As today is Good Friday, I take the opportunity to share a scene from one of the most stunning survivals from the wealth of art created in medieval Norway, namely the ceiling of the ciborium of Ål stave church. The ciborium, a barrel-valuted structure placed above the choir, was painted in the thirteenth century, and provides a compressed version of the salvation story, beginning with the Creation and reaching its climax with the Resurrection. The ceiling is currently housed in the Museum of Cultural History in Oslo, where the paintings are accessible to the general public.
The crucifixion scene is a good way to assess the level of biblical and apocryphal knowledge available in medieval Norway in the thirteenth century. In our times, there is a pervasive myth that medieval Norway was out of touch with Christian traditions and Christian knowledge elsewhere in Europe, which in turn has led to several unfounded claims about the continuity of paganism, at least on a popular level. By the thirteenth century, Norway had been Christian for three centuries, and although urbanisation was limited and there were few monasteries, the network of parish churches ensured that at least the most important feasts of the liturgical year were celebrated throughout the country, despite its rather difficult topography.
The crucifixion scene shows that there was a familiarity with Christian iconography in thirteenth-century Norway, and also that the artists behind the ceiling at Ål stave church were just as adept at compressing information as artists elsewhere in Latin Christendom. The scene also reminds us of the abiding and pervasive evil that is antisemitism.
The central feature of the scene is, of course, the crucified Christ, bleeding from his pierced side, his head drooping in the typical manner of the Gothic style, emphasising the suffering and human Christ. Above him, we see two symbols of the evangelists, namely the angel of Matthew and the eagle of John. Six figures are standing at the foot of the cross. The most recognisable are perhaps John the Evangelist on the left (or the viewer's right), depicted as a young, clean-shaven man, and identifiable as an evangelist thanks to the book he is holding, and the Virgin Mary on the rightmost end, clutching her hands in pain. Next to the Virgin Mary, a woman, probably Mary Magdalen, is raising aloft a chalice. This chalice is strongly laden with symbolism, but it is difficult to assess how it is meant. It might be that the chalice represents the jar of alabaster which is Mary Magdalen's saintly attribute. It is possible that the chalice refers to Christ's prayer in Gethsemane, where he asked God to let the chalice pass him by, meaning that he would not have to go through with the ultimate sacrifice. A modern audience will probably connect the chalice to the vessel that gathered some of Christ's blood, which is part of the developing grail mythology - but this is unlikely given the stage at which this story had developed in the thirteenth century.
Beyond the Virgin and the Magdalen, two male figures are located. The one closest to the cross is the Roman soldier Longinus, who pierced the side of Christ with his spear. According to post-biblical tradition, the blood of Christ got in the soldier's eye - to which he is indicating in the scene - and thereby healed it. The miracle promptly converted Longinus to Christianity, and his feast was celebrated in calendars until the twelfth century - at least that is as far I have been able to trace it. As part of this story, Longinus' spear became the holy lance, which was claimed by Ottonian emperors and became part of a long register of Christ-related relics in the Middle Ages.
Beside Longinus, we see a beard-puller, a typical figure of otherness in medieval art. It is likely that the beard-puller represents the unbelieving Other, the non-Christians who refused to accept Christ as Messiah, and it is possible that this figure represents both pagans and Jews.
The final figure, placed between the cross and John the Evangelist, is another and indeed more forceful reminder that Christian iconography is, tragically, saturated with antisemitism. This figure, appearing as a royal harlot, is most likely a figuration of the Synagogue, a figure demonising and attacking all Jews. The crown askance might be understood as the imminent loss of sovereignty - being replaced by the Christian faith - and the bared breasts and the goat held by the horns might be interpreted as lasciviousness or unfaithfulness.
The antisemitic imagery in this picture is part of an artistic tradition that fuelled Christian antagonism against Jews throughout the Middle Ages, and which continues to do so today. We are therefore reminded that it can be intensely difficult to untangle the heritage of Christian antisemitism from the commemoration of the mystical climax of the Christian liturgical year, and indeed the history of salvation. In our own times, antisemitism remains deeply rooted in many groups of society - including many Christian groups - and for Christians the season should be a time of reflection for how Christians have persecuted Jews throughout the centuries, all in contradiction with Christ's commandment of love and tolerance.
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