The Piercing of Christ's Side

John 19:31–37

Commentaries by Ian Boxall

Works of art by Giovanni Mauro della Rovere, Master of the Straus Madonna and Unknown artist

A Paschal Victory

This depiction of Christ the Lamb is the central image of the apsidal arch in Santa Prassede, Rome, part of Pope Paschal I’s (817–24) extensive rebuilding of the city’s basilicas. It combines the weakness of a young, sacrificial animal with majesty and strength. The majesty is enhanced by the rich gold and pearl-like white of the mosaic, which glimmers in the candlelight. The mosaicist presents us with the victorious Lamb of the Apocalypse, enthroned in heaven, the sealed scroll of Revelation 5:1 beneath his seat. Surrounding the throne are the seven lampstands, symbolizing the seven churches, and the four living creatures (Revelation 1:20; 4:6).

But the presence of a golden cross behind the Lamb also connects this heavenly scene with John’s crucifixion account. John, in contrast to the Synoptic Gospels, locates Jesus’ death on ‘the day of Preparation’ for the Festival of Passover (John 19:14, 31). Christ dies on the afternoon when the paschal lambs were being slaughtered across the city in the Temple. The Evangelist leaves his readers in no doubt: Jesus is the true Passover Lamb.

But in case they missed the first trigger, he provides another in the quotation from Exodus 12:46: ‘Not a bone of his shall be broken’. What Moses was told about the Passover lamb is now spoken of the true Paschal Lamb sacrificed on the cross. His blood now marks out his people, saving them from death, bringing them life.

The Lamb in the San Prassede mosaic is not dead, but fully alive. There is energy in its front legs, as if about to spring into action. For death does not have the final word. Christ is the Passover Lamb who dies no more, but goes ahead of his people on their new exodus, the journey from enslavement to freedom.

References

Anthony, Peter. 2022. Patristic Perspectives on Luke’s Transfiguration: Interpreting Vision (London: T&T Clark), pp.151–204

Moloney, Francis J. 1998. The Gospel of John, Sacra Pagina 4 (Collegeville: Michael Glazier)

Joining the Dance

Commentary by Ian Boxall

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The wounded Christ in this fresco by the Milanese artist Giovanni Mauro della Rovere is anything but dead. At once statue-like and animated—triumphant over his suffering and death—Christ almost dances as he stands astride a fountain. Giovanni Mauro has brought together two Johannine passages, the first offering an advance commentary on the second. On a previous visit to Jerusalem, Jesus stood up in the Temple and declared: ‘If any one thirst, let them come to me and drink’ (John 7:37), words inscribed in Latin on the fountain below Christ’s dancing feet. The text continues, however: ‘The one who believes in me, as the scripture has said, “Out of his belly shall flow rivers of living water”’ (John 7:38).

The Evangelist interprets this as a reference to the life-giving Spirit, to be poured out when Jesus was glorified. Hence, as he hangs on the cross, water mixed with blood flows from deep within him. Giovanni Mauro presents this gift visually as a dramatic reversal of the miracle at Cana (John 2:1–11): Christ’s precious blood, the wine of the Eucharist, enters into the fountain, only to be transformed into streams of life-giving water.

But there is more. Two figures, each holding scrolls, flank the dancing Christ. To the left is King David, traditional composer of the psalms, bearing a quotation from Psalm 42:3 (Vulgate Psalm 41), which reads ad Deum fontem vivum (‘to God the living fountain’) instead of the better-attested ad Deum fortem vivum (‘to the strong living God’). To the right, the prophet Isaiah holds words from another water-based prophecy: ‘With joy you will draw water (haerietis aquas in gaudio) from the wells of salvation’ (Isaiah 12:3). The prophet and the psalmist invite the viewer to drink from the spring, and join the joyful dance.

References

Moloney, Francis J. 1998. The Gospel of John, Sacra Pagina 4 (Collegeville: Michael Glazier)

An Unexpected Birth

Commentary by Ian Boxall

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John’s attention to the events immediately following Jesus’s demise transforms a death scene into a birth. The piercing of Christ’s side, unique to this Gospel, brings forth a flood of blood and water. John has just hinted at the fruit of that birth: the fledgling church standing at the foot of the cross (John 19:25–27). Two of that group—his mother and Mary Magdalene—flank the body of the dead Christ in this painting of The Lamentation of Christ, attributed to the Master of the Straus Madonna. But it is the figure at the centre of the panel who is the true mother.

