Christ in the House of his Parents, Preparing for Lent, and Eucharistic Symbolism
Part 2
In this post, I will continue to reflect upon the painting Christ in the House of his Parents by John Everett Millais. Last week, in part one, I explored the reasons why critics reacted so strongly against this painting.
To summarize, the critics attacked Millais’ use of gothic techniques and symbols, which they associated with Catholicism. The painting exhibited in the year 1850, a particularly contentious year between Catholics and Protestants in England. Cardinal Wiseman, the charming yet bold Catholic bishop, had gone to Rome to persuade the pope to reinstate a hierarchy of Catholic bishops in England. He had already been successful in converting many through numerous apologetic lectures and had also made great efforts to restore images and splendor to the Catholic liturgy, which had suffered in hiding under the penal laws. After he returned from Rome in 1850, having successfully convinced the Pope to reinstate the Catholic hierarchy, protesters stoned his carriage. These protests, called the “Papal aggression” protests, lasted for many months. Many English Protestants stood on edge because of what seemed like, and what really would become, a Catholic revival in England.
Given this charged moment, Victorian critics reacted in a uniquely vicious way to the Catholic and medieval aspects of Millais’ painting. While the history of this painting proves fascinating, the content is even more worthy of attention. In this post, I will reflect upon the symbolism and meaning of the painting itself.
The Man of Sorrows and the Eucharist
Millais was not Catholic, but for a time, he was affiliated with the Tractarians, a group of Anglicans who in many ways looked back to Catholic sacramental theology, customs, and symbols. In a letter, Millais actually revealed this painting was inspired by a Tractarian sermon. He headed the painting with the heading from the sermon, a quote from Zachariah 13:6 "If someone asks, 'What are these wounds on your body they will answer, 'The wounds I was given at the house of my friends.'"1
Along with the Tractarians and his Pre-Raphaelite Brothers, Millais took interest in gothic painting, especially the Flemish masters. Victorian art critics, for reasons previously mentioned, did not appreciate this influence and complained about the angular figures in this painting. At first, the figures’ stiff postures may seem a little strange for a painting of this sort, but Millais clearly knew what he was doing. The “stiff figures” help us connect his image to medieval prototypes which inform this painting.
For example, the child Jesus holds his hands up in blessing, showing us his wounds. Although here Christ has only cut his hand on a nail, the painting prefigures the Crucifixion. To make this connection, Millais weaves together poses and symbols from the iconographic tradition, which are themselves charged with theological meaning.2 In particular, he seems to draw heavily upon imagery from the Man of Sorrows theme, a popular medieval devotional image which invites meditation on Christ’s suffering and compassion.3 There is no doubt Millais was familiar with these images. He even drew one in the background of his drawing “The Disentombment of Queen Matilda.”4
The ‘Arma Christi,’ or the instruments of Christ’s passion also commonly appear in this theme, especially in sacramental images, including the popular Gregory Mass image. In the illumination below, Christ appears upon an altar, with the ‘Arma Christi’ behind him. Christ directs his blood into the chalice as Gregory lifts up the host for consecration.5
Although Christ bears the marks and instruments of his Passion in these medieval images, The Man of Sorrows is not merely an image of the event of Christ’s Passion, but a meditation on the whole Paschal mystery. As the art historian Gertrud Schiller wrote,
This image of the Redeemer as the sacrifice that was offered once and is presented continually forms a parallel to the living Lamb of God that carries the wounds of death (Revelation); both show the spectator the Redeemer's sacrificial Death, both are directly related to the eucharist, both refer to the Resurrection.6
Thus, the Man of Sorrows is often a sacramental and Eucharistic image. So too is Millais’ painting. In his painting (below,) Christ’s posture, the wood panels, and the various tools all point to Christ’s sacrificial death, inviting contemplation on the ‘Arma Christi’ and the different aspects of his Passion—the hammer and nails of the crucifixion, the reeds (in the left corner) of the scourging, the seamless garment of his priesthood, the pliers of the nails, and the ladder of the descent from the Cross.
The tunic Christ wears above resembles the seamless garment from the ‘Arma Christi’ which John describes Jesus wearing before the crucifixion. This garment, which was also worn by the Levitical priests points to Christ’s transfiguration of the Levitical priesthood.7
The door atop the table is stained with the blood of Christ, recalling the doors the Israelites marked with the blood of the Passover lamb, Cross, and the altar upon which Christ’s sacrifice is memorialized.
All together, the symbols and the arrangement of the figures here point to the Sacrifice of the Mass. The lambs, symbolizing Christ’s flock, gaze at Christ from the fence and resemble the faithful who come before the altar rail to receive Christ in the Eucharist. Christ wears the seamless garment of the priest, and is revered by his mother and served by the other figures. Joseph even seems to contemplate his wound. John the Baptist brings a bowl of water, recalling his role as the Baptizer, but also pointing to the way the altar server attends to the priest when he brings him water to wash his hands. The distinguished English art historian, Alistair Grieve, even understood the back wall to represent a rood screen, the part of a church which distinguished the sacred space of the chancel from the nave.8
Offering it up
Moreover, the painting reminds us that the Holy Family recognized Christ’s identity and that they had Christ’s Passion ever before their eyes. Even from a young age, Jesus embraced his identity as priest and sacrifice. Christ’s ultimate sacrifice is his death upon the Cross; however, he also sacrificed simply by taking on human flesh.
