Essays on Eastern Orthodoxy
By the Way, Sorry About the Wall
Essay on the East Wall and Iconostasis at St Thomas Church
February 1, 2006
It was shortly after Brenda and I started attending St. Thomas on a regular basis that someone came up to me and apologized for the east wall and iconostasis of the church. (The east wall is the wall behind the altar area.) Over the next several weeks I had several people either apologize for it, make excuses for it, or explain that they were sure that it would be changed soon because the money was already pledged to do the job.
And I must confess that I found the east wall rather garish the first time I walked into St. Thomas (which was almost a decade before I was chrismated). The icons painted on it are very Western and stylistically completely different than the rest of the church. It was not only odd in and of itself, it was of a completely different character than the rest of the church.
Let me explain that the inside of Orthodox churches are traditionally covered with iconography. There are no particular rules that I know of for the north, south, and west walls, but the east wall and ceiling have very specific rules as to what icons are to appear. Since the altar faces east, that wall is filled with great theological significance. The icons that appear there tell the story of salvation. They also figure prominently in the priestly prayers that are said during Divine Liturgy.
The east wall at St. Thomas has pictures of Mary, hands outstretched to the world, with Jesus stylistically still in her womb, his arms also outstretched to the world (the Panagia), the resurrection and transfiguration of Jesus, as well as angels and a picture from the Apocalypse that shows the ruling Lord Jesus Christ in heaven. All of that is well and good, but the pictures are not precisely icons, and this is where the problem lies.
At this juncture some history is in order. This particular temple was built in the mid-50s. That was a difficult time for Orthodoxy in America. After World War II there was remarkable religious hegemony in the United States as well as a great deal of bias against anything that wasn’t part of the Protestant hegemony. During this period Orthodox Christians tried hard to fit into American culture. Unfortunately (and this is according to Orthodox historians, not my own observation) Orthodox communities often gave up core pieces of their Orthodoxy in their attempts to fit in.
When it came time to paint the icons on the east wall when this temple was built, the congregation commissioned a local college art professor to do the work since there was no Orthodox iconographer available. (Most iconographers were European at this time.) Because iconography was a somewhat esoteric subject this far from the centers of Orthodoxy and the specifics of what was required and what was forbidden had not been well taught in the congregation in the decade or more prior to this, he was given little guidance as to just how the wall should be painted. To his credit, the artist did do a great deal of research but I am told there was virtually nothing in English about the technical details of iconography at the time. The artist was, to a large extent, on his own. The result is a wall filled with religious pictures that are not Orthodox iconography.
It is done in a semi-realistic style. Objects have strong black lines surrounding them to set them off from the background or other objects. This style gives it an almost cartoon-like character that I associate with simple pictures found in children’s Bibles. Some of the pictures are reminiscent (for me) of the style of painting used for what I endearingly call “Velvet Elvis” pictures.
I suspect I know the source for this simplified style of painting. Icons are idealized (and therefore somewhat simplified) pictures of people and events. The primary goal of iconography is not to depict earthly reality realistically but to show forth heavenly reality in an earthly scene. Because of this there are stylistic rules that have developed over the centuries in order to promote the proper function of icons. No doubt the artist had read something about this and attempted to paint idealized scenes without the advantage of having he actual rules available to him. The effect, observed fifty years later, is, as I said, an almost cartoonish character rather than the idealized perfections depicted in icons.
The iconostasis suffers from a similar fate. During the period of the Americanization of the Orthodox church, commercially available icons often used a style of painting common in American portraits of the previous century that I would call American Romantic. The person is painted with almost photographic realism and is then surrounded either by clouds or an idyllic pastoral scene. The overall effect is one of gentleness and calm. Religious art of this period often was done in this style, and as a result I associate the icons on the iconostasis with the sort of religious art found in fellowship halls and basements of small Protestant churches across the country. Again, as in the pictures on the east wall, the pictures are faithful within their own style, but they are not good iconography in the Orthodox sense.
Most aesthetically disturbing, when sitting in worship, is the fact that the east wall and the iconostasis clash with each other and with the rest of the nave, now that the remaining walls have been filled with icons in the Byzantine style. So it is that certain individuals apologized to us for the east wall when we began to attend church.
