Advent Reflections

Looking at the art:

St. Anne with the Infant Mary 

late 15th Century
15th Century
42 x 13 x 9 in. (106.7 x 33 x 22.9 cm)

Unknown Artist, German School of the Lower Rhine, German School of the Lower Rhine
Object Type: SCULPTURE
Creation Place: Europe, Germany
Medium and Support: Lindenwood
Credit Line: Gift of Lady Isolde Radzinowicz
Accession Number: 06-SC-56
Current Location: Art Museum : 15-16 C Gallery

Sculptures are three dimensional in nature. You can walk around them. You can see and (if you could touch) even feel the hands, face, nose and folds of the garments sculpted in relief. Paintings, on the other hand, are limited to their two-dimensional canvass, although some painters can create an illusion of three dimensions. Why is this important in discussing this sculpture of St. Anne holding her baby, the infant Mary? 

We see St. Anne’s left hand supporting her baby Mary, holding her from under her bottom and pressing her to herself. On the other hand, literally, we see the mother’s right hand peeking out, but not stretching out, from under her sleeve as if to hold back an invitation for the viewer to approach. Devoid of facial expression, the mother and daughter project a staid and stately demeanor. All of this amid the movement of the myriad folds and layers of her and the baby’s garments, their ridges and grooves capturing the light and bouncing it back and forth to make them look real. A mother and child composite foreshadowing the more identifiable Madonna and Child where this baby Mary becomes the mother holding her own baby Jesus. 

Reflection:

St. Anne was an important Saint when I was a child.  My mother had a strong devotion to her and her feast day, July 26, was a Holy Day of Obligation for all practical purposes.  When we picked this image for the first week of Advent, I had some concerns about what there was to say.  A handsome piece, it is rather straight forward and has little nuance about it.  It struck home however because of memories that it produced.  I am reminded at this beginning of Advent that we await a savior, one who will be one of us.  Just like the first chapter of Matthew’s Gospel or the Kalends, which is read on Christmas Eve, this statue of Anne, the grandmother, and Mary, the mother, root Jesus’s birth in time and place.  It reminds us of how much Jesus shared our humanity.  The human Jesus learned about love from his parents and his grandparents.  (How many of us had important relationships with a grandparent?). As a young child, Jesus skinned his knee running and playing soccer. He struggled with all the emotions of his father’s death.  He worried about his mother.  He felt sorrow at the betrayal of Judas and the lack of support that the apostles gave him at the end. I believe that for the redemption to mean anything it is Jesus in his humanity who ultimately accepts the cross. Jesus in full and total acceptance of what it means to be human said a definitive yes to God. The statue of Anne then not only brings back fond memories but reminds me that I am always surrounded by those that love me. It also reminds me that while I will never be divine I can, like Jesus, strive to accept my humanity in all that God wills for me. 

The Visitation

Stone relief with shades of polychrome and gilt
French
14th century

Looking at the art:

This portrayal of the Visitation most likely adorned a wall with other scenes like the Annunciation and the Nativity that shared the same architecture: Corinthian columns and a tripartite vault. The faithful walking along the wall would be inspired to reflect on the events leading up to the birth of Jesus. Here Mary, who has just discovered from an angel that she is pregnant, visits her older cousin Elizabeth, who was thought to be barren but who now is also pregnant with the future John the Baptist. Mary on the left exhibits a relaxed posture with one leg bent at the knee that shifts the weight to the other leg. The sculptor takes advantage of this early Renaissance revival of the Greek inspired posture called contrapposto to portray a pregnant Mary who needs to shift her weight especially after a tiring trip on foot to visit her cousin. Elizabeth in turn extends her right arm around Mary to welcome her and her left arm in front as if to feel the baby carried within her cousin Mary. Unique in this rendition of the Visitation is that Mary is carrying a bound and locked codex, forerunner of the modern book which was to become ubiquitous after the invention of the printing press in the mid-1400s. Whether or not this is seen as a gift for her cousin, it represents Jesus as the Word of God made flesh that she is carrying in her womb. The entire scene is blessed by the appearance of the Holy Spirit dove above the women who are themselves crowned with gilded halos. It is amazing that still after seven hundred years some of the color and gilt is preserved – a reminder that this act of human interaction is blessed and meaningful today. 

Reflection

I am struck by the fact that Mary is holding a book (the codex). In one of the traditional statues of St. Anne and Mary, unlike the one we examined last week, it appears that Anne is teaching Mary to read. Mary, a young girl of ten or twelve, holds an open scroll while Anne points to it. Both portrayals, I believe, highlight that Mary is carrying the Word within her, as “the Word became flesh.” The Visitation exemplifies why she is seen this way. Just as the original Ark carried the Word of God—the Commandments—Mary carries the Word of God, Jesus. She is often referred to as the new Ark of the Covenant and is held out as the model disciple. 

What strikes me about this is that the moment of the Word becoming flesh does not lead Mary to a purely contemplative stance, although Luke often tells us that Mary pondered these things in her heart. Instead, this action compels Mary to go, to serve others, and to share the good news of what has happened to her. She does this at a time that is neither easy nor convenient. The journey from Nazareth to Elizabeth’s house would have taken two or three days through mountainous terrain. We do not know where she and Joseph stand—has he accepted the pregnancy, or is he considering divorce? Mary could easily have justified staying home to ensure Joseph would be part of the family. However, she does not think of herself but goes out to help another who is also struggling with an unexpected pregnancy. 

I ask myself, what does hearing the Word and holding the Word of God in my heart, letting it live within me, ask of me? Do I make easy excuses—I’m old, others will take care of it, I am too tired, I’ve done enough? Or, like Mary, am I willing to trust the Word within me and act on it, trusting in the providential love of God to take care of me?