Faces of Christ, Part 3: from Crucifixion to Apocalypse

Crucifix of King Ferdinand & Queen Sancha, circa 1063, Ivory and Jet, Madrid Archeological Museum

The final scenes in Christ's life (chronologically and cosmologically) reveal his excruciating transformation from human sacrifice to redeemer and ruling god in heaven. Above is the first carved crucifix made in Spain. A crucifix differs from a cross in that it depicts Christ's body nailed upon the cross. So, it is more explicit than symbolic. This crucifix is Romanesque, and in that style, the face is not very individuated and is mask-like in its emotions. He looks more contemplative than anguished. And, he's still alive.

Man of Sorrows (with Donor), 16th c., Sens Cathedral, France

In the fourteenth century in Europe, a new motif for depicting Christ arose, called The Man of Sorrows, which showed Christ off the cross, but bearing the wounds of crucifixion, and usually his crown of thorns. The example above shows a more robust figure than the more typical emaciated and bloodied one. However, this example has lost most of its original paint, and may have been more horrifying. The Man of Sorrows, by being off the cross, may have seemed more relatable (for lack of a better word) to believers who had their own suffering which they might have been praying to have relieved. This Christ would understand their difficulties perhaps better than the super-human on the cross, or the king on the heavenly throne.

Deposition from the Cross, Monastery of Santo Domingo in Silos, 12th century, Spain

The scene of the deposition of Christ from the cross is second only to the pieta in its overwhelming pathos. With Christ's suffering past, his mother and followers are permitted at last to treat his broken body with great tenderness. This, too, like the crucifix above and the capital below, is a product of Spanish Romanesque stone carvers, and the faces of the figures are not wrenched in sorrow. But there is stylistic intentionality in this: like the heavenly figures above them, the characters in the deposition are saintly, holy, and their faces may be seen here as having the same mask-like divinity as the ancient Iberian Dama d'Elche. The postures, while static, somehow convey a great deal of emotion.

Deposition, Santa Maria Le Real, 12th-13thc., now in Madrid Archeological Museum

This deposition scene has all the characteristics of the one above in emotional postures and mask-like faces, but, even though it is roughly contemporary and somewhat a geographical neighbor, the workshop for this piece was one of Mudejar carvers, and they represented all these figures in Muslim dress conventions of the area. A significant component of conveying the humanity of Christ to believers would be to depict the figures in the story in clothes contemporary to the parishioners.

Deposition from the Cross, originally in Church of Santa Maria in Taull, Catalonia, second half of 13th c., now in National Museum of Art of Catalonia, Barcelona

This wooden sculpture group of the Deposition is fragmentary. Having lost some of its figures, its cross, and much of its paint, there remains enough still to impart the passion of the narrative. The minimal gestures and expressions go a long way in communicating grief and tenderness.

Laying in the Tomb, Wooden Sculptural Group, 15th c., Moissac Abbey

A variation of the deposition tableau is the laying in the tomb. These were popular as stand alone sculptural groups, especially when life-sized, which would give the viewer a "you are there!" experience.

Pieta (with donors), ceramic statuette, Moissac Abbey, 15th century

The pieta relates the death of Jesus to the mortal loss of an adult child, akin to that which mothers feel with their sons who are killed in battle: fallen soldiers, but still keenly felt as lost children. This small ceramic piece in Moissac Abbey was probably commissioned by the donors, whose images flank the mother and son. The couple are flanked by a sculptures of a mourning John and a mourning Mary Magdalene (suggested by their shadows here).

If one doesn't already have a loss through which to identify with the story of Christ, this image encourages every Christian to contemplate this loss as not just equivalent to their own experience, but to feel it as more important and more personal, as it bears on the salvation of the believer's soul.

The Harrowing of Hell, Alabaster from Nottingham, c. 1450, Louvre Museum

The story of the harrowing of hell appears in the apocryphal gospel of Nicodemus, and was a popular subject of religious art in the Middle Ages. In the gospel, after his death on the cross, Jesus descends into Hell, tears the doors off the gates, and collects the virtuous pagans--specifically, biblical figures, such as Adam and Eve (pictured above, although Eve's face is damaged), Abraham, David, prophets like Isaiah and Elijah, and the penitent thief whom Jesus forgave during their crucifixion. In this piece, notice the gorgeous Hellmouth, with attendant little demon, from which the sinners are called forth by Jesus.

This story has pre-Christian resonances with the Ancient Greek tale of Orpheus, the reclaiming of Persephone, the Egyptian story of Isis and Osiris, and the Epic of Gilgamesh. It underscores Jesus' power not only over his own death, but over all death.