When Mary gave her fiat to the angel Gabriel, she knew she would have to take on suffering for the sake of her son, who would be the Messiah. Joseph did too, when he took Mary as his wife. The Holy Family knew that raising the Messiah would entail suffering, yet they took upon this task and lived in such a way that their lives were united with Christ and his sacrifice.
Despite the apparent poverty of Joseph’s workshop, there is still a serenity to the painting, perhaps because of how harmoniously and symmetrically everything is ordered. Millais’ genius with color comes out in the glowing wood chips. Like many other Pre-Raphaelites, he often painted a white layer underneath his paintings, so that the colors would glow.
Although there is poverty, it does not degrade the holy figures. Instead, Millais shows how Christ elevates poverty through his example, and by his sacrifice, transforms it into an instrument for our salvation. As the Holy Family offered their labors for Christ, so our everyday trials and labors can be an instrument for our own holiness. As Saint Paul says,
Now I rejoice in my sufferings for your sake, and fill up on my part that which is lacking of the afflictions of Christ in my flesh for his body's sake, which is the church (Colossians 1:24).
Thus, we too can continually offer up our thoughts, words, and deeds, with faith that God will transform the straw of our lives into gold. At Mass, we have a special opportunity to unite our sacrifice to Christ’s, as his sacrifice is made present in the Eucharist. While reflecting on this painting, an old custom my mother once told me of came to mind—of interiorly putting ourself and our intentions on the paten with Christ, uniting them to his sacrifice and to his merciful heart.
Marian aspects of the painting
Another central aspect of this painting is Mary’s close union with her son throughout his suffering. In the image, she kneels before him and puts her face close to his, as she does in the famous icons. Reflecting on this painting, I am struck by the apparent haste and affection with which the Virgin Mary and Joseph respond to their son’s affliction.
It reminds me of this passage on Mary’s devotion by Saint John Henry Newman, a contemporary of Millais:
To be devout is to be devoted. We know what is meant by a devoted wife or daughter. It is one whose thoughts centre in the person so deeply loved, so tenderly cherished. She follows him about with her eyes; she is ever seeking some means of serving him; and, if her services are very small in their character, that only shows how intimate they are, and how incessant. And especially if the object of her love be weak, or in pain, or near to die, still more intensely does she live in his life, and know nothing but him.
This intense devotion towards our Lord, forgetting self in love for Him, is instanced in St. Paul, who says. "I know nothing but Jesus Christ and Him crucified." But great as was St. Paul's devotion to our Lord, much greater was that of the Blessed Virgin; because she was His Mother, and eyes, and because in and all His sufferings actually before her eyes, and because she had the long intimacy of thirty years with Him, and because she was from her special sanctity so ineffably near to Him in spirit.
When, then, He was mocked, bruised, scourged, and nailed to the Cross, she felt as keenly as if every indignity and torture inflicted on Him was struck at herself. She could have cried out in agony at every pang of His. This is called her compassion, or her suffering with her Son, and it arose from this that she was the “Vas insigne devotionis.”9
As every part of the Mass points to the sacrifice on the altar, every detail of this painting also points to that same sacrifice, reminding us that the sacrifice of the Mass, puts everything in our lives into focus.
Bentley, D. M. R. “The Pre-Raphaelites and the Oxford Movement.” Dalhousie Review, vol. 57, no. 3, Fall 1977, pp. 531-532
These Western images evolved out of the Eastern prototype called the ‘Imago Pietatis.’
https://www.tate-images.com/N05599-The-Disentombment-of-Queen-Matilda.html
See article on the Gregory Mass:
The Mass of Gregory the Great
It’s hard to overstate the importance of Gregory the Great for the history of the Church and the West. Gregory was born into an illustrious Roman family that had survived the ravages of barbarians and plagues. As a youn…
Schiller, Gertrud. Iconography of Christian art [by] Gertrud Schiller. Volume 2. Translated by Janet Seligman. 1st American ed.]ed. Greenwich, Conn.: New York Graphic Society, 1971; p. 171
https://stpaulcenter.com/jesus-as-high-priest-the-significance-of-the-seamless-robe/?srsltid=AfmBOoq-SB8yBpQNrnIv1x4PjcZq6EIaKtQRHsuzrDb4zD8Kv_vBmGku
Grieve. Alastair. "The Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood and the Anglican High Church." Burlington Magazine 111 (1969): 294-95.
Like Catholics, Tractarians favored rood screens and understood the Eucharist to be an unbloody re-presentation of Christ’s sacrifice.
https://newmanreader.org/works/meditations/meditations2.html
I really enjoyed this article and I love the painting. It's very different from most things you usually see. I love all the symbolism. It's just warm, lovely and packed with deeper meaning.
Very good work.
Thank you for this! Extremely well done