“Making An Entry”

Cutaway of the Baptistry

Copyright © Edward Riojas

This is the first of several posts that will be dedicated to a set of drawings in progress. The drawings are architectural in nature, though I do not claim to be an architect. The closest I can get to that vocation is claiming an older brother who IS an architect, and in admitting that I occasionally helped him with college projects. I can also claim to have learned rudimentary knowledge of blueprints when translating them into cutaway drawings during my 31-year tenure in the newspaper industry. No one has asked me to create these drawings – like a few other “odd” projects, I was simply compelled.

Originally, this post was to be called something like, “If I ran the Circus McGurkus,” but I’m sure there are countless copyrights and trademarks on such a title and, besides, the very idea was not close enough to my thoughts. Neither is this post about how church buildings should look, nor the ideal of what might have been. Rather, it’s a opportunity to contemplate what actually happens – indeed, what we confess happens – in Lutheran churches in particular.

Detail of Scriptural text mural

Of course, church buildings run the gamut from grand facades to storefronts, and if there is any truth to the adage that “the Church is not the building,” then this would be a pointless exercise. That adage, however, does not say it all and falls woefully short of describing those peculiar houses that contain both the Lord’s children and the Lord Himself.

As with any structure, we must first make an entry. Unlike other buildings, however, the Church has a peculiar means of ingress. In my example, the building follows suit with a integrated Baptistry.

Many get their first taste of baptistry as a separate structure when studying Italian architecture. The famous “Leaning Tower of Pisa” is but one free-standing structure associated with the Pisa Cathedral. The leaning tower is a bell tower, but there is also a free-standing Baptistry that puts many churches to shame with its scale and detail. The fact that it was constructed as a separate facade points to the importance of the Sacrament of Holy Baptism.

Layout of Baptistry "Garden"

In my design, several elements come together to make a point; to confess what we believe. I think the initial impression would be of a rather suppressed dome. Embellishment would be restricted to Biblical quotations of Christ Jesus confronting demons, along with exorcism language taken from the Baptismal Rite.

The space is intended to be serious and sobering. To intensify this, there are visual references to catacomb niches. While there is ample room to gather and witness a baptism, there is little room to escape our own mortality. Only an oculus window breaks the gloom with an image of the Holy Spirit.

In the center of all this gloom is yet another tomb. Three steps down into a square chamber with surrounding low platforms is actually a reconstruction of the type of tomb that could have held the body of Christ. The platforms were intended for bodies, and shallow channels for the morbid use of draining body fluids while rot ensues. This, however is not a dead end – it is a portal.

Issuing from a simple Alpha-Omega cross, water traverses one of the channels and pours into a conspicuously-low, eight-sided Baptismal font. The only way one may be baptized with this design is to symbolically sit where Christ lay or to be held by someone who does the same. In a visual double entendre, a cloth for post-baptismal wiping “lays folded to one side.” This is also a perfect opportunity to allow fragrant incense and spices to waft. 

The Font chamber

Just as one must sit where Christ was laid, so also the simple act of standing, after the sacrament is administered, confesses what we believe: That He did not remain dead, but arose to life. Dead men tell no tales, but neither do they stand. In this, we thumb our noses at Satan and death, and relish it with abandon.

The Baptismal Rite thus ended, all leave behind the confines of death and hell, and enter the place where our Lord promises to meet us – the sanctuary of the church, and the Church Eternal.

“Skirmishes and Victory”

Copyright © Edward Riojas

I was recently asked to create what is certainly the smallest sculpture I’ve done to date. Every commission I’ve tackled has had its own constraints, but this particular piece had to fit in the space 2.5” by 2.5” by 4.75”. It was to be a crucifix.

I have seen larger pectoral crucifixes, so this carved piece is on a jewel-like scale. Without engaging in a convoluted and costly cast metal alternative, I decided to use hard maple. Being somewhat delicate, I made use of a stout back and base as protection.

Protection. We often take the word for granted, and along with it those who, through their vocation, protect us. This tiny crucifix was destined for a portable Communion kit used by a military chaplain.

