One of my mentors, John Dominic Crossan, said that the church on Torcello was not to be missed. It is the oldest church in the Venetian Lagoon (639 AD) having been settled by dry-landers fleeing barbarian invasions in the in the fifth, sixth, seventh…centuries and settling in the marshlands. In fact, that is the reason Venice exists. It was not a Roman settlement, but was a refuge for people from the Veneto seeking refuge.

Dom is probably most fond of the basilica on Torcello because it has an immense anastasis — a representation of the resurrection being a communal event in which Jesus empties the underworld, including all of the folks like Adam and the prophets who hadn’t had the advantage of knowing Jesus, the “second Adam,” (and accepting him as their personal Lord and Savior 😉) There is a tradition called “the harrowing of Hell,” in which Jesus descends into the netherworld and releases souls during the days between Good Friday and Easter Sunday. I’ve noticed that sometimes art in a given location will include both the harrowing of Hell and also the empty tomb. But sometimes, as at Torcello and in the Byzantine east, one sees just an anastasis.

When there is no empty tomb representation, it signifies an eastern way of thinking about resurrection. (See Dom and Sarah’s fine book, Resurrecting Easter to learn a whole lot more about this!) And this is magnificently the case on Torcello. Since it is such an early offshore church, I took the risk of taking photos while the guards either had no sight lines to me or weren’t looking. (I used my iPhone to avoid suspicion, so the photos don’t have the resolution they do when I use my camera.) It is a real buzzkill to hear someone scoldingly shouting “No photos!!”

ASIDE: There is no reason on God’s green earth that they should prohibit photos. It doesn’t degrade the mosaics (and one of their frescoes was in direct sunlight!) and if it because it is such a scared place, why does almost every church allow non-flash photography? If they (and the catacombs) were really serious about not photographing their walls, they could easily provide a website with jpegs available for public use. But I digress…

So, let’s do some SAYS, MEANT, MEANS with this image.
SAYS: It is a Byzantine mosaic of the late 12th or early 13th century. There is no “empty tomb” imagery present. Within the image Jesus is standing atop the broken gates of the underworld and typical of iconography of the anastasis, there are locks, keys, and tools under Jesus’ feet. (Look carefully at the image of Hades: tiny, shriveled, headless.) Jesus has his hands on Adam’s wrist, with Eve following close behind.
MEANT: Jesus is victorious over the grave…not just his own grave, but the graves of all time and all people. God’s “no” to death isn’t simply for Jesus, but extends to all of humanity (at least until we get to the Last Judgement below!).
MEANS: What does this image of resurrection (probably not what you saw in Sunday school or have heard preached every Easter) say to you? How is it different than the empty tomb stories that you’ve heard across the years? Perhaps you interpret the resurrection metaphorically, and if so, what does the anastasis say to you that may be different from what you’ve thought about resurrection since you were young? For me the image insists that Jesus is in charge and powerful, in fact he is “the Lord of the living and the dead.” It has some good news that resurrection wasn’t just a one-off for Jesus coming out of the tomb and leaving it empty, but that ultimately, we all rest in God, who is not only the one in whom we “live and move and have our being,” but also in whom we die, that even past the moment of death, we are with God.

I’m staying in Trastevere, which derives its name from trans-Tiber, across the river from central Rome. It’s a wonderful neighborhood, much favored by American tourists and expats. I had a conversation with an Italian gentleman last night, and he said he calls Trastevere “the American consulate,” because my fellow countrymen like it so well. (What’s not to love? Great food, quaint streets…old churches.)

I spent this morning walking through the rain to reach one of the oldest churches in the city, the Basilica of San Crisogono. The current basilica isn’t so old…it’s from the 12th century. When the constructed the “new” basilica, they filled in the old one, and it wasn’t unearthed until an archeological dig in the early 20th century.

We don’t know very much about Saint Chysogonos (Crisogono), other than that he was martyred (in 304 or 305 AD) during the Diocletian Persecution up in Aquileia. As previously noted, Aquileia has a rich Christian heritage and was a key city until Attila arrived with the Huns.

