“Ego Sum Gabriel!”

Copyright © Edward Riojas

It should give us comfort that Zechariah had a motor-mouth. All of us have done the same thing at some point or another and every saint has been born from the same sinful stock, so we shouldn’t be surprised that Biblical folks had foibles. In Zechariah’s case, you know the scenario well: Regret came rushing in even as the words poured out of his head.

Zechariah was a devout priest. Both he and his wife were given the rare Scriptural descriptor of being “...righteous before God, walking blamelessly in all the commandments and statutes of the Lord.” Not everyone gets that kind of Biblical treatment. The aging couple, however, were childless, and it’s evident that they often prayed for children.

It was Zechariah’s turn to serve as priest before God in the temple, and by lot he was chosen to burn incense. It was also his turn to be a screw-up.

An angel appears to Zechariah and tells him that his prayers have been heard. I don’t know about you, dear readers, but I’d like to THINK that would clinch it for me – an angel standing in front of me and telling me my prayers have been heard. Who doesn’t want that?! What is more, the angel spells it all out for Zechariah, giving him everything he needs, short of printing out a spreadsheet and calendar.

"Gabriel" 2019. Edward Riojas.
Pen and ink on paper.
Copyright © Edward Riojas.
Image may not be reproduced.

But Zechariah wants proof, and that’s when things fall apart.

I can almost hear the angel’s lungs filling with air just before letting the priest have it. This point in the conversation was the inspiration for one of my entries in the Good Shepherd Institute's art exhibition, “With Angels and Archangels.”

"Gabriel" is intentionally static. Instead of setting up the theatrics of a Temple scene, I placed the angel Gabriel in a stylized, frontal pose that confronts the viewer. We get a little peek, through Zechariah’s eyes, of an annoyed angel. If his answer to proof isn’t clear enough, I’ve spelled it out in red for the viewer. “Ego sum Gabriel! qui asto ante Deum!” (”I am Gabriel! I stand in the presence of God!”)

And, yes, Zechariah was cured of his motor-mouth. For a while, at least.

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Giclée prints of “Gabriel” are available from the artist. For more information or to order prints, please e-mail the artist at edriojasartist@gmail.com

 Sizes/prices for prints for “Gabriel:” 9.25” x 17” / $75  ·  12” x 22” / $100

For Independence Day

Mom's report card from
Godwin High School

Copyright © Edward Riojas

This probably comes as no surprise, but my mom is smarter than some folks in D.C.

As a slight departure from my usual drivel, I thought a quick drive down the bumpier parts of memory lane, courtesy of my mom, would be appropriate for the Fourth of July. (You will have to suspend your eager anticipation of my thoughts on the lovely and not-so-lovely aspects of the art world. Well, at least for this week.)

Years ago, I intercepted a small stack of my mom’s high school things that were intended for the trash. I may feel differently about my own high school mementos, but the things of my parent’s generation are worth remembering and keeping. That is particularly true, given the current political climate of our nation.

In the stack of things, there were some special items, including a graduation card filled with very tender words, given to 17-year-old Laura Weppler from a man ten years her senior. Both would eventually become my parents. There was a corsage pressed flat. There were report cards from Godwin High School, where my mom graduated. There were essays my mom wrote.

One set of papers looked like organized notes, written in well-crafted cursive. I initially assumed it was for a history class, but then realized she was writing about current events. The year was 1944. The first few lines of the notes on the “German Natzis” [sic] are stunning, if not condemning, for those Americans who today lean in a peculiar direction.

Without pushing a political agenda, the high school teachers of my mom's day taught the ugly, unvarnished truth that made the world what it was. One cannot read the words from 1944 without immediately seeing that several politicians of our day not only have a grievous lapse of memory, but also a horrendous lapse of judgment, as well.

