New Interview!

I had a great time talking with Kyle of Barrel Aged Faith a couple months ago. If you haven’t given it a listen, check it out!

A friend of mine reached out in response to a part of the interview with something very insightful:

I had an experience as a boy—a real sense of being drawn toward God to the work of shepherding. There is only one, as my friend put it, institutional expression of “shepherding” in the Baptist world: the pastor/minister. But in the Orthodox faith, there are several institutional expressions of shepherding. Although I did not make this connection in the interview, I very much see that calling being fulfilled in my present vocation as an iconographer.

As I’m sure many of you have read, I’ve found it increasingly important to champion the organic icon against both reproductions and artificially generated images. Both of the latter technologies dehumanize the vocation of the iconographer, replacing them with cheap imitations that do not satisfy the need for our eyes to be properly shepherded. Replacing the congregation/choir with a CD player, and the priest with a robot, are the logical steps that follow the discarding of the iconographer. It’s not a future any of us should desire for ourselves nor our children, and the resistance to such a potential future begins now.

Founding Members & Annual Subscribers

I’m thankful to have acquired several new Founding Members over the last couple of months. I still have room for anyone interested. The entire point of this publication is to get real icons into your hands, and this is probably the most affordable means available anywhere on this side of the globe.

All paid subscribers get a 15% discount on commissions and studio work as well, whether Founding Member or Annual subscriber. The Annual option is great if all you want is to offer some support or want a discount locked in for anything in the studio that becomes available.

I will be keeping most of my writing free. There are a few, like the recent Movement of Light article, that are exclusive. But the emphasis of this publication, again, is to make it easier for more folks to acquire organic icons. This is why the monthly cost is so high. I don’t want anyone to subscribe at that level because it doesn’t provide much for you or for me.

Available Studio Work

I currently only have three studio works available, listed below. Click on the button below each image to purchase from my website. If you’re a Founding Member or Annual Subscriber, shoot me a message and I’ll get you a discount code for my website.

Purchase Theotokos Icon

Purchase St John the Forerunner Icon

Purchase St Genevieve Icon

Icons and Longform Posts in Progress

If you’re not using the Substack app, or reading via website, you probably are not aware that I share Notes concerning the icons I’m working on and longform posts that are in progress. Here’s a few of those highlights:

The Art Spirit has become very important to me. Both a great comfort for the common artist ailments, as well as inspiration for some longform writing & older ways of being an artist (i.e. more notetaking and documentation).

I’m working on a series of the Stations of the Cross (JPII Scriptural version) for an Anglican parish. I’m currently preparing panels and working on sketches for that project. Painting the actual panels will begin very soon.

Beyond these, I’m also working on some designs for a set of icons including: Theotokos, Star of the Sea; Edith Stein; Therese of Liseux; John Paul II; Teresa of Calcutta; St Vitus; and St Theodore the Recruit.

Thank you so much for reading & buying!

Here’s a little improvised haiku my oldest son recently shared at the dinner table:

Although I do not teach iconography, I want to document my own process for any aspiring or experienced iconographers who may be interested. The techniques make sense to me, and that’s the main reason I use them. Other artists may find more or less of these things useful, and that’s okay. But it’s my greatest hope that something here will help with the development of another iconographer, as well as help foster a deeper devotion to the organic icon in Orthodox Christians.

Movement I: Contemplating the Image

The painting of the icon begins before I’ve ever picked up a brush to sit down with the panel. It begins with the contemplation of the image to be painted, imagining each step that will be taken as thoroughly as possible, and with the certainty that Christ’s image will be self-imprinted as I move closer to completing the painting.

For me, I typically hold a couple of beloved icons from Fr Gregory and Ouspensky in mind. I may sometimes also hold something more contemporary from Seraphim O’Keefe or Todor Mitrovic along with these. I also find it important to look at copies of these images separate from the time I’m painting to avoid an over-reliance on them and to paint, as much as is possible for me, straight from the heart.

In spite of those pesky demons who remind you of how worthless and despicable and pathetic you are for even trying to be an artist, you must raise the name of Christ against them. Do not let them tear you down. You must carry this trust in the Lord from the beginning, that He will be Who imprints His image.

But do not imagine this to be a cure or replacement for a lack of dedication to the craft or trade skills necessary for the labor of iconography. The mileage of practicing drawing and painting has to be accumulated over time. I do not want anyone to read posts like these from me, nor from anyone else, and imagine that it’s a super easy thing to do. This works requires a serious commitment beyond attending a few workshops. Nevertheless, the person who has been acquiring that mileage and experience relies on Christ for success in their work.

Movement II: Preparing the Panel & Drawing

The panel should already be complete, either by ordering pre-made panels or them yourself. I make my own in a very simple manner: High quality plywood cut to the appropriate dimensions, sized with a glue to prevent support induced discoloration, and then gessoed with at least 4 coats of Easy Gesso from Natural Pigments. I also add a bit of orange ochre pigment to the gesso to make it a warmer tone. The ratio is approximately 1:1:1/8-1/4 (mix to water to pigment).

I’ve already practiced drawing and painting the Mandylion icon many, many times. Preliminary drawings are not required for me any longer, but I still draw a sketch on the panel to help with places the largest shapes/forms/bodies of color.

Movement III: Establishing the Major Shapes

The major shapes are the first to be painted. One of the ways I have found a unity of color in my work is by applying the same base color to all the major forms. In this example, I have left the holy cloth unpainted as a negative shape. The positive shapes are the Face of Our Lord and the background. This creates silhouettes from the two forms which are essential for comprehending the image: the Face of Christ on the cloth.

Other icons may demand a great quantity of complex shapes, and all in relation to one another, but this particular icon is quite simple. I am convinced at this point of my journey as an iconographer that mastering one particular model will carry you a long way.

My paint is relatively thin/transparent at this point. I am not after solid colors. I want there to be room for the lightness of the gesso to pass through these layers for a while. Perhaps we could say that we are letting the panel “breath” or giving it room to accept more color later on. I’m using Blue Ridge Violet Hematite for the base tone. Although on camera the pigment seems to be very brown, seeing it with your own eyes reveals a natural violet tone. The earthen red/brown is cooled by the blue evening sky, turning the color of the bark violet.

Read more

The previous article of this series ended with a call for churches to move away from the temptation to simulate or impose a foreign reality by using icon reproductions. I argued that what would make even our simplest mission parishes beautiful—and as a result attract more people—would be an intentional focus on the “human-to-human-to God connection” by using organic iconography, even if that meant not having more than two or three panel icons.

In order to make a case for prioritizing organicity in our parishes and homes, it would be helpful to take a brief look at Leonid Ouspensky, Fr Gregory Kroug, and the Brotherhood of St Photios.

Beauty Out of Chaos

The Brotherhood of St Photios1 played an important role in the life of the emigre Russian Orthodox in France that contributed to the formation of Patriarchal parishes in the country and clarifying the centrality of the Eucharist and the Divine Liturgy in the communal life of the Church during a time when the Russian community was split over the sophian heresy. But what is most important for us to consider is the way this Brotherhood, following the great suffering of Orthodox Christians under the Bolsheviks, decided to band together—though being minorities—and offer everything they had to make something beautiful out all that chaos.

Ouspensky and Kroug, with the Brotherhood of St Photios, worked to articulate the Orthodox faith in and for their new context in the West. The challenge posed to them with iconography was their limited access to ancient models. As Seraphim O’Keefe explains in his article on Fr Gregory, Ouspensky and Kroug would search the Paris antique market for anything they could find and study them for hours. They were motivated to acquire whatever it is about icons that was speaking to them and healing them as well as those in their community.2 It was from this place they both painted—seeking the personal experience and encounter with Christ, for themselves and others, above all else.

These are the kinds of saintly folk who are being erased and discarded by the sham reproduction scheme. Fr Gregory worked in poverty, suffering much in his body, and yet was used by God to produce works that continue speaking to us today in an age of mass confusion and constant strife. Beauty is the way out, and beauty begins with God’s own work of art: humans.