After tracking down the sacristan of the church, I paid my €3 and he showed me the door to some dusty steps and just pointed the way. And eerily closed the door after me. It was incredible! In fact it was so good that I shot two five-minute videos to include here, just because I want to share what it is like to be in a place where our Christian forbears worshipped so long ago. (The brochure from the church said it may have been the “first parish church in Rome.” Maybe.) I was so excited, in fact, that I shot one video horizontally and the other vertically, and I kept referring to frescoes as mosaics, and even misspoke and said that Pope Sylvester baptized Jesus. (We know it was John the Baptizer, but I caught myself…Sylvester baptized Constantine.)

Many early churches in Rome had their start as the homes of Christians in which worship was conducted, and once the Edict of Milan was promulgated, some of them had purpose-built churches that grew from the domus or house. This site is different, because the early basilica may have been intentionally created as a Christian place of worship. (Scholars debate this issue.)

At any rate, I hope you enjoy these videos. I am very excited to share them with you!

It wasn’t my first trip to Ravenna, but I saw some things I hadn’t seen before. And I also got some images that I hadn’t captured before. Rather than do a whole lot of analysis, I thought I’d share some video (sorry if it gives you motion sickness at points) of a few amazing places.

Here is a little background on Justinian, the emperor who was based in Constantinople, but who (along with his wife and former dancer, Theodora) provided material support for the mosaics at the Basilica of San Vitale in Ravenna. Justinian (actually his generals, including Belisarius) recaptured much of the western empire (from North Africa to Italy to Dalmatia) from the hands of the Ostrogoths and Visigoths and Vandals. The other thing for which he is remembered is the recodification of Roman law, which still holds sway in some countries. The Code of Justinian unified hundreds of year of Roman civil laws, bringing them into a single code.

So, here are some videos that walk you through three buildings: the Basilica of San Vitale, the Mausoleum of Galla Placidia (386-450, daughter of the emperor, Theodosius), and the Arian Baptistery. (The Visigoths who controlled Ravenna were Arians, who unlike orthodox Christians in Rome, weren’t as sure about the coequal status of Jesus and God, the first person of the Trinity.)

Ravenna has some of the most important (and beautiful) Christian art anywhere. Its mosaics, many from the fifth and sixth centuries, are visually stunning. It amazes me that they have endured across the millennia (except for one church that was hit by Allied bombing during World War II…they aimed for the rail station and missed).

Ravenna is near Classe, which had been the home of the Roman Adriatic fleet since the time of Augustus. Ravenna itself was the western capital of the Roman Empire when the eastern capital was Constantinople. Obviously, it was a crucial city. Even if the history books didn’t tell you so, you’d be able to guess it by the size and ornament of the churches here. It also has art from Arian Visigothic rulers as well as from Catholic rulers. (BTW. I recommend Judith Herron’s Ravenna: Capital of Empire, Crucible of Europe; it’s wonderful history.)

One of the great sites is the Basilica of Sant’Apollinare Nuovo. I had been there before and seen the parade of saints and martyrs leading toward the magi, Jesus, Mary, and the apse. Those are the elements of the main, noticeable register of mosaics, but I took time during this visit to observe the uppermost register, and I was surprised to see that most of the panels exhibited the life of Jesus and the stories we hear about him in the biblical narrative. There are roughly 28 panels overall, and I’ve selected some to describe below.

That may not sound unusual to you, but most of the art I’ve been seeing deals a lot with the nativity (where Jesus is often on the ground, apparently having missed the manger), Mary (and oftentimes her enthronement), the crucifixion (lots and lots), and the occasional empty tomb. Like the Apostles and Nicene creeds, they trip blithely from “born of a virgin” to “was crucified under Pontius Pilate.” For my theology, this really misses much of the point: we are to emulate Jesus, to try and pattern our lives based on what he taught, not simply venerate and worship him. Then again, Jesus is a politically risky figure, especially when the Empire has at least nominally embraced him. More often than not, it is easier for the “powers that be” to deal with him when he is a babe in arms or when he’s been arrested and put on a cross and relegated to heaven. That said, Jesus is wearing purple in each of these panels, which symbolize royal power. (“The kingdom of God is among us!”)

