window contains several scenes from Magdalene’s life based on scripture and stories in Jacob of Voragine’s Golden Legend. As a point of interest, you’ll find small images of a potter and water carrier at the window’s bottom. Potters and water carriers donated the window most likely because Magdalene was their patron. The connection might have come through Luke’s account of a woman, thought to be Magdalene, who used perfume from a jar and poured out her tears to wash Jesus’ feet.

Mary Magdalene Window, Chartres Cathedral, France

5. Mary Magdalene Window, Chartres Cathedral, France

The window’s central roundel (photo #6, below) pictures Magdalene’s role in the Resurrection. It appears to be loosely based on Mark’s and John’s gospels. In the bottom left quadrant, a perplexed Magdalene finds an angel instead of Jesus in the tomb. The angel declares, “He is risen.” In the bottom right quadrant, she appears to reach out to Jesus. He raises his right hand as if to stop her, illustrating the verse in John’s gospel that says, “Do not hold me, for I have not yet ascended to my Father….” In the roundel’s top half, Mary goes to the disciples and announces, “I have seen the Lord.”  Mark’s gospel reports that the skeptical disciples “would not believe it.”  Since many details vary in the gospels’ resurrection narratives, it seems significant that they are unanimous in identifying Mary Magdalene, a woman, as the first witness to Jesus’ resurrection.

Resurrection Roundel, Mary Magdalene Window, Chartres Cathedral, France

6. Resurrection Roundel, Mary Magdalene Window, Chartres Cathedral, France

Photo #7 shows Mary Magdalene with the angel in a scene that appears in the larger Elder Biblical Window at Cologne Cathedral. It illustrates either the angel’s proclamation in Mark, “He has Risen,” or the question in Luke, “Why do you seek the living among the dead?”

7. Mary Magdalene and the Angel, Elder Biblical Window, Cologne Cathedral, Germany

7. Mary Magdalene and the Angel, Elder Biblical Window, Cologne Cathedral, Germany

We’ll end today’s post with two windows in the U.S. The Resurrection Window (photo #9, below) at Denver’s Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception is apparently based on Matthew’s gospel where Mary Magdalene, with long curly hair, and “the other Mary,” possibly James’ mother wearing a blue cloak in the image, visited the tomb at dawn as an angel rolled away the boulder from the entrance. An earthquake then caused the guards to tremble and “become like dead men.” The window dates, I think, to the early twentieth century.

7. Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception, Denver, CO

8. Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception, Denver, CO

Resurrection Window, Immaculate Conception Cathedral, Denver, CO

9. Resurrection Window, Immaculate Conception Cathedral, Denver, CO

The last window (photo #11) is found at Princeton Chapel. Executed in rich blues and reds that call to mind Chartres Cathedral’s vibrant thirteenth century glass, this resurrection window offers an imaginative scene in which the risen Christ presents the crucifixion wounds in his hands and feet for all to see, as Mary his mother, and John, the disciple he loved, stand on either side. It is a mid to late twentieth century composition.

Princeton Chapel, Princeton, NJ

10. Princeton Chapel, Princeton, NJ

Resurrected Christ, Princeton University Chapel, New Jersey

11. Resurrected Christ, Princeton University Chapel, New Jersey

Mike Klug, mikejklug@aol.com, 4/20/14

Sacred Symbols in the Easter Vigil

On the eve of Easter, Christians throughout the world attend an Easter Vigil that starts after nightfall and continues to midnight. The Easter Vigil liturgy is rich in symbols that transport worshipers back through the centuries to the sources of humanity’s first encounters with the sacred. The service typically begins outdoors with the congregation gathered around a cauldron or fire pit. The priest or minister blesses the fire and lights a paschal candle inscribed with a cross, the year, and alpha and omega, the first and last letters in the Greek alphabet.   An assistant then uses one of the coals from the fire with which to burn incense.

During the service, lectors read stories from the book of Genesis about the creation. They read about Abraham and Isaac, and the story of the Israelites’ exodus from Egypt.  As the lectors conclude their readings from the Hebrew Bible, church bells and hand bells ring as the congregation sings Glory to God in the highest to mark Christ’s coming with the transition from Old Testament to New. A cantor then sings the tender Litany of Saints, naming Teresa, Francis and many others on a roster that starts with John the Baptist. The service continues with a baptism ceremony in which a cleric welcomes initiates to the faith by sprinkling (or dousing) them with water and anointing them with oil. The sense of solidarity with those who came before and continuity from past to present is powerful.