Despite our frailty and constant struggle with our sins and thoughts, our own bodies are nevertheless the means by which God is saving us, and our neighbors, through repentance and faithfulness to Christ. Outsourcing the production of iconography to machines is in direct opposition to this creative movement of God to take us out of the chaotic, miry clay and form us into vessels of honor.3

The Medium is the Message

The local parish, as previously mentioned, is the first place where embracing God’s work of art begins. The Church receives her visitors and regular patients and offers the balm of Christ for their myriad ailments. But there is no balm for the eyes in a place covered in sham, just as there would be no balm for the ears in a place absent of the sound of sacred harps,4 and there would be no surgery for the heart without the preaching of the gospel. These, and more, all require the participation of the human work of art. If we would not dare outsource the priestly ministry nor the choir to even the highest fidelity recordings, we ought not dare do the same to the iconographer—and yet such daring behavior toward the iconographer has become the predominant habit.

The solution is simple: only buy organic icons from iconographers and only work with iconographers for the visual-liturgical needs of the local parish.

The same can be applied to the Orthodox Christian home: the little parish. As Orthodox Christians in America, we welcome all kinds of guests into our homes with all the same ailments that may or may not ever step foot into our churches. Although the home is distinct from the parish, it is nevertheless a place where people can encounter the Church through our hospitality. Besides the possibility of entertaining angels, there is also the possibility of others meeting Christ through us. Adorning our mantels—the place which should be the center of our homes—with organic images of our Lord, we are at the very least telegraphing that Christ is being experienced by people in the present. The inorganic sham, in contrast, telegraphs “Christian propaganda”—the opposite of a living culture. The medium is the message.5

Discerning Organicity

An article published in a Moscow magazine on church aesthetics made its way into the Orthodox Arts Journal last summer. The author details an experience of a small, Swiss chapel built in the 18th century. As the author notes, there isn’t much that’s special about the architecture, decoration, or design. It’s quite plain with white, plaster walls, a wooden roof and small dome, and only two icons in a Baroque style. What struck the author was how this modest little church possessed the quality of organicity. That is, the entire design and presentation was quite intentional and served a specific purpose. There were no grandiose ideas of what this place could be, but instead a profound awareness of what it should be.

I suspect, with the author, that many modern parishes do not have much clue about what they should be in terms of aesthetics. The internet is largely to blame. Anyone brave enough (or dumb, like me) to venture into the Orthodox X/Twitter-verse has probably seen certain Orthodox guys posting “Go to church” replies with videos of elaborate and very imperial looking cathedrals—as though that’s where they are going to church. But for most Orthodox Christians in America, that whole idea of what an Orthodox Church is “supposed to look like” is not the reality. That idea of “what an Orthodox Church is supposed to look like” only exists in our imaginations, and is an image malformed by the information age. It’s religious theory, not faith.

The result of this theoretical approach to Orthodox aesthetics is to do things that seem Orthodox rather than just being Orthodox. You can discern the difference immediately: Buildings clearly modeled after Hagia Sophia or some other cathedral in Greece unnaturally settled next to rural trailer parks; digital replicas of painting programs of images designed for a foreign context adhered to the walls of buildings that were not designed to receive such images; and even (sadly) hand-painted programs that are ignorant of people and the space they occupy;6 etc.

True organicity, true faith, is not content with imitating the Christian life. True organicity and true faith can only be satisfied by actually living the way of Christ. Of course, we are all—especially in America—like children. We have to copy and imitate these new things in order to learn, and that is natural. What is unnatural is to never mature. There is a difference between becoming like a child to receive the Kingdom and refusing to set aside childish things to become a fully grown human.

Elder Thaddeus mentions something along these lines when speaking about prayer. It’s not enough, he says, to just say our prayers before our icons and then go about our business thinking, “Well done, well done!” as though checking it off our to-do list means true prayer has occurred. There is a point at which we must struggle for the prayers to become the very beating of our hearts and to move beyond merely copying what they say with our lips. We have to become prayer. We have to become Christ. This is organicity, and this quality is what our understanding of iconography ought to be.

A beautiful example of this is developing through Annunciation Orthodox Church in Rolla, Missouri. The parish, led by Fr Joel Wilson, has been collaborating with Andrew Gould to build a subdivided, walkable Orthodox village on some farmland they purchased in 2023. It is now 2026 and they’ve began the process of building a limestone bell tower and are continuing to dream about a large stone-built church for the future. In the meantime, they’ve been using their parish-hall as a temporary church. They’ve done all of this even after suffering some blows in their community that probably would have shut most places down.

Notice, too, the process of Annunciation Orthodox Church: (1) dreamed of what would make for a beautiful Orthodox community, (2) purchased land, (3) hired Orthodox architect to design, and then build, a parish hall/temporary church building,7 (4) hired same architect to design a monumental bell tower to stand at the crest of the hill on their land. This is a slow process. Some of the people there may not live to see it finished, but they work for the betterment of those who come after them. This is self-giving. It is opposed to immediate gratification—a passion the reproduction scheme feeds upon. One day they will have a church building and will need an iconographer. As they move toward that future, the people of that community will have their aesthetic blindness—inflicted upon them by the passions of the modern age—healed. Whoever is later in charge of finding an iconographer will not dare to abandon reality for sham. It won’t even enter their imagination. They will have been trained by their local Church to be like King David, seeking the beauty of the Lord and not resting until they’ve built a place to the glory of God with the best they could offer.

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Answering Objections

Below are a few more objections commonly raised in protest to making an exclusive investment in the organic icon. I’ve given some answers with some suggested solutions.

Q: What about the poor and those who can’t afford organic icons?

A: My personal recommendation is for parish councils to create a designated fund to provide organic icons to every new convert who cannot afford an icon, or for any cradle Orthodox unable to afford an organic icon.

Many of the Orthodox iconographers working in the US are not monastics. They have the same needs as anyone else who lives in the world, especially those of us who have families. Although it would be ideal to work as Fr Gregory Kroug or St Alypius of the Kiev Caves, giving away our work with a disregard for the cost, the reality is that we are the ones footing the bill for all the supplies while also trying to provide for our families and competing against sanctified money machines (the icon printing scheme). We can’t be expected to work like monks. Understanding this, parish councils can play a monumental role in preserving Orthodox culture in the United States—honoring the faith that has been passed on to us—by supporting American Orthodox iconographers while also distributing organic icons to those who will venerate them.

Parishes could also work together to fund mural or panel icon projects for Orthodox ministries, such as homeless shelters that have chapels. I know many of us iconographers would love to be able to work with the assurance that our families will have their needs met while also getting to do beautiful work for suffering people.

But let’s also address the strange idea that lies beneath this objection. Does anyone know any impoverished person who is looking to purchase a $20-30 reproduction? I can’t say I’ve ever met such a person. It’s also really strange to expect the impoverished person who can’t afford a small hand-painted icon to go and spend the little money they have for a reproduction. Why not call upon a benefactor in the local parish to help such a person? It’s a slower road, but a better one. The impoverished person is given something truly beautiful, the iconographer and Orthodox tradition is supported in reality (rather than in theory), and the benefactor is given the gift of giving.

Let’s raise our expectations for our parishes and challenge those who have been financially gifted to support the Church in this way. Let’s raise our expectations for the beauty God can create within us.

This idea, of course, requires the cooperation of iconographers. We all work at various levels and have certain financial expectations. Those things don’t necessarily have to go away to make something like this work. A well-managed network of American iconographers could appeal to parishes of both humble and grand budgets by providing a database of iconographers with a general idea of the price of their work. Parish councils can select what works best for their needs from this database. They would also be able to contact iconographers to negotiate some kind of painting and payment strategy (especially for the parishes out there that are welcoming hundreds of new catechumens!). My challenge to my fellow iconographers would be to find/suggest collaborative opportunities.