Why do you suppose that the leaders who commissioned these mosaics, unlike their counterparts elsewhere, chose to illustrate the life of Jesus? I suspect that someone wanted people to “get it,” since most were illiterate, even some of the leaders. That is a guess as to what it meant. Something else bizzare: there is no crucifixion, but rather Jesus bearing the cross en route to his execution. What did it mean not to include a representation of Jesus on the cross?

I also noticed that many of the images relate to Mark’s Gospel, the earliest to have been written, though there is a bit of John thrown in for good measure. That says something, too. I hesitate to say it, but the images seem to identify and portray the (mostly) historical Jesus. I also noticed that Jesus is never alone: there is always a disciple in the scene with him. Does that mean that disciples of Jesus are meant to continue doing what Jesus did while he was among us?

As you look at the images below, I invite you to look deeply, remember the story each represents, and what it means in your life today. Does the image throw any light on the text you read in the gospels? If you were going to retell the stories about the life and acts of Jesus, what images would you choose?

For he had said to him, “Come out of the man, you unclean spirit!” Then Jesus asked him, “What is your name?” He replied, “My name is Legion; for we are many.” Mark 5.8-9

You may never have heard of Aquileia, a village at the very northern end of the Adriatic Sea. Even some Italians have never heard of Aquileia! It is at the crossroads of eastern and western Europe within sight of the Alps. That made it quite a desirable location. In fact, it was initially settled in about the 9th c. BC and it was invaded by Celts in 186-183 BC. It eventually became the fourth city of Rome on the Italian peninsula, but that didn’t stop the attacks. It was besieged by the Visigoths, the Ostrogoths, and 452 AD, after three years of siege, it was conquered and sacked by Attila the Hun. Later came Lombards, Franks, and Hungarians, but still Christianity persisted in Aquileia.

If fact, Christianity was practiced surreptitiously in Aquileia before Constantine’s Edict of Milan in 313 AD, allowing Christians to practice their faith openly. We hear a lot about pre-Constantinian Christianity in Rome and Milan, but less so elsewhere in Italy. There is a domus (house) under the basilica in Aquileia, and it is not unreasonable to suspect that it was a house church before Christianity was legitimized.

It is amazing how quickly Patriarch Theodore started building…between 313 and 320. So, what we are able to see in Aquileia is very early, which is one aspect that makes it so precious. I’ll take you on a short underground journey to explore what archeologist are finding about the earliest layers of home and church here. Check the video below.

The basilica was renovated and expanded after Attila’s raid to encompass a nave and two aisles with a mosaic floor. It was updated again in the ninth century and destroyed by an earthquake in 1348. The mosaic pavement was buried under a meter of detritus. It was not until the end of the nineteenth century that archeologists began to unearth the magnificent mosaic floor, which was completed in 1915. This goes back to the time of Patriarch Theodore himself.

I’ll show you with the video below what the mosaic pavement (the largest in the west) looks like. It contains one primary biblical story: Jonah, whom we see relaxing under an arbor with a ”bush” to provide shade. And then in the central part of the nave, we see Jonah being hurled overboard into the mouth of a very large fish. Why do you think those early Aquileian Christians would have seen that as the primary biblical image for their basilica?

The other symbol you’ll see here, in Ravenna, and in Florence is actually called a Solomon’s Knot. There is some assertion that it is Celtic in origin and that it forms the basis for other Celtic knotwork. At the basilica, they interpreted it as representing both creation and divinity. It’s definitely prechristian, and it also appears in Judaism.

