Durand's Painting of God's Judgment Upon Gog (Ezekiel 38-39)

After yesterday's Ezekiel class, in which we studied Ezekiel's Gog of Magog text, Kitty Guy mentioned that she had seen a painting representing Ezekiel's apocalyptic vision in an art museum in Norfolk, Virginia. I was very interested, since I can't remember ever seeing the Gog text depicted in art. Well, Kitty emailed me a link to a small image of the painting. Until we can get ahold of a larger electronic version, we'll have to make due with the following:

The painting is by Asher B. Durand (American, 1796-1886), and is entitled: "God's Judgement Upon Gog" (c. 1851-1852). I know that it is hard to make out in this small image, but what is going on in the painting is the following. The artist has zeroed in on the section of the text where birds and animals feast on Gog's defeated troops (a sacrificial feast; a marzeakh?; Ezekiel 39:4, 17-20). Ezekiel, standing on the lower left promontory, is calling forth at God's command predatory birds and wild beasts to devour Gog's evil mob. The troops fill the valley; the birds sweep down from the sky and the wild beasts, seen in the foreground, approach the troops.

An Image of Ezekiel 37 by Stanley Spencer

My chapel team was in charge of morning worship this morning, and we did something a little experimental. We projected a painting associated with the reading of Ezekiel 37, the painting Resurrection of the Soldiers by the English artist Stanley Spencer (1891 - 1959). The work presently covers the entire wall behind the altar of the Sandham Memorial Chapel, Oratory of All Souls Church, in Burghclere, UK. Here is the full image (click to enlarge):

I would be interested in hearing any theological reflections that you might have on the painting (you can post a comment below). Spencer spent the entire First World War as a private soldier. His painting depicts actual soldiers who served in the same war that he did. I overheard some talk after the chapel service relating the soldiering in the painting to the current fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan (and also to those loved ones who had died in previous wars). Spencer's image may give hope in the midst of the death and suffering of our wars and the loss of lives that they entail.

The image of a battle-field is appropriate to Ezekiel 37. Before God explains to the prophet what the scene he is viewing really stands for, Ezekiel automatically assumes (wrongly) that he is walking around an ancient field of battle, with soldiers' bones lying on the field. [The prophet does not at first know that the vision is a "symbolic" resurrection. For most of the chapter, he has in mind a real physical resurrection of the dead!]

My colleague Peggy Parker graciously gave me some notes on this painting. One of the things she noted to me is the high level of particularity in Spencer's depictions of the Resurrection. This painting depicts Spencer's own day and the people he himself knew. As Peggy says, "All this is concrete and specific, in contrast with so many other Resurrection images in which the dead are unclothed and unidentified: everyman and everywoman. Spencer’s specificity shocks us into the recognition that the Resurrection will come among real people in a real time."

Here is a detail image from the painting, showing Christ receiving the crosses of the soldiers as they hand them over to him:

In Ezekiel 37, God operates powerfully in the positive mode of deliverer. The judgment of Jerusalem's destruction is over, and it has sunk the exiles into despair. God acts with creation energy and authority to bring Life, to bring God's Yes, to God's people. In Spencer's painting also, Christ sits in a welcoming stance to receive the soldier's crosses, which they bring to him from the sites marking their graves. There is little or no sense that Christ is in a mode of judgment here. What the folks in this painting need is God's "Yes," God's "Life." Someone else put the crosses on their graves. They did not themselves perform any atoning work on these crosses, although they may have laid down their lives in battle for their comrades. No, the crosses link them all in gratitude to Christ, and link them all together in filial love (some of the soldiers clasp hands with their comrades).

"He Will See His Offspring" (Isaiah 53:10)

A few more thoughts on biblical Servanthood and the Rembrandt Workshop painting, Descent from the Cross, which I blogged about yesterday.

One of the most intriguing features of the Servant of the Lord in the book of Isaiah is how he generates a progeny or "seed." The Suffering Servant is the progenitor or "first fruits" of a growing group of "servants" (plural) of the Lord. These "offspring" become the main protagonists in the final, third section of Isaiah, chapters 56-66 as W. A. M. Beuken has most powerfully demonstrated in recent years. Like their progenitor, they are all reverent, humble, full of God's power and not their own.

When you approach yesterday's artwork with this lens, you immediately notice that Christ is not the only suffering servant highlighted. Look closely at the image of Christ and the image of his mother:






The torchlight falls on Christ but also on his mother as well. An arm supports Mary's, wrapped around her tummy, just as with Christ. The expressions of accomplished suffering are very similar on both their faces. Both have a right arm that droops in a similar fashion. Surely they are both suffering servants, parallel in their servanthood.