Q: What about myrrh-streaming icons?

A: God condescends to His people under many circumstances because He loves us and is full of mercy and compassion. We have missed the plot if we think this phenomenon means the sham business of reproductions is equal to or greater than organic icons.

Q: Are you saying monks and nuns are wrong for making sham reproductions? What about Orthodox organizations that produces/resells them?

A: No. They’re being obedient to what they’ve been taught/given as work. I would hope that some of our financially gifted brothers and sisters would find suitable iconographers and pay them to teach our monks and nuns how to paint organic icons. This is obviously a long term goal, but a very modest proposition. I would hope for this to eventually displace the need for Orthodox organizations to produce/resell sham. It’s a long game, and we need to be conversing about this problem now in order to secure the future of Orthodox Christian culture in America.

Another excellent idea is for monasteries to produce and sell quality icon boards to iconographers. This work can also be done at multiple levels. Quality plywood is suitable for most of my own work, but others may want panels made more traditionally.

Monasteries and Orthodox organizations may also look into distributing painting pigments and supplies for iconographers. Although this would not be enough to disrupt the sham market, and would be a significant endeavor, it would be a major step in the right direction if marketed well.

Again, we have to think about the long game. The only immediate thing that can be done is for buyers to shift the market. Hold on to that $20-50 a little longer, build it up, and then come talk to me or find another iconographer you prefer. The more often parish councils and individuals do this, the less desirable/profitable it will be for the sham reproduction scheme to continue. Those businesses will have to change their priorities and adjust to the new market in order to provide something else of quality that cannot be provided by iconographers.

St John of the Ladder in Greenville, SC (OCA) recently caught fire after the dome was struck by lightning. The fire department quickly put out the fire and saved the building from further damage. However, the fire and water damage caused the Pantocrator icon in the dome to come crashing down.

Seraphim O’Keefe, my godfather, is the iconographer at St John of the Ladder. I recently visited the parish to catch-up with him, and I had a wonderful encounter with a man who came to speak with him as well. This man was on the verge of tears as he embraced Seraphim and expressed sorrow for what happened to his work. After we exchanged names and began to chat, this man shared that he came to know Christ through this particular icon and that his salvation had first began to be experienced through his encounter with that image.

These kinds of childlike encounters with Christ through the skilled labor of iconographers is the primary reason I’m encouraging and exhorting my brothers and sisters in the Orthodox Church to exclusively invest in hand-painted icons and murals.

The icon is a work of liturgical art created by humans in the service and love of God and the saints. The theology of the icon could be most succinctly summarized as the experience of the incarnate Christ (the Prototype) through His image (which subsists in the Prototype).1 Because the icon is a work of liturgical art, this naturally means that it belongs exclusively to the work of the people of Christ’s body.

St Theodore the Studite said that “Christ’s image becomes more conspicuous to all when it appears by imprinting itself in materials.”2 There was no mechanical reproduction of icons at this time, and the understanding of St Theodore was that Christ’s image is self-imprinted on the painted icon through the iconographer’s materials. By what means was Christ’s image self-imprinted into materials? The human hand. I do not think it’s even remotely a stretch to conclude that there is a cooperation, a synergy, of God and man in the skilled production of icons. Outsourcing the ministry that was given to us by God through the incarnation of Jesus Christ to machines is like turning away from the good gift of a father. The Church’s support of living iconographers is a reception and reciprocation of God’s love. The human painting of icons is the best means of producing icons. It is by this means, specifically, that Christ’s image is most clearly visible to everyone.

When I write of the organic icon, this is what I mean. By implication, that means anything short of this is inorganic and mechanical sham.

This implication sometimes makes people uncomfortable or angry. Many of us probably have some sentimental attachments to reproductions we purchase after converting, gifts of icon reproductions given to us by loved ones, or icons purchased as souvenirs from pilgrimages. Cherish those images. I’m not telling anyone they should toss them out. What I am saying is to stop buying them and that Orthodox Christians need to begin phasing out the mechanical reproduction scheme in all its forms.3

My view on this subject invites many questions from readers. The rest of this article, and this series, will address those commonly asked questions. I’m also proposing a number of solutions across this series to demonstrate that it’s not an impossible situation. We are addicted to our capitalism and marketing schemes, getting whatever we want as quickly and as cheaply as possible, and this addiction will only contribute to the decline of the already relatively small number of American iconographers. Failure to address this addiction will also constitute a failure to support the future of Orthodox Christianity in the United States.

Q: “I have icons blessed by _____, surely this means they’re valid and worthy of veneration.”

A: There are four necessary responses to this statement:

1. The blessing of icons is a foreign and non-apostolic practice,

2. the rite for the so-called blessing of icons is rooted in an iconoclast argument,

3. icons, whether organic or sham reproduction, cannot have their blessedness increased nor decreased by the holiness of a person who has applied a rite of blessing or venerated that icon (which is a subtle Donatism),4

4. and icons are inherently venerable by nature of what they are as images of prototypes.

Most of these points are fully explained in Fr Steven Bigham’s article on the Orthodox Arts Journal from 2012, but I will expand a bit on points three and four:

Donatism was a schismatic heresy between the 4^th and 6^th centuries which argued that sacramental and ministerial efficacy can be nullified by a cleric’s sins. St Augustine combated this heresy by rightly arguing that the efficacy of the sacraments and priestly ministry is independent of the personal character of the cleric. Rather, it is Christ Himself, as Thomas Aquinas also taught in the Summa, who confers grace through the sacraments of the Church. This naturally means that the inverse is true as well: sacramental and ministerial efficacy cannot be increased by the holiness of a cleric.5

Although appealing to our sentiments, it’s simply not true that a holy person using the foreign rite of blessing icons—whether of organic or mechanical reproduction—has contributed anything to the icon’s sanctity or validity. This is not to say it wouldn’t be special to own an icon venerated by someone we revere. But that sentimentality should not be conflated with the nature of the icon. Icons are already blessed because they bear the likeness and name of their prototypes and therefore are inherently venerable.

Q: My parish is covered in sham wallpaper and mechanical reproductions—what should I do?

A: Venerate the images. Although true that these are less worthy responses to the love of God (namely because their continued production hurts iconographers), not to mention degradations of their originals and of the experience of their prototypes, they are still icons.

“From the simultaneous existence of both [image & Prototype], it follows that when Christ is seen, then His image is also potentially seen, and consequently is transferred by imprint into any material whatever.”

“… when one considers the likeness to the original [Prototype] by means of a representation, it is both Christ and the image of Christ. It is Christ by the identity of name, but the image of Christ by its relationship. For the copy is a copy of its original, just as a name is the name of that which is named.”

“… [and] the copy is called like the original by identity of name.”

~St Theodore the Studite, On the Holy Icons6

Based on St Theodore’s words, we can say it’s true that Christ’s image, and thus access to Him, remains intact even through mechanical/sham reproduction. Yet we must also say that the copy [reproduction] of the copy [icon] of the original [the Prototype], though remaining truly the image of Christ, is a degradation of the holy image of our Lord. These are both at once true things.

How is it that I can say the reproduction is a degradation? Because reproductions make the human-to-human-to-God connection inaccessible. Deep calls to deep. We are amazed by the labor and skill of iconographers because their bodies have acquired a skill that is exceedingly difficult for the majority of people to acquire. Beneath that amazement at human creativity lies our wonder and devotion to the Creator. But reproductions flatten out and remove every indication of human labor that is experienced through organic iconography. We cannot properly be in wonder and awe of God through simulations of human work. Reproductions are anemic and impoverished for liturgical use because liturgy requires the cooperation of human and divine energy.

Consider the greatest commandment:

“Hear, O Israel, the Lord our God is one Lord: And you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength: this is the first commandment. And the second is like, namely this, you shall love your neighbor as yourself. There is no other commandment greater than these.”7

The “human-to-human-to-God connection” is essential. What we have in reproductions, on the other hand, is a “human-to-machine-to-God connection”. This connection does not work so well. Deep does not call to shallow.

