Found on the Op-Ed page of The Asian Age, an English-language Indian news site:

New Goddess

Since childhood in my daily prayers as I meditate, the images of Ganesh, Buddha, Ram-Sita-Hanuman, Vishnu-Lakshmi, Shiva-Parvati, Guru Gobind Singh, the Quran and Jesus flash through my mind. This year there has been a dramatic change. The image of Mary Magdalene also appears beside Jesus. That profound an impact reading Dan Brown’s The Da Vinci Code has had on me. I have understood better the love, struggle, sacrifice and purity of Mary Magdalene and Jesus Christ. I also now understand better the art, architecture and spirit of Christianity. I hope posterity will pay the homage that Mary Magdalene eternally deserves. Dan Brown has given me a new goddess in Mary Magdalene.

Siddhartha Reddy

Evidence that The Da Vinci Code has tendrils reaching outside of Christianity. I think that perhaps the most disturbing thing about this snippet is that DVC is possibly the first exposure that some non-Christians will have to the religion.

It’s a little like watching an old cowboy movie and imagining that the entire Pacific Coast is still like Hollywood’s wild West…

In In Search of Mary Magdalene: Images and Traditions, by Diane Apostolos-Cappadona, we are treated to two images drawn directly from the medieval French legends of Mary Magdalene. In the text that accompanies one of the images, there is an error about which I have been intending to write the author. It’s a minor mistake, but, if corrected, she might find more support to her “reading” of the imagery in the painting.

Below, the painting in question and Apostolos-Cappadona’s interpretation:

Saint Mary Magdalene Preaching by The Master of the Magdalen Legend c. 1500-1520

A careful looking at Mary Magdalene Preaching suggests that this representation of her post-Pentecost mission to France depicts her standing within a forest with the cave for her meditative penance in the background. Anchored in the far distant background is the ship on which she and her companions sailed to France. Her audience, composed of men and women, includes several mothers with young children seated in front of the green-clad Magdalene. They emphasize her special role as patroness of infertile women and of women in childbirth.

To understand what’s happening in this painting, we need to go back about six-hundred years.

The Golden Legend (Aurea Legenda) was compiled in the late 13th century by Jacobus de Voragine, the Archbishop of Genoa. The book was a monstrous seven volume work detailing the legends of Christian saints, and it went on to be the medieval equivalent to our modern concept of “bestseller;” it was the most-frequently printed book in the late 15th and early 16th centuries, and appeared in a great many languages.

Mary Magdalene’s entry in The Golden Legend appears in Volume 4. It offers details about her parentage, and portrays her as the sister of Martha and Lazarus, wealthy children with titles and property. Mary was the mistress of a castle called Magdalo, but as possessed as she was by a love of luxury and the wanton pursuit of life’s pleasures, she left it to be managed by ever-faithful Martha.

After the resurrection, during the persecution of Christians by the Jews, Mary Magdalene and several others were put aboard a boat with no sail or rudder to perish. God intervened and brought them to shore in Marseilles, where they immediately set about converting the local pagans. There lived in the area a prince and his wife who made offerings to idols in order to conceive, but were still unable to have a child. Mary preached to the prince and his wife, telling them that the worship of idols was forbidden, but they continued to do so. Mary then began to appear to the wife in dreams, appearing twice to her and then the third time to both the wife and the prince. Afraid, they invited Mary Magdalene and her group into their home, and listened to their testimony. The prince said he would believe if God was to grant him a son, and when Mary prayed on their behalf, a son was granted. Still, the prince needed to verify Mary’s story with someone more credible and decided to visit Peter in Rome.

With his pregnant wife in tow, the prince set off on a voyage to Rome. Along the way, they were engulfed by a terrible storm that caused the wife to go into labor. Unfortunately, she died during childbirth, leaving the prince with a newborn baby and no way to care for it. The men on the ship were jumpy about having a corpse aboard, so they set anchor near a small island. They placed the woman’s body on the shore with a mantle over her head. Because the child would die anyway, the prince placed him under the mantle with his mother and left for Rome.

Peter accepted the prince, and traveled with him to Jerusalem so they could walk in the footsteps of Jesus. The prince grew in the Christian faith, and after two years, set sail for home. Coming near the island where he left his wife, he decided to stop. As he came ashore, a toddler appeared and then ran away, afraid since he’d never seen another living person. The prince and his men observed the child crawling beneath the mantle of the dead woman they had left there two years earlier, where he had miraculously been sustained by her milk. The prince rejoiced that his son was alive, and prayed aloud to Mary Magdalene: if only his wife lived, his joy would be complete. The woman then drew breath and was restored to life. She, her son, and the prince returned to Gaul, where they immediately thanked Mary Magdalene for her intercession. They were baptised by Maximin (who had traveled with Mary Magdalene and the others from Palestine), smashed idols, built churches, and made Lazarus the bishop of Marseilles.

