Wistful Revivals: Jonah & Lazarus as promises of resurrection in Christian Art

Resurrection of Lazarus, 12th c. capital, San Piedro el Viejo, Huesca, Spain

Stating the obvious: medieval Christian churches reference the resurrection of Christ in their liturgy and iconography. Crucifixion may be the most common image within a church (many are built in the shape of a cross), but the point of the divine sacrifice is the promise of the eternal life after death for believers.

What images and stories did Christianity provide to give the laity a metaphor for imagining their own rise from the dead?

Representations of the act of the dead rising on Judgment Day are abundant--particularly in churches built during the Romanesque period.

Abbey Church Saint Pierre, Airvault, 12th century capital

But much earlier, Last Judgment iconography was not so common, and funerary art in particular featured two stories to symbolize life after death for the virtuous: Jonah and Lazarus.

Lazarus with Jonah, Vatican Museums Sarcophagus, circa 300

In the upper-left of the above image, you can see Jesus (center of the scene) standing before an open mausoleum. Lazarus stands before him in his death-shroud. Kneeling behind Jesus is a female figure, presumably Martha of Bethany. The kneeling is a posture of awe, because Mary had expressed doubt that Jesus could actually revive her four-days-dead brother (John 11). She thought that when Jesus promised resurrection in exchange for belief in him, that he meant on the last day, Judgment

Day.

So, the story of Lazarus of Bethany is significant in its difference from the Last Judgment promise of resurrection: Lazarus is raised by Jesus in direct response to the desires of his family. He comes out of his tomb as a special individual. It would make sense that a decorated sarcophagus, still linked to the tradition of the wealthy in the Roman Empire, would express its wish to have its loved one returned to them by using this story as symbol, and as something akin to sympathetic magic.

Below the image of the calling forth of Lazarus on this sarcophagus is a much more elaborate narrative; that of Jonah and the Great Fish ("whale" is the specification that is developed from Saint Jerome's late 4th century Latin Vulgate translation, which was written after this sarcophagus was carved).

Jonah's story, sarcophagus found in Rome, circa 300, Vatican Museums

The tableau is set up as a before and after. On the left, the sailors throw Jonah in the sea because they want a separate fate from the prophet, who has been fleeing God. As carved here, the great fish is a leviathan, similar to those often shown in mosaics in Roman baths. Jonah appears to be swan-diving directly into the creature's maw. On the right, the creature is flipped to its mirror-image, and Jonah shoots out of the fish's jaws as a circus-performer shot from a cannon.

Detail of Jonah's expulsion, Vatican Museums

Jonah surprises a fisherman and his son. Above, he reclines on the shore under a giant fruit tree or vine. His pose is similar to the figure Endymion, who was a popular figure to carve onto pagan sarcophagi in the same time period.

Endymion visited by Selene, sarcophagus circa 300, Vatican Museums

Jonah's nudity is much closer to the Classical style than an emergent early Christian one. The carver may well have been creating sarcophagi in both styles in his workshop. The important idea here is of the after-life as a blessedly peaceful rest.

In the Baths of Diocletian, in Rome, a similar sarcophagus (from the same period) also has these two motifs, but with the positions reversed. The Jonah story is on the lid, above the Lazarus story, which is the final scene in a sequence of the miracles of Christ.

Jonah story, sarcophagus circa 300, Baths of Diocletian

The image of being vomited up by a sea monster is not a new one in Classical art.

Jason and Athena with the Golden Fleece, Vatican Museums

Here above, Jason, having failed in the attempt to steal the Golden Fleece, is shown in this drinking cup being rescued by Athena. The leviathan gently returns the failed hero, apparently having ingested him without chewing with those impressive teeth.

Vatican Museum Christian Sarcophagus, circa 300

Yet another early Christian sarcophagus in the Vatican museums uses both the Jonah and Lazarus images. Here, beneath the seashell medallion showing a couple who apparently share this grave, an economic version of shoving Jonah in and urping Jonah out is centered in a parade of scenes from the life of Christ and Moses. The water from the rock scene in Exodus is also popular on this style of sarcophagus, and can be seen on the bottom register on the far-right, next to Judas kissing Jesus. In the upper-left, the calling forth of Lazarus from the tomb starts the procession of miracles.

By the time of the high Middle Ages, burial practices have changed, and Jonah and Lazarus imagery are far less common.