I’ve written before about St Gabriel of Georgia. One of the stories about him is that he would rescue images from magazines in which those images were mocked. He would fashion frames for them out of other discarded materials and adorn his little chapel with them. Following his example to the fullest would mean we’ve kissed our phones or computers as we’ve seen each icon cross the screen. I’m guessing you didn’t do that—neither did I—and that’s the problem.

We don’t benefit from icons by treating them like Pokémon (gotta catch all the saints), nor by treating them as souvenirs, nor by treating them as social status symbols (“Hey, I’m Orthodox now, check out my based icon collection!”), nor by treating them as propaganda. Perhaps this view could be associated with someone like Paul Kingsnorth at this point. A more ideal, future scenario is for us to live in a radically less image-saturated culture. We are distracted and disoriented by an overwhelming abundance of images, and we increase this distraction and disorientation within ourselves by investing in and proliferating sham.

The Church used to gather in the catacombs and yet they made these dark spaces as bright as heaven. They were constrained to particular places and yet transformed those limited boundaries through the limitless potential of God’s grace. Many of us Orthodox Christians in the US are constrained to storefronts and modular means of gathering. This means that most of us won’t be worshiping in grand cathedrals. The solution is not sham wallpaper or covering the walls in as many replicas as possible. This would result in the poor simulation of a foreign reality. What will make these spaces beautiful—and as a result, attract more people—is an intentional focus on the human-to-human-to-God connection by exclusively using hand painted icons. If all the parish can afford are two-three panels, do that. If the parish grows and can afford million-dollar murals, do that. This connection is the surest way to God.8

Please use the link below to share this article if you enjoyed the read and would like for others to support my work. If you’re not subscribed already, this is your invitation! You may also consider upgrading your subscription if you’d like discounts on commissions or to get a hand-painted Mandylion (Founding Member tier). Thank you so much for your support!

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When he had been cleansed by fasting, great Moses saw the God for whom he longed. Eagerly follow his example, O my humble soul; make haste to cleanse thyself from evil in the day of abstinence, and so thou shalt behold the Lord who grants thee forgiveness, for He is all-powerful and loves mankind.

Let us now set out with joy upon the second week of the Fast; and like Elijah the Tishbite let us fashion for ourselves from day to day, O brethren, a fiery chariot from the four great virtues; let us exalt our minds through freedom from the passions; let us arm our flesh with purity and acts of compassion; let us make our feet beautiful with the preaching of the Gospel; and let us put the enemy to flight and gain the victory.

~ from Vespers Service for the Sunday of Orthodoxy in the Lenten Triodion

Today we celebrated the Triumph of Holy Orthodoxy. After this celebration, I was able to hand over this icon of the Prophet Elijah to a new home. And this evening I found the day concluding with these references to Moses and Elijah in the Triodion.

I wrote about Elijah not too long ago. What I did not mention in that piece was a kind of “Easter egg” reference in the design of the landscape.

Many icons of the Transfiguration will depict the mount as having three “peaks” for Christ and Moses and Elijah to stand upon. I wanted to subtly point toward this with the mountain in my icon of the Holy Prophet.

I was amazed to see these two saints referenced as an exhortation to the faithful to keep the faith moving into the second week of Lent. We have heard of the Triumph of Holy Orthodoxy over the amalgam heresy of Iconoclasm at the end of our first week. We are reminded that God united himself to us and became man. We are reminded that we, though sinful and broken, can be restored to the image and likeness of God in the God-Man and thus share in God's glory. We are reminded that this life--these bodies--matter and that the gifts we render to God should be beautiful gifts.

And this last calling, to give our best to God, is essentially how our evening ends and our second week begins. Moses received the vision of Christ by fasting, the hymn tells us. His longings and hunger for God finally satisfied. He gave his whole body to God. Elijah, the hymn says, fashioned the chariot of fire that carried him to heaven out of four virtues: (1) an exalted mind free from passions, (2) a body protected by acts of compassion and defended by purity, (3) feet protected from stumbling by keeping the Gospel on his lips, and, (4) gaining victory by driving away the evil one. The way these old testament saints lived tells us how to acquire the transfigured life, and the hymns in honor of them exhort us to seek to acquire that life in the same ways.

I wish good strength to everyone for this week through the prayers of the Holy Prophets Moses and Elijah. May we each be diligent in fashioning our own fiery chariots!

Lastly, thank you to everyone for showing your support. I have felt a bit overwhelmed with how many people have gone out of their way to both reach out to talk, ask questions, inquire about how to get into iconography, and so on while also investing in my work. It makes a huge difference in my life and allows me provide a service to the Church that is needed. I'm writing Paid Subscriber posts this week and working on Founder Member icons. Later!

This encaustic icon is my favorite. There is nothing I've found that really tops this one for me. It is the ideal image that I try my best to hold suspended in my heart when I work.

Sadly, I don't know anything about the iconographer and there seems to be little information at all available. You can see in the hot wax encaustic of St Stephen below that I attempted to render the features of the portrait in a similar manner.

I don't think I succeeded in attaining the same quality as Eitener’s icon. Though I am pleased with this work and felt the presence of St Stephen while working, it's just not my ideal. This is probably typical artist talk. We usually have a hard time being satisfied with our own work and are always trying to do better next time.

Perhaps it's a bit like the experience St Sophrony and Elder Thaddeus have described concerning God’s way of relating to us. There will be moments when God is so close that there is nothing but love and light within. But God withdraws in other seasons. The withdrawal becomes the lovers pursuit. The Bride chasing the Groom. The Groom wooing the Bride.

I would love to know if you have a favorite icon. Drop a comment or restack this post and let me know!

As you can see, it's not much. I do as much as I can with as little as I can, and I do it all between doing my best to love my wife, raise and educate my children.

Some of you are brand new and others have been around for a while. Regardless of when you got here, here's a bit of what Saintly Folk is all about.

My work is ultimately a service of Christ and the Church. Icons are an important part of the Orthodox faith and especially helpful toward encouraging and building up a life of prayer. It's one of the oldest and organic ministries, and one of the many ways for certain faithful to embody the Orthodox Christianity.

Being an iconographer is a lot like cooking, actually. Preparing a good meal for heart. I cook almost all the meals in our house. It's another creative outlet and helps me connect with my grandma, who died after suffering lymph node cancer about twenty years ago. Although I occasionally have some frozen chicken nuggets and such for the busy days (and the days when I'm not feeling well), you otherwise won't find ready to eat meals or TV dinners in our house.

I think most folks know such food hardly qualifies as such, and yet we eat it. This confusion over what is quality food is similar to the modern ailment I hope to address through Saintly Folk: aesthetic blindness.

Aesthetic blindness is the inability to discern art from sham. When it comes to the art of iconography, this usually looks like the inability to discern why it's completely inappropriate to reproduce ancient icons from Constantinople for use in prayer corners and mission parishes. There is no recognition that no faith is required to produce these shams, and the subjects--our venerable saints who protect us with their mighty prayers--suffer a lack of the honor due to them.

I'll be writing more about the icon sham business (not a ministry) in future paid subscriber articles.

Whats important to know for now is that there are iconographers living and working in the present who are concerned with preparing proper meals for you--I'm one of them. We don't want people to keep eating slop when they can have satisfying meals. This is what it means to produce organic iconography.

I believe people will eventually come around to what's aesthetically good for them. The difference between owning sham and owning hand painted icons is one of those things that is difficult to explain until you actually own one (or make one, perhaps). I don't think I am alone in saying that there is a nearness experience when praying with an organic icon that is not the same as when praying with a sham.

I'll give an example. A few years ago I visited the national gallery in Washington DC. They have a decent collection of sacred art, including a 13th century icon of the Mother of God that may have been from Constantinople.

My instinct upon first seeing this icon in person was to kiss it. It felt so unnatural to encounter it in the National Gallery. Nevertheless, I had a special experience with Our Lady and Our Lord.

