From the earliest days of the Roman Catholic
Church, Christian art has shown a strong symbolic element. One of the
periods richest in symbolism was the late second and third centuries.
During this period of early Christian art, frescoes found in catacombs and
household objects produced for religious patrons could only be interpreted
completely by "believers."
An example of this early symbolic art is the
use of the Good Shepherd as a way of representing Christ the Savior. A
non-believer would not understanding that the boy painted on the walls of
the catacombs with a lamb across his shoulders represented the leader of
this new religion. The viewer would need to know the reference Jesus made
to himself: "I am the Good Shepherd: the Good Shepherd giveth His life for
His sheep" (John 10:11).
Sometimes the Good Shepherd figure would be seen
with a woman orante (a woman in a praying posture) who represented
Christ's spouse, the Church, praying for a departed believer. The Shepherd
is also shown carrying a small pot, alluding to the Eucharistic feast.
More often, however, the Good Shepherd and His sheep are alone - the
symbolic art of this period was, in a true sense, a type of shorthand.
Complex messages and signals were conveyed within a fresco or a diptych
that appear quite spare and simple on the surface. Ernst Kitzinger in
Byzantine Art in the Making coined the term "signitive images" to refer to
these abbreviated forms that carried a larger message. Although this
shortened method of communication had been occasionally used before, the
early Christians brought a new intensity to the form, painting small
"stand-alone" images throughout the catacombs of the period that together
contributed to larger themes, such as deliverance and eternal life through
Christ.
The variety of these artistic symbols found in the catacombs,
medallions, bowls, ivory book covers, and sarcophagi of the day were not
great. Besides the Good Shepherd, common subjects include the peacock, a
symbol of resurrection; the chi-rho, the first two Greek letters in the
name of Christ, which were superimposed to form a cross; and the story of
Jonah and the whale, another reference to the resurrection, which also
connected the Old Testament of the Bible to the life of Jesus. Since the
symbols served as signs, pointing the way to larger themes, only a limited
repertoire was needed. In fact, the repetition of symbols seemed to lend
power and resonance to the art of this period. The sparseness of the forms
and the magnitude of the message seemed to complement each other.
The
condensed art of the earliest Christian period was soon far out-shadowed
by a more "representational" and classic form. The figure of Jesus soon
began appearing as an artistic motif, first as a beardless young man among
his bearded apostles and later as a martyr hanging from a cross. The
floodgates were opened artistically, and the supply of subjects was
endless: Jesus' mother Mary, St. Peter and the early leaders of the
Church, the miracles performed by Jesus during His lifetime - to name just
a few - began to overshadow this "ciphered" form. The use of symbolic
religious art has never completely disappeared, however, and can still be
seen in some of the art and architecture produced for the Roman Catholic
community. A telling example is St. Brendan Church in Hilliard, Ohio,
which displays an extensive use of symbolism throughout its entire
structure.
A starting point to understanding these symbolic features in
St. Brendan Church is to know the story of St. Brendan, a sixth-century
Irish monk who, as legend has it, left his settled religious community to
find the "Isles of the Blessed." One of these expeditions allegedly lasted
for at least five years during which the abbot sailed to the Canaries and
the coast of Greenland. It is certain that St. Brendan made it at least as
far as the Scottish isles, as well as to other countries in the region. It
was also documented by his contemporaries that he led a community of three
thousand monks and exercised great influence on the people of his time.
The travels of St. Brendan are referenced in the roof line of the Hilliard
church that bears his name. The front section of the building, which
contains the main doors into the church, juts out like the prow of a great
ship, and the believers who enter the building, in a sense, join St.
Brendan on his spiritual journey.
The interior liturgical space of St.
Brendan Church, however, is not reminiscent of a boat but rather a tent,
projecting upward in wood and stone to form a conical shape above the
congregation, with a small circular opening at the top. The Rev. William
J. Maroon, pastor of the church, points out that the tent structure
symbolically recalls the tents used by the Hebrews when they wandered for
forty years in the desert. The Ark of the Covenant, the center of
Israelite worship that housed two tablets containing the ten commandments
given to Moses on Mount Sinai (Exodus 40:20),
was also placed in a tent,
and thus God shared his people's journey. Later, when David brought the
Ark to Jerusalem, he placed it in a tent to recall the time of wandering
in the desert. The Ark remained in the tent until Solomon built the temple
(2 Samuel 6;
1 Kings 6:19).
The tent that forms the sacred space at St.
