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Adult Forum in the Home Visual Exegesis: The Emmaus Story Proclaimed in Art

https://www.omsc.org/artist-he-qi He Qi is a Chinese Christian artist who was converted to Christianity, in part by a 16th century painting of the Madonna and Child by Italian artist, Raphael. Anything that beautiful, he thought, must have something behind it. (Raphael died 500 years ago this Holy Week, on 6 April 1520.) He Qi became a professor of Christian Art at Nanjing Theological Seminary. He moved to the USA in 2004. His portrayal of The Risen Lord (an artist’s proof of which hangs above our fireplace) was used as the stage backdrop at the 1997 Lutheran World Federation 9th Assembly in Hong Kong. He Qi’s depiction of the meal at Emmaus is reprinted on page 89 of Evangelical Lutheran Worship.

The Road to Emmaus by He Qi

Take a look at it the next time you sit in a pew at Trillium and pull out the worship book. It’s the frontispiece for the section of ELW’s ten liturgies of Holy Communion. At the left is that same image used as the worship backdrop to the ELCA Assembly held in 2007 with Presiding Bishop Mark Hanson preaching. To view more of He Qi’s biblical art visit his web site at https://www.heqiart.com/ or Google “He

Qi Biblical Art” or ask to borrow my copy of his coffee table book of biblical art. Another article about He Qi may be found at http://www.bu.edu/cgcm/annual-theme/an-image-

of-world-christianity/

“Exegesis” means interpretation. It’s usually applied to Bible words. “Visual exegesis” invites visual art to interpret Bible texts. Let’s go.

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In writing a sermon on the Emmaus story years ago, at a pastor’s conference in Jerusalem, I had the “Ah-ha moment!” that Cleopas’ unnamed companion may have been “Mrs. Cleopas” because so many female characters in Scripture are not named (e.g. the Samaritan woman at the well, the bleeding woman who touches the hem of Jesus’ robe, the abused and dismembered concubine in Judges 19 [one of the most graphic and horrifying stories in the Bible], Noah’s wife [no she was not named Joan of Ark] and many more.)

What other unnamed women in the Bible can you name? In writing my sermon for this Sunday, I came upon a new-to-me visual exegesis resource that precisely explores Cleopas’ companion as his wife, “Mary wife of Clopas” named in the Passion According to St. John (19:25b). It includes a spectacular collection of art with that theme, including one of my favorite icons. Let’s start with that one. (But here’s the full article for you, found at: https://artandtheology.org/2017/04/28/the-unnamed-emmaus-disciple-mary-wife-of-cleopas/#more-5018 )

When a story is told in iconography, it is quite common to have multiple scenes exist in juxtaposition within the same image. Here, we see Jesus and the two disciples walking along amid mountainous terrain on the left, and the same individuals seated around the evening table at Emmaus on the right. The overall background and border of the icon is covered (in the original) with gold leaf. Gold is used in icons to represent the divine light of God’s revelation, chosen because of its value, freedom from tarnish, and its metallic ability to enrich and transform light in a manner so different from pigment. The words written at the top of the icon are an unusual translation of Luke 24:32. Jesus is dressed in classic ancient Greek robes, a tunic of red, symbolic of His humanity and His blood sacrificed for us, covered by a robe of dark blue, symbolic of the heavenly mystery of His divinity.

The Road to Emmaus by Sr. Marie-Paul Farran, OSB

On his right sleeve is a band of mixed red and gold threads, an ancient Byzantine symbol of royalty and signifying Christ’s role as King of the Universe. Jesus’ head is surrounded by a gold halo inscribed with a cross and the Greek letters omega, omicron, and nu. They spell “ho on” Greek for “Who Am,” the name of God used in Exodus 3:14. The halo is used in iconography to indicate sanctity, and only Christ’s is inscribed with a cross. On the left, Jesus holds a scroll,