There is a parish where I've prayed a number of times that has a large print replica of this icon. The trouble is that I've seen the real thing. So when I've prostrated or bowed before the replica, I was taken back to that first experience of encountering the original, organic icon. My veneration became artificially simulated and distracting. It's not that I doubt Our Lord and Lady have received due reverence through my veneration of that print. Rather, I doubt the helpfulness of that particular version and the simulated experience as being as beneficial as my encounter with the organic version.

In summary, I want as many people to have the experience of nearness to Christ and the Saints through icons as I have experienced with organic icons. Saintly Folk is helping me to that by offering a Founding Member subscription that gives subscribers a hand painted Mandylion. They also get, along with annual and monthly subscribers, discounts on commissions and icons from the studio and ink drawings and preliminary work (and more to come!). All of this along with regular posts taking readers inside my own creative process in producing these works.

I'm looking forward to getting know all of you a bit more--or as much as one can at this digital distance. Leave a comment or reply to this email and let me know the name of your patron saint. Maybe they'll pop up in the studio and future posts!

My work begins with a piece of reclaimed wood, cut to size, and a base coat of paint. The colors I choose for the base coat will vary. Lately, I've been drawing inspiration from the local landscape and atmosphere.

A couple weeks ago I was cooking a cabbage roll soup to clear out the remaining meat before Meatfare. I forgot to pick up a couple cans of roasted tomatoes, so I made a quick run to the nearby Ingles. It's a five-minute drive in rural Western North Carolina through somewhat marshy farmland.

The weather was still quite cold and had been raining that day, and there were a few remnants of snow and ice littering the shadows of the open pastures. The overcast sky was a cadet grey-blue. The green grass was nearly teal under this light, with spots of gold hay and dry weeds. The trees had become earthen violet silhouettes against the sky. The clouds were warm, but managed to blend into the greys and blues and purples of the mountain-guardians of my home.

I tried my best to pull these colors together for a palette and had some early success with my work on a miniature icon of St Tobias:

I immediately knew I wanted to go in this direction again with a Mandylion icon for a new Saintly Folk Founding Member (who has been a great encouragement to me, by the way).

After applying the base coat, I usually paint silhouettes of the basic shapes. The Mandylion composition is essentially two concentric circles framed by a rectangular form: the mandylion.

For those unfamiliar, the term “mandylion” comes from the Greek word that can mean “towel” or “handkerchief”. It’s considered the earliest icon by the Eastern and the Western Church. Those in the West probably most associate this icon with St Veronica who wipes the blood and sweat from Jesus’ face on the way to the cross. In the East, the image is usually associated with the conversion of King Abgar and the city of Edessa. This latter story is typically preferred by Orthodox Christians because it’s considered an “image not made by hands” and holds a special significance in ecclesial history and Tradition.

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The holy prophet Elijah appeared in a time great spiritual depravity, especially among the kings who betrayed their calling to be images of the One True King. Ahab, the son of Omri, began to rule in Israel and was more wicked than his father and all the kings that came before him. The Scriptures say that walking in the sins of Jeroboam was an easy thing for Ahab (1 Kings 16.30-33), and yet he dared to call the prophet Elijah “the troubler of Israel” (1 Kings 18.17). There was no self-awareness of his sin nor knowledge of God. All of Israel’s troubles were because of their leaders turning them away from the worship and service of God to the worship and service of Baal.1

Ahab is not the only villain of the story. There is also his wife, Jezebel. I find it important to note that both Ahab and Jezebel are problems, and that it wasn’t Jezebel who corrupted Ahab. Sometimes Jezebel gets co-opted by those who want to blame women for everything, as well as by those who want to blame men for everything. They were both problems.

The Law is clear that neither Ahab, nor any Jew, was to marry an outsider. Ahab was not at all concerned with maintaining ritual purity and couldn’t care less about the moral influence of Jezebel—who explicitly and purposefully served and worshiped Baal.

Baal was not a random pagan god. Baal is the satan figure seeking to destroy the people of God throughout much of the Old Testament. Careful readers may have noticed that the serpent seems to disappear after the Genesis narrative. We know this serpent is the satan—the devil—who tempted Job, for example, and there are a few other examples of this obvious kind of appearance.2 But we otherwise hear mostly about Israel’s betrayal of Yahweh for the worship of false gods—especially Baal.

The story of Elijah is foreshadowing the New Testament story of St John the Forerunner confronting Herod’s illegitimate marriage to Herodias. The daughter of Herodias, Salome, was Herod’s niece. She danced provocatively in the court and pleased Herod. The perverse nature of this is quite clear considering Herod offered Salome up to half of his kingdom. This is the kind of wickedness that also characterized Ahab and Jezebel.

An excerpt from St Ephrem’s Commentary:

Exactly at the time when the prophet and father of the prophets Elijah appeared, the rebellion of Ahab and his wife Jezebel had increased to such an extent that they not only trampled the law and fear of God underfoot, nor were content to promote the worship of idols, but even persecuted and killed the prophets and the saints.

Moses wrote a large book of curses and ordered Joshua to proclaim them before the assembly of all the tribes of Israel with great clamor and loudly. He especially mentions the harsh famine and the other evils that follow it, the deprivation of the rain, the aridity and infertility of the land. Ahab despised and laughed at them, because he saw how abundant his supplies were, thanks to his father who was an impious king like him. Therefore, that arrogant king necessarily had to be punished for his arrogance. But the main reason why Elijah was sent was Jezebel, whose pride the Lord wanted to humiliate and whose falsehood he wanted to disclose. She had actually appointed herself as minister of Baal and had entrusted herself with the religious service for this god. She also proclaimed that Baal was the supreme god who ruled over those living in heaven and on earth and sent rain, watered the skies and gave fertility to the ground. She took as witnesses her fellow citizens, the Sidonians and the Tyrians and the other peoples of Phoenicia who were prosperous in those days in wealth and possessions more than any other of the neighboring nations and were also the most fervent worshipers of Baal. It was with good reason and according to justice that Elijah rose and came at that time of distress, and finally issued a stern rebuke against Ahab and his leaders and threatened to bring on them a sky of iron, as Moses had predicted, and a land of bronze.

The Logos of God appears to the Prophet Elijah and tell him to go East and hide near the brook of Cherith which flows from the Jordan. It is in the Jordan that our Lord was baptized. The lore of the Prophet is woven together with that of his Lord. Their lives become as one. It is as though the Great Shepherd led the prophet to be nourished by the waters of His baptism.3

There, in that Eastern land of light, ravens from Zion brought Elijah bread to give him the strength of God in the morning, filling him with justice and stability and wisdom. These ravens return with the prefigural meat of Christ in the evening, assuring the prophet that the Light will arise, clothed in the flesh of humanity, to dispel the darkness of injustice and sin and death and nourish the hungry with good things.4

The Lord prepared His prophet a bountiful table in the presence of his enemies—the enemies of Elijah and the enemies of God. Elijah was there nourished by Christ Himself.

Great Lent is quickly approaching. If you’re reading this, you probably do are not in conflict with a modern, political equivalent to Ahab and Jezebel. But I would wager that, like me, you’re afflicted by the same demonic spirits behind such figures. Christ is calling us to the wilderness where we will be nourished by the food only He can give. There is no worldly food available to us in that place—no milk, no juicy steaks and bacon. But we will surely be satisfied with good things. With the water of the Spirit. With the body and blood of Christ. With the love of the Father.

