There are currently numerous initiatives around the globe to commemorate the 500th anniversary of the Protestant Reformation. In Estonia, as we report this week, visitors are being invited to desecrate an image of Our Blessed Lady. At the National Museum of Estonia, a virtual image of Our Lady of Graces appears on a screen in a glass box. If visitors kick a marked spot on the plinth supporting the box, the image shatters into pieces and is replaced by the word “Reformation”. The screen then refreshes.
The museum’s Facebook page says the exhibit is an “artistic representation of the theme of iconoclasm”. Several authorities, both religious and political, have expressed their disapproval for what they see as a disregard for the feelings of religious people.
It is true that the smashing of images was an integral part of the Reformation, and iconoclasm – the destruction of statues, paintings, holy objects and stained glass – was common across much of Protestant Europe. It is estimated that in England, during the reign of Edward VI, at least half of the artistic patrimony of the country was destroyed. The horror of this vandalism is best appreciated by a contemplation of the few lucky survivors, such as the stained glass in King’s College, Cambridge.
In so far as the exhibition in Estonia reminds us of the mindless brutality of iconoclasm, it is perhaps doing us a service, though one must strongly deplore the implied disrespect to the Blessed Virgin. But it is best to ask what we can learn from the iconoclasm of the past and, indeed, the iconoclasm of the present.
First, the reformers claimed to promote the Word at the expense of the image, which they saw as replacing the Word, as it often must have done in an age of illiteracy. Our answer must be that we certainly do not disparage the Word, but we value the image too at the service of the Word, as an illustration. Any lavishly illustrated children’s Bible makes the same point.
A second imperative must be, in opposition to the iconoclasts, to do our best to preserve the patrimony of the past. This is something that the Catholic Church does well, as anyone who has visited a cathedral museum can testify. The wealth of metalwork, glasswork, needlework, painting and sculpture on display is impressive. Every diocese needs a cathedral museum, for beauty is one of the many paths that leads to God.
The third question concerns how we are to harness the power of the image in the world today. Here the outlook is mixed. While Catholics continue to excel in music – as the success of Sir James MacMillan’s new Stabat Mater testifies – in other fields the picture is less encouraging. Great Catholic artists and writers are now thin on the ground, while the iconoclasts of the modern age flourish.
Much modern art aims to shock. Its message is often nihilist. Catholic art, by contrast, aims to challenge, instruct, inspire, educate and give hope. This last element – the message of hope – is what our world most needs to hear. Some direction from the Church’s Magisterium on this important topic – the role of art in the modern world – would be useful.
The Big Mac reflects the “individualistic relationship between man and God established by Luther”. So claimed the Catholic theologian Massimo Salani in the year 2000. “At McDonald’s,” Salani wrote in the Italian bishops’ newspaper Avvenire, “people want a fast meal and hunger is quenched as fast as possible so one can do something else, and one loses the value of community.”
Seven cardinals are currently objecting to the construction of a new McDonald’s near St Peter’s Square. We don’t know if they have read Salani’s article, which caused quite a stir at the time. But it seems that their objection is less theological and more practical: they live above the proposed site of the fast food outlet and worry about increased noise and bustle. One cardinal has reportedly written to Pope Francis demanding that he intervene.
Still, it wouldn’t be surprising if, like Salani, the cardinals felt there was something culturally “Protestant” about the burger chain. But there is, in fact, one item on the McDonald’s menu that is truly Catholic: the Filet-O-Fish. It was invented in the 1960s by Lou Groen, a McDonald’s franchise owner in a densely Catholic area of Ohio who noticed that his customers never bought burgers on a Friday. The fish-based sandwich was born.
Some have also argued, tongue in cheek, that the whole structure of McDonald’s is modelled on that of the Catholic Church: a giant corporation with franchises in every city and a standard offering cleverly adapted to local culture.
The seven cardinals are understandably concerned about the personal impact of the new outlet. But if they are also worried about whether the Golden Arches can coexist with one of Catholicism’s holiest places, they should take a trip to London. In the piazza outside Westminster Cathedral there is a bustling branch of McDonald’s. It serves as a pit stop and meeting place for hungry pilgrims.
The mother church of England and Wales remains a sanctuary of peace, even if just yards away people are wolfing down Big Macs.
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