MAGNIFICAT: THE COVER OF THE MONTH Hans Memling (1435–1494) is, after Jan Van Eyck (1390–1441), one of the most famous painters to have worked in Bruges (in present-day Belgium), at that time the …More
MAGNIFICAT: THE COVER OF THE MONTH
Hans Memling (1435–1494) is, after Jan Van Eyck (1390–1441), one of the most famous painters to have worked in Bruges (in present-day Belgium), at that time the flagship town of the Duchy of Burgundy. He represents the most accomplished of the Flemish forms of the early Renaissance. Once a pupil-associate of the famous Rogier van der Weyden (1400–1464), the official painter of the city of Brussels, he gained his independence and settled in Bruges around 1465, after the death of his master. The work that adorns the cover of your Magnificat probably dates from this transitional time in the painter’s life. This Angel with an Olive Branch, Emblem of Divine Peace was one of the side panels of a triptych; the other was an Angel with a Sword, and the central part a Pietà that showed the dead Jesus resting in the arms of Mary, his mother. Now, the inventory of the possessions of Margaret of Austria (1480–1530) lists this triptych, which is attributed to van der Weyden for the central Pietà and to Memling for the angels on the side panels.
Here, then, is the Angel of Peace, recognizable as such because he conspicuously holds up an olive branch bearing fruit. In biblical lands, when sedentary civilizations developed, the first species of olive trees that were cultivated took twenty to thirty years after planting to produce fruit. Now the custom was, during wars, systematically to cut and burn all the olive trees belonging to the enemy. Therefore, if you could produce an olive branch with fruit on it, it was proof that peace had reigned for at least twenty years. Similarly, the reason the dove could bring back to Noah a branch covered with olives was that there were lands that had emerged long before.
When associated with the image of the Pietà—in which we see Jesus, a victim of not having asked his Father to send more than twelve legions of angels to assert his innocence and his rights (Mt 26:53)—this angel signifies that Jesus is the Prince of Peace, that the kingdom of God is the kingdom of peace, and that its citizens are peacemakers. The angel’s hand placed over his breast testifies that the dispositions to peace are quite interior, namely meekness and humility of heart.
“How much more those of his household!”
The counterpart of the Angel of Peace is the angel carrying a sword. His hand is not placed over his heart but is projected forward and deployed as a sign of Jesus’ serious warning: I have not come to bring peace, but a sword! (Mt 10:34). And the picture of the Pietà shows us the first person who was struck by this sword, right in the heart: the Mother of God! A disciple is not above his teacher. If Jesus himself, true man, certainly, yet true God, did not escape the vengeance of the forces of evil and of death, neither did his mother. And it is even more certain that we, his disciples, will not escape it, for if they have called the master of the house Beelzebul, how much more will they malign those of his household (Mt 10:25). Unless…
Indeed, there are so many ways we could escape this “much more” that is promised to us: by betraying Jesus, by denying him; compartmentalizing our life into a sphere that is piously religious and a sphere that is politically mainstream; or, more comfortably, just by looking the other way when we might be led to choose between the world’s friendship and fidelity to the Gospel.
To see the Pieta, please click here
Angel Holding an Olive Branch, Hans Memling (1435–1494), Louvre Museum, Paris, France
Magnificat The cover of the month
Hans Memling (1435–1494) is, after Jan Van Eyck (1390–1441), one of the most famous painters to have worked in Bruges (in present-day Belgium), at that time the flagship town of the Duchy of Burgundy. He represents the most accomplished of the Flemish forms of the early Renaissance. Once a pupil-associate of the famous Rogier van der Weyden (1400–1464), the official painter of the city of Brussels, he gained his independence and settled in Bruges around 1465, after the death of his master. The work that adorns the cover of your Magnificat probably dates from this transitional time in the painter’s life. This Angel with an Olive Branch, Emblem of Divine Peace was one of the side panels of a triptych; the other was an Angel with a Sword, and the central part a Pietà that showed the dead Jesus resting in the arms of Mary, his mother. Now, the inventory of the possessions of Margaret of Austria (1480–1530) lists this triptych, which is attributed to van der Weyden for the central Pietà and to Memling for the angels on the side panels.
Here, then, is the Angel of Peace, recognizable as such because he conspicuously holds up an olive branch bearing fruit. In biblical lands, when sedentary civilizations developed, the first species of olive trees that were cultivated took twenty to thirty years after planting to produce fruit. Now the custom was, during wars, systematically to cut and burn all the olive trees belonging to the enemy. Therefore, if you could produce an olive branch with fruit on it, it was proof that peace had reigned for at least twenty years. Similarly, the reason the dove could bring back to Noah a branch covered with olives was that there were lands that had emerged long before.
When associated with the image of the Pietà—in which we see Jesus, a victim of not having asked his Father to send more than twelve legions of angels to assert his innocence and his rights (Mt 26:53)—this angel signifies that Jesus is the Prince of Peace, that the kingdom of God is the kingdom of peace, and that its citizens are peacemakers. The angel’s hand placed over his breast testifies that the dispositions to peace are quite interior, namely meekness and humility of heart.
“How much more those of his household!”
The counterpart of the Angel of Peace is the angel carrying a sword. His hand is not placed over his heart but is projected forward and deployed as a sign of Jesus’ serious warning: I have not come to bring peace, but a sword! (Mt 10:34). And the picture of the Pietà shows us the first person who was struck by this sword, right in the heart: the Mother of God! A disciple is not above his teacher. If Jesus himself, true man, certainly, yet true God, did not escape the vengeance of the forces of evil and of death, neither did his mother. And it is even more certain that we, his disciples, will not escape it, for if they have called the master of the house Beelzebul, how much more will they malign those of his household (Mt 10:25). Unless…
Indeed, there are so many ways we could escape this “much more” that is promised to us: by betraying Jesus, by denying him; compartmentalizing our life into a sphere that is piously religious and a sphere that is politically mainstream; or, more comfortably, just by looking the other way when we might be led to choose between the world’s friendship and fidelity to the Gospel.
To see the Pieta, please click here
Angel Holding an Olive Branch, Hans Memling (1435–1494), Louvre Museum, Paris, France
Magnificat The cover of the month
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