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Met. Gregory (ACROD) exhorted his flock to pray this special prayer during the Nativity season:

We praise, bless and give thanks to You, O Lord Jesus Christ, Eternal Son of the Father! Taking upon Yourself the redemption of the human race, You did not disdain the Virgin's womb. You, the King of Glory, were humbly born amidst poverty in a stable toraise up fallen humanity and enrich it with Your grace. As a newborn Child, You were bound in swaddling clothes to release us from the bondage of sin and death. What can we give You, O Christ, for Your boundless love for us? Instead of gold, frankincense, and myrrh, accept the offering of our whole life to You. As we now prepare to joyfully remember Your Nativity, grant peace to the world, growth to Your Church, stability to our country, wisdom to all civil authorities, and unity to our families. Make us worthy to celebrate the coming feast and to join with the angelic choirs in singing and glorifying You, O Emmanuel -- "God with us" -- forever. Amen.

My family was saying our usual prayers together this evening when our middle son asked, “Why does the Nativity prayer say, ‘instead of gold, frankincense, and myrrh?’”

I thought I would share you with my answer to his question because it's an idea that gives me hope in every season of life.

Jesus makes much of the humble gifts of His children.

The magi gave to Christ the gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Jesus received and multiplied that offering, giving them back to us in the Church. We have the golden chalice and patent, gospel book, candlesticks, censors, and etc. We have the censors with diverse fragrances, one of which is frankincense. We have the holy myrrh with which the faithful are chrismated and regularly anointed. These gifts have been received by God as well as they can be received, and He makes good use of the gifts given to Him.

That is why we offer our lives instead of these gifts. Like the Mother of God, we render everything to Him. Look how much her simple faith accomplished!

The truth is that the offering of our lives to the Master is the only suitable gift we have available to us. We hear in the divine liturgy, “we offer to You, Yours of Your own, on behalf of all and for all”. We already belong to God. But God desires His children to love Him with the love He first showed us. When this happens, something miraculous occurs.

When Jesus received the five loaves and two fish, he blessed them and multiplied them. Jesus makes much of our humble gifts. Now consider the saints who adorn the Church. They offered--in various ways--their whole lives to God instead of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. And what did Jesus do? He accepted their offering and gave their lives back to us! These are glorified gifts.

I begin most days with my boys reading the Prologue of Ohrid. We hear the lives of various saints. We are always especially moved by the child martyrs. Their faithfulness to Christ is a gift that keeps on giving--and a gift that will never end!

As we continue our journey toward Holy Nativity, I hope you will all contemplate with me how we can offer our whole lives to our Lord Jesus Christ.

God desires His children to love Him with the love He first showed us. When this happens, something miraculous occurs.

Yam wakes me with a kiss and a reminder for the day. Amos comes in half an hour later in his undies asking about waffles and complaining of boredom. Imagine being bored at 7:30. He's followed by his older brother, Micaiah, who's asking for waffles. Symeon coos alone in his room for a while in the morning. Pretty sure he's talking to angels.

Things have been like this all summer. Almost exactly the same Monday to Friday. I can't complain, but I kinda want to. Contentment is a good work. But I'm not especially virtuous.

My boys and I have also taken up whittling. As of yesterday. The great thing about whittling is that anyone who can hold a knife can probably whittle. It's a skill I've always appreciated for that reason.

I already have some basic whittling skills, but not good enough to write about it. Here's a photo of something I made for the sake of irony:

Inspired by Dracule Mihawk’s little sword. If you know, you know.

Symeon figured out how to unlock the back door to go outside today. I would be more upset if I wasn't so proud of how clever he is. I watched his soft little feet run over the wood shavings left on the porch as he urged me to help him onto the trampoline. Didn't even notice them poking his feet. Just wants me to hang out with him.

Thanks for checking this out. This little piece is very different than what I intend to usually write for Saintly Folk. It probably belongs elsewhere, but I ain't got no time for that right now. Idk how often I'll write like this, but I felt like I needed to write a little about my experience as a new homeschool dad along with my writing about the saints and painting. Let me know what you think.

Secondhand Shoppes

“Fr Gabriel”1 is an old priest in Pennsylvania living alone in a large house with many empty rooms. Although he’s only been living there for the last twenty years, give or take, he’s been there long enough to know that his beloved faith is departing those lands along with the children of long dead steelmen and coalmen.

The old priest’s hands are constantly at work:

Fr Gabriel rotates between two or three churches, each parish being miles apart from the others, and with only fifteen to thirty on a given Sunday. While decent numbers for Orthodox parishes, the trouble is that they’re all so much older than Fr Gabriel that he, even in his old age, feels like a child.

The churches can’t pay Fr Gabriel enough for him to serve any of them full-time. This leaves Fr Gabriel spending the rest of his week tending his house, making incense, and salvaging holy things from secondhand shoppes and parishes closing their doors and the estates of reposed parishioners.

Fr Gabriel shuffled around his house as we spoke, showing me all his heavenly treasures. We came to a table overflowing with old icon prints. Several were sun damaged, but most were simply out of fashion with Orthodox Christians in America (e.g. Icons of the Holy Trinity featuring an image of the Father). Although I doubted any of these would find a home, Fr Gabriel couldn’t stand the fact that all these icons were around with no one to venerate them.2

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An Image Confined by Pride

A few years ago, I had committed to painting an icon of The Ladder of Divine Ascent for our church, but for various reasons had been unable to fulfill that commitment until very recently.

I was familiar with several models of the icon of the Ladder of Divine Ascent, but I greatly struggled with whether any of those models would be suitable for our little parish. The icon is based on a spiritual text of the same name, written by St John Climacus (which is why he is called “of the Ladder”). This spiritual text was composed in the early 7th century and was primarily written for monastics, though there is a quote in the beginning which simplifies the entirety of the book for non-monastics:

“Do whatever good you may. Speak evil of no one. Rob no one. Tell no lie. Despise no one and carry no hate. Do not separate yourself from the church assemblies. Show compassion to the needy. Do not be a cause of scandal to anyone. Stay away from the bed of another, and be satisfied with what your own wives can provide you. If you do all this, you will not be far from the kingdom of heaven.”

This is not to say that this spiritual work is unsuitable for Christians living in the world. Far from it. It’s highly encouraged for everyone to read passages from the Ladder daily throughout Great Lent, and it’s long been considered a spiritual classic by Orthodox Christian of every background. However, the models of the icon of the Ladder of Divine Ascent exclusively (as far as I have seen, at least) depict monastics climbing the ladder. This is totally fine for use in a monastery, but this doesn’t land the same way in the average parish context.

An icon with an emphasis on St John Climacus’ portrait seemed to be the best solution, but I had to work out how the ladder itself would be incorporated. My earliest draft, which I thought (at the time) would be successful stuck rigidly to the above quote from the Ladder… and that was the beginning of my troubles in drafting a successful image.

Something immediately felt "off” when I began painting. I think a lot of this probably had to do with limiting myself to a specific aspect ratio. I have a fascination with tall and narrow compositions. I’m not totally sure why I love these dimensions so much. They’re quite challenging but can also be quite beautiful when successful. Just take a look at these historic examples using tall and narrow dimensions!

My own composition of the Ladder was ultimately trying to squeeze too much information into a single image, causing it to at once feel empty and busy.

I eventually abandoned this composition and began contemplating other possibilities. My pride got the better of me here. I probably could have done something like the original design if I had simply used a more traditional aspect ratio and spaced everything out. But my heart was fixed on finding something unique and powerful.

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An Unusual Prophet

St Lyubov was born to Semeon and Maria Sukhanovsky in Pronsk (a city in Ryazan) on August 28th, 1852. She was baptized in St Nicholas, the church where Fr Peter Pavlov, father of the famous Ivan Pavlov, served.

St Lyubov was invalid for the first fifteen years of her life. All the men in her family reposed early on, leaving St Lyubov with her mother and younger sister (Olga). Without her father to provide, and no brothers who could grow to fill in the gap, St Lyubov and her mother and sister were one of the poorest families in all of Ryazan.

But Maria was a good mother, and St Lyubov was resilient. Maria taught her daughter how to pray, read, and write. This education allowed St Lyubov to invest the majority of her bedridden life digesting spiritual books. She developed a strong devotion to St Nicholas and would often pray before his icon.

