Mother of the Lamb tells the remarkable story of a Byzantine image that emerged from the losing side of the Crusades. Called the Virgin of the Passion in the East and Our Lady of Perpetual Help in the West, the icon has expanded beyond its Byzantine origins to become one of the most pervasive images of our time. It boasts multiple major shrines on nearly every continent and is reflected in every epoch of art history since its origin, even making an appearance at the Olympics in 2012. Matthew Milliner first chronicles the story of the icon's creation and emergence in the immediate aftermath of the Third Crusade, whereupon the icon became a surprising emblem of defeat, its own fame expanding in inverse proportion to Christendom's political contraction. Originally born as a Christian response to the Christian violence of the Crusades, it marked the moment when Mary's ministry of suffering love truly began. Having traced the icon's origin and ubiquity, Milliner teases out the painting's theological depth, and continues the story of the icon's evolution and significance from its origins to the present day. As the story of the icon moves well beyond Byzantine art history, both temporally and thematically, it engages religion, politics, contemporary art, and feminist concerns at once. Always, though, the icon exemplifies dignity in suffering, a lesson that--through this image--Byzantium bequeathed to the wider world. Encapsulating eleven centuries of development of the mourning Mary in Byzantium, the Virgin of the Passion emerges as a commendable icon of humility, a perennial watchword signaling the perils of imagined political glory. The Virgin of the Passion, emblemizing political humility, the powerful agency of women, and the value of inter-Christian and extra-Christian concord, is an exemplary Marian image for the fledgling twenty-first century.
In Mother of the Lamb, Milliner explores the history of the icon of the Virgin of the Passion, later known as Our Lady of Perpetual Help. It is a striking image of Mary cradling an infant Jesus while angels holding tools of the crucifixion look on. First appearing in Cyprus after Richard the Lionheart’s conquest, the Virgin of the Passion speaks to a kingdom beyond earth, a victory without further bloodshed, and divine power triumphing over colonial conquest.
In response to claims that Mary is a passive figure in Christianity, Milliner writes, “Mary in this image also deposes emperors, protests crusaders, lifts her son to his death at the altar, and proclaims the message of salvation extended to all--not activities ideally described as “passive.” Abraham was spared the sacrifice of his son Isaac, but Mary, the new Abraham, was not.” (8) Not only is Mother of the Lamb a fascinating history of an icon, but it is also a rare, delectable sample of Protestant Mariology.
Much in Mother of the Lamb was striking to me--the marvelous history of this icon; its richly textured meanings among conquered, but not vanquished, peoples; the hope it gives us for the future of the church. However, Milliner’s examination of this icon’s place in soteriology is what I am still chewing on. He argues that the Virgin of the Passion stands against both “the violent theology of double predestination” (138) and the “transactional” Trinity of Soterichos Pantavgenos (76-78). Pantavgenos’s bad seed in soteriology is once again being watered in certain theological circles, and the theology written in icons remains instructive today, centuries after the Virgin of the Passion was created in response to a similar error.
As a child, I was obsessed with Mary, especially around Christmastime. There are numerous photos of my brother and I playing Nativity, I always with my beloved pink blanket over my head. The edges of the Mary figurine in our wooden play Nativity set are rounded more than any other, soft and silky to the touch. Protestants, especially the Catholic-phobic Southern Baptists of my childhood, overlook Mary to our detriment. Yet, there is still something in her that calls to us, even to a little Baptist girl. Milliner shows her resonance throughout history with emotional and scholarly éclat. If I have not yet convinced you to read this book, all I can say is I will not receive the Eucharist in the same way ever again.
Though Mother of the Lamb is certainly academic, I found it quite accessible reading, not least because it relegates nearly one hundred pages of notes to endnotes. There is also an extensive list of works cited, an index, and list of image credits. While having the images on the page where they were discussed was helpful, I would have preferred an insert with full-color images. However, the black-and-white reproductions are better printed than most I’ve encountered. They are easy to see even if they are missing color.
I hope this is joined by many more works of this type--retrieval of iconographic theology for Protestantism. Milliner’s arguments are not easily dismissed. He has a rare facility for both art history and theology, and it gladdens me to know that he is training a generation of students in this field. I highly, highly recommend this book. Not only was every page a pure pleasure to read, it was also thought-provoking and spiritually instructive.
Disclaimer: The release date for this book is October 4. The retailer who received my pre-order ships books from their warehouse as soon as they receive them, which is why I got my copy early. It is not an advance copy.
Dr. Milliner has a solid record for making me interested in things that I wouldn't normally expect to care about. Byzantium history, iconography, art criticism, Mary: all of these topics (and more) are well outside my normal reading interests, yet Milliner pulls them together in a way that is highly accessible.
It should also be noted, however, that this is definitely a scholarly work, as the lengthy footnotes make clear. This was most apparent to me when Milliner dives into art criticism--something I only really know about from wandering through galleries. I still don't quite follow some of his arguments about the theology behind the artistic choices behind certain art choices, but I'll chalk that up to my own limitations rather than his.
For the casual reader, I actually recommend starting with Milliner's lectures/podcasts about Mary and this icon in particular. However, if you are still looking for more after a bit of listening--and especially if you want the "nitty gritty" academic dimensions of his argument--this book is a great resource.
It's also a great reminder that I really understand nothing about Mary.
Love the story of this icon. I'm going to be using it in my Christmas Eve sermon. I was unaware of the depth of theology contained in this one image. The only thing about this book that was difficult was the amount of endnotes. It was difficult to get in a good reading rhythm as frequently as I needed to flip back and forth. A lot of the arguments in the endnotes could have been in the main text.