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symbolizing the Word of God which He is communicating to the disciples. On the right, He breaks the bread as He prepares to share it with them. The background scenery is rather crudely drawn and lacking in detail. This is deliberately done in icons to focus the viewer’s attention on the important aspects of the story. The furniture in the scene on the right is also represented in rather schematic form. In fact, the stool Jesus is seated upon appears to have shorter legs in front than in back. Rather than employing the more realistic technique of perspective drawing, iconographers frequently use “inverse perspective” to draw the viewer into the scene. By the time that Luke wrote his Gospel sometime between 63 and 80 AD, the liturgy of the Eucharist was well developed and this story has an obvious parallel with it – an explanation of scripture followed by the Eucharistic meal. The disciple’s eyes were opened to the reality of the Risen Christ with the breaking of the bread (Luke 24:35). About the Iconographer: Near the summit of the Mount of Olives, overlooking Temple Mount in the heart of ancient Jerusalem, is a small convent of French-speaking Benedictine nuns. They are self-supporting like all Benedictine communities. Their work is of two kinds: they provide room and board for young girls who attend convent schools in Jerusalem and they write beautiful icons. Their master iconographer is Sister Marie-Paul, born in Egypt of Palestinian and Italian descent. She paints in the Byzantine style, following faithfully the ancient patterns and colors. The other nuns in her community help with the less exacting parts of the work, preparing wood panels and applying gold leaf. Sister Marie-Paul’s icons may be found in churches and individual collections all over the world. Copyrights have been assigned to Editions Choisir of Geneva, Switzerland and the Printery House is the exclusive printer and distributor for reproductions in the U.S.A. [The Printery House, Conception Abbey, Conception, Missouri 64433 USA Phone (800) 322 2737 www.printeryhouse.org ] Full confession: that’s all from the brochure that came with my icon.

Father John Giuliani is a Roman Catholic priest, artist, icon writer and founder of Benedictine Grange, a small monastic community in West Redding, Connecticut. Here is his rendering of Emmaus imaging Jesus, Cleopas and Mary as Quechua peasants of the Peruvian Andes. How does that shift of culture influence your understanding of the story? What does the focus on the hands say to you? Note how Cleopas and Mary’s eyes are just opening as the Risen Christ breaks the bread.

Emmaus by John Giuliani

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Giuliana is well known for icons of Biblical characters depicted as native North Americans [ for some examples visit https://www.pinterest.ca/rodemyer/john-giuliani-icons/ ]

At the left is Giuliana’s First Nations Trinity – the Creator as the great Grandfather, the Savior as a young warrior and the Holy Spirit as a thunderbird. He explains his passion for depicting holy people as First Nations people: As a Catholic priest and son of Italian immigrants I bear the

religious and ethnic burden of ancestral crimes perpetrated on the

first inhabitants of the Americas. Many have been converted to

Christianity, but in doing so some find it difficult to retain their

indigenous culture. My intent, therefore, in depicting Christian

saints as Native Americans is to honor them and to acknowledge

their original spiritual presence on this land. It is this original

Native American spirituality that I attempt to celebrate in rendering

the beauty and excellence of their craft as well as the dignity of their

persons.

For a brief biography, and the quote just above, visit: https://www.hillstream.com/artist/john-giuliani

Supper at Yummaus by Barry Motes What happens when the biblical image is transported to the contemporary setting of a North American mall’s food court? Breaking of bread with burger and fries? What ethnicity is the “stranger Jesus” in this oil painting and what does it represent? Where is his meal? How do the greying couple regard their guest? What is the testimony of the red-aproned server in the background? [Visit http://jbmotesart.com/ and click on “Sacred Stories”.]

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Austrian artist, Alfred Hrdlicka, and the Evangelisches Gemeindezentrum Plötzensee in Berlin

One more contemporary image of Emmaus. Maundy Thursday this year, 9 April, was the 75th anniversary of the execution of German Lutheran Pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer. In anticipation of that anniversary, I finally got around to reading Eric Metaxas’ biography, Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy which I bought years ago. Bonhoeffer was hanged the morning of 9 April 1945 at the Flossenburg concentration camp because of his conspiracy in a plot to assassinate Adolph Hitler. The story of his journey from altar and pulpit to gallows winds its way past Plötzensee Prison in Berlin where some of his co-conspirators were executed. About 15 years ago I wrote an article on visual exegesis within four churches entitled, Pictures that Show Death and Yet Mean Life: Resurrection Art in Liturgical Space. One of the four was the church built beside that prison which contains an astonishing painting of the Emmaus supper. Let me quote part of it.

[This gets long. Take a break and get a cup of coffee or tea. Then read on.]