1. Lights in the Firmament, Cathedral of St. John the Divine, NYC

1. Lights in the Firmament, Cathedral of St. John the Divine, NYC

2. Let Us Make Man in Our Image, Cathedral of St. John the Divine, NYC

2. Let Us Make Man in Our Image, Cathedral of St. John the Divine, NYC

Today, we’ll focus on the Easter Vigil theme of “Creation” (photos #1 & 2, above) as the first expression of God’s love for humanity.  I had hoped to write also about the story of Abraham and Isaac and how it “typifies” Christ in Christian thought about God’s plan for salvation (see “Types” post), but in the interest of joining my family to color Easter eggs I think it’s best to limit our scope today.  We’ll take a close look at photos of stained glass and sculpture at Cologne Cathedral in Germany and St. Thomas Episcopal Church in New York City.

3. Kolner Dom (Cologne Cathedral), Koln, Germany

3. Kolner Dom (Cologne Cathedral), Koln, Germany

12. St. Thomas Episcopal Church, New York City

4. St. Thomas Episcopal Church, New York City

The Medieval understanding of the created world drew heavily on Greek thinking. Plato and Aristotle wrote of four elements—fire, water, earth, and air—that comprised the world as they know it. These “classical elements,” along with the seven-day creation story in Genesis, have provided inspiration for artists throughout the centuries.  But it is probably less obvious that the Easter Vigil liturgy serves as a reminder that the four classical elements carry meaning for Christians today.

Fire, source of warmth and light, is a symbol for many concepts including Christ as the “light of salvation.” Photo #5 depicts an allegorical figure of Fire (Ignus in Latin) holding two flaming torches in modern stained glass at Cologne Cathedral. One of four sculpted corbels in the corners of the narthex at St. Thomas Church (photo #6, click to enlarge) shows flames surrounding a stylized scorpion (or dragon?) who evidently can withstand the heat! The sculpture at St. Thomas dates to the 1920’s.

Fire (In, Cologne Cathedral, Germany

5. Fire (Ignis), Cologne Cathedral, Germany

Fire and Scorpion, St. Thomas Episcopal Church, NYC

6. Fire and Scorpion, St. Thomas Episcopal Church, NYC

Water symbolically provides the renewing and cleansing power of Baptism (photos # 7, below). The stained glass at Cologne shows an allegorical figure for Water (Aqua, on the right) holding Neptune’s trident and pouring water from a large jug. The Water corbel at St. Thomas shows porpoises frolicking in the water (photo #8).

7. Earth (Terra) and Water (Aqua), Cologne Cathedral, Germany

7. Earth (Terra) and Water (Aqua), Cologne Cathedral, Germany

Water, St. Thomas Episcopal Church, NYC

8. Water, St. Thomas Episcopal Church, NYC

The earth produces oil, symbolizing the planet’s abundance and God’s sustaining love. Cologne Cathedral’s “Mother Earth” (Terra, photo #7 above, left) holds large sheaves of wheat in her hands. St. Thomas’ Earth corbel portrays a rabbit peering out of a wheat field (photo #9, below), a visual nod to the Norse fertility goddess Eostre whose name is the old English root of “Easter.”

9. Earth, St. Thomas Episcopal Church, NYC

9. Earth, St. Thomas Episcopal Church, NYC

The air lifts the aromatic smoke of incense heavenward, symbolizing both sacrifice and prayer offered in response to God’s love. Air (Aer) at Cologne Cathedral holds an eagle in each hand (photo #10, below). The Air sculpture at St. Thomas shows birds in flight (photo #11). In combination, the symbols of the four classical elements woven into the Easter Vigil liturgy subtly imply that our ancestors had a sincere sense of the sacred–as they contemplated the significance of fire, water, earth, and air–long before the first Holy Week.

Air (Aer), Cologne Cathedral, Germany

10. Air (Aer), Cologne Cathedral, Germany

11. Air, St. Thomas Episcopal Church, NYC

11. Air, St. Thomas Episcopal Church, NYC

Mike Klug, mikejklug@aol.com, (4/19/14)

 

Iconography 101: The Colors of the Cross

With Good Friday, our focus turns to the cross, the Roman instrument of Jesus Christ’s execution. As I’ve thought about “the cross” prior to writing this post, I realize that it is hard to imagine a more prevalent symbol of the Christian faith. The cross is embedded in the structure of the medieval Gothic cathedrals in Europe and many sacred structures in the United States and elsewhere (photos #1 and 2, below). Ministers and priests of many Christian denominations wear a cross as a matter of course during worship services. People wear them as jewelry on necklaces and earrings.