A last-minute decision was made to add a detail to the piece – one which would serve as a double entendre of immense importance. Using an ancient device, characters of the Greek word “NIKA” were placed around the cross. “Victory.”

In a military setting, the word has significance – an objective met; an obliterated foe; no man left behind. In this case, however, the word goes way beyond the obvious, even though it is accompanied by an image of a dying God. Whether on a smoke-filled battlefield or in a bed at a veteran’s home or in seemingly mundane civilian life, the skirmishes of this life pale in comparison to the greater battle for our souls. His death, though seen as an insignificant, foolish loss by the world, was precisely how Christ Jesus ambushed Satan and won our epic victory.

“Photoshop And That Darned Tree”

"Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil"
Jost Amman. 1587.

Copyright © Edward Riojas

No, I didn’t photoshop either of these masterful representations of the Garden of Eden. Neither is this a post about glossing over the Fall. Or sin. There is, however, a strange connection between the software application and that darned tree.

When I was younger, I misunderstood the danger of the Tree of the knowledge of good and evil. I credit that ignorance to Satan himself, who lied to Eve in declaring that she would “be like God, knowing good and evil.” Somewhere in the stupider parts of my brain I reasoned that, once having eaten the forbidden fruit, we would know important stuff – like passwords into heaven and other classified information – which really wasn’t ours to have.

Experience this side of heaven has taught me differently. I now know stuff I’d rather not know. I’ve experienced things that didn’t exist in Eden, and it sucks so much. The Lord in His infinite wisdom tried to keep that sort of knowledge from us, but Adam and Eve did not heed His voice. And we are no better.

Strangely, this knowledge of good and evil cascades out of our sinful lives and ends up in unexpected places. I’ve heard stories from police officers, for example, who relate how little parts of them die with each horrible crime case they handle. We shall surely die, indeed.

Detail of "Garden of Eden"
Lucas Cranach the Elder. 1530.

Which brings me to an assignment I had ages ago while working as an artist in a press newsroom. Having expertise in Photoshop was one of the many skills at my disposal. Normally, the photo editing software was used to create cover art or to clean up otherwise unusable photos.

One day an assignment came from “the other side of the building,” where advertising and classified departments reigned. It was an extremely rare assignment. It was handed to me personally, and was done so somewhat clandestinely.

A photo was given to me to “fix.” It was an old photo that was to be paired with a present-day photo of a couple who were celebrating a landmark wedding anniversary. In the old photo, the husband stood behind the wife, who was holding a toddler. The child had to go.

From a technical perspective, the assignment was a nightmare come to life. Nixing the child was one thing, but reconstructing the various folds of clothing and rebuilding non-existent arms was another. After several hours, I somehow made a convincing image. But something horrible remained.

I felt as if I had been privy to tragedy; to heartbreak; to an unspoken history hidden under layers of years and silence. No one would suspect any of this by looking at the photo – not even if they searched pixel by pixel. But I became intimate with it all as the child’s face was erased and a striped blouse of 1950’s vintage was put in its place. Even in my own ignorance, I knew more than I cared to know.

And now you know.

 

“The Discarded Garment”

Copyright © Edward Riojas

While working on the tail end of a mountain of illustrations, one of them blindsided me.

I have for years been plowing through hundreds of Christian symbol drawings for a back burner book project. A recent visitor to my “studio” managed to put a flame under me to get the project going again, so for the past few days I’ve been tackling symbols of the patriarchs and prophets – one of the last large groups on my to-do list. And then along came Hosea.

Most of the Old Testament prophets had a lot to tell the Israelites. While they weren’t slamming the people of God for going after other gods, the wizened men were consoling the sad-sack captives that they would one day be rescued by a Savior and their captors would be pounded in the dust. So naturally many of the symbols associated with the prophets show, in some way, either the Temple, the city of Jerusalem, or some detail of either. The symbol for Hosea, however, takes a different tack.