At that time in Germany there was a division within the Church. Some sided with the

ruling Nazi authorities while others established an opposition Confessing Church that sought to

confront Nazi rule by confessing and elevating the Reign of Christ. Amidst the tyranny of the

Third Reich, they knew that to pray, Deine Reich komme, in the Lord’s Prayer referred not to

Hitler’s Third Reich but to the Reign of Christ. It was not exceptional for members of this

Confessing Church to be arrested, confined and later to be delivered to the Plöltzensee prison and

there to be executed. Did these people take with them, I wonder: memorized Bible verses? their

Confirmation lessons? Scriptural witnesses to the resurrection?

Ironically, like a medieval cathedral floor plan, the prison was in the shape of a cross. It

was built between 1869 and 1879. “The buildings were designed according to what was known

as a panoptic system; the cell blocks formed a cross-shaped structure with wings extending

outward from a central core from which each floor was visible.”1 The method of execution for

prisoners sentenced to death was hanging or beheading. Behind the gallows in the execution

room were two, tall windows through which one could see the outside world: freedom, trees

swaying in the breeze, birds winging their way heavenward, singing. Inside the room was torture

and death. The windows look like they belong in a church not a place of execution.

Accordingly, chaplains were on hand for pastoral care to the condemned prisoners.

At the 1997 Association of International Churches in Europe and the Middle East Pastors

and Spouses Conference, hosted by the American Church in Berlin, we visited the prison and

stood in silent sorrow in the execution room where memorial bouquets rested by red, englassed

cemetery candles. After the visit, we took a short walk to a modern church located near the

Plötzensee prison memorial site. Despite the protestations often heard that “We didn’t know

what was going on!” the locals of Plötzensee knew what was happening in this prison. They

knew it was an execution site for opponents of the Nazi authorities.

1 Brigitte Oleschinski, Plötzensee Memorial Center, Berlin: German Resistance Memorial Center, 1996, p. 6.

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Built in 1968-1970, the church is the newest of three churches in the district. The church

building committee engaged an Austrian artist, Alfred Hrdlicka, to design the interior of the

church. Hrdlicka was born in Vienna in 1928. Since 1971, he has been a professor at der

Akademie der bildenden Künste in Stuttgart. (He died in 2009.)

The artistic courage of Hrdlicka was extraordinary. For he clearly took inspiration from

the near-by prison. But he also took inspiration from the 14th century form of Totentanz – “The

Dance of Death” – the art form that arose out of the epidemic of plague that haunted medieval

Europe.

Hrdlicka created 16 black on white Totentaz panels that surround the worship space of

the church. They are astonishingly strong and enlarge the Plötenzee context of political

execution to violence against women and genocide of indigenous cultures along with the death of

political opponents. The panels culminate in an Emmaus / Resurrection image. Let the artist

himself describe these 16 panels:

Panel 1: Cain and Abel, the fratricide, the first man who kills another man.

Panel 2: Death in Boxing Ring – The 20th century also has its gladiators….

Panel 3: Death in Show-business -- Death and the girl is a medieval symbol for the

transiency of life….

Panel 4 & 5: Death of the Demonstrator – that conscious striving for new political and

social ideas still involves great personal risks.

Panel 6: Death of a Minority – Dying of the Indians. Their “Final Solution” has

become a matter of course for us.

Panel 7, 8, 9 & 10: Beheading of John the Baptist and Mass Execution in Plötzensee;

the Guillotine. The beheading of John the Baptist is contrasted with the

death of an anonymous prisoner with the guillotine.

Panel 11, 12, 13: Thief to the right, The Crucified, Thief to the left. Golgotha. Not

seen from historic distance, but placed directly into our time.

Panels 14-16: Emmaus – Communion – Easter -- On the same side as the crucifixion

are three panels, still in the shed of Plötzensee, which show the miracle of

the presence of the Resurrected. The prisoners here are the disciples of

Emmaus who recognize their Lord because He breaks the bread with

them. This ‘Lord’ is a prisoner as they are, whose illuminated figure does

not receive its light from the shed’s windows – which in some dreadful

way resemble church windows – but rather as a secret, which He bears in

Himself and which also illuminates the bald-headed prisoner at the left

who is being led away by a morose figure.”2

It was those last six panels that stunned me and arrested my attention when I first saw

them. I literally staggered to a pew to sit down and gaze at them. They have a visceral strength

and power that is remarkable. I marveled at the courage of the artist who envisioned them within

2 Excerpts from a leaflet of the parish. Translation into English by the Protestant Service of Visitor’s Reception and

Information.

