An Act of Holy Ventriloquism

Comparative commentary by Roger Ferlo

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Luke punctuates his nativity story with several stirring set pieces: the song of Mary when she visits her cousin Elizabeth (Luke 1:46–55); the prophecy of Zechariah, miraculously healed of his inability to speak as he celebrates the birth of his son John the Baptizer (Luke 1:68–79); the song of the angels to the shepherds (Luke 2:14); and the prayer of Simeon (Luke 2:29–32). At such moments, the narrative action draws to a temporary halt. These songs in Luke operate much like a Byzantine icon: an image that distils the ‘and then’, ‘and then’ of the biblical narrative into a timeless moment. The viewer contemplates the divine glory as if through a cosmic window. Time becomes timeless, action is suspended. In the icon, meaning is distilled into line and colour; in Luke’s Gospel, into poetic form and an implied melody.

No wonder Lukan passages like Simeon’s song (traditionally known as the Nunc Dimittis, the Latin text of the opening words) has become so prominent in the history of Christian ritual. When the Nunc Dimittis is sung liturgically, both singers and listeners are witnesses to the scene (like viewers before the icon) and, in an act of holy ventriloquism, virtual participants in the action, taking the part of Mary or Simeon.

One might compare this Lukan alternation of movement and stillness to the alternation between narrative and lyric in a Bach passion. At one moment, the chorus acts the role of the crowd gathered before Pilate (‘Crucify him, Crucify him’, they sing), but then, minutes later, without warning they break into a four-part Lutheran chorale (perhaps originally joined by the Leipzig congregation), reflecting on the emotional impact of the scriptural story in their own lives. Even today, when worshippers sing or hear Simeon’s prayer of joy during an evening service or at a service of burial (and perhaps recall the words of foreboding that follow in vv.33–35), they are thrust (or thrust themselves) into the biblical moment, sharing in—even re-enacting—Simeon’s act of confession and conversion: ‘Now you are dismissing your servant in peace … for my eyes have seen your salvation’.

So imagine what it was like to encounter the dazzling colour and gold leaf of Duccio’s immense altarpiece, glowing aloft against the black and white stonework and the cathedral’s shadowy recesses, like a light to enlighten the nations (see Luke 2:32). You are at once stunned, even intimidated, by the timeless icon-like image of the Virgin and Child in majesty. But then, if you are one of those permitted to draw closer, you realize you are also made privy to the intimate scene of the Presentation, depicted just below. You take in the imploring gesture, so tender and natural, of the Christ child seeking to return to his mother’s arms, the child who is nonetheless the hope of his people Israel. And then, at the rear of the scene, the golden light in the archway invites you to enter into the mystery of the Incarnation, the divine become human, in the eucharistic rite celebrated day by day at the altar below.

On the other hand, to approach Andrea Mantegna’s or Giovanni Bellini’s paintings, displayed as they are today in art galleries framed on a wall or perched on a free-standing easel, is to enter a different kind of space—a space at once more personal (you can be alone with the image), and more intimate (you are at eye-level). Although you are nowhere near a church, standing before each of these works you sense you have been invited into the Temple ritual, the way Luke’s gospel for centuries has moved the reader or hearer of his story to recite Simeon’s words aloud in unison with the prophet. You are present both as a foreign observer, watching through a virtual window or across the barrier of a virtual marble parapet, and yet also as a participating witness in a family event, joining with Mantegna and Nicolosia, and with Bellini’s theatrical extras. (It’s thought that the hovering face of Joseph, central in both paintings, is a portrait of Giovanni’s father Jacopo, Andrea’s father in-law, for whom the painting might originally have been intended; Blass-Simmen 2018: 36).

The brother-in-law artists invite us to enter fully into the scene, empowering us to acknowledge—along with Simeon—that this child, now bound and swaddled, will abandon that shroud in the empty tomb, and that our eyes, too, will have seen our salvation.

 

References

Blass-Simmen, Brigit. 2018. ‘One Cartoon—Two Paintings’, in Bellini/Mantegna: Masterpieces Face-to-FaceThe Presentation in the Temple, ed. by Dario Cimarelli (Milan: Silvani Editoriale), pp. 35-49

Conrad, Jessamyn. 2016. ‘The Meanings of Duccio’s Maestà: Architecture, Painting, Politics, and the Construction of Narrative Time in the Trecento Altarpieces for Siena Cathedral’, PhD Dissertation, Columbia University

See full exhibition for Luke 2:22–33

Luke 2:22–33

Revised Standard Version

22 And when the time came for their purification according to the law of Moses, they brought him up to Jerusalem to present him to the Lord 23(as it is written in the law of the Lord, “Every male that opens the womb shall be called holy to the Lord”) 24and to offer a sacrifice according to what is said in the law of the Lord, “a pair of turtledoves, or two young pigeons.” 25Now there was a man in Jerusalem, whose name was Simeon, and this man was righteous and devout, looking for the consolation of Israel, and the Holy Spirit was upon him. 26And it had been revealed to him by the Holy Spirit that he should not see death before he had seen the Lord’s Christ. 27And inspired by the Spirit he came into the temple; and when the parents brought in the child Jesus, to do for him according to the custom of the law, 28he took him up in his arms and blessed God and said,

29“Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace,

according to thy word;

30for mine eyes have seen thy salvation

31which thou hast prepared in the presence of all peoples,

32a light for revelation to the Gentiles,

and for glory to thy people Israel.”

33 And his father and his mother marveled at what was said about him;