Since the Passover of the Jews was near,
Jesus went up to Jerusalem.
He found in the temple area those who sold oxen, sheep, and doves,
as well as the money-changers seated there.
He made a whip out of cords
and drove them all out of the temple area, with the sheep and oxen,
and spilled the coins of the money-changers
and overturned their tables,
and to those who sold doves he said,
“Take these out of here,
and stop making my Father’s house a marketplace.”
His disciples recalled the words of Scripture,
Zeal for your house will consume me.
At this the Jews answered and said to him,
“What sign can you show us for doing this?”
Jesus answered and said to them,
“Destroy this temple and in three days I will raise it up.”
The Jews said,
“This temple has been under construction for forty-six years,
and you will raise it up in three days?”
But he was speaking about the temple of his Body.
Therefore, when he was raised from the dead,
his disciples remembered that he had said this,
and they came to believe the Scripture
and the word Jesus had spoken.
El Greco painted several versions of this scene. Here we see an early one before 1570, now in Washington DC, and one in his mature Mannerist style from about 1600, now in London.
From the NGA website:
“In this tempestuous scene, El Greco depicted an angry Christ driving the moneychangers from the Temple. An uncommon theme, it became increasingly popular in the latter half of the sixteenth century, promoted by the Council of Trent as a symbol of the Catholic church’s attempt to purify itself after the Protestant Reformation. Here El Greco portrayed partially draped women and bare-chested men writhing and twisting to escape the blows of Christ’s scourge, emphasizing the agitation of the participants and exaggerating their irreverence. The setting is one of classical grandeur, more reminiscent of an Italian Renaissance palace than of the sacred precincts of the Temple in Jerusalem.
This panel was painted in Venice before El Greco made his way to Spain. The illusionistic space and voluptuous figures in this early work are vastly different from the flattened space and stylized forms of Byzantine art, which continued to dominate painting in El Greco’s native Crete. El Greco’s arrival in Venice, in about 1567, coincided with a high point in that city’s artistic achievement. That the Cretan artist had absorbed the influence of the Venetian masters and taught himself a new way of painting is evident in the movement and drama, solidly modeled figures, and boldly brushed colors of this panel. The influence of the Venetians is equally evident in the elaborate architectural setting with its complicated perspective.”
And from the London Museum:
“In the time of Christ, the porch of the Temple in Jerusalem accommodated a market for buying sacrificial animals and changing money. Christ drove out the traders, saying, ‘It is written “My house shall be called a house of prayer”; but you make it a den of thieves.’ (Matthew 20). This episode is known as the Purification of the Temple.
The picture is dominated by the figure of Christ, poised to unleash his whip. On the left are the traders and on the right are the Apostles. In the 16th century the subject of the Purification of the Temple was used as a symbol of the Church’s need to cleanse itself both through the condemnation of heresy and through internal reform.
The reliefs in the background allude to the themes of punishment and deliverance. On the left Adam and Eve‘s expulsion from Paradise prefigures the Purification of the Temple, and on the right, the Sacrifice of Isaac prefigures Christ’s death as the source of redemption.
El Greco painted the subject several times throughout his career, both in Italy and in Spain. This version, with its strong colours and elongated forms, was probably painted in Toledo in about 1600.”
For an article on El Greco’s several versions, click here.
With this reading I was reminded of the recent attempts by Pope Francis to reform the Vatican’s finances as well as his critique of the excesses of capitalism. May the Lord bless and protect the holy Father in his attempts to cleanse the Temple!
As Jesus was leaving Jericho with his disciples and a sizable crowd,
Bartimaeus, a blind man, the son of Timaeus,
sat by the roadside begging.
On hearing that it was Jesus of Nazareth,
he began to cry out and say,
“Jesus, son of David, have pity on me.”
And many rebuked him, telling him to be silent.
But he kept calling out all the more,
“Son of David, have pity on me.”
Jesus stopped and said, “Call him.”
So they called the blind man, saying to him,
“Take courage; get up, Jesus is calling you.”
He threw aside his cloak, sprang up, and came to Jesus.
Jesus said to him in reply, “What do you want me to do for you?”
The blind man replied to him, “Master, I want to see.”
Jesus told him, “Go your way; your faith has saved you.”