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worship space as well as the congregation that lived with them Sunday after Sunday after Sunday

in this liturgical space.

Here the Risen Christ is juxtaposed to the horror and scandal of crucifixion. Panels 11,

12 and 13 each bear the image of a corpse hanging from the butcher hooks of the execution

room. The “church windows” are visible in the background. At the center is Jesus, with a crown

of thorns; he hangs naked, slumped in death from the meat hooks. A soldier/jailer stabs a

bayonet into Jesus’ ribs. This painting is the embodiment of an El Salvadoran Agnus Dei we

often sing at the Lutheran Church of Geneva on Good Friday, Vos Sos El Destazado en la Cruz –

You’re the butchered one hung on the cross.

Vos sos el destazado en la cruz You’re the butchered one hung on the cross,

Que has vencido la maldad del mundo who has vanquished the power of evil,

Denunciando al injusto opresor, all oppression denounced as unjust,

Levantando del polvo a los pobres. raising up from the dust all the poor ones.

Te pedimos que nos oigas, Now we beg you that you listen,

Que escuches el clamor de tu pueblo to the clamoring cry of your people.

Vos sos el destazado en la cruz You’re the butchered one hung on the cross,

Masacrado por los poderosos; massacred by the wealthy and powerful,

Hoy deramas tu sangre también and in our day your blood is still shed

En la sangre de nuestro caídos. in the blood of our friends who have fallen.

Te pedimos que nos oigas, Now we beg you that you listen,

Que escuches el clamor de tu pueblo to the clamoring cry of your people.

Vos sos el destazado en la cruz You’re the butchered one hung on the cross,

Que construyes la paz con justicia; yet you build a new peace filled with justice.

Ayudanos a no desmayar, Give us strength so that we should not faint

A luchar por que venga tu Reino in the struggle for your coming kingdom.

Que tu paz llegue a nosotros Then your peace will come surround us,

Cuando hagamos brotar la justicia. When we bring forth the new branch of

justice.3

On either side of Jesus two naked thieves hang from the meat hooks. They seem more

alive as prison guards attend to them. A guard on the right raises a hammer toward the thief. At

the foot of the central panel is a skull of death, often a symbol of Adam and Eden’s tree of death

that is conquered by Golgotha’s tree of life, as the Eucharistic preface for the passion proclaims:

“…who on the tree of the cross gave salvation to all, that, where death began, there life might be

restored, and that he, who by a tree once overcame, might by a tree be overcome.”4

3 Guillermo Cuéllar: Misa Popular Salvadoreña. English translation by Terry MacArthur.

4 Lutheran Book of Worship Minister’s Desk Edition (Minneapolis: Augsburg Publishing House, 1978), p. 212.

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Panels 14, 15 and 16 image the Risen Christ seated, and

clothed, framed by the church windows of the execution chamber.

The scene portrays a group of people, probably men, wearing the

striped clothing of concentration camp inmates. To the left of the

scene, a uniformed guard is taking one of the men away – the

shaved head of the detainee is illumined while the capped head of

the guard is the focal point of darkness in the scene. Light enters

the scene from the two tall church windows. And yet there is

another source of light. At the table the light comes not from the

windows in the background, but rather the light seems to emanate

from, and illumine the Christ figure, the light of the world. The

bread in his hands is darker, harder to make out, as if to signify the

mystery of the Eucharist.

Is the illumination from the Christ prisoner himself? Is the light prismed from the

breaking the bread? Is the light from the broken bread, or transfigured from the face of the one

who fractures the loaf? Is it from the community of the condemned gathered around the meal

and the risen one? Is it all of the above? As I sat there, stunned by the art, it seemed that the

resurrected one was/is the light (John 1:4-5; Revelation 21:23-24). Or, perhaps the light images

the lightning flash, that pre-disappearance moment of the Risen Christ at the Emmaus table

before he vanishes from their sight, like the prisoner being led away to the left. At what might

the person in worship marvel, or pray, being left alone before such a poignant moment of loss

and hope, within such a crossroads context of past, present and future?