The school notes, in part, read, “1. What movement do German Natzis [sic] follow? Fascism (called National Socialism)”

This our parents learned and we, in turn, were taught, yet there are those who aspire to lead us headlong down a forgotten path of the same ideology. We dare not follow. The “Greatest Generation” had no qualms about fighting for what was right, and sacrificing without question those things that were dear, including life itself. There were also sacrifices which now seem incomprehensible, including self-identity. It was a time when patriotism meant putting aside personal gain, assumed rights, and juvenile desires in favor of national unity. In writing unapologetically as a citizen of the United States, Mom spelled out the fallacies of a foreign, socialistic government, brought to light the errors of its teaming masses, and strongly defended the governance of the U.S., even though Mom’s name, her relatives, her native culture, and the language formerly spoken in her home ... were all German.

I doubt that any of mom’s generation will ever forget those years – neither will most of the children of that generation. Those who forget history, on the other hand, are doomed to repeat it.

A Sign and a Seal

Copyright © Edward Riojas

I still get a tad annoyed when confronted by it.

I know there’s a bit of psychology going on because, while I’ve never been a fan of the LC-MS logo, the thing is immediately recognizable. It seems to be on nearly every lapel pin, brochure, mailing, church sign, and traffic sign directing visitors to the church building down the street. The intent is that it be as recognizable as a box of Tide detergent. That can be annoying.

LC-MS logo

Ever since its unveiling in 1984, the LC-MS logo smacked of mass-marketing. It follows branding trends, and there are umpteen pages of requirements for its use, placement, and acceptable Pantone™ color schemes. It’s slick. And bland. The logo has intended meaning in the two directions of the cross arms, the triple crosses, and its twelve individual components. Visually, that’s stretching things – in reality, it’s a corporate logo with little confessional power.

The LC-MS logo greatly eclipsed a much older design – The official LC-MS seal, which was formerly used as a sort of identifier of the synod. Now the seal plays the part of a shy cousin that rarely comes out of its quiet confines.

Designed by the Reverend A.R. Kretzmann and drawn by Walter Geweke, both of Chicago, the official LC-MS seal emerged several decades after the synod’s founding. It was designed when folks wanted to say a lot in a small space. I might be old-school, but I appreciate the seal’s distinctiveness and confessional nature. Like many other symbols, however, it needs to be occasionally explained to retain any merit.

Official Seal of the Lutheran Church - Missouri Synod

In the center of the seal, a tongue-like, blue shield represents the Christian's faith. A prominent gold cross on the shield proclaims that we preach Jesus Christ crucified. Rays emanating from the crooks of the cross make it a “Resurrection cross,” proclaiming that we also preach Christ risen from the dead. Nearby Latin words declare "Jesus Christus Dominus Est" (”Jesus Christ is Lord”), and three gold crosses symbolize the Holy Trinity. Three gold stars on the shield represent the Apostolic, the Nicene, and the Athanasian Creeds. Six gold stars on a white field stand for the six Lutheran Confessions contained in the 1580 book, "Concordia." Grape vines symbolize Christ's words in John 15:5, "I am the vine; you are the branches.” Dividing the white field are the three ‘solas’ on which Lutheranism is founded: Sola Scriptura, Sola Gratia, Sola Fide (Scripture alone, Grace alone, Faith alone). The exterior circle contains the proper [although grammatically incorrect] name of the church synod and the year it was founded – 1847.

Beneath the shield is Luther's Seal. That particular emblem is, of course, centuries old, and has never been eclipsed by either the synod’s logo or its official seal. It is a visual rallying point for a group of confessional Christians who were initially slandered as “Lutherans.” We still wear the name with distinction.

Dumb As We Ever Were

Copyright © Edward Riojas

It sits there, a bit worn and spineless, but nevertheless imposing. The book has nearly given up its embossed cover to time. The words it contains, however, still bite.

I was recently given an early edition of H.J. Smith’s “Illustrated Symbols and Emblems of the Jewish, Early Christian, Latin and Modern Churches.” The book’s odd binding and a few cryptic stamps attest to it being a very special book. It has wonderful illustrations by the author, some of which are decidedly original and others that would be familiar to most.

What is also familiar is the thrust of the book’s preface. In talking of art schools in the U.S., Smith notes that “...while these schools are thus elevating the art standard of our country, the subject of Symbolism seems to have been overlooked, and the graduates are left to learn or to guess at the meaning of the symbols that are used so lavishly in our churches.”