Mary Magdalene, after her evangelical career in Gaul, retired to a grotto in the mountains of St. Baume. She spent thirty years in penitence, eating and drinking nothing but being raised into heaven by angels several times a day to be fed spiritual sustenance. One day, a nearby priest witnessed this event and sought her out. (At left, we see Albrecht Durer’s vision of this scene, the other Golden Legend image included in Apostolos-Cappadona’s book.) Mary Magdalene told the priest to notify her old friend Maximin that she would appear to him in his oratory on a certain day at a certain time. At the appointed moment, she appeared in the air of Maximin’s oratory, held aloft by angels. He administered the Eucharist, after which she stretched her body out before the altar and died. Her body issued a scent of sweet spices for a week afterward.

Mary Magdalene’s entry in The Golden Legend then details some variations on the story that were in circulation at the time, tales of miraculous healings, restorations, and benevolent intercessions. For now, I’ll end my retelling here so we can return to the Magdalen Master’s painting, Saint Mary Magdalene Preaching. Here I present a detail of the painting in question, in which we can see the boat to which Apostolos-Cappadona refers in her quotation above:

Saint Mary Magdalene Preaching (detail)

Clearly, this is not the boat on which Mary Magdalene and her companions traveled to Gaul, but the ship on which the prince returned to the island where he discovered his son. On the right side of the detail, we can see a woman wrapped in a shroud of sorts, and in the center, small boy running toward the ship. This is, very obviously, a reference to the primary miracle attributed to Mary Magdalene in The Golden Legend. Even more interesting to note is that if Apostolos-Cappadona had more accurately identified this portion of the painting, it would have further supported her point that Mary Magdalene was known for her assistance in matters of fertility.

Three Mary Magdalene books came my way this weekend:

From an eBay auction I won a couple of weeks ago: The Life of Saint Mary Magdalene and of her Sister Saint Martha: A Medieval Biography, by Archbishop of Mainz Rabanus Maurus, translated and annotated by David Mycoff.

From my dear husband, for Christmas: The Gospel of Mary: Beyond a Gnostic and A Biblical Mary Magdalene, by Esther A. de Boer.

Compliments of Augsburg Fortress Press: Mary Magdalene and Many Others: Women Who Followed Jesus, by Carla Ricci, translated by Paul Burns.

I hope everyone had a peaceful and joyous holiday!

Posted on Magdalene.org at http://www.magdalene.org/movie_mm.php:

Mary Magdalene, the United States release of the Italian made-for-television film Maria Maddalena, was not a run-of-the-mill Mary Magdalene movie. Usually movies about Mary Magdalene fall into two categories: those about Jesus in which she happens to appear, usually as repentant prostitute, and pious retellings of Mary’s racy life that end with her finding Jesus, salvation, and peace. Although the film currently under review is absolutely at home in the latter category, it doesn’t come across as pretentious and superficial as others have.

Mary Magdalene, a married woman, is divorced by her husband because she could not bear children. Sworn to revenge, she beds a Roman soldier and leaves her birthright, Magdala, to her manipulative husband. Soon, however, she learns that the soldier she chose as an escape presents a new set of problems, and she is left in Tiberius alone after being brutally attacked. She attempts suicide, but is restored to life aboard a fishing vessel by a mysterious teacher whose followers pulled her lifeless body from the Sea of Galilee.

Before Mary can learn more about her savior, she is plucked, by a servant of Herod’s new wife, Herodias, from a group of people as they sit listening to the teacher on the shore. Herodias, frantically in search of a cure for leprous sores on her arm, asks Mary if she is an experienced healer. Having practiced plant medicine back in Magdala, Mary agrees to help. When she hears of Mary’s desire for revenge against her former husband, Herodias sees an opportunity to entangle the troubled woman in her own pursuits of power; she teaches Mary how to comport herself in a manner to seduce men in order to get whatever she wants. The catch, of course, is that Mary’s conquests also benefit the queen.

Mary is acquainted with John the Baptist, who is taken prisoner by Herod. She doesn’t understand the Baptist’s message of forgiveness, but is sympathetic to his plight. When Herodias is able to secure his death through clever manipulation of her daughter and husband, Mary finally breaks; she cannot serve a woman so cold and calculating. Matters become worse when Mary’s lover, another Roman soldier, acts on Mary’s planted suggestions to kill her previous lover and destroy her ex-husband by razing Magdala. In a sudden attack of conscience, Mary rushes to Magdala in time to witness the sorrow she has wrought. A young boy, the son of her dearest friend, is killed, and she is beside herself with grief. Enter, Jesus, who arrives on the scene just in time to restore the boy to life, giving Mary back the friendship she thought had been lost. His female disciples bring her into the fold, and, while at the house of Simon the Pharisee, she has a breakthrough in which she fully realizes the power of God’s love. A re-enactment of the anointing scene from the Gospel of Luke follows.