When St Lyubov turned fifteen, St Nicholas appeared to her and called her by name to stand up, walk, and to become a fool for Christ.

Though there are many other things about St Lyubov, which you can read in Holy Fools by Oswin Craton, I want to focus on her spiritual gift of love and of prophecy.

My illustration of St Lyubov in Holy Fools puts her love and the unusual expression of her prophetic gift on display. When people would come to St Lyubov seeking advice, she would often respond by using scissors to cut out an image of their future from a piece of paper or fabric rather than speaking in words.

Excel in Edifying the Church

St Paul links the gift of prophecy with love in 1 Corinthians:

If I speak with the tongues of men and angels, but do not have love, I have become a noisy gong or a clanging symbol. If I have the gift of prophecy and know all mysteries and have all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to move mountains, but I do not have love, I am nothing. If I give out all my goods to feed the poor, and give my body so that I will burn but do not have love, it profits me nothing.

Love is patient and is kind; love does not envy. Love does not brag, it is not proud, it does not behave inappropriately, it is not self-oriented. Love does not take offence and does not keep track of evil, it does not rejoice in unrighteousness, but rejoices with the truth. Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails.

But as for prophecies, they will come to an end; as for tongues, they will cease; as for knowledge, it will pass away. We know only in part, and we prophesy only in part; but when that which is complete comes, then that which is incomplete will be done away with. When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I felt as a child, I thought as a child. Now that I have become full-grown, I have put away childish things. Now indeed, we see in a mirror, dimly, but then we shall see face to face. Now I know only in part, but then, I will know fully, even as I have been fully known. But now, faith, hope, and love remain: these three, and the greatest of these is love.

Pursue love, and eagerly desire spiritual gifts, especially that you may prophesy… Whoever prophesies speaks to others for their edification, exhortation, and consolation… try to excel in what edifies the Church.

~ 1 Corinthians 13.1-14.1, 3, 12b

Notice that although St Paul speaks of a day when prophecies, and other certain gifts will end, he still encourages the Christians in Corinth to pursue love and desire to acquire spiritual gifts. He especially encourages them to seek the spiritual gift of prophecy, but only for the sake of love.

The gift of prophecy, St Paul says, is particularly suitable for edifying, exhorting, and consoling fellow Christians. The spiritual gift of prophecy is inherently other-centric, and this is the connection between this gift and the higher spiritual gift of love.

The other-centric character of the gift of prophecy is likely the reason this gift has continued in the Church. Corinthian glossolalia (the gift of tongues), in contrast to the glossolalia at Pentecost (Acts 2), had become a problem for them. Everyone was speaking in languages only intelligible by God (1 Cor. 14.2) and all at once. Imagine the chaotic noise at the Tower of Babel. This is the behavior of the “noisy gong” that was disrupting the life and worship of the Corinthian Christians.

Once again, St Paul is not saying glossolalia is bad or even undesirable. In fact, St Paul explicitly says that he desires for all of them to be able to speak in other tongues. The central issue for St Paul is that the Corinthians lacked love.

If the Corinthians had love, they would not have been speaking over one another to only exhort themselves. They would have given preference to others before themselves, and this would have resulted in the manifestation of the greatest spiritual gifts: faith, hope, and love. Furthermore, those greater gifts would be suitably accompanied by the other-centric gift of prophecy.

Love Is Not Self-Oriented

Although St Lyubov may be best known for her unusual mode of prophecy, I think it’s important to emphasize the heavenly grandeur of her neighborly love. Remember that St Paul taught, “If I have the gift of prophecy and know all mysteries and have all knowledge, and if I have all faith, so as to move mountains, but I do not have love, I am nothing.” St Lyubov lived according to the same Spirit, regarding herself as nothing unless filled with the love of God.

Despite her great poverty, St Lyubov managed to always find what she needed in order to love others. Perhaps due to her childlikeness and whimsical appearance (she enjoyed dressing plainly and with bright colors, especially pink), local shop owners would allow her to collect items without paying for them. Because she was a local prophet, she always knew in advance who she would be giving the items to and what exactly they needed. When she collected the items from the shops, she only ever took what was needed to fulfill her mission of love.

I give thanks to my God: I speak in tongues more than all of you. However, in the Church, I would rather speak five words with my mind than ten thousand words in another tongue, in order to instruct others.

~ 1 Corinthians 14.18-19

When St Paul says, “I would rather speak five words with my mind,” he is probably referring to a state of ecstasy experienced by those speaking in tongues. The local Dionysiac influence probably had those young Corinthian Christians believing the soul was united to the deity during states of ecstasy (this is what the pagan orgies in which they once participated appealing to them). Even if this were true, it’s notable that later mystics describing states of ecstasy in the context of worship presented the experience as intelligible. This is in contrast to what St Paul is describing of the Corinthians. That said, St Paul still never denies the ecstatic state. Rather, he ranks the ecstatic experience of the gift of tongues as the lowest rung of spiritual gifts.

The highest rung of spirituality for St Paul is love. Love can do more than any of the other spiritual gifts. If a person has the gift of God’s love, they have everything.

St Lyubov, then, never really saw herself as poor. She saw herself as overflowing with the greatest treasure, and this is evident in the fact that she did nothing but give to and edify and encourage and comfort everyone around her. She was St Nicholas’ gift—God’s gift—to the Church in Ryazan.

St Paul said he would rather speak five intelligible words in order to instruct others than to speak ten thousand words in unintelligible tongues. St Lyubov spoke silently, yet intelligibly, instructing others through images and her own way of life.

The particular image in my illustration of St Lyubov concerns a woman discerning the monastic vocation. She was uncertain what to do with her life. St Lyubov cut out an intricate image of a monastery and a church. By this the woman was encouraged to pursue the monastic life, and the Church was edified by her prophecy.

Prophets of the New Testament

The Didache covers prophecy, as well as ecstatic states, and a number of other concerns in the right ordering of the Church. Prophets were understood in the Didache as a teaching class, and they were ranked below the classes of apostle and doctor.

Prophets could be of the laity, itinerate and/or residential, and their calling was specifically after the instruction of St Paul: they were to use their charism to instruct, comfort, encourage, and rebuke their fellow Christians for the edification of the Church.

Didache 11.7 mentions the possibility of a visiting prophet to speak while in a state of ecstasy, and that no one should cast doubts on them lest they become guilty of the unforgiveable sin (blasphemy against the Holy Spirit). However, the chapter also explains that not everyone who speaks in the state of ecstasy is a true prophet. If they are a true prophet, they will have “the ways of the Lord about him” (Didache 11.8a; see also Phil. 2.21 for the meaning of “the ways of the Lord”). Furthermore, all the Old Testament definitions of a true versus a false prophet apply (e.g. If the words of a prophet do not come to pass, they are a false prophet and should be put away).

What is most relevant to us from the Didache for this post is 11.12 and 15.1:

…If anyone says in ecstasy, “Give me money,” or something else, you must not listen to him. However, should he tell you to give something for others who are in need, let no one condemn him.

***

…Elect for yourselves bishops and deacons, men who are an honor to the Lord, of gentle disposition, not attached to money, honest and well-tried; for they, too, render you the sacred service of the prophets and teachers.

Notice how Didache 11.12 reveals that a sign of a true prophet is that they will instruct Christians to care for others in need rather than instructing Christians to serve them. Prophets are other-centric in their instruction, and this is the primary characteristic of St Lyubov.

Notice, too, how Didache 15.1 describes bishops and deacons as rendering the sacred service of prophets. We tend to think of “prophecy” as words spoken truthfully about the future, but that is not the only thing prophets do. Consider the Old Testament prophets. While they certainly spoke truthfully about the future in various ways, they spent much more of their time edifying the people of God.

