A meditation by Theodore Gill on images of the invisible and how we are all called to be icons

Images of the invisible - a meditation by Rev. Theodore Gill for the opening of an icon exhibition in the Ecumenical Centre chapel on Monday 19 April 2009

This morning we are surrounded by a cloud of witnesses. For the next two weeks, this ecumenical chapel plays host to the exhibition of icons you see around us, painted by contemporary artists Josette Laissue and Didi Marmoud.
Icons have been described by admirers as windows into the kingdom of heaven, and also as mirrors that aid us in our spiritual self-reflection.
“Icon” comes from the Greek word for “image” – it is used in the Septuagint, the early Greek translation of Hebrew scripture, when God is said to create humankind in God’s own image (the word applies neither to a man nor a women, but all of “humankind…male and female”; Gen.1:27). And the word appears again in the hymn near the beginning of Colossians, when we are told – somewhat paradoxically, it has seemed to many – that Jesus Christ is “the image of the invisible God” (Col.1:15).
The whole notion of theological imagery is confusing. The phrase “image of the invisible” is not easily grasped. It is part of the mystery of Christ and the challenge of being Christian. How can anything, or anyone, be a “true” image of the invisible?
I hope it is not anti-ecumenical to observe that a lot of nonsense has been preached by Christians about icons and representational art. But as in many things ecumenical, the nonsensical element is not easily identified or agreed by all parties.
One of the prime commandments of Hebrew scripture forbad the making of graven images, much less bowing down to them. The psalmist’s opinion was harsh:
Their idols are silver and gold, the work of human hands.
They have mouths, but do not speak; eyes, but do not see.
They have ears, but do not hear; noses, but do not smell…
Those who make them are like them;
so are all who trust in them. (Ps.115:4-6,8; cf. Ps.135:15ff)
And during periods of great reforms, as in the days of Hezekiah or Ezra, we are told that decorations including representational sculptures and similar idols were stripped from the Temple in Jerusalem – despite elaborate, apparently positive descriptions in some books of the Bible and instructions explaining their purpose in acts of worship.

In the early centuries of the Christian church, paintings and drawings began to appear in catacombs and surface structures, and in the margins of written works. Among many, the term “graven image” was understood as a three-dimensional object, so two-dimensional illustrations were accepted long before Christian statuary appeared. The development of the Christian “icon” had begun.
But by the 8th century, and encounters with an expanding Islam and its call to reject artistic representation of any living thing, a controversy arose within the Byzantine church. New traditions of iconography had evolved, traditions that have borne fruit in this chapel today. But not everyone was pleased – the so-called “iconoclasts” inaugurated a reform of Biblical proportion against what they called “the evil art of painters”. The iconoclastic Synod of Hieria in 754 A.D. condemned the use of such art:
If anyone ventures to represent the divine nature of the Word after the
Incarnation with material colours, let him be anathema! ...If anyone shall
endeavour to represent the forms of the saints in lifeless pictures with material
colours which are of no value (for this notion is vain and introduced by the
devil), and does not rather represent their virtues as living images in himself,
let him be anathema!
It is important to hear that last injunction – and not lightly dismiss the inconoclasts as mere haters of art: their point was that we are called to become images of the virtues of God, in ourselves, and not to be distracted by showy objects outside ourselves. When empowered by grace to appear more Christ-like, we are the “icons” God approves.

The Second Council of Nicaea met in 786 and 787 to address the iconoclastic controversy. It was pointed out that the symbol of the cross was universally accepted as a sign of Christ’s sacrifice and an object of devotion. The proceedings of the council concluded:
…like the figure of the honoured and life-giving cross, the revered and holy
images, whether painted or made of mosaic or of other suitable material, are
to be exposed in the holy churches of God, on sacred instruments and
vestments, on walls and panels, in houses and by public ways… The more frequently they are seen in representational art, the more are those who see them drawn to remember and long for those who serve as models, and to pay these images the tribute of salutation and respectful veneration. Certainly this is not the full adoration in accordance with our faith, which is properly paid only to the divine nature, but it resembles that given to the figure of the honoured and life-giving cross and also to the holy books of the gospels and to other sacred objects.

This was a significant word, but it was not the final word. To this day, generations of iconoclasts arise – and one such generation had great influence on the faith traditions of some of us who are here today, particularly on the Reformed tradition as it arose in parts of Switzerland like Zürich and Geneva. To see the great church art of the middle ages in these cities, one must visit a museum. But a substantial number of heirs to the Swiss Reformers have had second, third and fourth thoughts about art and iconography.
Even in the 16th century, not all were in agreement. Martin Luther commented on the rejection of the arts by contemporary exponents of the radical reformation…
I am not of the opinion that all the arts should be banished and driven away, as
some zealots want us to believe; but I wish to see them all, especially music, in the service of God who gave and created them… Would to God that I could persuade those who can afford it to paint the whole Bible on their houses, inside and outside, so that all might see; this would indeed by Christian work. For I am convinced that we should hear and learn what God has done, and especially what Christ suffered. But when I hear these things and meditate upon them, I find it impossible not to picture them in my heart. Whether I want to or not, when I hear of Christ, a human form hanging upon a cross rises up in my heart, just as I see my face reflected when I look in water. Now if it is not sinful for me to have Christ’s picture in my heart, why should it be sinful to have it before my eyes?

And for now, let us accept Luther’s implication that, yes, some works of art may serve as windows to the kingdom, or as mirrors of the soul. We peer into icons, as we look through a pane of glass or into a pool of water, wondering what may lie beyond or beneath. We look closely, hoping to glimpse an image of the invisible.
Philip, we are told, wanted to see God more clearly, yet Jesus suggested he was already seeing all that was needed. “If you have seen me, you have seen the Father,” he said. And he added, “I am in the Father, and the Father is in me” (John 14:8-10). And later, Jesus prayed that all his followers might share in the divine: “…may they all be one: as you, Father, are in me, and I am in you, may they also be in us” (John 17:20f).
Whether the art on display represents a set of windows to heaven or mirrors for reflection, or some combination of the two, icons invite us to consider our own potential as images of divine love – and to re-conceive our own lives as a means of portraying the reality of Christ in the world.
Even so, we may also affirm with Paul (1Cor13:12) that, for now, we see through a glass, dimly… but one day we shall see face to face.