The story is powerful, even if it is entirely fictional. I found that it was much more poignant than many American attempts to flesh out Mary Magdalene’s story, even if the dubbing into English made the dialog feel more stilted than it already was. It’s difficult to put my finger on what it was about this movie that caused me to enjoy it as much as I did; it might have been the sumptuous costumes and sets, it might have been the grittiness of the Italian retelling, or perhaps it was the deep beauty of the actress portraying Mary Magdalene. Maria Grazia Cucinotta is by far one of the most fetching Mary Magdalenes to have graced the silver screen, offering fair competition to even Monica Bellucci (The Passion of The Christ). Yet another possibility for my attraction to this movie, though, is that at times it was believable. I wanted to weep with Mary over the death of her friend’s son; her agony and shame were palpable. Jesus, although conspicuously modern with his perfectly capped teeth and well-groomed hair, still managed to positively exude love. The anointing scene in this film moved me as it hasn’t before.

If a speculative approach to the traditional Mary Magdalene isn’t objectionable to you, this film is worth two hours of your time.

The Da Vinci Code is featured in this week’s issue of Newsweek. The article revolves around how those involved with the film feel about the story as well as their roles in the movie. Some interesting tidbits about the business of DVC are revealed, such as how the film rights were captured by Sony, how the actors and directors came to be involved, and how sets were handled on location. (The real Mona Lisa, relegated to a storage closet!?)

Of particular interest was a statement that the film does not shy away from the parts of the book that make it such a contentious topic; there have been rumors that the film would be cutting out the whole bit about Jesus and Mary Magdalene being married, but presumably, that won’t be the case. This is a relief, at least partially, since the movie might as well not even be made if they were to excise such an integral part of the story. (The argument could be made that the movie shouldn’t have been produced anyway, but that’s beside the point…)

You can read the story here: http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/10509652/site/newsweek/.

I’m still wondering if there will be riots in the street when DVC debuts, theater screen slashings, and the kind of thing we saw with The Last Temptation of Christ. While Kazantzakis’ novel and the resulting film unquestionably had much more substance to it, I see The Last Temptation as only a fraction as blasphemous as DVC is considered by many. Certainly there aren’t any accusations of anti-Semitism circulating around this story (yet), but it has its own set of problems that render it just as controversial. Considering its relative proximity to the release of The Passion of the Christ, and the renewed interest shown by the faithful in big cinema, I wouldn’t be surprised by the occurance of some assertive displays of disagreement.

I’ve decided it’s time to give up ownership of my Mary Magdalene email list. It has approximately 685 members, only a vast minority of whom ever post, and the dominant view is heavily inspired by the whole “sacred union” / “lost feminine” perspective on Mary Magdalene. This in itself isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but there is an ever-increasing intolerance of other views, and more than just a little bit of distrust of any historical scholarship that doesn’t support the dominant paradigm.

Since I don’t really have much of a stake in any particular view over another (they all have problems), it seems wise to resign and transfer it to someone who doesn’t mind being closely associated with this one perspective.

Any takers?

I spent much of last night sorting through crucifixion, deposition, and entombment images at the Web Gallery of Art. A number of weeks ago I came across a reference in Walter Lowrie’s book, Art in the Early Church to a figure called an orant. This is a figure, usually female, who stands in a very specific attitude of prayer in Christian art; her arms out to her sides, slightly bent, her hands held with palms forward.

A rare example of a male orant

It occured to me that Mary Magdalene occasionally appears in a similar stance in some Passion images, so I thought I’d check it out. I came up with a long list of images in which Mary Magdalene, or one of the other Marys, is in the classical orant stance or in some other attitude of prayer. Incidentally, my memory was poor; in fact, most of the images on my list feature someone other than Mary Magdalene in the pose in question.

Compare the Mary in the back to orant image above…

Rogier van der Weyden created some of the most interesting pieces on my list; his work shows an evolution toward a rather peculiar prayer stance in crucifixion, deposition and entombment scenes. In one of his works, John is shown in a variation of this position, the only example (out of those I looked at) of a male in such a posture in one of the three scenes I noted.

A peculiar prayer stance used by van der Weyden

Alternate prayer stances aside, the classical orant pose is usually assumed to be a gesture of extreme grief in images of the crucifixion, deposition and entombment. In some cases, this is unmistakable because of a mournful grimace or other facial contortion that gives the viewer an indication of profound emotional distress. However, given the frequency of other kinds of clearly prayerful poses by the same figures, it seems reasonable to wonder if, when the “arms up” gesture appears on a Mary who looks otherwise calm, the stance is intended to convey an attitude of prayer.