You may notice the complete absence in the early mosaics of any pictures of Mary, Jesus, or the crucifixion. This is startling when you will later see how the cult of Mary came to dominate some religious art, as in Siena, and how the crucified body of Jesus has come to be the most recognizable symbol of Catholic Christianity. There are some good shepherd images, however. Clearly, these Christians hadn’t gone in for the enthroned Christ in glory imagery. Later Christians, however, did include a fresco of Mary (enthroned?) holding Jesus and surrounded by a mandorla (the almond-shaped ring around them emphasizes spiritual power and also indicates Byzantine influence). Imagery changes because theology changes. If you were going to put an image or design in the front of your church, what would you choose?

I’ve waited to see the Scrovegni Chapel in Padua for many years, and our evening visit did not disappoint. The chapel is located where a Roman arena once stood, as did the Scrovegni’s palazzo, which was torn down in the 1820s.

I love the way Giotto uses color, even using lapis lazuli pigment in the blue sky. Even though perspective in painting had not yet been formalized, Giotto was pioneering the practice. He also uses light in ways that seem to bring his frescoes to life in ways that no earlier painter had. Giotto (and his assistants) painted the chapel in two years, from 1303 to 1305. Rather than say he presaged he Renaissance, I think it is fairer to Giotto to appreciate his art for itself. Clearly, Renaissance painters were standing on the shoulders of giants.

I’m not going to do much analysis of these pictures, other than to say we know what they meant: they were an attempt to buy salvation for someone who apparently did not “forgive his debtors as he wished to have his debts forgiven.” The narrative they tell mirrors the historic creeds: born of virgin, suffered, was crucified and rose again. Not much on what happened between his baptism and the last week. Hmmm…

The other thing I have not included is the uppermost register, which is a retelling of the extracanonical story of Mary, her parents, marriage, etc. The lowest register shows virtues on one side along with their corollary vices on the opposite wall. I also have not zhuzhed up the color like some books have done (or even like the iPhone’s algorithm). I have brightened a few since I shot these at night. Enjoy!

I’ve fallen way behind in blogging because I’ve been so busy seeing and traveling! I’ve seen some amazing churches, phenomenal art, and even made a few discoveries. I’m not going to put them all into one blog post, but know that coming up we have Giotto’s magnificent Scrovegni Chapel in Padua (Padova), two churches in the Venetian Lagoon, the paleochristian basilica in Aquileia, and the brilliant mosaics of Ravenna.

But this post is going to deal with some imagery from Verona in the basilica of the city’s patron saint, San Zeno. Western Christians often fail to think of Roman Christianity in the context of the whole Mediterranean, but the influence of Northern Africa in early Christianity is hard to overestimate, spanning from Egypt to Mauritania (modern Algeria and Morocco). Think about it: the church has been shaped profoundly by St. Anthony of the Desert, St. Augustine of Hippo, and St. Anthansius of Alexandria. All of which is to say that the beloved patron saint of Verona, San Zeno, was also from Mauritania. He was born circa 300 and lived into his 70s. He is often pictured with either a fishing rod or a fish on the line hanging from his crozier. Two stories exist: one that he was fond of fishing in the River Adige and another that he was a great “fisher of people.” I like to think he was using dry flies and landing bigger fish than the one pictured below.

The basilica contains wonderful frescoes and a triptych by Andrea Mantegna, but the element that struck me most strongly were the amazing bronze plaques on the great doors of the basilica. (SAYS) There are 48 of them, primarily of biblical scenes, and they are beautiful. They were likely created in two stages from the 10th to 12th century. (A major earthquake in 1117 destroyed the earlier edifice, and the current Romanesque basilica was built afterward.) And at least the first batch was made by a Saxon artisan.

It is always interesting to see what scenes are chosen to be represented in art. (And what is selected by the blogger to show you!) I’ll include some representative samples below (including an image of San Zeno.)