Feeding Jonah to the Great Fish, 12th c. capital, Saint Pierre Abbey, Mozac, France

Nudity is quite rare in medieval religious art. The most exposed figure tends to be Christ on the Cross, with a loin cloth that covers all his modesty. Feeding Jonah to the great fish is a rare opportunity to depict a nude. Why Jonah must be nude in these scenes escapes me--nothing in the text suggests he's naked at any point in the story. In the capital at Mozac, the artist seems to relish having the leviathan munch bloodily on Jonah's torso, but the buttocks are pristine.

Jonah Cast Out of Whale, Mozac Abbey, same capital

In the "after" side of the capital, we see the head and torso of Jonah, who has somehow managed to re-orient himself within the fish's belly and emerge looking bored and spotless.

Jonah Rescued, Eglise Saint Nectaire, 11th c. Capital, France

This capital in Saint Nectaire has a similar scene (less well-preserved, alas), but has included a saintly figure leaning over Jonah to rescue him. You can almost hear him saying, "I told you so."

The story of Lazarus (John 11) provides later Christians with a compelling example for believers seeking redemption. In the story itself, believers in Jesus express an understood disjunct between individual, literal resurrection, and the promise of every Christian's return on the last day--Judgment Day. Jesus encounters criticism, because he could have gone to Lazarus and healed him in his sickness, but tarried. This is the chapter of the New Testament which famously (at least in my childhood Sunday School, where memorizing verses was a competition) contains the shortest verse in the Bible: "Jesus wept." It is a strange moment in the story, because, given the paratactical style of the passage, the reason why Jesus wept is unclear. Is he sad at the lack of understanding (or of faith) of his believers? Is he distraught about the death of Lazarus, where before he'd only known Lazarus to be ill? Is he sad because his raising of Lazarus will trigger the Pharisee high priest, Caiaphas, to urge his brothers to kill Jesus, to use him as a scapegoat to save all Jews from Roman persecution? The text is unclear.

What is clear in the text is that Jesus raises Lazarus to assert to believers that when Jesus promises life to Christians, he means it literally, and that his power to do so is no metaphor.

That said, the most intriguing part of the story (to me) is that once Lazarus is risen he says nothing, and no more is said about his return to life. He shuffles (because he is bound in a shroud) out of the tomb when Jesus orders him to come forth, has his face cloth removed, but remains silent. Disconcertingly, the text moves on to the crowd's response, and the political repercussions for Jesus. Lazarus' silence reminds me of that of Alcestis (in Euripedes 5th c. B.C.E. play of the same name). Hercules brings back Alcestis from the dead, and she has nothing to say in the play. Scholars argue as to why, with the prevailing reason given that she needs three days to be ritually purified before she can speak. Her silence, while accounted for in this way in the story, withholds a "happy ending" for her, since she never comments on her experience or her feelings about her return.

Lazarus becomes a powerful literary allusion in several modern works: in Dostoyevsky, T.S. Eliot, Silvia Plath, Chinua Achebe, Richard Heinlein, Frank Herbert, and Richard Beard (to name the most famous uses).

In the early 4th century sarcophagi discussed above, Lazarus imagery often accompanies images of Jonah. This is a theological instance of typology, where the Old Testament is interpreted by Christians to be a foreshadowing of the New Testament. Jesus himself is likened to a new Moses, and a new Elijah. But even without typology, the two stories contain a descent into oblivion and miraculous escape which would be compelling without the link.

Vatican Museum Lazarus on Christian sarcophagus, circa 300 C.E.

As you can see in the above and below examples, the depiction of Jesus and Lazarus remain quite consistent in the early centuries of the religion. Lazarus is trussed up, like an Egyptian mummy or a bowling pin (both anachronistic comparisons), and Jesus has no beard. The earliest examples have Jesus using a stick like a magician's wand to resurrect Lazarus. The scene is Romanized (with these two examples, indeed, being found in Rome, but in the following Byzantine examples as well), with Jesus clothed in a toga much like those high-ranking Roman officials (or even the emperor) might wear. The monument in which Lazarus is buried is shaped like a small Roman temple, which was a style elite Romans used in those centuries.

Note, too, in the above example and the Milanese ivory plaque below, the supplicating figure of Mary, Lazarus' sister. Her posture conflates the character with the woman who washes Jesus' feet with the perfume box, and the woman who touches Jesus' robe, hoping to be healed. Male figures accompanying Jesus in these scenes (when present) do not crouch.

Early Christian tomb inscription from a catacomb, Pius-Christian Museum, Vatican museums, circa 3rd. century

A consistent feature of the representations of Lazarus is that his body is represented at half the scale or smaller than Jesus. Rather than connoting his relative importance, I think this scale is made of necessity, so that the tomb itself doesn't dwarf the important figures. This is especially evident in the next three examples, where the monument and the holy figures are approximately the same size.