Brendan is a link to Old Testament heritage. St. Paul, a tentmaker by
trade before becoming an apostle, further enriches this symbol of a tent
in 2 Corinthians. Just as the tent provides a temporary dwelling for the
Ark in the Old Testament, in Chapter 5, verse 1, Paul tells his readers
that if "our earthly dwelling, a tent, should be destroyed, we have a
building from God, a dwelling not made with hands, eternal in heaven."
Paul goes on to assure believers that, while they are weighed down in this
life by the tent of existence, eventually they will be one with Christ (2
Corinthians, 5:2-5). The tent structure in St. Brendan can also then be
seen as a reminder to the congregation of God's promise of eternal life in
Him after they leave their temporal existence.
In the sacred area of the
church enclosed by the tent structure, the eye focuses on the large altar
that juts out on a small platform into a semicircle arrangement of seats
used by the congregation. Made of five tons of dark gray granite, the
altar is the center of attention in St. Brendan, according to Msgr.
Maroon. The interior is otherwise spare in its decorations. The square top
of the altar rests on a base that is carved out in the form of a triangle
at its center. Msgr. Maroon explains that this structure speaks to the two
functions the altar performs: it is the symbolic table where the Last
Supper is reenacted and it represents a tomb. The altar is a sanctified
table in the Catholic Church, it is the table "at which the presiding
minister stands and upon which are placed the bread and wine and their
vessels and the book."1 The large piece of stone seems to represent the
weight of the rite that is enacted upon it and the central place it holds
in the liturgy. On the surface of the altar, five crosses are engraved
into the stone, one placed at each of its corners and one in the center.
These five crosses represent the five wounds of Jesus. The crosses serve
as reminders of what came after the Last Supper - Jesus' crucifixion and
death for the sins of the world.
The triangular indentation at the altar's
base points to the once common practice of placing the altar over the tomb
of a martyr or leader in the church. Often stairs on either side of the
these altars would lead down to the crypt. This structure, called a
confessio, signified that "the Church is founded on Christ and fertilized
by the blood of its martyrs. The Church is a living organism", said Msgr.
Joseph Fete, chair of the Sub-Commission on Environment and Art for
Catholic Worship in the diocese of Columbus. Msgr. Fete went on to explain
that the Catholic Church still symbolically carries on this practice by
placing relics of martyrs in the floor beneath the altar. At St. Brendan,
a small carved out area at the base of the altar is the shorthand symbol
for the confessio and its message. The altar as a whole unites the themes
of the Eucharist, the death and resurrection of Jesus, and the heritage of
the faith that has conveyed these messages down to the current day.
Another focal object in St. Brendan is the tabernacle, which stands to the
right and slightly behind the altar. An eight foot vertical structure made
of light-colored stone contains a central box, the tabernacle, which
houses the Blessed Sacrament. The tabernacle is surrounded by four areas
where the stone is cut away, forming a cross.
Msgr. Maroon credits the
inspiration for the structure to Stanley Kubrick's film 2001: A Space
Odyssey in which a stone monolith seems to possess an almost divine
significance. The stone structure is awe-inspiring in a basic, simple way.
The use of a science fiction film element as a stimulus for the tabernacle
iconography is equally noteworthy. The designers of St. Brendan
incorporated allusions to the Old Testament in the tent shape of the
central portion of the church, but the tabernacle is evidence that they
did not feel bound solely to borrow from the past. Just as with the early
Christian motif of the Shepherd, images from daily life are used as
symbols of the holy.
Although not as dominant as the features discussed
above, other symbolic features exists in the art and architecture of St.
Brendan. These secondary elements are often more traditional in nature,
such as the small but colorful statues of the Sacred Heart, the Virgin
Mary, St. Joseph, and St. Anthony. There are also the wooden stations of
the cross, carved by the founding pastor of the parish, the Rev. Michael
Wellnitz, in 1956. The stations of the cross serve not only to guide
believers through the passion of Jesus, but also function as artifacts of
the parish's past.