1. Crruciform Roof Line, Chartres Cathedral, France

1. Cruciform Roof Line, Chartres Cathedral, France

Floor Plan, Washington National Cathedral, Washington, DC

2. Floor Plan, Washington National Cathedral, Washington, DC

But the cross in our culture goes even deeper in ways we may overlook. A cathedral in Boston (photo #3, below) and at least two colleges in the U.S. are named for the “Holy Cross.”  Hundreds of churches of many Christian denominations—Assembly of God, Baptist, Episcopal, Lutheran, Methodist, Presbyterian, and Roman Catholic—bear the name Calvary, the Latinized name for Golgotha where the crucifixion took place. Towns and cities in nine states are named Calvary!  The cross, specifically the tee-shaped Latin cross or references to it, seem to be everywhere.

North Transept, Holy Cross Cathedral, Boston

3. North Transept, Holy Cross Cathedral, Boston, MA

Over the past two millennia, the cross has held different meanings for Christians. To the persecuted faithful of the second and third centuries, it was perhaps more a sign of the times than a symbol. Historians report that early Christians shied away from the cross as subject matter for art and inscriptions. The cross eventually entered circulation as an oft-used symbol in the fourth century. That’s when the Emperor Constantine embraced Christianity after he reportedly saw a cross in the sky inscribed with the words, “By this sign, you shall conquer.”

In the Middle Ages, theologians and artists used representations of the cross symbolically to express certain beliefs.  One was the idea that Christ’s bloody sacrifice renewed a fallen world and came with the promise of eternal life. The stained glass crucifixion scene (photo #4, below) in the Passion Lancet at Chartres Cathedral uses color as an iconographic device to communicate this view of scripture. We see Mary and John standing on either side of the cross looking sad as Jesus “gives up the ghost.” On close inspection, you’ll see that the cross is colored green with a red border. Green signifies new life and red indicates sacrifice. Together, the red and green on this and other medieval crosses comprise the colors we associate with Christmas. So even at the “most wonderful time of the year,” green and red serve as reminders of the cross.

Crucifixion, Chartres Cathedral, France

4.Crucifixion Scene in Passion Lancet, Chartres Cathedral, France

Next, we’ll turn our attention to a unique, enameled, twelfth century reliquary cross (photo #5, click to enlarge) with origins in eastern Belgium. It’s not clear who originally possessed this fascinating cross, but it belongs now to the Walters Art Museum in Baltimore (which has an outstanding medieval art collection). It was made it to hold a small piece of the “True Cross,” on which Jesus was crucified, in a small cavity at its base. Look for the + opening.

Belgian Reliquary Cross, Walters Art Gallery, Baltimore

5. Belgian (Mosan Style) Reliquary Cross, Walters Art Museum, Baltimore

This cross also symbolically expresses medieval thinking about Christ. As with the window at Chartres, the cross is green and red. Note, however, that the artist added blue circles with small white crosses to the red border. These may symbolize the cross as “the way” to heaven since blue often marks the spiritual realm in medieval art. You’ll also see a half moon and red sun with eight points to the left and right of Jesus’ head. The sun and moon have multiple meanings in Christian iconography and it’s not clear what the designer intended here. The celestial bodies might refer to the notion that God is with us throughout the day and time, or since the sun and moon also represent the start and end of the day they could allude to the verse in the Book of Revelation that says, “I am the Alpha and Omega.” The two Greek letters sometimes show up on medieval crosses to convey the belief that God is with us at the beginning and end. A round loaf of bread and a chalice placed under Christ’s feet recall the Eucharist.

Next, observe the four female figures with Latin captions at the ends of the cross’ beams. They represent Hope (Spes), Faith (Fides), Obedience (Obedientia), and Innocence (Inocentia), four virtues associated with Christ. Virtue was a common theme for artists in the Gothic age. Sculpted figures representing the virtues often appear on medieval cathedrals (photo #6).

