The Last Supper by Andrei Dubinin

This remarkable oil painting by Andrei Dubinin of Minsk in Belorussia was exhibited in a one man show in Rome around Easter 2007. We wish to reproduce it here for many reasons, not the least of which is the dramatic and coincidental way in which it illustrates Pope Marcellus II's sub-title to this blog: "Try to see what men are doing with their hands rather than their mouths".

This most religious work is a deeply symbolic icon. Christ and his twelve disciples are seated around the table of the Last Supper, which is seen from above, and only their hands are showing. There is a glass of wine, but no bread. The bread is the icon itself; the table, in the form of the sacred Host, held up vertically as the picture hangs on a wall, or in this case, on our computer screens (the verticality of Federico Barocci's 'Institution of the Eucharist' springs to mind). The recently unfolded pressed tablecloth, bears crease marks in the form of the cross on which Christ will die, here impressed upon the 'Host'. The colour is a uniform wine or blood brownish red, broken by the white of the cross, and light on the hands.

Jesus Christ is at the top of the picture. His hands project into the central space and are opened to his fellows and to his fate. The volume they suggest is in the form of an egg, the most natural symbol of life, enclosed by the alpha and omega of the open and covering hands. At the bottom of the canvas, opposite Christ, are the tightly closed hands of Judas Iscariot, in negation of life. On Jesus's right are the soft hands of Saint John, the Beloved Apostle, while perhaps Saint Peter is scratching the table in anguish.

But this is not a realistic canvas, except for the superb quality of the brushwork. The hands may be the hands of any of us although here they are all studies from the same person, the artist himself. We may each of us identify with a different person at this table. We would hope not to deny life with the closed hands of Judas, but rather to be open, in all its multitudinous vitality, to the non-discriminating and catholic 'agape' taught us by Jesus Christ himself.

Christ the bread and the wine of life; the Host and the Chalice; the gathering together of believers; the Eucharist; betrayal by one of his own. They are all here in this painting by Andrei Dubinin, whom we thank for allowing us to use it.

Evelyn Waugh, God & Diversity

We might not immediately associate the testy, old-fashioned, conservative, English, Roman-Catholic convert, Evelyn Waugh with a message of hope for today. However, he is always worth reading and may hold some surprises. One of these comes at the end of the first chapter of his slim volume The Holy Places (1952). It is the chapter dedicated to the life of the mother of Constantine the Great, St Helena, and her finding of the Cross in the Holy Land and it is entitled ‘Saint Helena Empress’.

At the end of his short commentary on this misty character from history, Waugh meditates on the meaning of her life for us. Whatever he may have meant more than half a century ago, for the modern reader Waugh’s words ring out and express the way in which God’s creation is wonderful in its variety, how diversity is part of His grand design.

“The Cross is very plain for us to-day; plainer perhaps than for many centuries. What we can learn from Helena is something about the workings of God; that He wants a different thing from each of us, laborious or easy, conspicuous or quite private, but something which only we can do and for which we were created.”



EVELYN WAUGH, DIO & LA DIVERSITA'

Per un messaggio di speranza di oggi, non ci verrebbe subito in mente di consultare quell'inglese, Cattolico convertito, di carattere difficile, conservatore, fuori-moda che era Evelyn Waugh. Però, vale sempre la pena di leggerlo, perché talvolta riserva ancora delle sorprese. Una di queste si trova alla fine del primo capitolo del suo volumetto sui Luoghi Santi (The Holy Places, 1952). E’ il capitolo dedicato alla vita della madre di Costantino Magno, Sant’Elena, e su come lei abbia trovato la Santa Croce in Terra Santa ed è intitolato, ‘Sant’Elena, Imperatrice’.

Alla fine del suo racconto su questo personaggio lasciatoci dalla storia remota, Waugh medita sul significato odierno della sua vita. Lasciando da parte quello che forse l’autore intendeva più di mezzo secolo fa, per il lettore di oggi, le parole di Waugh hanno una forte risonanza, fanno capire come la creazione di Dio sia meravigliosa nella sua varietà, e come la diversità faccia parte del suo grande disegno.

“Per noi di oggi la Croce è molto chiara; forse più evidente che nei secoli scorsi. Quello che possiamo imparare da Elena ha a che fare con l’operare di Dio. Da ognuno di noi Egli vuole qualcosa di diverso, impegnativo o semplice, manifesto o completamente privato, ma qualcosa che solo noi possiamo fare e per la quale siamo stati creati.”