For me, this parallelism between Christ and Mary invites the viewer to imagine that the honor and call of Servanthood does not belong to Christ exclusively. Those who love him and desire to follow him partake of the same role. As in Isaiah 53:10, "He will see his offspring."

Rembrandt Workshop / A. W. Tozer / Biblical Servanthood

What is the meaning of "servanthood" in biblical theology? I have a book project on this question, far from finished, to be published eventually by Church press. As I work on the problem, I am getting some great inspiration from this painting (ca. 1651) by the Rembrandt Workshop (Probably Constantijn van Renesse), entitled "The Descent from the Cross." The painting is on display here in DC in the National Gallery (click here).

I came across a wonderful quote of A. W. Tozer in the nakedpastor blog (click here). Tozer, in "The Old and the New Cross," is reflecting on the constant temptation we experience to domesticate the Cross, to make it something more "acceptable" to us and to the public. Tozer speaks of the new, domesticated cross as something that does not slay the sinner, but merely redirects him or her. "It gears him into a cleaner and jollier way of living and saves his self-respect. To the self-assertive it says, ‘Come and assert yourself in Christ.’ To the egoist it says, ‘Come and do your boasting in the Lord.’"

This is a false meaning of the cross. As in the artwork, The Descent from the Cross, the crucified one is lank and spindly, totally vulnerable. The crucified one is a true "Servant" in the sense that both testaments of the Scriptures labor to flesh out the nature of "servanthood." God works most powerfully through the Servant when the Servant reveals his/her full frailty. The Servant becomes the instrument of God's power and beauty as she/he displays true vulnerability as a human being and creature of God, lets go of orientation on the self, and directs one's love totally outward toward God and neighbor. The crucified one dies to self and lives anew for the Other.

Tozer writes, "The old cross is a symbol of death. It stands for the abrupt, violent end of a human being. The man in Roman-times who took up his cross and started down the road had already said good-bye to his friends. He was not coming back. He was going out to have it ended. The cross made no compromise, modified nothing, spared nothing; it slew all of the man, completely and for good. It did not try to keep on good terms with its victim. It struck cruel and hard, and when it had finished its work, the man was no more."

I am teaching a VTS evening school course on "Servanthood" this term, so I shall be developing some of these themes in the near future. Stay tuned...

Bosch, The Garden of Eden

There are many paintings of Eden from art history, but one of the most intriguing for me is The Earthly Paradise, painted by the Netherlandish artist Hieronymus Bosch. It is part of his The Garden of Earthly Delights triptych (ca .1503-4; Prado, Madrid). The intricacy of the work reminds of Pieter Bruegel's art, of which I am also a great fan. But Bosch's painting is more visionary, unearthly, and fascinatingly disturbing. The images are archetypal and alchemical, which is very appropriate for the Adam and Eve story. Carl Jung viewed Bosch's startling symbolism as ultimately deriving from the collective unconscious. The tryptich is now displayed in the Museo Nacional del Prado in Madrid, Spain.



Toward the center of the panel is the fountain of life in the form of a Gothic monument. The fountain itself is not strictly biblical, but it does fit with the biblical and ancient Near Eastern image of waters of life flowing down to earth from Eden. To the far right of the fountain you can see the Tree of Knowledge, with the serpent coiled around it. The center panel of the tryptich (not shown) depicts the fallen world, and the tree is positioned so as to lead the eyes into that panel.



In the bottom third of the image, God (in the form of Jesus, the creative Word) introduces newly formed Eve to Adam. Behind Adam a fantastic cactus symbolizes the Tree of Life. But even at this tender moment of introduction, there are clear signs that all is not well. Elements at the bottom of the painting, especially the mouse in the cat's mouth, herald the imminent arrival of violence and sin into the world.

Savoldo, Elijah Fed by the Raven

This post continues my series on Old Testament themes in the National Gallery of Art here in D.C. For the preceding post in the series, click here. Let's look at a spectacular painting of Elijah, the legendary champion of God from the ninth century bce. Elijah is a favorite subject of artists, and in all periods they have illustrated his adventures.



This painting (ca. 1510) of Elijah Fed by the Raven was one of my favorites on the SBL tour that we took back in November. It is by Giovanni Girolamo Savoldo, who lived ca. 1480 - 1548. The scene is taken primarily from 1 Kings 17, but other moments are also superimposed. In the upper right-hand corner you can see a raven feeding Elijah, as commanded by God, during the drought God was imposing to demonstrate to the people that their false Baal worship would not bring them the bounty they desired. The huge black bird seems to have a chunk of bread or a roll in its beak for the prophet.