Perhaps the most striking of these more traditional
symbols is the statue of St. Brendan in the church's vestibule. A modern
sculpture made by Pennsylvania artist Trina Paulus, the fiberglass
structure depicts a golden St. Brendan in his ship. St. Brendan is shown
as a young warrior fearlessly gazing into the distance while standing at
the prow of an abbreviated boat. Msgr. Maroon says that Paulus's sculpture
is interactive - often the children of the parish climb into the stern of
the ship, and are able to move its rudder.
As a whole, St. Brendan Church
represents a dramatic departure from the more common, traditional Catholic
structures found in America, structures typified in Columbus by St. Joseph
Cathedral on Broad Street. How was such a dramatic departure from form
possible within a religion where dramatic change is not the norm?
The
Second Vatican Ecumenical Council is in large part the responsible for
this shift. Vatican II, which began in Rome on October 11, 1962, was
initially convened by Pope John XXIII to modernize the Church, revitalize
Catholic spirituality, unite all Christians, and strengthen the Church's
mission to all people. The council's revolutionary effect was felt down to
the way Mass was celebrated and the appearance of buildings in which
Catholic congregations gathered.
The altar is one element at St. Brendan
that could only have been built after Vatican II. Msgr. Maroon says,
"Churches before (Vatican II) had high altars, the priest was seen as the
military general leading his people to heaven. Vatican II put the emphasis
elsewhere. The priest fulfills the function of gathering the faithful
around the table of the Lord."
The predominance of stone and wood in St.
Brendan can also be attributed to this council. As Msgr. Fete notes,
Vatican II emphasized "authenticity of materials" that was seen as going
hand-in-hand with the worshipping in spirit and in truth to which
Catholics are called.
Another document, Environment and Art, which was
issued by the United States Bishops' Committee on the Liturgy in 1978, was
also relied upon heavily during the design of St. Brendan. For example,
the open tent-like structure of the sanctuary seems based on a passage
titled "The Action of the Assembly":(1)
The most powerful experience of
the sacred is found in the celebration and the persons celebrating. . .
This was at the heart of the earliest liturgies. Evidence of this is found
in their architectural floor plans which were designed as general
gathering spaces, spaces which allowed the whole assembly to be part of
the action. (2)
The tabernacle structure, which is based on a science
fiction movie, seems to find justification in this document as well. A
passage on contemporary art states, "If liturgy were to incorporate only
the acceptable art of the past, conversion, commitment and tradition would
have ceased to live. The assembly should, therefore, be equally
unhesitating in searching out, patronizing and using the arts and media of
past and present."(3) The Catholic Church is in effect authorizing the
creation of new symbolism, rooted in the life experiences of its people as
a whole.
Although Vatican II and the bishops' document in part explain the
break from traditional structures that St. Brendan represents, they alone
fail to account for the abbreviated symbolism found in the art and
architecture of the church and its close connection to that found in early
Christian art. St. Brendan is above all a church built for believers, and
is remarkably inaccessible from the non-Roman Catholic passersby. The same
could be said of the third-century art found carved on sarcophagi, in the
catacombs, and on household objects. Perhaps the link between the two is
that, as Msgr. Fete points out, during the times when each was produced,
the Catholic religion was counter-cultural. It was assumed that only a
relatively small group of believers would view the art. In both cases, the
art and architecture is not made to sway the skeptic into belief, or even
to be seen by the skeptic at all. Unlike the interior of Notre Dame in
Paris with its vibrant stained glass windows or the grand scale of St.
Peter Basilica in Rome, this art was not made to seduce or entice
potential converts. Instead, it whispers a code that only a few
understand. But what the art at St. Brendan - and the art from early
Christian times - does say has a beauty all its own. Its beauty lies in
its symbols and the resonance they hold to those who can hear their
message and understand it.
Notes:
1. The United States Bishops' Committee
on the Liturgy, "Environment and Art in Catholic Worship,"
The Liturgy
Documents; A Parish Resource, ed. Mary Ann Simcoe (Chicago, 1985), p.283.
2. Ibid., p.274.
3. Ibid., p.275.
