The Fourth Sunday of Advent
“Nothing will be impossible with God.”
Anthony VanArsdale is a versatile contemporary artist whose personal interests gravitate towards the cartoon-fantasy genre, within which, he seems especially drawn to heroines. Yet his portfolio is punctuated by the occasional religious commission, usually of a notable Roman Catholic cleric. This particular "Madonna and Child” commissioned by the National Black Catholic Congress is striking in its fusion of traditional and modern elements: a depiction of Mary and Jesus I think well-suited to 2020.
In fact, traditional European art has a longstanding “Black Madonna” tradition, notwithstanding that the stereotype that the persons inhabiting that region tend to be melatonin-challenged. From the lauded Lady of Częstochowa in Poland to the striking Santa Maria de Montserrat in Spain, the style spans from the Orthodox East to the Catholic West, adorning the iconography of all classical Christian traditions.
It is a theme the Scriptures themselves invite us to contemplate; “I am black, but beautiful,” cried out the beloved of the Song of Songs (1:5): this was applied, typologically, to the person of the Virgin Mary, and thence to her depiction. It is a study in contrasts, that Mary might be at once homely and comely, mortal and humble, and yet the vessel through which divinity takes on flesh and is born, entering the totality of human experience. More than that, Black Mary represents our humanity — an outward blackness symbolic of the inward blackness of our sin-stained souls: and yet in the midst of that blackness, being met by the love of God and clothed in the majesty of his mercy.
Of course, this kind of contrastive hermeneutic is problematic: in our tendentious times, it is best to avoid the implicit valuation of white over black, particularly as it pertains to the color of one’s skin. But that is part of what is striking about VanArsdale’s Madonna: she is not just Black, but her appearance suggests a mixed heritage, perhaps African American. She is Black and beautiful: not a contrast, but a continuity. And out of this continuity, we see the Tree of Life blooming, and the four living rivers flowing, and the lilies of the field in full bloom, complementing and attesting her purity and peace and personhood as that highly-favored meeting-point between heaven and earth, the human temple where God himself deigned to dwell.
Behold, I am the handmaid of the Lord: be it unto me according to your word.
—The Virgin Mary (Luke 1:38)
Fourth Sunday of Advent
Texts for this Week
Prayer
Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us; and as we are sorely hindered by our sins from running the race that is set before us, let your bountiful grace and mercy speedily help and deliver us; through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with you and the Holy Spirit, be honor and glory, now and for ever.
Magnificat Anima Meam — My Soul Magnifies the Lord
The ethereal Magnificat of the contemporary Estonian composer Arvo Part is well-suited to the spacious wonder of this season. The setting is composed in tintinnabuli style, a minimalist form of Part’s own invention, inspired by the sonority of chant. It invites dwelling in the spaciousness of the sound and of the text: its intention to invite slowness, and bring our attention to what we hear.
Introitus
Rorate Coeli Desuper
The text for this week’s introit again draws from the Prophet Isaiah (45:8), with responding psalm verse lifting the up opening words of Coeli enarrat: Psalm 19:1. In English, the whole thing runs like this:
Rain down, you heavens, from above, and let the skies pour down righteousness; Let the earth open, let it bring forth salvation, and let righteousness spring up together. I, the LORD, have created it. Ps. The heavens declare the glory of God; And the firmament shows His handiwork.
The Corpus Christi Watershed makes available a simple English version of the chant. Here’s the video of the OL from the Graduale Project, over sweet shots of an OL manuscript. The English Renaissance composer William Byrd penned a nice polyphonic version of it that’s worth a listen; his contemporary Christopher Tye also composed a setting. The proximity to Christmas seems to have made it a popular piece to compose: here’s a more recent setting by Jameson Marvin. Most compelling to me, however, is Thea Musgrave’s modern setting, which leans into dissonant tone painting to depict the tearing and unsettledness of the heavens … which certainly seems to fit these days.
The same words from Isaiah form the chorus of the Advent Prose, a cento of verse from the Prophet that encapsulates the themes of the season:
Drop down, ye heavens, from above, and let the skies pour forth righteousness:
Be not very angry, O Lord, neither remember our iniquity for ever:
thy holy cities are a wilderness, Jerusalem a desolation:
our holy and our beautiful house, where our fathers praised thee.
Drop down, ye heavens, from above, and let the skies pour forth righteousness:
We have sinned, and are as an unclean thing,
and we all do fade as a leaf:
our iniquities, like the wind, have taken us away;
thou hast hid thy face from us:
and hast consumed us, because of our iniquities.
Drop down, ye heavens, from above, and let the skies pour forth righteousness:
Ye are my witnesses, saith the Lord, and my servant whom I have chosen;
that ye may know me and believe me:
I, even I, am the Lord, and beside me there is no Saviour:
and there is none that can deliver out of my hand.
Drop down, ye heavens, from above, and let the skies pour forth righteousness:
Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, my salvation shall not tarry:
I have blotted out as a thick cloud thy transgressions:
fear not for I will save thee:
for I am the Lord thy god, the holy one of Israel, thy Redeemer.
