Beholder Be Held
A reflection on the Church’s exegesis of Icons outside the Liturgy
October 2012
"Behold the man!" It is with these words that Christ is offered to be crucified in the Gospels and with these same words that humanity encounters the archetype of her intended and restored nature.
This past Sunday I joined the mission parish of St Silouan the Athonite in the pro-life LifeChain event in Toronto. Instead of sensational anti-abortion banners that characterize solidarity events, the parish asks each participant to choose a name from a list to write on a cardboard sign. The only message that is shared to inquirers is that the names written in bold black letters on the plain cardboard sign, are names given to the parish by the parents of aborted children for prayer and for this particular event.
When I think of the entire event I wonder if there is a contribution to the greater political or social issue, or if perhaps another more profound statement is being presented and offered. An iconological movement that addresses not only the identity of the children we remember, but the humanity of each and every person in the city.
There are questions though: Are names on paper iconographic? What about when a person holds a photograph? What is being stated when a Church stands publicly for a social issue? What are the criteria for doing so? Why should or shouldn't a Church participate? What does such participation say about the Church? About God? About humanity?
When I look at the 13th century fresco of the Theotokos Enthroned in the Monastery of St Anthony in Egypt, I wonder if a similar movement might be presented for those who behold and are beheld by the dialogue created in the iconological encounter.
The wall icon layers attributes of enthronement from the lower register to the higher register. Theotokos is enthroned and in the central quadrant, Christ Himself is enthroned on her.
To my modern eyes, I’m drawn to how relevant such an icon is to the experience of Sunday’s event which iconologically extends the liturgical witness of the Church on the streets and into the hearts of the people of Toronto. (Are not all things inherently liturgical when we the Church take up the Cross and live the liturgy?)
I look at the icon and see not only Christ enthroned on the Theotokos, but echoes of His glory of Him in the womb. When I behold this icon do I leap as St John the Baptist leaps? Does the icon tell us something about this throne which is also a cross? Do I truly remember? Do I see the echoes encoded in the image and lived out by the Church?
The fresco has mimetic resonance on a different plane if we read the icon according to circular patterning that implies outward flow from the two dimensional plane. Christ is encircled by the Theotokos, her arms cup the outlines of Christ’s mandorla. Theotokos is encircled by a throne, she is in the ‘womb’ of heaven, encircled by an object that is granted it’s royal status by Christ who she holds. The throne is encircled by the icon frame, the pillars of a place or Church. At this point the icon extends in the same way the liturgy extends outward from the liturgical encounter. The icon is on a wall, encircled by the Church, encircled by the monks, the liturgy and congregation. The monastery, by being within the created universe is encircled by that universe, ad infinitum.
This reading of concentricity brings the beholder into the space, the sphere of the icon in order to illumine the core. As much as the icon suggests ever expanding outward circles, the core remains the hieratic basis for the subsequent narrative experience outside the immediate circle of the icon. The icon calls attention to the inner most constant, the inner-most basis for what it means to be enthroned and royal. This draws the inner movement of all the universe to look, to “behold the Child” (Luke 2:34): the smallest apex, the smallest figure in the concentric layers of enthronement, Who is He who cannot be contained.
It is by holding the Creator that the Theotokos is actually being held. We can think of the Anastasis icon that depicts Christ holding Adam and Eve, pulling them from the grave. By holding we are called to behold. We behold and yet we are touched. Theotokos is holding Christ saying simultaneously, “behold the Child” and “behold the Man.” The same is perhaps the Cross’ proclamation, and every subsequent Icon that depicts Christ. He is fully human and fully divine and He is enthroned on matter because He has taken flesh, and through that kenotic movement has shown us what it means to be fully human, what it means to be enthroned, what it means to be borne on a cross, what it means for humanity’s relationship with God.
Theotokos holds Christ, perhaps asking the viewer to remember and enter into this circle of embrace, of her embrace, where Christ embraces us. As her hands touch His feet in the icon, so are we called to recognize the immense irony of humanity meeting the Divine One, that His creation is restored to her rightful and royal place because He condescended in her most fragile form. The Archetype enters into the very core of the type in order to transform, raise and affirm the type. Personhood is made clearer in contrast to the Person, Theanthropos, the Child, the Man.
Perhaps such an icon can also be the archetype of one parish’s liturgical movement outside the Liturgy. That the encounter of Christ within the Liturgy extends the circle of enthronement to all creation. So when one writes the name of an aborted child to be remembered, one not only includes that child within the circle of the community but one becomes included in the narrative of that child who is now enthroned by the community of the Enthroned One. Perhaps Christ’s kenosis, Christ's Cross, Christ's Death and Resurrection is echoed in the affirmation and remembrance of these children who represent the weakest, the most silent, most powerless who are revealed as the most powerful of voices.