(MEANT) I don’t know much about the intended purpose of the panels, though my guess is that they served some didactic use, telling different biblical stories and also local lore. See what you think! It’s also interesting to consider that around 1000, most of Spain and Portugal were under Islamic control, and that Christianity was just making headway in Scandinavia, Poland, and Russia. And the Holy Roman Empire was absorbing northern Italy.

(MEANS) I found the plaques fascinating because they allow us a brief glimpse into Christianity a thousand years ago. The figures come from an entirely different age than our own, and it shows. There is a rustic beauty and artistic quality in the panels. The figures say something to me as a person of faith, looking back at my own tradition: that story matters, whether factual or metaphoric. What do these panels say to you?

Travel is nearly always an enriching experience, even though it comes with moments of frustration when things don’t go as smoothly as planned. (Travel writer Cameron Hewitt’s apt phrase is “Jams are fun!”) Back in my undergraduate years, while studying at the University of St. Andrews, I spent some time on European railways to see as much as I could. (One memorable “jam” was spending a cold winter’s night on the floor of the Florence train station.) But there were, of course, enlightening moments as well.

One of the great epiphanies of that trip was being in a train compartment with my young, American traveling companions, a compartment we shared with a middle-aged German man who spoke no English. At that point, I’d had a few years of high school German, and so I piped up and offered him an orange. “Möchten Sie ein Apfelsine?” I asked. And I was absolutely gobsmacked when he understood and accepted the orange.

I think one of the things Europeans may not understand about Americans is that it isn’t that we don’t want to speak their language, but that we have so little chance to use it. Simply asking a traveler if he’d like an orange in another language and being stunned by the fact that my German worked was a watershed moment for me. It connected me with someone from another nation, and it did so on their terms. (The possible exception to this is studying Spanish and using it both at home and in nearby nations. )

I know that it is a privilege to travel. I’m even more aware of that because I’m sitting in a business class seat. Hurrah for MileagePlus! I’m also aware of the rare privilege of having sabbatical time to decompress, study, travel, and explore. I am grateful to have this opportunity, and I hope to share some interesting insights.

I’ve also thought that history is somewhat like foreign translation: one has to try and speak another’s language in order to understand. (Certainly, historical figures, art, architecture, and archaeology are not going to speak our language!)

One of the paradigms I’m going to try on Christian art and architecture is one that I learned many years ago from a wise and wonderful professor, Ed Everding. In studying the New Testament, Ed proposed that we use a simple approach in examining a text:

SAYS – MEANT – MEANS

SAYS: In other words, what does the text actually say? What words are on the page? What is its genre? What can we learn from the writing style?
MEANT: What might this writing have meant to the person who wrote it and to those were were its intended audience? What was the purpose of the text?
MEANS: What, if anything, might the text say to us, given that we actually aren’t the intended audience? There is still much to be mined in many, but certainly not all, scriptural writings.

So, here is what I propose to do: Look at Christian art and architecture using that same type of lens.

If I’m looking at a mosaic in Ravenna from the 5th century what does it say, what did it mean, and what might it mean? SAYS Well, we know it is a mosaic, that it was created by amazing artisans, perhaps from Byzantium, that a given panel illustrates the biblical story of Abraham and Sarah’s hospitality to travelers. MEANS At a time when Ravenna was controlled first by Rome and then by Arian peoples coming into the Italian peninsula from the north, we see that they took the Old Testament seriously, which was not a given. The glory of the mosaic means that the creators were willing to invest much time and money in creating this beautiful representation of a biblical story about hospitality. To them, the three visitors may have presaged the idea of the Trinity (an alien concept in the Old and maybe even the New Testaments). MEANS Every mosaic in the sacred spaces of Ravenna tell us that those who created them took their faith much more seriously than many Christians do today. The tremendous investment of capital, both material and human, was phenomenal. Their beauty may move us to tears. They may give us the feeling of connectedness to ancient people who shared our faith, and they might even cause us to consider that ours is one generation in the line of hundreds, and that someday, we may be the ancestors of Christians in another age far in the future.