That was the year 1900, and it seems we are just as dumb. In fact, several books on the subject bear the same sentiment. I suppose that these books’ very existence is due to our relapsing ignorance of even the simplest of Christian symbols – the very same symbols that were easily recognized by our Christian forefathers.

While sacred imagery – and its inherent symbolism – is not necessary in the Church, we are certainly poorer without it. It does, however, take constant teaching to elevate those symbols from mere decoration to confessional and – dare I say – divine art. To the casual viewer, a bird and its young nest there, some geometric shapes are tangled there, and a few seemingly-random letters are sprinkled beyond that. But even to the youngest, knowing saint in the pew, that same bird – a pelican – reflects the loving, sacrificial act of our Savior. That tangle of geometric shapes confess the indivisible nature of the Holy Trinity. Those random letters might be abbreviations for the name of Jesus or “Christ,” or they might declare “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews.”

Yes, it takes work to keep ignorance at bay, and I am no exception. While realizing that there are countless, wonderfully-confessional symbols of which I am probably unaware, I also know that the time is coming when yet another book on the subject will be written, again, out of necessity.

Stacking Up Altarpieces

Comparative size of Cranach's
Wittenberg Altarpiece

Copyright © Edward Riojas

Although it’s been years since I worked in the editorial department of a newspaper, I still occasionally get the urge to graphically explain something or tinker with data. Yes, I can be a geek.

This geek doesn’t get out much, and I have a hunch some readers don’t, either. I thought it might be interesting to see how some famous altarpieces stack up against each other – this, without obtaining a visa or boarding a plane.

Not all altarpieces are large affairs. One of my personal faves, the Mérode Altarpiece – also known as “The Annunciation Triptych,” is just a tiny thing. It was probably made for domestic use as a private altar. There is an abundance of such pieces, especially within the early Church, which points to piety emanating from the church and entering the home.

The Isenheim Altarpiece is larger, but is still not huge. It was intended for a small chapel of an institution that cared for patients suffering from rather unpleasant skin diseases.

The Ghent Altarpiece, featured in the film, “The Monuments Men,” is only slightly taller, although it is packed with ridiculously-gorgeous detail. This detail makes it seem much larger when viewed out of context.

Cranach’s Wittenberg Altarpiece should be quite familiar to Lutherans. It contains confessional imagery that includes many movers and shakers from the Reformation, and individual panels from it have been reproduced as prints.

A quick hop, skip, and a jump to Austria will allow a view of what may arguably be the tallest Gothic altarpiece. Rising 44 feet above the altar, the Kefermarkt Altarpiece is filled with sculpted figures and delicate wooden tracery.

The largest Gothic altarpiece in the world is claimed by St. Mary’s Basilica of Kraków, Poland. The Veit Stoss Altarpiece is massive – taking 12 years to create. Each 12 foot-high figure it contains was sculpted from an individual linden log. While it is considered a Polish national treasure, the altarpiece bears the name of its German sculptor.

The altarpiece shared the same fate as the Ghent Altarpiece, being plundered by German occupying forces. Its disassembled components were hidden in the basement of the Nuremberg castle, where they survived heavy bombing during the war. After the war, it went through extensive restoration before finally being returned to its home in 1957.

Comparative size, from left, of Mérode, Isenheim, Ghent, Wittenberg, Kefermarkt, and Veit Stoss altarpieces.

Banner Days

The royal banners forward go;
Where He, by whom our flesh was made,
Our ransom in His flesh has paid...
The cross shows forth redemption's flow,

(Venatius Honorius Clementianus Fortunatus c. 570)

Copyright © Edward Riojas

Even as a child, I remember banners carrying more weight than they do today. At the annual Reformation Day service held at Immanuel Lutheran Church – the "Mother church" of LC-MS churches in Grand Rapids, Michigan – banners processed behind the crucifix. Each of the many banners represented an area church and, like the churches, every banner was distinctive.

Detail of a banner in progress
on the worktable at
Ecclesiastical Sewing.