Immediately he received his sight
and followed him on the way.
When the time for Pentecost was fulfilled, they were all in one place together. And suddenly there came from the sky a noise like a strong driving wind, and it filled the entire house in which they were. Then there appeared to them tongues as of fire, which parted and came to rest on each one of them. And they were all filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in different tongues, as the Spirit enabled them to proclaim.
In his later years Titian experimented slightly with a style from Rome known as Mannerism, which featured distortions of the human figure, bizarre colorations, flattened pictorial space, and an emphasis on sophistication rather than naturalism, but he never really abandoned his Venetian roots. El Greco, on the other hand, embraced Mannerism with a vengeance. Originally from Crete (hence his nickname, meaning “the Greek”) where he painted Eastern Orthodox icons, El Greco then studied painting in Venice and Rome and subsequently achieved success in Toledo, Spain. In this painting of Pentecost, we see all the hallmarks of El Greco’s highly distinctive style. The figures are unnaturally elongated, the colors are sulphurous, the composition is crowded with figures and has virtually no background apart from a few steps at the bottom and the arch above where the Holy Spirit descends. The space is compressed and flattened, which both pushes the figures outward and invites the viewer in. The two figures in the foreground, with their backs to us, seem near enough to touch, and their craning necks twisting upwards give one a slightly vertiginous feeling.
[I feel I should enter a caveat here about color. Images from books and the internet often vary wildly in their coloration both from each other and from the original. For instance, both the El Greco and the Titian images have example on websites whose colors are much brighter than the examples I used above. I’m not sure which images are truer to the original, having never seen them in their settings. There is no substitute for seeing the paintings in person!]
The painter Jean Restout came from a family of artists known for works on religious and historical subjects. He was nearly relegated to obscurity, but recent work by art historians to rehabilitate 18th century French history painters has revived his reputation somewhat, and several of his works are now on display in the Louvre. One reviewer describes his style as idiosyncratic, with animation and exaggerated poses in figures who are caught up in their turbulent drapery. You can see all of these qualities in this enormous rendition of Pentecost.
Finally, though not an image of the Pentecost event described in the book of Acts, we have the Throne of St. Peter from the Vatican, another stupendous concoction designed by the Baroque sculptor, Gian Lorenzo Bernini, which includes the dove image of the Holy Spirit. The bronze throne encases a much older wooden chair that tradition says was the actual chair of St. Peter, but that scientific testing and historical scholarship reasonably date to the 10th century. The chair represents the Pope’s office as the Bishop of Rome, the position that was first held by Peter, according to tradition. Bernini’s bronze chair seems to float on clouds and light and is held to earth by four bronze statues of doctors of the Church, Augustine, Ambrose, John Chrysostom and Athanasius. Above the throne, gilded rays, clouds and dancing angels surround the stained glass window with the dove of the Holy Spirit depicted in its center. The whole monument symbolizes that the Church is the completion of the mission of Christ and the Holy Spirit, to bring the faithful to share in communion with the Father. In addition to bestowing the Holy Spirit on those who believe and completing the Holy Trinity, the Pentecost event also signals the foundation of the Church, which is the body of Christ and the temple of the Holy Spirit.
At Pentecost the Church celebrates this fulfillment of the Holy Trinity, the event when, “of his fullness, Christ, the Lord, pours out the Spirit in abundance.” By this act, the love of God is poured into our hearts and makes it possible for us to bear the fruits of the Holy Spirit: love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, self-control. For St. Ambrose, the fourth century Church Father, the Holy Spirit was a flowing river that goes forth from the Fount of Life, while St. Augustine proclaimed that there is no gift of God more excellent than the Holy Spirit.
If you ever pray the Rosary, and like me you have difficulty meditating on the mysteries without a visual image to focus on, here are some examples you might consider for the Sorrowful Mysteries. Praying the beads as you ponder the events of the crucifixion is recommended by Pope Francis as a spiritual practice during Lent. I’m including these paintings with relevant scripture but without commentary so that your focus is the image itself, rather than the written word. The captions provide basic information about the paintings. For instructions on how to pray the Rosary, see here. Remember you can click on each image for a larger version, and some can be enlarged further with another click if a plus sign appears as your cursor. Continue reading