Opposite the raven, in the upper left of the painting, you can glimpse a scene from the end of the Elijah adventures: Elijah's translation to heaven in a chariot of fire with horses of fire (2 Kings 2). Elijah's blessing of perpetual presence with God is an early pointer in the OT to God's power and plan eventually to defeat the forces of death and Sheol that fight to separate us from God and the community of faith. The apostle Paul proclaimed that all believers would somehow experience this blessing of Elijah (see 1 Thessalonians 4:16-17).

There is a group of people in the lower left of the detail-image above, who probably belong to the same superimposed scene of the translation of Elijah (2 Kings 2). Elijah's successor, Elisha, has probably just taken up the mantle of Elijah that has fallen from him from the air (2 Kings 2:13). He will strike the waters of the Jordan river with it, dividing them so that he may cross over. Like his master Elijah, Elisha will have the role and power of Moses. In each generation, God has a servant who points people to God's awesome, spine-tingling reality. In each generation, God uses God's servants to call people back to discipleship (see Deuteronomy 18:15-19).

Notice Elijah's face, with its reflective intensity. Any comments on what might be up here? Is he merely receiving the divine command to move on to Zarephath (1 Kings 17:8-9)? Is Elijah contemplating his role as a Mosaic prophet and the eventual rise of Elisha in the chain of Mosaic succession?

Or, perhaps, is he already listening to God's still, small "articulate whisper" (1 Kings 19:12)? He does look to me to be cupping his hand to his ear, intent on receiving divine Word. The painting may stress the crucial role of God's verbal, inspired revelation in the progress of salvation history. Comments welcome...

Castagno, David with Head of Goliath

This post continues my series on Old Testament themes in the National Gallery of Art here in D.C. For the preceding post in the series, click here.



A favorite theme in art history has been David's victory over the Philistine giant, Goliath (1 Samuel 17). The National Gallery owns a beautiful painted shield depicting this theme by Andrea del Castagno. Dated ca. 1450, it is entitled, "The Youthful David." (Click image to enlarge.)

The wooden shield that forms the canvas of this work is intended for ceremonial purposes, such as for use in a parade. The biblical scene fits its unusual canvas, symbolizing, as it does, the inevitable triumph of God's plans and God's ways.

Notice how David's hand seems to reach out at the viewer from the shield. David's posture asks the enemies of God to stop and think. Vulnerable David, youthful, untrained, without armor (see vv. 38-39) is paradoxically filled with power and triumph because he is loved and chosen by God, despite his flaws. Those who would oppose him had best reconsider. David's power and kingdom are "not of this world," but stem from God's ability to use him in his vulnerability.

A second "moment" in 1 Samuel 17 is also portrayed here in that Goliath's head already lies at David's feet (see v. 51). The disturbing image of the giant's head also gets the viewer to stop and think.

Fifteenth-century Florence, the provenance of the painting, was a small political entity within its world, and would have identified with the themes of vigilance and reversal in the work. The danger for this audience, of course, would have been reducing God's purposes and the power of God's reign to the mundane, banal politics of their contemporary situation.

An "Epiphany" in the Lion's Pit

A few more words, if you don't mind, about my preceding post (click here) on Rubens' painting of Daniel in the Lion Pit. Imagine the moment in time depicted in the art work. Surely you'll agree that it is an Epiphany moment, appropriate for the upcoming church season of Epiphany. Both Daniel and the lion raise their eyes expectantly.



Epiphany is associated with light. Light shines down into the darkness of our exile, into the darkness of our confinement and our parched, dried up bones.

Epiphany is also a very public thing, and greatly differs in this regard from the Nativity, which feels much more private and intimate. In Daniel 6:26-28, Darius proclaims Daniel's rescue to every race, color, and creed on earth.

I'm sure not everyone was glad to hear the news. The lions in Rubens' painting look unhappy to be woken up so early at the break of day (Daniel 6:19).



Earth's nations and people will not necessarily greet Epiphany with joy and relief. Like hungry lions awoken too early from sleep, they may just be ticked off!

One of my professors back in seminary days in the mid 80s, Bill Muehl, once used a sermon illustration about a little girl socking a small boy in her Sunday School class. It was Easter morning, and the boy had just been explaining that Jesus Christ is risen today.

The manifestation of God's power can be jarring. It can disturb our ease. It can wake us up and open our eyes to entire new paths and challenges of which we may not have dreamed...

Rubens, "Daniel in the Lions' Den"

This is my fourth post on our SBL tour of paintings with biblical themes in the National Gallery of Art in DC. For the preceding post in this series, click here. The painting I would like to look at in the present post is Peter Paul Rubens' "Daniel in the Lions' Den," c. 1614/1616.