The Christ figure at Plötzensee is one of them: past, present and future. He has a shaved

head and wears prison garb. Whereas the Issenheim patients contended with their present state

of illness, these worshippers at Plötzensee contend with their past and collective guilt as well as

their thirst for justice and righteousness. In the Gospel accounts, the Risen Christ joined the

frightened disciples in the locked upper room, where they had gathered for fear of the Judeans.

Yet, here in the Plötzensee church, the images are multivalent, merged – the Risen Christ joins

his followers in the locked room of the prison; he stands with them in their fear, now not so

much of the Jews but of those who wish to slaughter all the Jews. He is the image of peace

amidst their fear, life within their death, hope in spite of locked prison cells and execution

chambers – and he feeds them with the bread of life. The artistic light scatters all the darkness as

the bread is broken by the crucified and risen one.

This prison/Emmaus painting is situated in a

sanctuary. For most of the assembly, its location in

the worship space is visually just beyond the altar.

As the worshipper stands before the altar, she would

look at the presiding minister who raises the loaf and

just beyond she would see the painting of Christ at

Emmaus. It may seem to her the joyful, burning heart

consummation of Cleopas’ lamentation “we had

hoped”. [The Emmaus Meal panel is directly above

the altar in the sight-line of this photo.]

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The Emmaus scene is depicted as a small

gathering at that meal – Cleopas, his companion

and Jesus. Thus, the scene may convey another

message to the worshiping community, for

German churches are well known for their

echoing empty spaces these days. Might this

image communicate in a special way to the small

gatherings that take place from time to time in

such churches -- not only the hope of

resurrection, but the hope that where two or three

gather in Jesus’ name he is present to them?

Might it offer the hope that their hearts might

burn within them too, like the two disciples that

day on the road to Emmaus? Might their own

assembly, even today, have others to whom to

run and declare their Good News that Christ is risen and has appeared to them in the breaking of

bread? For the Plötzensee Totendanz is not only an artistic representation of the resurrection – it

is. It is literal and real as “a visual resurrection proclamation” as it surrounds and embraces the

Christian community which gathers weekly in poignant, painful proximity to death, in order to

celebrate life, to confess its grim historic past and to proclaim Christ’s promise of forgiveness

and an alternative future of hope.

A brochure in the church offers a

remarkable description of the power

these paintings have on a visitor:

A day in summer. Conversing with

young people on the church grounds.

A black Rolls Royce pulls up. An

Anglican priest comes and points to

the large concrete cross and asks, if

there is a church here. Yes. His

bishop would like to know if he could

come.

Exterior of the Plötzensee Church

Of course. So he was in our church over an hour, Bishop John of Croyden. Went silently from

picture to picture. Measured the perspectives of the room. Meditated. Said a prayer. And in

parting, quietly and shyly, not like a bishop, but as a brother: he knew Dietrich Bonhoeffer.

Thank you. Many come in groups or alone. Accompanied by the Visitors’ Information Service

or by themselves, purposefully seeking out the picture of Hrdlicka which they have heard of

somewhere between Hamburg and Stuttgart, Hanover and Munich or further away in Vienna

and even beyond. For the Plötzensee Dance of Death is both an unparalleled challenge and

invitation. Especially in this room, which was built as a sanctuary. The congregation gathers

here. To hear, to sing, to pray. A laborious act in our time, encumbered and yet full of hope.

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Not because of the pictures, that show death and yet mean life, no, because of the people

themselves. Whoever may come, he is welcome.

Just as everyone is welcome in every church, who is burdened beyond strength or somewhere

still lodges a spark of hope that life is worth living and full of wonder, although the terrible

reality of death surrounds us. So this church with its unique pictures and its wholly different

design is basically just a place where people can come together, under Word and Sacrament.

Indeed, not far from the other place, where a generation ago such dreadful dying took place.

And close to the place where life must be lived between summer houses with garden plots and

high-rise apartment complexes, the approximate intersection of Westhafen (harbor), Tegel

Airport and the Charlottenburg castle.5

5 The text is taken from an undated mimeographed interpretive sheet on the visitors’ table at the church.