Copyright © Edward Riojas

The prophet Hosea has for his symbol a discarded garment. At first it seemed to me a rather innocuous item. The only image of the symbol I could find was dated. It was in a book that wasn’t exactly scholarly. In fact, there was no information at all about the symbol. The drawing was of a garment nicely laid out, as if waiting for a closet hanger. The only description I did find was in another book of symbols which had no illustration of the symbol. That book explained in a simple phrase that the garment signified Israel’s discarding of the Lord. Not entirely satisfied, I went to Scripture and scoured through the prophet’s inspired words.

There isn’t anything in the book of the prophet that specifically mentions a garment. Neither does it mention a tunic, nor a frock. It mentions moths and rust, so only a slight inference is there. The idea of a discarded garment didn’t quite fit. And then I thought of Hosea’s wife.

Gomer's name alone causes us to snicker. Her waywardness, however, wipes the smile off our faces. Her part as the harlot prophetically points to Israel going after other gods. Discarding God starts to make sense.

But the symbol I found was a bit too neat and tidy. When I re-drew it as something truly discarded; as something thrown on the ground. Then what I saw hit hard. The implication of a discarded garment is that someone is very naked. Put two and two together and the prophetic picture of Gomer makes more than perfect sense.

But the prophet’s warning goes beyond wayward Israel and gives stern warning to Christians when considering the thing with which we are clothed. In Holy Baptism, we are clothed with Christ’s righteousness – not our own, for we have none. If we discard that garment and abandon it for something else, then we stand truly naked before God, as did the Israelites. And that is not pretty.

“Lift High The Cross”

Copyright © Edward Riojas

It is clear that the hymn writer had a processional crucifix in mind when he penned the words to "Lift High The Cross," (LSB 837). Even the hymn’s tune, “Crucifer,” is named for the acolyte responsible for carrying the crucifix in a procession. It’s also clear that the hymnist was writing as a member of the Church Militant; as a Christian still fighting the world and its temptations this side of heaven. The words are militaristic, as in the stanza, “Led on their way by this triumphant sign, the hosts of God in conqu’ring ranks combine.”

Processional crucifixes are special pieces of liturgical art. They come in a variety of forms, but typically show the crucified Christ. While not always found in Lutheran churches, they are somewhat common, and tend to be more so in “confessional” or “high” churches. Sometimes budgets don’t allow them, and sometimes they do. Those in the pews shouldn’t, however, worry that processionals are “too Catholic.”

In my experience, processional crucifixes are used not only to process into and recess out of the sanctuary, but they are also used on special occasions during the Gospel readings, in which the Gospel is read in the midst of the congregation. It’s understood, with proper teaching, that the congregation should always face the crucifix as it enters and leaves the sanctuary. This is a sign of respect. So also is the act of bowing as it passes by. Rome has no monopoly on showing respect to the Lord – even a poor representation of Him – and Lutherans will do well to get off their duffs and bow when given the chance to confess their King.

This brings me to an unveiling of my latest piece, a very special processional crucifix. It was not commissioned by anyone. I occasionally allow myself the freedom to create something apart from a client’s wishes. In this case, the idea had been floating around in my mind for some time.

This is not the average processional crucifix, and nothing like it will be found in any church supply catalog. Every part of it was custom made by me, and, while I am more than satisfied with the results, I won’t create another identical to it. That’s not how this artist works.

The crucifix’s uniqueness flows through every component, and it is highly confessional through those same components and as a whole. The corpus – the body of Christ – is the second of three bronzes I had cast from my own wax model. The first corpus was used in a processional crucifix commissioned by First Lutheran, Boston. This corpus, however, has a different patina. A matching tabula ansata – the piece on which Pontius Pilate had an inscription written – hangs above the sculpted image of Christ.

The cross on which the corpus hangs, along with many other components of the piece, are of black walnut. Supporting the crucifix, both structurally and symbolically, is a 3-dimensional representation of the Church. The four Gospel writers have been carved into the four sides of the church's facade. Supporting this is a stout walnut staff with a steel core. If the walnut church or the staff were cut horizontally, a cross would be revealed.  In the words of one of my sons, “[I] must hate acolytes,” for carrying the whole takes more than just reverence – it takes the muscles of a young man. Then again, there is something to be said for substance and weightiness, and the same can be said of what we believe and confess.