It was common in the Middle Ages and the Renaissance to display the symbols of Christ’s Passion—the so-called arma Christi or ‘weapons of Christ’—synchronously for contemplation. This makes for a busy scene, though not enough to detract from the central image of the Man of Sorrows. The flow of blood is collected in a chalice, a reminder of Jesus’s earlier words that ‘he who eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life, and I will raise him up at the last day’ (John 6:54b). The bread and wine of the Eucharist make that divine life accessible to the believer in the present.

Underscoring John’s portrayal of the dead Christ as a life-giving mother, a female pelican is depicted in a central position above Christ’s wounded head. A familiar image of Christ, it reflects the ancient belief that a pelican would wound herself, pecking her breast in order to feed her young rather than see them die. In this death which is also a birth, Christ our Mother has given his life that the children may live.

References

Fehribach, Adeline. 2003. ‘The ‘Birthing’ Bridegroom: The Portrayal of Jesus in the Fourth Gospel,’ in A Feminist Companion to John, vol. 2, ed. by Amy-Jill Levine with Marianne Blickenstaff (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press), pp.104–29

A Revelatory Cross

Comparative commentary by Ian Boxall

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John’s distinctive portrayal of Christ’s death and its aftermath is rich and multilayered, appropriate for a book known, since the second century, as ‘the spiritual Gospel’. The Cross is a symbol, not of shame, but of honour, marking the hour when the Son of Man is glorified. It is a profound moment of revelation, which extends to the post-mortem action of a Roman soldier, the practice of breaking the victim’s legs being superfluous in Jesus’s case. The soldier’s piercing of the dead Christ fulfils ancient scriptures, regarding both the Passover lamb (Exodus 12:10, 46; see also, Psalm 34:20–21) and Zechariah’s pierced one (Zechariah 12:10). Thus, both the Law and the prophets speak eloquently of Christ’s fate. Indeed, this action is so significant that an eye-witness—whether the soldier who wielded the lance (John 19:34) or the Beloved Disciple standing at the foot of the cross (see John 21:24)—testifies to its veracity.

No single image can capture the theological depth of this moment in John. Like many of his peers, the Master of the Straus Madonna offers a tranquil scene for Christian contemplation, evoking the silence after death has occurred. The viewer’s gaze falls on the central figure of Christ, serene and beautiful in death, framed by miniature scenes from the Passion story and instruments of that Passion. Christ’s mother Mary and Mary Magdalene set the tone, seated in contemplative mode on either side, kissing his wounded hands. They invite the faithful to wait awhile, meditating on each of the steps that brought their Saviour to this point.

Giovanni Mauro della Rovere draws out attention to the benefits of Christ’s Passion and death, symbolized by the blood and water flowing from his wounded body. Catholic Christians in early-seventeenth-century Italy would need no explanation of what Giovanni Mauro depicts: the fresco presents visually the blood of the Eucharist and the water of baptism, both making eternal life accessible to the believer in the here-and-now. Indeed, the fountain on which Christ stands even resembles a baptismal font. And if the near-naked body recalls humanity’s first parent, Adam, that too is appropriate. For the word John uses for Christ’s pierced side (Greek pleura) can also mean a ‘rib’, recalling Genesis 2:21–23. The death of Christ is the beginning of a new creation. Giovanni Mauro thus brings John’s Gospel into dialogue with St Paul: ‘For as in Adam all die, so also in Christ shall all be made alive’ (1 Corinthians 15:22).

Finally, the Santa Prassede mosaic takes us beyond the hill of Calvary to its cosmic consequences. The Lamb is now enthroned in heaven, having been exalted to the Father’s right hand. The image combines John’s Passion account with Revelation’s scene of the heavenly throne room. Beneath the Lamb is the scroll with seven seals, containing God’s plan for salvation, which Christ the victorious Lamb is now worthy to open and put into effect (Revelation 5:9). Yet, lest we forget the cost of this victory, the mosaicist has depicted the heavenly throne backless, resembling less a seat than an altar. The cross on which the Lamb dies is a place of sacrifice. The viewer can almost hear the words of the Baptist, spoken towards the beginning of John’s Gospel: ‘Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world’ (John 1:29; 36).

In both the Gospel and the Apocalypse, the death of Jesus is a moment of profound revelation which shakes the very core of the cosmos. It reveals many things simultaneously. The new Adam ushers in a new creation. Christ our mother gives her life that her children might live. The Man of Sorrows, lifted up on the cross, manifests divine glory. A Lamb is revealed as slain ‘from the foundation of the world’ (Revelation 13:8).

References:

Moloney, Francis J. 1998. The Gospel of John, Sacra Pagina 4 (Collegeville: Michael Glazier)

Thunø, Erik. 2015. The Apse Mosaic in Early Medieval Rome (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press)

Next exhibition: John 19:38–42