On the edge...

Ian Knowles • Mar 31, 2019

Chaos, civilisation and love

The icon I painted above, is of Our Lady and the Patron saints of Europe, and Blessed John Henry Newman. It was a gift to the then Anglican Bishop of Europe, Geoffrey Rowell. It shows the Mother of God enthroned, herself a throne for her Son the Saviour Jesus Christ, within a mandorla of Divine Light. Around the throne gather the patron saints of Europe who in various ways bore testimony to the civilisation of love which Jesus came to establish among the peoples of the earth. Behind stands a church, a symbol of the People of God who gather as the redeemed in the House of Faith. The church is placed in a Garden, the new Paradise to which our sojourn on earth is directed and from which point the struggles and joys of life make sense.

In the all consuming cacophany of Brexit it is easy to loose perspective. Belonging to Europe is more than being a part of the EU, yet being part of the EU is something of a progression of the deeper current of development rooted in the evangelisation of the peoples of Europe. Brexit has reduced our Parliament to a babbling, incoherent and lost political dystopia where the issues are subsumed with plays for petty party advantage, a sounding box for hard core ideologues, and a playpen for the political class which has no idea where it is heading let alone supposedly leading us to. In other words, it is chaos.

Chaos is the antithesis of civilisation and the death knell of love. Chaos makes us afraid as we face annihilation, death, confusion, darkness. This was the situation western and northern Europe faced in the aftermath of the collapse of Roman power. The ravages of tribal marauding bands, Viking raids, and the rise of an ever warring feudal oligarchy plunged Europe into chaos. Some have even called it the Dark Ages. This imploding, segregated and violent time was challenged by the establishment and growth of the Christian Church. It gradually re-shaped this fragmenting Continent into a new, unified identity based around the Gospels, the Sacraments and the life of the Church.

The patron saints of Europe all testify to this deep movement towards civilisation, towards beauty, integrity and vitality. From Benedict and his movement of Benedictines to Benedicta of the Cross and her testimony in the midst of Nazism, theirs have been voices which have called and which the great peoples of Europe have responded and within which found their own particular greatness. In England it was the Benedictines which shaped generations of people around the vision of a world to come which transcended the petty realities of day to day life, which raised up vast public edifices of incredible beauty and which educated rich and poor alike. The values of Christ underpin the English process of law and the assertion of human rights embodied in such things as the Magna Carta.

However, these were elements of a deeper, wider movement of civilisation which pulled all of Europe towards a sense of unity and common purpose, all of which presaged an era of peace. Common ideals, shared goals, a sense of an identity as a Christian that transcended national or tribal bonds created open channels through which not just trade but also learning, art, architecture, music and the whole stuff of a flourishing humanity was able to flow creatively. While medieval Europe began as a blood drenched patchwork of tribes it rose to become a beacon of democracy, human rights and aspirations not of conquest but of peace between peoples. The EU is a fruit of such aspirations, however imperfect it might be.

Europe transitioned from being a series of conquering imperial powers to being a conglomeration of nations, which some wish to propel into a new super state. That is a shame, because rather than a unity in diversity, one which enables the richness of difference to flourish it suggests conformism and a new sort of European nationalism. Fortress Europe as some call it. The stifling of national identities and the imposition of this new European identity was I think a real political failure and it is largely to blame for the wide ranging rise of an ugly, xenophobic sort of populism. The genius of Christ inspired unity is that each person and group finds its own identity deepened, not extinguished. Crush that for a new dominant identity and you burst the movement apart, and back into chaos. It then is fertile ground for the likes of populist characters such as Boris Johnson who can make hay even while the rain pours.

The Brexit debate desperately needs to get re-grounded in the common European civilisation to which we belong not by virtue of any treaty but by virtue of our history and the beliefs we hold. If political discourse was fermented out of common grounding, if it was the fruit of re-engaging with the primal sources of our identity then a way forward that could command common respect should just be possible. May the saints of Europe pray for us!