I invite you to join me, and perhaps do some Google searches for Christian art from any age and try out the SAYS – MEANT – MEANS paradigm and see what you might uncover.

Those who have studied Celtic Christian spirituality for awhile have probably come across the phrase, “finding the place of your resurrection.” And its meaning is not exactly crystal clear to most of us. Does it mean finding the place in your life where you feel the most fully alive? After all, Irenaeus of Lyons in the second century wrote, “The glory of God is a human fully alive.” I think that is certainly one way of looking at it. And some have criticized the translation of Irenaeus’s Latin phrase, “vivens homo” as being merely “a human alive,” but I’m not ready to forfeit the deepening of life humans have the capacity to experience.

The tomb of Columbanus is in the crypt beneath the altar of the monastery church he founded in 614 AD. The inscription reads, “Here rests St. Columbanus, Abbot, in the peace of Christ.”

I have a strong hunch, however, that the Irish monks who set out as peregrini on the Irish Sea in their little coracles or even who crossed the sea to France had a deeper sense that finding the place of their resurrection meant finding their ultimate destination in this life. It would be the place of their burial and the place of their resurrection. And if that was true for Columbanus, he found his place of resurrection along the banks of the River Trebbia in Bobbio.

As my formal time of pilgrimage comes to an end, it seems like Bobbio is an appropriate place, since it is the final resting place of dear Columbanus, who had a long, hard journey to this place of beauty.

A beautiful contemporary statue of Columbanus in the abbey church, above his tomb.

I also see the places of Columbanus’s resurrection in St. Gallen (founded by his Irish follower), in Luxeuil, Annegray, Bregenz, Piacenza, Alessandria, Asti, Mantua, Besançon, and so many other communities across the heart of Europe. He is resurrected through the monasteries he founded, the lives they shaped, the amazing learning they injected into the continent in the “dark ages,” and through the liberating message of the gospel.

It seems hard to imagine the tenacity of generations of monks who have kept the flame of Christianity alive in the face of disease, violence, and shifting cultural priorities. Yesterday, I visited the Abbey of San Galgano in Tuscany, which was a large Cistercian foundation, but that succumbed not to the sword, but to the plague. (The remaining monks moved into Siena…surely not much safer!) At least it wasn’t Cromwell or Napoleon or Robespierre who got to them.

None of the monasteries I visited on my pilgrimage still has an active community of monks, which saddens me. But I’m left to question why I should feel bereft if it is not a life that I would choose for myself. After all, Columbanus was known for having the most draconian of monastic rules, and there were no conhospitae or joint male-female monasteries under his iron hand.

I see, though, the light of Celtic Christian monastic spirituality in the dispersed ecumenical communities like the Community of Aiden and Hilda, the Northumbria Community (both centered on or near Holy Island, Lindisfarne), and especially in the work of the Iona Community, whose work deeply influences my own ministry.

And so I conclude this leg of my own pilgrimage with a prayer of thanksgiving for Columbanus and for the people who have helped make my pilgrimage possible.

Yes, there was a Brigid’s Cross in the crypt at Bobbio!

Holy One,

I lift up to you the blessed and devoted life of your servant, Columbanus, who left family and friends and familiar surroundings to journey, like Abraham, to new lands that you would show him. I give thanks for your call to him, for his listening intently to you, and for his courage and tenacity in bringing your light into this land. May his memory continue to bless the people of Europe and of all who remember him and study his path.

I give thanks for my family, whose love and support has enabled my own pilgrimage. For Cameron and Chris, who are doing great things while I’m away. For Jane Anne, who is my companion in love and life, in ministry and in pilgrimage. I give you thanks for them. Bless them.

I give thanks for my congregation and colleagues: for time set apart for sabbatical, for financial support to help defray the costs of travel, for their faithfulness and love of growing in their pilgrimage with you, with one another, and with their neighbors.

In this world where suffering and greed and ill-will and violence and fear seem to surround us on all sides, help us all to become a force for light and love and peace.

Amen.