Take a moment to let yourself be drawn into the painting. It does not take much effort, since the work virtually summons you into its action. Some of the lions stare out directly at us, such as the one in the detail image below and the one in the center, up on the rock. Rubens uses a life-size scale (the painting is huge), details rendered from actual observations of lions, and a certain theatricality to summon us into the very reality of Daniel 6.

"Well, it's unlikely that I personally will ever end up in a lion pit," you might say. But, indeed, God's people today perhaps are in a lion pit. This pit represents the exile, confinement, and isolation of God's people. It is the place where we feel "cut off" from friends, family, and neighbors and from God and the joy of God's values and lifestyle.



Note the skull in the bottom center of this detail image (above) and the other human bones included in the painting. Daniel is in grave, imminent danger. He has remained alive thanks only to God's protective presence (Daniel 6:22). Daniel is in a grave, a pit, a place of skulls and bones. Above Daniel's head, a stone covering the pit has just been rolled away.

Such a pit is symbolic of exile of being "cut off" from life and community. Distraught at Jerusalem's destruction, Lamentations 3:53 cries, "They have silenced me in the pit. And have placed a stone on me." Verse 55 continues, "I called on your name, O Lord, Out of the lowest pit."

It does not take too much work to see the darkness of the pit around us in the here and now. With so much death in Iraq and the Middle East, we daily feel the de-humanizing chill of the pit. Like Daniel in the darkness of exile, we daily feel the pain of bungled justice in our world and we experience firsthand the ineptitude of our officials and leaders. Are those in power today much different from King Darius in Daniel 6?

The gospel message of this painting is that the stone above our heads will indeed be rolled away. The light of the season of Epiphany is indeed about to shine. More on this angle of interpreting the painting in my next post...

Nativity, Petrus Christus, 1450

This is my third post on our SBL tour of biblical themes in the National Gallery of Art Collections. (Click here for post # 1 and click here for post # 2.)

Here is another painting on the tour presenting the Creche, i.e., representing Christ's nativity in the stable at Bethlehem. It is by Petrus Christus, created 1450 ce. The clothes and countryside are Flemish and Netherlandish.

What I love about this devotional piece is how clearly it places Advent in the context provided by the Old Testament. For example, the painting asks you to consider the Nativity in parallel with Moses' encounter with God at the burning bush. Thus, in the following detail-image, Joseph, like Moses, has removed his footwear:

Notice the figure of Adam in the right portion of the detail-image as well. He is heavily burdened by the weight of sin, which entered the world in the Genesis 3 story.

In fact, the sculpted archway framing the scene of the creche contains various depictions of the Genesis Fall, which Christ's Advent acts to reverse. Here is another detail-image, showing Adam and Eve banished from Eden due to the problem of sin.

Isaiah 1:3 and the Creche Scene

This is my second post on our SBL tour of biblical themes in the National Gallery of Art Collections. (Click here for post # 1.)

Another painting that has stuck in my mind since our SBL tour was this one by Fra Angelico and Fra Filippo Lippi: Adoration of the Magi, c. 1440/60 ce.



The painting captures the imagination with its sparkling colors and many fascinating details. One feels a sense of festive gaiety as one's eye traces the procession around the circular panel of the work and down to the Christ child on Mary's lap. For a good, basic description of the painting, click here.

For an OT scholar, the most fascinating thing about this painting is that the center of the circle is not the NT nativity scene of Mary and Jesus at all. The center of the circular work is occupied by an ox and an ass/donkey! Here is a close up:

Prof. Tyler Williams over at Codex has recently blogged on two recent, rather conflicting, presentations of the historicity of the traditional nativity scene (click here). As part of this discussion Tyler highlights Geza Vermes's point that the ox and ass in the traditional scene are "alien to the New Testament." So what is their source?

Fascinatingly, they come from Isaiah 1:3, in which God complains, "The ox knows its owner, and the donkey its master's crib; but Israel does not know, my people do not understand."

Well, if you have a "knowing" ox and and "understanding" donkey at Jesus's birth, then certainly Jesus is none other than creation's "owner" and "master." Jesus is also the one who cares deparately about "my people," Israel. He is the one who comes to set right the cruel wrong expressed in Isaiah 1:3. To me, this is the meaning of this beautiful painting.

Needless to say, this specific idea at the heart of this painting is unknown to the NT (and unknown as well to Isaiah 1 in its literary context). What is certainly known to the Scriptures, however, is the fact that the Messiah makes his advent to usher in God's reign as owner and lord of God's own people and indeed of all creation, including the natural world.

Note: The ox and donkey appear in the Creche Scene long before the 15th century painting at issue in this post. They are found already in a unique fourth-century "Nativity" discovered in the St. Sebastian catacombs.

update: for more discussion of Isa 1:3, see John's post (here).