Rising from the Dead, Ivory Plaque, 14th c., Musee Baroin, Clermont Ferrand, France

Most of the time, this event in the story of Christ's resurrection is depicted as the miracle of the empty tomb--an absence which affirms the miracle of his living presence. The tomb is surrounded by sleeping soldiers, and the three Marys have arrived to see a bemused angel sitting atop the empty tomb, announcing the good news. In some instances, as the one above, Jesus is shown springing from the tomb, vaulting over the sleeping guards, ready for his next adventure. This particular Jesus seems either beatifically calm, or still a bit sleepy as he emerges.

Noli me Tangere, German Altar Piece (Scenes from the Life of Mary Magdalene), 15th C., Louvre Museum

Mary Magdalene is the first follower to whom Christ appears upon his resurrection (John 20:11-18). Intriguingly, the passage notes her addressing Christ as her teacher in Aramaic, but does not state in which language he replies, "Do not hold on to me." (or "cling to me") It's notable because the moment is named by the Church for his response to Mary, in Latin, as "Noli me Tangere," and has been frequently translated as "Do not touch me." The misogynist implication has been that Mary Magdalene was unclean (and conflated with the adulteress Jesus saves in an earlier story), and he was pure godhead in his resurrected state. But "hold on" and "cling to" have different implications: if, as he says, she mustn't touch him because he hasn't yet ascended to heaven, perhaps her hold of him might incline him to stay.

In the altar piece above, she is shown with her usual attributes: a perfume bottle (taken from the story where an unnamed woman bathes Christ's feet with her hair and costly perfume) and really great hair. Look at how her left hand cups (girlishly?) her curls. Or is she recoiling from his admonition? Christ, by contrast, while clothed in a golden robe, is fully on display with ruddy knees and a loin cloth. He gestures toward himself, and appears to lean on a shovel in his left hand. Given the fence surrounding them, and the tree growing between them, the artist may be implying a rectification of the Original Sin, where flesh and spirit are separated.

Noli me Tangere, Ceiling Boss, Norwich Cathedral Cloister, 14th century

This ceiling boss from Norwich Cathedral is a variation on the same message. The risen Christ leans against a living, golden fig tree, which separates him from a groveling Magdalene, who resembles a worm.

Doubting Thomas, Carving in the Cloister of the Monastery of Santo Domingo in Silos, 12th c., Spain

By contrast, the story of doubting Thomas is one where Christ commands that he be touched. The carver here has communicated the gentle shaming of Thomas by isolating him from the other apostles, with his gaze upon his finger jabbing into Christ's spear wound. The other 11 (save the one directly above Christ, whose name I can't quite read) pointedly gaze up in prayer--perhaps the medieval Christian equivalent of an eye-roll. When Christ asks Thomas, "Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe," the most difficult requirement of the faith is revealed.

Pentecostal Tympanum, Vezelay St. Madeleine, copy in Paris Architecture museum (cast made late 19th c.)

Christ's final time among his apostles comes to an end, and he enjoins his men to evangelize the world. This image of Christ is pivotal to the religion because it explains the raison d'etre for the Church itself. The Church must not only go out into the world before the final battle, but the believer must evangelize their own soul. This tympanum explains the mission by surrounding Christ with not only his disciples, but also with images of (imagined) races all over the known world, astronomical/-logical symbols, and the labors of the months. Space, time, and pilgrimage are directed by him at the center. St. Madeleine Abbey at Vezeley was a focal pilgrimage site--a starting point for the Camino to Santiago de Compostela, the preaching of the 2nd Crusade, and the royal launch of the 3rd Crusade.

Coronation of Mary, Altar Cloth, 14th c. Galleria Accademia, Florence

After Christ ascends to Heaven, distinct consecutive order in the narrative of the New Testament blurs quite a bit. One notable image involves the coronation of his mother, Mary, with her assumption into heaven. The gospels are silent on this matter, and so, indeed, her ascension without actually dying is assumed.

Coronation of the Virgin, mosaic, 12th c., Basilica of Santa Maria in Trastevere, Rome

Diverse reasons are given for why Mary is crowned Queen of Heaven. One is that she is Queen Mother, by being Christ the King's Mother. Another is that this somehow follows Jewish royal custom. And, we could go down the road of this giving a place in the Church for the Mystic Feminine, but I can't help you out much on that one. A guess I will hazard is that images like these, of members of a dynasty enthroned, support and affirm the power structure in place throughout medieval Europe. As above, so below. And vice-versa.

Christ in Majesty, Abbey of St. Austremoine, Issoire, fresco, 15th century

The survivals may be fewer, but, arguably, the image of Christ in Majesty (on Judgment Day) was the most common representation of Christ in medieval church art. Its contenders were the Crucifixion and the Madonna with Child, but the Christ of Judgment Day addressed the urgency of believers' needs for the present and future.

Fear of Apocalypse is an enduring cultural preoccupation, perhaps now it only differs by being more secularly construed. The promise of a Ruler who will ultimately settle everything, and do so with satisfying vengeance and comforting justice, would answer a lot of fervent prayers, then and now.

Christ in Majesty, St. John's Baptistry, Florence, mosaic, late 13th c.