Fortitude, from St. Anselm's 10 Virtues, Chartres Cathedral, France

6. Fortitude, One of the Ten Virtues according to St. Anselm, Chartres Cathedral, France

It is significant in at least two symbolic senses that the reliquary cross connects Christ with “virtue.” The Greek philosopher, Plato, had a profound influence on medieval thinking about the purpose of life, and he wrote extensively about virtue in the Republic. Medieval theologians, wrote Emile Male in The Gothic Image, regarded virtue as “man’s goal.” Thus, the presence of the four virtues on the reliquary cross may imply that Jesus attained his purpose in life as a human being, along with completing his cosmic mission as the Son of God. Secondly, the four virtues may suggest that Jesus prevailed in his own inner struggle with virtue and vice that Prudentius wrote about in his fifth century allegorical poem, Psychomachia. Then again, the artist’s intent might simply have been to say that Jesus exhibited these four virtues in the final days of his life as an example for others.

Apse & Altar, Trinity Episcopal Cathedral, Davenport, IA

7. Apse & Altar, Trinity Episcopal Cathedral, Davenport, IA

Let’s take a quick look now at two other images of the cross that appear in cathedrals in Boston and Davenport, Iowa. At first glance, a nineteenth century window (photo #8, below) at the Holy Cross Cathedral appears to show Jesus carrying a cross up a set of stairs into a church. But the presence of a bishop wearing a mitered hat, a man holding a processional crucifix, and children in the foreground indicates that this is probably a scene from a “mystery play.” Mystery plays with reenactments of Christ’s story were popular during Holy Week in the medieval period. A cross-bearing procession led to the local cathedral.

Mystery Play, Holy Cross Cathedral, Boston

8. Mystery Play, Holy Cross Cathedral, Boston

Last, a window at Trinity Episcopal Cathedral in Davenport, Iowa (photo #9) shows the cross with other symbols that refer to events on Good Friday. A shield holds a wooden Latin cross along with the spikes that pierced Jesus’ hands and feet, the hammer used to pound in the spikes, the sponge on a hyssop stick that lifted vinegar (or wine) to Jesus’ lips, the spear that pierced his side, and the pliers that his friends used to remove the spikes before placing his body in the tomb.

Crucifixion Instruments, Trinity Episcopal Cathedral, Davenport, IA

9. Crucifixion Instruments, Trinity Episcopal Cathedral, Davenport, IA

Mike Klug, mikejklug@aol.com, 4/18/14

Iconography 101: Bottom’s Up

It may be said that a medieval stained glass window, such as the Passion of Christ lancet at Chartres Cathedral (photo #1, click to enlarge), is like a vast page on which the artists (and the clerics who hired them) “wrote” stories from the Bible and lives of the saints.  Instead of words, the artists used dozens of panels with colorful miniaturized images, similar to cartoons, to convey meaning and the essence of a story. For those who try to read a medieval stained glass “page” for the first time, one small challenge they face is trying to figure out where to start. Is the window like a page in a novel that we read from left to right, or do we read it from right to left like a Hebrew text?

1. Passion of Christ Lancet Window, Chartres Cathedral, France

1. Passion of Christ Lancet Window, Chartres Cathedral, France

The answer for most of the thirteenth century stained glass at Chartres and other Gothic Cathedrals is “bottom’s up.” We start at the bottom and work our way to the top, reading from left to right. It seems to be a convention that most medieval artists followed with some exceptions. I noticed one fascinating exception in a series of scenes from the life of Christ on an altarpiece at the Toledo Cathedral in Spain. Several panels appeared to be out of sequence until I noticed that they followed a figure eight pattern. I couldn’t help but smile. The artist had made a clever allusion to the symbol for infinity in the arrangement! But the main thing to keep in mind is that there’s a pattern to follow. Once you know that, it’s easier to “read” a medieval stained glass window.

Today’s photos deal with scenes from Christ’s Passion with an emphasis on the events of Maundy Thursday, including the Last Supper and Jesus’ agony in the Garden.  I confess that I’ve had a hard time deciding what to omit from today’s post. Images of Christ’s Passion were common in the Middle Ages just as they are now. I’ve decided to start with Chartres Cathedral because its glass provided an important model that influenced other medieval artists, and artists in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries too. From Chartres, we’ll jump across the pond (and seven centuries) to visit a handful of American churches that are slightly off the beaten path in Albany, NY, Durham, NC and Grand Rapids, MI.

The “Passion of Christ Lancet” at Chartres comprises fourteen panels that lead off with scenes of Christ’s Transfiguration in the bottom row. The second row up (photo #2) portrays two Maundy Thursday events, the Last Supper and Jesus washing the disciples’ feet. We’ll dwell on this second row for a few moments, and return to some of the scenes above it in later posts.