Although no one has explained to me the dynamics of why the east wall has not been repainted, I was a pastor long enough to have figured that out on my own. No doubt the families of those who originally commissioned the wall are still a part of the congregation. Changing the wall would be doing a fundamental injustice to the memories of their loved ones (if my guess is correct).
But I take a rather different view of the wall and iconostasis than many in the parish. I would be quite content to have them stay just as they are. St. Thomas is a remarkable congregation. It had one particularly remarkable priest, Fr. Yanney, who singlehandedly brought the congregation into twentieth century America. He instituted English liturgy at a time when he could barely speak any English himself. He considered English language services to be critical for the survival of the Antiochian Archdiocese. St. Thomas is one of the very first (and possibly the first) congregation in the archdiocese to have an English language Sunday School and English language choir. Having worked with a number of choirs and choir directors I consider this a small miracle. Choirs don’t change without terrible political repercussions. As a result, St. Thomas is to this day a strong congregation with a remarkably strong musical heritage.
There’s a tendency to idealize such a period in a church’s life. “If we could only be like that, we wouldn’t have the current budget crisis.” (Or, you can pick whatever crisis a church might be in — crises come and go, after all.) But the fact is we are like that congregation of the 40s and 50s. We have our strengths, but like them, we are not perfect. The east wall is a constant reminder to us that we all have our cultural blind spots that tend to undermine our authentic Christian life and sensibilities. Sometimes we take holiness into our own hands and create what we think is right rather than allowing God to do it. The result is Christian kitsch and American pop culture that slips in and replaces the real thing.
I’ve wanted to write about the east wall for some time, but every time I’ve started it’s come out all wrong; it has always sounded like sniping without a real point. But at Great Vespers this week I was starring at the east wall when the chanter sang the Evening Prokeimenon. (The Prokeimenon is similar to the Collect in Western worship. It essentially is the theme of the service.) Great Vespers focuses on Christ’s victory over all. Reflecting this theme, the normal Great Vespers Prokeimenon is, “The Lord is King and reigns in beauty.” It occurred to me that this connection between beauty and the reign of Christ is what this whole debate over the iconostasis and east wall is all about. And this brings me to my point about the east wall and iconostasis.
There is a beauty to all things Orthodox that is internally consistent. It is reflected in the architecture, art, vestments, and music. That beauty is both subdued and extravagant at the same time. When we humans try to horn in on any part of that, the balance between consistency, extravagance, and subtlety breaks down. The east wall may be pretty in its own way, but it is simultaniously garish. It is as similar to authentic iconography as a Baptist preacher out of 70s (with bright sports coat, wild tie, and white shoes) is similar to an Orthodox priest in his vestments.
At Great Vespers it occurred to me that rather than a reflection of the divine beauty spoken of in the Evening Prokeimenon, the east wall and iconostasis were both human attempts to approximate divine beauty. When that happens, the human approximation is loud, brassy, self-promoting, and sometimes just plain unattractive. (If you will allow me to pick on the Baptists one more time, compare the Vladimir Mother of God icon with the famous Newsweek cover photo of Tammy Faye and Jimmy Baker: Which one’s beautiful and which one’s brassy? That distinction lies at the heart of human attempts to approximate divine beauty. (Fortunately, the east wall was done with a great deal more taste than Tammy Faye’s makeup.)
Reformed theology (ie, the Presbyterian Church) was historically anti-aesthetics. Their churches were plain; their worship was plain; and in my experience, their spiritual life was plain. This is one of the great attractions, for me, to Orthodoxy. It takes aesthetics seriously. Aesthetics are not only honorable, they are a necessary part of the spiritual life, as the Evening Prokeimenon says: “The Lord is King and reigns in beauty.” At the same time, we remain as imperfect as the east wall of St. Thomas Church this side of God's Kingdom; our potential beauty of holiness often turns into spiritual brazenness, if we are not ever vigilant. So I’ll make no apologies for the wall behind the altar. It tells the world who we are (not just what we should be) and where we came from. That seems a good thing to me.
Copyright © 2006 James E. Nelson (Just Another Jim). All Rights Reserved.
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