The Isenheim Altarpiece by Matthias Grunewald, is one of
my favourite depictions of Christ’s death and resurrection. It has, I believe, especial
relevance during this season of Coronavirus.
The piece hung originally in a mediaeval German hospital chapel, where patients could meditate on the central image. The Christ figure is twisted, writhing in agony. But particularly important were his green, putrefying, puss-filled, feet, which illustrated the symptoms of the skin diseases these inmates experienced. Here they could really sense that Christ had borne all things for them (Isa. 53.4-5).
The piece hung originally in a mediaeval German hospital chapel, where patients could meditate on the central image. The Christ figure is twisted, writhing in agony. But particularly important were his green, putrefying, puss-filled, feet, which illustrated the symptoms of the skin diseases these inmates experienced. Here they could really sense that Christ had borne all things for them (Isa. 53.4-5).
Christ here identifies with us in all our brokenness and
sickness, including therefore Covid19. Further, I heard Cardinal Nichols say
that crucifixion caused death by asphyxiation, which is how people die of the
virus. But above this, the portrayal of the resurrection is majestic, as Christ
rises incandescent from the tomb, thereby giving hope to all who contemplated
the image: thus combining the two aspects of Easter, death and life.
The problem with Western understanding of the resurrection, however, is that we’ve made it into a symbol of generalised religious ‘truth’, rather than the specific space-time event. Here, Easter coincides with Spring, and so we’ve combined the cross and tomb, with symbols of new life: rabbits, daffodils, eggs. This threatens to turn our faith into a sentimental reproduction of our pre-christian pagan nature religions: merely celebrating a spiritual truth about rebirth, a cyclical story of seasons, rather than a brutal interruption of natural cycles by violent execution and triumphant resurrection, wholly un-natural.
Another means whereby the resurrection is unjustifiably mainstreamed, in many sermons, especially during emergencies like ours, is that it becomes a sign of hope and optimism: that life always arises from death. The specific story of Christ’s own resurrection is turned into an illustration of a ‘wider truth’, which supports the liberal narrative of progress. But, let’s be honest: life doesn’t always follow death, nor does hope always win. It is the resurrection of Christ per se, the first-born from the dead (Col. 1.18), which heralds the new heaven and earth, where there is no more suffering or sickness.
Otherwise it’s turned into simple mythology, picture-stories to build hope, but separated from the actual historical events. While it is, like ‘myth’, a story-with-meaning, it’s also historical. C. S. Lewis, for instance, conceded, countering James Frazer’s arguments in “The Golden Bough”, that there were many myths of dying and rising gods, usually part of agricultural fertility cults. But in Christ, he asserted, myth became historical fact; the aspirations of these religions paradoxically fulfilled in him.
The ‘Christ Event’, as Paul Tillich termed Jesus’ entire life, was the turning point of history. Marxist philosophers, Alain Badiou and Slavoj Zizek, have written extensively about the concept of the ‘Event’. That is, a decisive happening, which changes everything. Locating this in the French and Russian Revolutions, they nevertheless admit the Resurrection is (at least conceptually) the ‘Event’ par excellence.
And that is why Christ Risen rightly wears the corona: Spanish for ‘crown’!
The problem with Western understanding of the resurrection, however, is that we’ve made it into a symbol of generalised religious ‘truth’, rather than the specific space-time event. Here, Easter coincides with Spring, and so we’ve combined the cross and tomb, with symbols of new life: rabbits, daffodils, eggs. This threatens to turn our faith into a sentimental reproduction of our pre-christian pagan nature religions: merely celebrating a spiritual truth about rebirth, a cyclical story of seasons, rather than a brutal interruption of natural cycles by violent execution and triumphant resurrection, wholly un-natural.
Another means whereby the resurrection is unjustifiably mainstreamed, in many sermons, especially during emergencies like ours, is that it becomes a sign of hope and optimism: that life always arises from death. The specific story of Christ’s own resurrection is turned into an illustration of a ‘wider truth’, which supports the liberal narrative of progress. But, let’s be honest: life doesn’t always follow death, nor does hope always win. It is the resurrection of Christ per se, the first-born from the dead (Col. 1.18), which heralds the new heaven and earth, where there is no more suffering or sickness.
Otherwise it’s turned into simple mythology, picture-stories to build hope, but separated from the actual historical events. While it is, like ‘myth’, a story-with-meaning, it’s also historical. C. S. Lewis, for instance, conceded, countering James Frazer’s arguments in “The Golden Bough”, that there were many myths of dying and rising gods, usually part of agricultural fertility cults. But in Christ, he asserted, myth became historical fact; the aspirations of these religions paradoxically fulfilled in him.
The ‘Christ Event’, as Paul Tillich termed Jesus’ entire life, was the turning point of history. Marxist philosophers, Alain Badiou and Slavoj Zizek, have written extensively about the concept of the ‘Event’. That is, a decisive happening, which changes everything. Locating this in the French and Russian Revolutions, they nevertheless admit the Resurrection is (at least conceptually) the ‘Event’ par excellence.
And that is why Christ Risen rightly wears the corona: Spanish for ‘crown’!
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