That was then. Today, most banners are designed as wall dressing. Some occasionally change with the Church seasons. Few are designed to actually be carried, and wall hooks – not processional staffs – are the rule. Because the banners were not designed to withstand the rigors of carrying their own weight in wind and other unruly elements, they usually bear one other quality. They are cheaply made.

Felt is the rule. Glue replaces stitching, and it shows.

Now before you get your breeches in a wad, please know that I have – and still do – design banners destined to be executed in felt. There is nothing so very wrong with felt – that is, unless there are better alternatives.

We are the product of ages preceding us and, unfortunately, that means that much of what exists in churches today has origins in the 1960's. Banners reflect this perhaps more than any other item in the church. With inexpensive felt available in umpteen bright colors, sold in almost every craft and sewing store, and easily worked with nary a stitch, it has been the go-to when a banner is requested.

Centuries before the 1960's, however, fabrics of better lineage were employed. That was because banners were used to display confessions of the Church (in case one didn't get a hint from the processional Crucifix). As such, they were to be a more permanent fixture and, as the centuries-old hymn above declares, they underscored the Kingly nature of our Lord and pointed to His preeminence among heavenly royalty. Felt and burlap have a hard time doing that.

In a return to former days, the studios of Ecclesiastical Sewing are starting to create banners truly worthy of Christ's radiant Bride. Yes, brocade is used. Felt is not. These banners take seriously the encouragement of Luther, who urged that we put the best construction on everything. Yes, even banners.

Finished banner produced by Ecclesiastical Sewing

“Baptismal Triptych:” A New Piece

"Baptismal Triptych" Edward Riojas. 2019. (Immanuel Lutheran Church, Hankinson, ND)

Copyright © Edward Riojas

Ironically, I was concerned about moisture.

I returned this week from a business/pleasure trip to North Dakota to visit family and to deliver a large piece destined for Immanuel Lutheran Church in Hankinson. It rained during much of the 800 mile trek – sometimes with considerable wind. I had used the truck before to deliver an altarpiece in driving rain, and knew that things would remain relatively dry. Still, I’m human. Fretting over a piece into which months of labor have been invested comes naturally to me .

Besides a small damp spot on one corner of a moving blanket, the piece arrived bone dry. The piece, however, is not at all about being bone dry.

We sometimes inoculate ourselves against understanding the goings-on in the sanctuary, and it is always refreshing for me – in simply creating a piece for the sanctuary – to become intimate with what we often take for granted. Taking cues from Luther’s “Flood Prayer” in the Baptismal Rite, visuals in the triptych point to the divine power behind applying a bit of water and speaking the Word.

The water is punishing, and that is an understatement. It is not a simple cleansing; it is not a ceremonial washing; it is not a quaint tradition. Baptism’s water takes the old Adam by the ear and obliterates the sin he bequeathed to his progeny. It takes the world’s filth and drowns it under fathoms of water, preserving just eight souls – pointing to an unfathomable Resurrection on the eighth day. It lures the hardened hearts of a satanic horde into an inescapable death trap, while preserving a helpless, defenseless, ragtag, complain-prone people whose only Hope is in the divine intervention of God Himself.

It is also the unassuming water that cursed Christ Jesus. The insignificant waters of the Jordan drenched our Lord with the sins of the world, taking a burden that we could not begin to bear and laying it on the sinless Son of God.

Because we are so apt to forget; because we are prone to apathy; because we are lazy; because we sometimes want to be entertained on Sunday rather than recall our condition, renew our spirits and rejoice in the salvific act of our Lord, it is my prayer that this piece will help rattle our noggins to the beauty, the solemnity, and the reality of Holy Baptism.
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Giclée prints of “Baptismal Triptych” are available for purchase from the artist. The prints are on high-quality Hahnemeuhle fine art paper. They are signed by the artist, but are not framed or matted. To order, or for more information, please contact the artist at edriojasartist@gmail.com

Sizes/prices for “Baptismal Triptych”
18” wide x 17” high  / $110 (U.S.)
24” x 22.5” / $150
32” x 30” / $200
40” x 37.25” / $250