2. Last Supper and Jesus Washing Feet, Chartres Cathedral, France

2. Last Supper and Jesus Washing Feet, Chartres Cathedral, France

The story of Jesus’ Last Supper with the disciples appears in all four canonical gospels, but the image at Chartres seems to derive from Luke’s gospel account. Look closely at the left panel in photo #2. You’ll see a man in the foreground with his arm on the table about to snatch a red fish from a plate. The fish is a symbol for Christ that has its origins in the acrostic the early Christians made by using ICHTHYS, the Greek word for fish. Loosely translated it means “Jesus Christ, Son of God, Savior.” Luke’s gospel says nothing about fish being the main course for dinner at the Last Supper, but it does say this in chapter 22: “But behold the hand of him who betrays me is with me on the table.”  The fish thief, of course, is Judas whose plot with local authorities will snare Jesus before the night is through.

John’s gospel is the source for the foot-washing scene on the right. The account reports that, “he poured water into a basin, and began to wash the disciples’ feet, and to wipe them with the towel with which he was girded.” Peter protested, asking why the Lord should wash his feet.  Jesus replied enigmatically, “What I am doing you do not understand, but afterward you will understand.” The foot-washing tradition continues. In some Christian churches, bishops and other clergy will wash parishioners’ feet today.

3. Last Supper, St. Mark's Episcopal Church, Grand Rapids, MI

3. Last Supper, St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, Grand Rapids, MI

The stained glass image of the Last Supper (photo #3, above) at St. Mark’s Episcopal Church in Grand Rapids, Michigan dates from the mid-twentieth century and communicates the Last Supper’s sacramental aspect by showing Jesus holding a white host, standing behind a chalice on the table, surrounded by his prayerful disciples.  The Last Supper window (photo #4, below) at Duke University Chapel takes a different approach by combining the last supper and foot washing scenes. Duke’s windows of Christ’s passion were designed with a unique monochrome style that, for some reason, reminds me of Spain.

Last Supper, Duke University Chapel, Durham, NC

4. Last Supper, Duke University Chapel, Durham, NC

After supper, Jesus went with his disciples to a garden called Gethsemane.   There, according to Luke’s gospel, while his friends drifted off to sleep, he knelt down and prayed, “Father, if thou art willing, remove this cup from me; nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done.”   Shortly, a crowd led by Judas takes Jesus by force to the high priest for questioning.  The gospels all to imply that Jesus is resolved to his fate by the time he is taken into custody. A roundel window at Chartres (photo #5) captures the chaotic arrest scene (on the left) in which Peter offered armed resistance, earning a rebuke from Jesus.

Arrest in Gethsemane (left) & Flagellation, Chartres Cathedral, France

5. Arrest in Gethsemane (left) & Flagellation, Chartres Cathedral, France

The Gethsemane window (photos #6 and 7) at Albany’s Immaculate Conception Cathedral offers a marked contrast in its grand pictorial style to the condensed panels at Chartres. But it is typical of nineteenth and early twentieth century windows that portray Christ’s agony in the garden. The disciples are conked out in the foreground. Peter’s right hand holds the sword he will use shortly to cut off Malchus’ ear. As the disciples sleep, an angel delivers a goblet with a bitter draft that answers Jesus’ agonized prayer.

Gethsemane Window, Immaculate Conception Church, Albany, NY

6. Gethsemane Window, Cathedral of the Immaculate Conception, Albany, NY

Gethsemane Window Detail, Immaculate Conception Cathedral, Albany, NY

7. Gethsemane Window Detail, Immaculate Conception Cathedral, Albany, NY

The Gethsemane window at Duke’s Chapel (photo #8) shows Jesus in prayer as the mob arrives in the background at the door to the garden. The modern Gethsemane window (photo #9) at St. Mark’s in Grand Rapids captures the garden scene in a tight composition that’s reminiscent of the medieval style. Observe that a thinly drawn almond shape outlines the scene. This symbol, called a mandorla, is the space made by two intersecting circles. It has various meanings. One is that the mandorla is the intersection of two circles representing Christ’s human and divine natures.

8. Gethsemane Window, Duke University Chapel, Durham, NC

8. Gethsemane Window, Duke University Chapel, Durham, NC

Gethsemane Window, St. Mark's Episcopal Church, Grand Rapids, MI

9. Gethsemane Window, St. Mark’s Episcopal Church, Grand Rapids, MI

Mike Klug, mikejklug@aol.com, 4/17/14