Something New, Something Other: An Annunciation Diptych

Last updated on: May 2, 2016 at 10:58 am by Joanne McPortland

Something New, Something Other: An Annunciation Diptych 2016-05-02T10:58:00-06:00 Joanne McPortland

LOGO Patheos Explore the world's faith through different perspectives on religion and spirituality! Patheos has the views of the prevalent religions and spiritualities of the world.

Today we celebrated the Solemnity of the Annunciation, liturgically transferred from March 25 this year because Holy Week and the Octave of Easter take precedence over any other feast.

I love the art of the Annunciation, from its earliest Byzantine expressions through the many beautiful and thought-provoking contemporary depictions of the angelic greeting to Mary. It’s only right that this moment when the Word becomes flesh has inspired so much iconography. I usually celebrate this solemnity here by reviewing some of my favorites, but this year the shift to post-Easter, and the coincidence of the artwork chosen to illustrate April on the liturgical calendar distributed by my parish, leads me in another direction.

That calendar hangs on my kitchen wall, and when I glanced at it from afar the other day my nearsighted gaze confused the scene being depicted with an Annunciation. (Squint at the above; see what I mean?) A minute later it dawned on me that it was, instead, a kind of art piece known as Noli me tangere (literally, “Don’t cling to me”) from Jesus’ words to Mary Magdalene during their post-Resurrection encounter in the garden, as told in John’s Gospel. Like the Annunciation, this encounter has always been a particular favorite of artists—especially the Mannerist painters who loved depicting it with exaggerated poses and dramatic colors. It’s a favorite artistic encounter of mine, too, but until this year I never noticed or stopped to reflect on the similarities between the angel’s annunciation to Mary and Christ’s commissioning of Mary Magdalene, not only artistically but also spiritually.
There is the certain similarity of positions, although in the Annunciation it is Mary of Nazareth who turns away while the angel my kneel before her, and in the Noli me tangere Mary of Magdala falls to her knees while the Risen Christ turns slightly away. There is the tradition that both encounters occur in a garden—the walled garden (or closed room, with a garden visible beyond) of Mary’s virginity, the burial garden in which the Magdalene mistakes Jesus for a gardener—with its echoes of the reversal of the Expulsion from Paradise. Both begin with a greeting that overcomes fear, and both conclude with immediate evangelical action: Mary of Nazareth hastes to the hill country to be with her kinswoman, Elizabeth; Mary of Magdala speeds to her brothers with the good news.

There are other resonances that act like open and close parentheses. Mary of Nazareth wonders how she can be with child without ever having known the embrace of the flesh; the Risen Christ refuses Mary of Magdala’s fleshy embrace. (Neither is meant as a rejection of the embodied love by which God blesses marriages and families, but a signal that Something New, Something Other is happening here.) A filled womb, an empty tomb. The first time we hear of Mary of Nazareth in the scriptural story of Jesus; the last time we hear of Mary of Magdala.

Finally, there is the fact that both these annunciations mark a conception, in a way I never really saw until my blurry eyes made a diptych. By this I absolutely do not mean the silliness of the tradition (much older than Dan Brown) that Mary Magdalene was Mrs Jesus, and that they conceived a child. I have nothing against the idea in theory, and indeed it’s hard to imagine that a faithful Jewish man of Jesus’ time was not married. But the notion that this union (a mystery protected, supposedly, by both the institutional Church and a loose collection of secret societies, feminists, and pseudo-Gnostics, an arcane code that makes the Magdalene’s womb the equivalent of the Holy Grail) resulted in . . . yawn . . . the foundation of the Merovingian royal dynasty? Nuh uh.

No, the conception I mean is the one we all receive in our encounter with the Risen Christ in Baptism: the Word made flesh in our own lives, the call to make haste and bring the Good News. When we celebrate the Solemnity of the Annunciation, when we hear the Easter reading from John’s Gospel, we are reminded. Get up! Don’t fear! Don’t cling to what was! Something New, Something Other is being born—now, today, in us.

_____

An editorial heads-up: Patheos is switching our comment management over to Disqus, as well as moving us all to a larger server. Over the next few days, comments (already published ones, as well as your ability to make them and my ability to monitor them) may behave in peculiar ways. I ask your patience during the switchover, and your prayers for mine!

Art

Mary

Saints' Lives and Legends

Previous Post

April 6, 2013

Oh, Mercy, Mercy Me, Still

Next Post

April 30, 2013 In the Breaking of the Bread: A Book Review

Browse Our Archives

Select a Category Abortion Advent Art Bishops Book Review Catholicism Fortnight 4 Freedom In the News Lent Marriage Mary Mental Health New Evangelization Nuns Pilgrimage 2012 Pop Culture Pope Francis Religious Education Reverts Saints' Lives and Legends Sin Staying Catholic Uncategorized Year of Faith

Select a Month May 2016 May 2015 April 2015 March 2015 December 2014 November 2014 October 2014 September 2014 August 2014 July 2014 June 2014 April 2014 March 2014 February 2014 December 2013 November 2013 October 2013 September 2013 August 2013 July 2013 June 2013 May 2013 April 2013 March 2013 February 2013 January 2013 December 2012 November 2012 October 2012 September 2012 August 2012 July 2012 June 2012 May 2012 April 2012 March 2012 February 2012 January 2012 November 2011 April 2011 March 2011 December 2010

TAKE THE

Religious Wisdom Quiz

Who was the wealthy woman who supported Jesus and the apostles?

Select your answer to see how you score.

Lydia Tabitha (Dorcas) Priscilla Phoebe