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The workshop was located on top of a small hill in the midst of the city, with spectacular views across the capital. However, there was no glass in the windows, just some metal shutters, which while not impeding the view made the strong chill wind that would swirl through the classroom a bit of a challenge. Especially as about 1/3 of us fell sick with a really nasty cold, which has lasted for me until now. Yet everyone reliably turned up between 8-9am, and we worked solidly until about 4pm, with a short lunch break. In preparing for the course, I felt a movement of the Spirit to just leave things and take them as they came along. With no real idea about the place, the people, the Church, the artistic background, the levels of understanding of religious and liturgical art, as well as tools, equipment and number of students, it was impossible to know quite what to expect. Yet, I had not the slightest anxiety. It was a very blessed sense, totally reliant on Christ to take care of it all. I just focused on trying to listen, and to hold on to this sense that all was under control and I just needed to turn up. So turn up I did, at 4.30am, after nearly 24 hours travel, and by 8.30am class had begun. Surreal is the only word I can find to describe it. And to reach the workshop meant sitting abreast the rear of a motorbike, weaving alarmingly between trucks, scooters and pedestrians, smothered in belching clouds of smoke. Yes, surreal. I found the Malagasy peoples - I say peoples because the country comprises of a series of distinctive ethnic groups - to be very quietly spoken, reserved, polite, gentle, keen to please, and with a sense of gratitude and positivity about life and others. Perhaps also a bit laid back and uncomprehending of the north European work ethic, valuing warmth and being present. I found them hungry for the spiritual depths of iconography, rather than enamoured by a certain esotericism. With little or no religious or secular art of any distinction, the whole world of art is either unknown or something commercial. In recent years quite a strong movement of modern painting has emerged, but this is strictly commercial and focused on the idea of prestige. Its a means of conveying a message or meaning, something to be decoded. Art as the pursuit of beauty is quite alien. Religious art is mainly rather sentimental, even kitsch. So the students really picked up their ears when I began to introduce them to art as a means of spiritual encounter, of creating thresholds where God comes to meet us as our Divine Friend, where artistic imagining comes from above, not from below, as a visual encounter with the Eternal, the Good and the True. To be honest I can’t really remember very much about what I actually said. I know we focused on the face, on the human person, and on transfiguration of time and space. I talked about grace building on nature, on power of creating images that capture a living likeness, not a dead resemblance, and icons as doors where God stands and encounters us. And so on.These were very new concepts, but they really chewed on them, treasured what they found. It changed them. We explored praying with our eyes, and the paucity of their own prayer life where the visual is ignored as having any importance in worship. It was a sort of visual catechesis. And by the end they had begun to get it. Its important to stress the visual poverty of the celebration of Mass there. I attended four Masses, two in the local parish, one in the only Benedictine monastery in the country, and one with the workshop participants. The singing was deep, heartfelt, and from the bulk of the congregations. They were also very well attended, with the local parish Mass, celebrated at 6.30am, being packed to the doors with hundreds of people. The style of Mass is very post Vatican II, respectful, prayerful but a relaxed liturgy with a focus on accessibility and participation, and a lot of speaking in the form of commentary which meant the length was never short! I found it a very prayerful experience, humble and lacking pretension. However, even at the Benedictine monastery, it lacked a sense of transcendence which I felt was a pity. This was reflected in the visual aspects of the celebration, which was disappointing and lacking in both finesse and depth. Some very basic sorts of decoration, for example swagged cloth along the gothic arches of the building, and an obligatory crucifix of little quality, really quite perfunctory. There was no interaction with the imagery that did exist, no sense of the transcendent possibilities of art to inspire let alone work liturgically. The one flicker of hope was in the stained glass, but this was very peripheral I felt to the whole experience.

Madagascar - Part 2

by Ian Knowles • 08 Sept, 2023

Contd.... So, we could say, this was rather basic. The students were a mixed bunch, some experienced with the mosaic others had never drawn anything before, Catholics and Protestants, lay and religious, and with ages ranging from early 20s until late 50s. Some of the students came from very far away - 12 hours or so, and so slept in the workshop, while the rest all arrived via the crammed series of minibuses that meander through the city while belching out dense clouds of carbon monoxide, or by bike or on foot. The eldest student, a wizened man whose wife is critically ill but without access to any serious medical care, came several hours each day on a rickety bicycle. There were also a couple of Claretan sisters released from their enclosure, a Jesuit postulant, and our cook who was a sister living nearby on her own I think, recovering from some illness. One of the students did live nearby, just up the road in one of the tiny houses built by a local priest as part of a vast rehousing and rehabilitation project trying to get the very poorest off the streets and into some for of productive life, one where there is some access to basic education, and support into finding a means of making some sort of income. But when you realise that the average monthly salary for a doctor is just… €400-500 a month… we aren’t really talking about an income for these people that we would recognise as even covering the basics. Some had a few pencils and paper, while others had nothing, nothing at all. So, for the most part, the workshop provided tools and resources such as Bristol board for monochrome work, and a couple of grades of pencil for drawing. I brought over some Kolinsky sable brushes as a gift, bought at cost by the kindness of Dal Molin in Italy, as well as some pigments, rabbit skin glue and a large container of fine quality gesso, which sparked some interest in airport security! The workshop provided lunch each day - we ate a lot of rice and vegetables, which was without meat as the budget didn’t quite reach that far. This was much to the disgust of the students who were quite put out because I wasn’t being given proper Madagascan food - which seemingly ALWAYS has meat! So I would say that my students for this course were pretty much the ‘anawim’, the ‘little ones’ as Scripture calls them. People with little of luxury, yet rich in spirit, determination, guts and hope in God. With a raw edge to life they cut through the dross, the self-indulgent winging of western, middle class life, and just get on with living and believing best they can and usually with a smile on their face, with a ready ability to laugh and smile, and with encouragement to give of their best with a generous spirit. God is very much the richness of their life, the strength to get up and face the very many challenges of each day, the joy that bubbles through to make life good despite the material challenges. Inspirational people in their simplicity and kindness. They made it easy to be there, and the experience of sharing what I know, a joy.