Ivory Bas-relief as part of a large book, second half of 5th century C.E., Museo del Duomo, Milan

Sarcophagus of Exarch Isaac, 5th century, Basilica di Sant'Apollinare Nuovo

Notice in the sarcophagus pictured above how the tomb of Lazarus has framing columns and capitals which echo the ones on the borders of this side of the stone coffin. It's a nice ornamental touch which underscores the wish that the occupant, like Lazarus, will come forth.

Mosaic of Lazarus, Basilica di Sant'Apollinare Nuovo, Ravenna, 6th century

In this mosaic, Lazarus seems a bit more animated. The beardless Jesus is dressed as the basilica's patron would have been--as an emperor.

Here, and in the two following examples, Jesus performs the transformation through a gesture of blessing. No wand needed.

Saint-Jacques des Guerets Church, Raising Lazarus, 11th century

Moving on to the high Middle Ages, the imagery (understandably) reflects the burial practices of this church's region at the time of the art's creation. I haven't come across Lazarus (or Jonah) images directly on medieval tombs or shrines. St. Lazare in Autun had a large monument with the relics of Lazarus of Aix, an early local bishop, but later carvings on the church conflate him with Lazarus of Bethany. The monument was swept away overzealously in the Viollet le Duc "restoration," so the images on the monument are unknown. The relics of Lazarus of Bethany are strewn across Cyprus, Istanbul, Pskov (Russia), and Marseille.

The medieval images above and below here change the imagery somewhat: not just the tomb, but also the position of Lazarus. He's propped up into a seated position as Jesus blesses him.

Resurrection of Lazarus relief, early 12th century, Chichester Cathedral, England

This bas-relief in the Cathedral of Chichester is a bit hard to read, but I'm fairly sure that the Lazarus figure is the one raising his hands in supplication as he is being blessed. The smaller figure to his right seems to hold up his arms for the prayer. That figure certainly looks mournful, and his clothes look a bit like a banded shroud, but the larger figure is also being held up by a holy person behind him (an apostle?), who uses both hands to support Lazarus' back and shoulder. The lovely touch in this piece is the presence of two grave diggers, unearthing the coffin in what looks like hard labor. The sisters are consigned to the upper-left corner, where they bring their hands to their head in a gesture of grief.

Resurrection of Lazarus, 12th c. capital, San Pedro el Viejo, Huesca, Spain

The capitals from San Pedro and Vezelay have a wonderful touch that I've seen only in French and Spanish examples: in the rear of the San Pedro capital, behind the delighted sisters of Lazarus, two witnesses cover their mouths and noses to ward off the smell of decay.

In the Vezelay capital, below, both Mary and an apostle recoil from the stench coming from Lazarus' opened tomb. Jesus himself raises the lid of the tomb, and performs the blessing with his right hand.

Raising of Lazarus, 11th c. capital, Abbey of Vezelay

Raising of Lazarus, 13th c. stained glass, Clermont Ferrand Cathedral

The stained glass in the Clermont Ferrand Cathedral presents a "before and after" approach to the story. The sisters (with the Mary confused with Mary Magdalene, not Bethany) raise up their robes to cover their faces and fend off the smell of their exhumed brother.

Christ raising Lazarus, ceiling boss, 14th century, Norwich Cathedral

This ceiling boss in the cloister of Norwich cathedral pares down the scene to its essentials. Jesus has peeled back a pod-like shroud to exhume Lazarus. He helps Lazarus raise up with his left hand, and performs the blessing with his right. Lazarus holds up his hands in prayerful gratitude.

Detail of WW1 memorial mosaic, circa 1923, Church of the Holy Ghost, Crowcombe, Somerset

This final example I found in the sanctuary in a small English town. It flanks the altar, and is part of a World War I memorial. This modern arrangement of the figures doesn't reflect 20th century burial practices, but Lazarus reclines on a high bed, reminiscent of a hospital or morgue scene, to my eyes, although this Arts & Crafts-style take is more of a romanticization of an ancient scene.

A beautiful combination of mosaic and opus sectile (or maybe just tile) work, this wall decoration shows Lazarus in the same sepia shade as his shroud and bedding. The monochrome depiction may be to signal that Lazarus is in the flat land of the dead, and is just coming back to the living, who are painted in color. He has the fresh, earnest face many of the congregation may have painfully remembered in their lost sons and brothers. In this example, Lazarus has been made a representative of a generation of men who were martyrs to the safety of the land. The wish for resurrection that the Lazarus story embodies, in its placement by the altar, announces its longing for a return of the dead as fervently awaited as the resurrection promised by Christ in his sacrifice.