The incredibly-heavy base into which it stands is arguably the most “Lutheran” part of the design, although any Christian denomination that clings to Holy Scripture can certainly appreciate it. It is a representation of an open Bible. The pages are oak, and the “cover” is walnut. Walnut inlay is used on the open pages in a VDMA cross design. VDMA is an acronym representing the Latin phrase, “Verbum Domini Manet in Aeternum” – “the Word of the Lord endures forever” (1 Peter 1:25). The phrase was used during the Lutheran Reformation, and still serves as a sort of rallying cry among confessional Lutherans. Well, okay, perhaps the Roman crowd may take umbrage, if only out of ignorance.

Symbolically, the fact that “We preach Christ crucified” (1 Cor. 1:23) is supported by the Church, whose Gospel always proclaims the same. This is, and always will be, immovable through the enduring Word of God, Who is, indeed, the living Christ Jesus Himself. This we will fight to proclaim, “...Till all the world adore His sacred name.”
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For those interested in purchasing this processional crucifix, or for more information, please email me at edriojasartist@gmail.com.  Because of the time and materials invested in this piece, the firm asking price is $15,000, plus shipping.

Details of the four Gospel writers from Processional Crucifix. Edward Riojas. 2020. (Copyright © Edward Riojas)

Works in Progress

Copyright © Edward Riojas

In spite of what’s been going on in the world and in spite of little ‘hiccups’ with family matters, I am still very much at work. The Lord has blessed me with a mountain of work, along with projects that continually materialize.

A quick glance at my “tote board” may give the impression that I’m way over my head where work is concerned, but I am well accustomed to dealing with slow-moving church councils and the occasional project that temporarily gets shelved. Several projects are waiting for congregational approval, so my attention has switched to other projects.

I’m currently finishing up a book project and I’m starting to tinker with a second. Behind that are perhaps three other book projects. If those aren’t enough, some folks are kind enough to urge and nudge and poke me to resurrect a book project of my own on Christian symbolism.

I am still doing design work for Ecclesiastical Sewing. The most recent projects have been interesting, including the replication of a mesoamerican motif.

While all those things are cooking on various burners, I’m also taking time to work on an non-commissioned piece that had been swimming around in my head and is only now coming to fruition. This project, however, is a creative dessert – a lot of other things must necessarily be cleared off my plate before I can fully enjoy it. I’m not quite ready to give sneak peeks just yet, but I will say that both I – and it – will get carried away.

And now that you’ve heard it, it’s time for me to get back to work on the mountain.

The Artist And Other Vocations

Copyright © Edward Riojas

Some may have noticed that my posts have become a bit irregular. Normally, I'm a creature of habit and follow a rather ordered life. But life is not always ordered.

I am still certainly creating sacred art and I am still hammering away at the mountain of work before me. I have, however, other vocations. One of them is that of son.

I looked through my handbook of life and could not find anywhere the chapter on cancer and aging mothers. I suspect, though, that I will be able to write a detailed chapter on the subject when all is said and done.

My mother was in a select group of society who were not dealt a good hand when all gathered at a table to play this game of pandemic. Contrary to what our governor declared, we were NOT all in this together. Those who were just short of diagnosis had to wait. Those who were in the middle of treatment had to wait. Only those relative few with a virus were given preferential treatment. But cancer doesn't care. Or wait.

Now I am in the midst of finally helping my Mom through the seemingly countless hoops that come before radiation therapy can begin. My job; my vocation as son is to give her support. My vocation now is to give her smiles when I am hurting inside. My job is to get her to appointments that must first give her pain before she has a chance to feel better. My job is to be the rock that my late father would have been. My job sucks, but it is MY job, and I will do it to the best of my ability. This is what the Good Lord is calling me to do.

So please forgive me if my other vocation of sacred artist is not always in the front seat; forgive me if the posts are infrequent or are not so "happy-clappy;" forgive me if it seems I am being lazy. Please pray that I faithfully perform my vocations - all of them - to the best of my ability.