In a recent post about crucifxion art, I mentioned that Hades sometimes appears at the foot of the cross. I based that statement on having seen at least one such image in a small art book once, but have since been unable to locate.

Tonight I found an image of the piece of art I was thinking of when referring to Hades. It is currently on the website for The Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York. Following the image below is the Met’s description. Apparently, this is a unique configuration.

This Byzantine depiction of the Crucifixion emphasizes Christ’s victory over death. Christ’s body is shown limply attached to the cross, his arms bent at the elbows and his legs turned, pushing his hip slightly outward. His head falls forward against his left shoulder. The Virgin and Saint John the Baptist mourn his passing; underneath the foot support, the three soldiers divide Christ’s seamless garment. These figures are frequently portrayed as witnesses to Christ’s sacrifice for humankind. The presence of the bearded reclining man stabbed by the base of the cross, however, is unique among surviving Byzantine representations of the Crucifixion. Depicted as a defeated and subdued warrior, this figure personifies Hades, ruler of the Underworld, abode of the dead in classical mythology. In this case, the cross signifies both the weapon with which Christ’s crucifixion wins man’s salvation and a victory standard. The impact of this message is brilliantly conveyed through the simplicity of the composition, which is marked by large areas of uncarved ivory underneath the architectural canopy. The resulting shallow space creates a dramatic stage for the emotional pathos of the figures.

Jeremy over at Fantastic Planet posted a moving, insightful observation to his blog yesterday, about the practice of looking down on others, whose perspectives we do not value, as ignorant (“You Ignorant Bastard”). The primary example he cites is Richard Dawkins, a biologist and author of several titles including The Selfish Gene and The Blind Watchmaker. Dawkins, in making his case for atheism, treats those who are theists as naive, self-deluded “bumpkins,” as Jeremy put it.

The light in the post came when Jeremy used his Dawkins example to launch into a discussion about how not only are atheists capable and prone to judging theists as, well, dumb, but those of us who are theists have a tendency to do the same exact thing to other religious groups and individuals whose beliefs and opinions we do not appreciate.

The problem I can see, though, is that this self-satisfied, smug approach to conversation can very quickly cause an anti-intellectual backlash. When we don’t acknowledge that other individuals are just as capable of learning as we, our pseudo-superior attitude can really detract from whatever message we’re trying to relate and turn our fellows against us.

I’m reminded of a French movie I watched recently called The Dinner Game. In this film, a group of intellectuals have a weekly dinner, the goal of which is for each regular attendee to bring a guest who will trump all of the other guests in idiocy. Whichever intellectual manages to bring the biggest idiot wins. The story picks up when one intellectual in particular finds his idiot in a man who builds world landmarks out of matchsticks. During one conversation, the idiot reveals to the intellectual that his wife left him for his best friend, who was an idiot. The intellectual thought this quite amusing, that an idiot would feel superior to another idiot. The story moved on, but that scene stayed with me.

Everything is relative. Who is at the top of the intellectual food chain? Who knows with certainty that they are above reproach, by someone, for foolishness? Certainly, I know my place, and have been reminded of it quite recently. If I am guilty of condemning anyone else for their idiocy, I place myself at grave risk of being thought a joke for not recognizing my own recklessness. But here is where the joke gets really good: I’m aware of my shortcomings. That, in itself, doesn’t make me better than anyone, but I’d like to think that it prevents me from becoming too prideful. I’ve accomplished what I’ve accomplished through hard work, sacrifice, and by the grace of God, for which I’m thankful. I would rather be a humble idiot than an mean-spirited intellectual.

As the old song goes:

‘Tis a gift to be simple, tis a gift to be free,
‘Tis a gift to come down where we ought to be…

Maybe it is also appropriate here to include a quote of the day as posted by Jim West:

We may love those who doubt the love of God so that we may be a help to them in believeing that love is still the only ultimate truth. The more we love, the less they can doubt God’s love. — Emil Brunner

With this in mind, I’ve decided that one of my New Year’s resolutions will be to approach my work with more compassion, love, and humility. Thank you, Jeremy, for your keen and timely post.

I watched the trailer again and realized that I had only observed half of the puzzle. If you still want to solve it for yourself, please don’t read further because this is a spoiler.

At the end of the trailer, immediately after the title of the movie and the release date, the phrase “SEEK THE TRUTH” is superimposed over the Mona Lisa’s eyes. As the words begin to fade, the word “SEEK” begins to glow more brightly before it disappears. The next thing on screen is a list of the main actors in the film. As their names begin to fade, certain letters glow more brightly than the rest before they disappear. These are the letters I posted yesterday: “T H S E C D E O.”

Chris Weimer correctly commented yesterday that the solution to the anagram spelled out by “T H S E C D E O” is “THE CODES.”

So the solution to the entire puzzle is “SEEK THE CODES.”

See? I did say it was easy.