The Greatest Picture in the World
Fr Brendan Thomas • April 19, 2020
How a painting came to save a town, and the town speaks forth of Resurrection
Writing in 1925 Aldous Huxley described a seven hour journey in an ‘omnibus’ to Sansepolcro, a small town in the less-visited eastern part of Tuscany:
“And when at last one has arrived at San Sepolcro, what is there to be seen? A little town surrounded by walls, set in a broad flat valley between hills; some fine Renaissance palaces with pretty balconies of wrought iron; a not very interesting church, and finally, the best picture in the world… We need no imagination to help us figure forth its beauty; it stands there before us in entire and actual splendour, the greatest picture in the world.”
The best picture in the world! That is quite a claim, but sometimes a painting can make an immediate impression. Piero della Francesca (1415-1492) was eminent in his lifetime as an artist, but surprisingly after his death was better remembered as a mathematician. Yet now he is considered the first true Renaissance painter who brought an original use of colour, light and perspective to his art.
How do you paint the Resurrection? The Gospels contain no description of the actual event, only what happened afterwards. Any artistic depiction is going to be inadequate to the spiritual reality of what happened. “I saw Christ’s glory as he rose!”
are the exuberant words put on the lips of Mary Magdalene in the Victimae Paschali Laudes
(only she didn’t – she met him afterwards in the garden!)
Piero portrays Christ as a colossus emerging from a Roman sarcophagus, victory won. The triumphant banner becomes his sceptre, the halo his crown. His dark piercing eyes convey his sovereignty. His wounds are still fresh and are on display for all to see. He has come through death into new life. We sing at Easter: “Death and life contended: combat strangely ended! Life’s own Champion, slain, yet lives to reign.”
The Roman guards, in contrast to Christ’s strong form, sleep below, collapsed in a heap, oblivious to what is happening. Giorgio Vasari wrote that the soldier in brown armour was a self-portrait of Piero.
For a thousand years Sansepolcro has been associated with the Resurrection. It was called Borgo Sansepolcro, the Town of the Holy Tomb, because it was said to have been founded in the 10th century when two pilgrims returned from Jerusalem carrying precious relics (some shavings) from Christ's tomb. Devotion to the Holy Sepulchre was still strong in Piero’s time.
The fresco was not in fact painted for a Church but for the Town Hall. Christ is not confined to the church but rises in the public sphere to animate all of our life and our dealings, his sovereignty to hold sway over all we do. His risen life is to touch all our reality. Are Christians known as a people made alive by the Resurrection of Jesus? Do we show that we are an Easter People animated by the living Christ?
Nor is Christ portrayed rising from the dead in some faraway land but in the familiar landscape of Tuscany. On the left of the painting the trees are barren, it is winter, on the right the trees are green, full of the growth of new life. His risen life is to touch all our reality.
"O soil, do not be afraid; be glad, rejoice,
for the Lord has done great things.
Beasts of the field, do not be afraid;
the pastures on the heath are green again,
The trees bear fruit once more,
vine and fig trees bear fruit in abundance."
Joel 2:21-22
In the late summer of 1944, towards the end of the Second World War, the Allies' advanced northward in Italy and British troops came to a hillside overlooking Sansepolcro.
The troop commander Anthony Clarke had orders to shell the town to clear it of Germans before the Allies moved in. But a question kept nagging the officer. “Why do I know the name of Sansepolcro?” Something at the back of his head had told him he should defy orders and stop the shelling. It was the memory, at the back of his head, of reading about “the best picture in the world” that had made him do so.
If he had not done so, Piero’s Resurrection might have been a pile of dust.
From Francis to Leo: A special event with Christopher Lamb of CNN in conversation with Austin Ivereigh who commentated for the BBC on the transition from Pope Francis to Pope Leo.
On 12th June an Ecumenical Service was held at Hereford Cathedral to celebrate the 1700th anniversary of the Council of Nicea.
Archbishop Mark O'Toole, of Cardiff-Menevia presided at the Requiem Mass for Bishop Mark, while Abbot Brendan conducted his burial. Cardinal Vincent Nichols preached a homily full of warmth and affection for Bishop Mark which is reproduced below.