We stand holding the name of a person. Behold.
A reflection on the Church’s exegesis of Icons outside the Liturgy
October 2012
"Behold the man!" It is with these words that Christ is offered to be crucified in the Gospels and with these same words that humanity encounters the archetype of her intended and restored nature.
This past Sunday I joined the mission parish of St Silouan the Athonite in the pro-life LifeChain event in Toronto. Instead of sensational anti-abortion banners that characterize solidarity events, the parish asks each participant to choose a name from a list to write on a cardboard sign. The only message that is shared to inquirers is that the names written in bold black letters on the plain cardboard sign, are names given to the parish by the parents of aborted children for prayer and for this particular event.
When I think of the entire event I wonder if there is a contribution to the greater political or social issue, or if perhaps another more profound statement is being presented and offered. An iconological movement that addresses not only the identity of the children we remember, but the humanity of each and every person in the city.
There are questions though: Are names on paper iconographic? What about when a person holds a photograph? What is being stated when a Church stands publicly for a social issue? What are the criteria for doing so? Why should or shouldn't a Church participate? What does such participation say about the Church? About God? About humanity?
When I look at the 13th century fresco of the Theotokos Enthroned in the Monastery of St Anthony in Egypt, I wonder if a similar movement might be presented for those who behold and are beheld by the dialogue created in the iconological encounter.
The wall icon layers attributes of enthronement from the lower register to the higher register. Theotokos is enthroned and in the central quadrant, Christ Himself is enthroned on her.
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| Theotokos Enthroned, 13th Century, 949 AM (1232-1233 AD), Monastery of St Anthony the Great, Red Sea, Egypt |
I look at the icon and see not only Christ enthroned on the Theotokos, but echoes of His glory of Him in the womb. When I behold this icon do I leap as St John the Baptist leaps? Does the icon tell us something about this throne which is also a cross? Do I truly remember? Do I see the echoes encoded in the image and lived out by the Church?
The fresco has mimetic resonance on a different plane if we read the icon according to circular patterning that implies outward flow from the two dimensional plane. Christ is encircled by the Theotokos, her arms cup the outlines of Christ’s mandorla. Theotokos is encircled by a throne, she is in the ‘womb’ of heaven, encircled by an object that is granted it’s royal status by Christ who she holds. The throne is encircled by the icon frame, the pillars of a place or Church. At this point the icon extends in the same way the liturgy extends outward from the liturgical encounter. The icon is on a wall, encircled by the Church, encircled by the monks, the liturgy and congregation. The monastery, by being within the created universe is encircled by that universe, ad infinitum.
This reading of concentricity brings the beholder into the space, the sphere of the icon in order to illumine the core. As much as the icon suggests ever expanding outward circles, the core remains the hieratic basis for the subsequent narrative experience outside the immediate circle of the icon. The icon calls attention to the inner most constant, the inner-most basis for what it means to be enthroned and royal. This draws the inner movement of all the universe to look, to “behold the Child” (Luke 2:34): the smallest apex, the smallest figure in the concentric layers of enthronement, Who is He who cannot be contained.
It is by holding the Creator that the Theotokos is actually being held. We can think of the Anastasis icon that depicts Christ holding Adam and Eve, pulling them from the grave. By holding we are called to behold. We behold and yet we are touched. Theotokos is holding Christ saying simultaneously, “behold the Child” and “behold the Man.” The same is perhaps the Cross’ proclamation, and every subsequent Icon that depicts Christ. He is fully human and fully divine and He is enthroned on matter because He has taken flesh, and through that kenotic movement has shown us what it means to be fully human, what it means to be enthroned, what it means to be borne on a cross, what it means for humanity’s relationship with God.
Theotokos holds Christ, perhaps asking the viewer to remember and enter into this circle of embrace, of her embrace, where Christ embraces us. As her hands touch His feet in the icon, so are we called to recognize the immense irony of humanity meeting the Divine One, that His creation is restored to her rightful and royal place because He condescended in her most fragile form. The Archetype enters into the very core of the type in order to transform, raise and affirm the type. Personhood is made clearer in contrast to the Person, Theanthropos, the Child, the Man.
Perhaps such an icon can also be the archetype of one parish’s liturgical movement outside the Liturgy. That the encounter of Christ within the Liturgy extends the circle of enthronement to all creation. So when one writes the name of an aborted child to be remembered, one not only includes that child within the circle of the community but one becomes included in the narrative of that child who is now enthroned by the community of the Enthroned One. Perhaps Christ’s kenosis, Christ's Cross, Christ's Death and Resurrection is echoed in the affirmation and remembrance of these children who represent the weakest, the most silent, most powerless who are revealed as the most powerful of voices.
We stand holding the name of a person. Behold.