Bishop Mark Jabalé OSB RIP Given at his funeral by Dom Alexander Kenyon Baby Jean Pierre (Mark) Jabale was born on October 16th, 1933, in Alexandria, Egypt. As he said, himself, his background could be considered “cosmopolitan”: his father was Lebanese / French and his Mother, British / Greek / French. He also reminded people that he wasn’t Egyptian. Through his mother, Arlette, he was related to St. Jean Vianney, so it was, perhaps, no surprise that he followed in his priestly footsteps. His father, Jean, was MD of Fiat and Simca cars Europe and, maybe surprisingly or not, he did love a car – not, however, Italian cars, but German; he loved his Audis. Perhaps we should begin today by remembering his mother and father, his brothers Christian and Paul and his nieces, here today, Aline and Nathalie and Isabelle and their families – they were so dear to him and he to them and I know they miss him enormously. Young Jean wanted to join the Navy and came to England, to Belmont Abbey school but the Lord had other ideas – he ended up joining the rather land locked monastery, our dear, late Fr. Raymund opining that he wouldn’t last a month. After a rather uninspiring course of priestly studies (his words, not mine) he studied for a Licentiate in French literature in Fribourg, then a Dip Ed at Strawberry Hill and played Rugby there – the Papist Witch Doctor as he was affectionately known. Teaching followed, at Belmont, Housemaster, acting Headmaster, then to Alderwasley, our prep school in Derbyshire as Headmaster, and then back to Belmont soon after as Headmaster. In 1983 he went to Peru to build our first monastery there only to realise there was little money. So, he returned to the UK to put in a stint of fundraising with his usual zeal and determination. With his mission accomplished he was asked by Abbot Alan to return to Belmont as his prior in 1986 – Peru remained close to his heart. In 1993 he was elected Abbot. In his time as Abbot, he had to preside over the closure of the school, necessary but no less painful for him. In 2000 he was appointed coadjutor Bishop of Menevia and succeeded Bishop Mullins in 2001. He retired as Ordinary in 2008 and “retired” to Chipping Norton as parish priest, then Hendon, saying Mass for the nuns and helping with confirmations. After a spell at Archbishop’s House, Westminster, living with his great friend Cardinal Nichols, he came home to Belmont – it was as though he had never been away and he loved being back in the monastery, particularly praying the Office with the community. That’s the list, of sorts, but it doesn’t really say “who” he was. I haven’t mentioned his outstanding contribution to rowing – the 1979 coxless, lightweight four gold medal at the world championships in Bled, which almost didn’t happen as, at the last minute, he was told there was no money to send the crew. He begged, cajoled and got them there – the video footage of the final is compelling. He transformed Henley Royal Regatta, writing a computer programme for the race results – he was well ahead of his time. He coached the Oxford Boat, ran the Heads of the River Schools Regatta, and more. What an achievement from someone who had never sat in a boat but learned on the job, as he said, “from books, mainly”. It was his determination, his commitment, his love of people and his drive to share what he had that is, perhaps, one of the key things to celebrate about him. And it was underpinned by his rock-solid faith – nothing overly pious, nothing showy, but a faith and a love of the Lord built on granite. Even his occasional lack of patience (sorry Mark) extended to that faith; ‘why won’t God call me?”. At the risk of being irreverent my response was always “would you want you?”. But God did want him, and he knew it. God had a purpose for his Apostle during his life and he now rests with Him in eternity. His purpose was, simply, to bring the joy of the Lord into the lives of others, in many and varied ways. A few weeks before Mark died, Pope Francis died. When the late Pope was seriously ill the son of friends of mine who entertained Mark and I to lunch regularly, was distraught at overhearing mum and dad say the Pope may die. He couldn’t stop crying. “But darling”, they said, “you don’t know the Pope, why so very sad?”. “We do know him” came the reply, “it’s Mark”. “No, Mark isn’t the Pope”. “Oh, so when the Pope does die will Mark be Pope then?”. Mark loved that one. When Mark himself did die said son would only be pacified by picking flowers from the garden and bringing them to church for him. He wanted to show how much Mark meant to him and wanted to give a little something back. That is the real biography – a man loved, respected, a man who shared what he had, above all his faith, a man who touched so many lives and made them better.  Rest in peace our dear friend.
Our brethren in Peru were delighted with the election of Pope Leo.