The prophet Isaiah is a great example. The book opens with a vision given to Isaiah concerning Judah and Jerusalem. God tells Isaiah, “Israel does not know, My people does not understand [that I am the Master against Whom they’ve rebelled].” The basic problem is that God’s people needed to learn and understand the severe nature of their rebellion against God and how to repent and return to God. The evidence of this problem was that they had become like a besieged city, polluted with the false spirituality of Sodom and Gomorrah, and offered their sacrifices in vanity (Isa. 1.8-11). Their sacrifices were vain because they were morally and ritually polluted. They had to be cleansed, purified, before they could make sacrifices acceptable to God (Ps. 50/51).

In chapter 2, Isaiah calls the people to “walk in the light of the LORD” by turning away from idolatry and all the ways of life which go along with it. Idolatry was not merely a problem on the individual level, but a societal problem. It was a problem which brought evils upon everyone and amplified the suffering of the poor, the faithful and the sojourners and the widows and the orphans.

This diagnosis of a spiritual problem followed by the spiritual remedy is precisely the kind of thing bishops do. They write pastoral letters, visit and instruct the parishes entrusted to them, ordain priests and deacons to serve and build up the Church. When needed, bishops will also correct and exhort and rebuke churches and those he has tasked for their care.

Deacons, in their ministry of teaching (deacons will often provide catechetical instruction to parishes to help the priest, and even preach homilies on occasion), can also be described as prophets. Their service, after all, is derived from the authority of Christ through the bishop. In other words, a deacon who teaches faithfully will not be found teaching contrary to his bishop (assuming his bishop, too, is a true prophet). In this way, the deacon becomes an image—the presence—of the bishop among the faithful.

Now I mention all of this, concerning how bishops and deacons and St Lyubov can all be considered prophets, because it helps connect the Orthodox Church of the present to the apostolic age. It also helps us understand the nature of prophecy and its role in the ministry of the Orthodox Church in our own time. At the same time, it also demonstrates that the gift of prophecy is (1) not for everyone and (2) the gift of love is better.

The Holy Tradition of Love

I wrote about St John the Theologian in the last paid subscriber post. One of the notable characteristics of St John’s writings is the emphasis on acquiring the love of God. Go ahead and read St John’s Gospel and Epistles to see for yourself. St John himself was a prophet of the New Testament (ever heard of the book of the Revelation of Jesus Christ to the Holy Apostle John?), and yet as a prophet he can’t stop calling Christians to acquire the love of God.

What we should love from St Lyubov, and all the saints, is that the Holy Tradition of Love endures to the end. There are many members in the Church, but not one of them is called to relax in their endeavor to become the means by which God’s love is experienced by their neighbors. Members of the Church are called, however, to relax in anything—even spiritual gifts—which hinders the growth of faith, hope, and love in a parish.

This is quite an interesting framing of spiritual gifts. They are presented to us as a hierarchy of gifts. What is more interesting, and concerning, to me is that many people probably find the gift of speaking in tongues in ecstasy much more appealing than being silently present with someone who is suffering. Being the means by which God’s love is experienced by others seems to be held in much lower esteem than being a noisy gong.

But there is a story that I find to be a wonderful remedy for anyone who, like me, has ever felt as though they’re not enough because they lack the charism of tongues or prophecy, or lack in extraordinary works:

Abba Ischyrion once told his monks, “We have fulfilled the commandments of God.” But the monks were concerned by this and asked, “What about those who come after us… what will they do?” Abba Ischyrion replied, “They’ll do half as much.” “What about those who come after them,” the monks asked. Abba Ischyrion replied, “Before the end of time, they will not keep the monastic rule, but such misfortunes and temptations will befall them that, through their patience during those assaults and temptations, they will prove themselves greater than us and our fathers in the Kingdom of God (The Prologue of Ohrid, February 5th).

The lesson is this: We can become greater than Abba Ischyrion and all the monks and fathers in the Kingdom of God by enduring our temptations to the end. How does one endure to the end? “Anyone who loves his brother [or sister] remains in the light, and there is no occasion for stumbling in such a person. But whoever hates a brother [or sister] is in the darkness and lives in the darkness; such a person does not know where he is going because the darkness has blinded his eyes” (1 John 2.10-11).

“It is better to keep silence and to be than to talk and not to be. It is good to teach, if the speaker act. Now there was One Teacher, Who spake and it came to pass (Ps. 32/33.9). And the deeds which He has done in silence are worthy of the Father. He who is truly master of the spoken word of Jesus is able also to listen to His silence, that he may be perfect, and so may act by his speech, and be understood by his silence. Nothing is hidden from the Lord, but even our secrets are brought nigh unto Him. Let us therefore do all things in the assurance that He dwells within us, that we may be His shrines and He Himself may dwell in us as God. For this is indeed true and will be made manifest before our eyes by the services of love which as our bounden duty we render unto Him.”

~ St Ignatius of Antioch, Epistle to the Ephesians

Grandma Jean the Solitary

Late in the night, many years ago, I discovered a secret about my Grandma Jean. Everyone had already retired, and I was lying awake listening to the creek and the crickets and the toads and a lonely owl. When I thought I might fall asleep, a light from the living room illuminated the pulled-to door. I crawled out from the covers and quietly crossed the room. I avoided all the squeaky spots, sneaking over to look through the door to find out why Grandma Jean turned on a lamp so late in the night.

Warm light was piercing the dark blue shadows in my room. I peered through the crack of light and watched Grandma Jean slowly walk over and settle into her straight-back chair. She leaned over the side and began rummaging through the side table compartment. She finally drew out a large Bible. I watched attentively while she read in silence. Her lips occasionally moved to turn over the words. After some time had passed, she closed the Bible… but her lips were still moving. She folded her hands in her lap with her head bowed, sitting upright in that rigid chair.

I had never seen anyone pray like this before. I was raised in a Southern Baptist church, so I certainly had seen people pray before. But I never saw anyone pray like my Grandma Jean. As far as she knew, there was not a soul there to see her. There was no performance. There was nothing but pure devotion. My Grandma silently, secretly, in the presence of the Father.

The next morning, I was risen from sleep by the smell of bacon! Grandma Jean was doing what she always did for me and my sister when we stayed the night: cooking a huge breakfast with all the fixins! I can’t recall a single word my Grandma Jean may have ever said about God, but I’ve always known without a shred of doubt that she loved Him. I knew she loved God because of the way she loved me. I knew she loved God because she loved me, and everyone I knew, with her prayers when no one else could see her.

Grandma Jean’s secret was that she spent her “alone time” with God. She became a “master of the spoken word of Jesus” by listening to God’s silence. Her secret was holiness. She was, and now is forever, a shrine of God. For me, Grandma Jean is my personal experience of the meaning of an icon I painted in 2024: St John the Theologian in Silence.

We’ll explore the meaning of this icon by taking a look at what it means for St John to be called “the Theologian,” the significance of his depiction “in Silence,” and how these are expressed in a couple historical examples. We’ll then consider the distinctions of my own composition to develop an interpretation. My hope is that contemplating this icon will inspire us to also become Shrines of God.

The Meaning of Theologian

Those familiar with the Orthodox Christian faith have probably heard the famous quote: “The one who prays is a theologian. The theologian is the one who truly prays” (Evagrius Ponticus). When the Orthodox Church speaks about St John as Theologian, she has in mind the quality of the relationship St John experiences with God. St John’s writings are not lofty speculations or even highly organized Scriptural concepts woven together. We have to think about St John as a person. He knows God. He wrote what he wrote for the love of God with a purpose. His purpose was not to articulate divinely revealed doctrinal data so people could create a belief system around it. Rather, St John’s purpose in writing was so that we would believe that Jesus Christ is the uniquely begotten Son of God, and that by believing we will have life in His Name.

The Church also speaks in this manner about two other saints with the appellation of theologian: St Gregory Nazianzus and St Symeon the New Theologian. There are several common themes among the writings of St John, St Gregory, and St Symeon:

• The Holy Trinity

• United Divinity & Humanity of Christ

• Divinity of the Holy Spirit

• Salvation & Divine Love

• The Vision of God & the Uncreated Light

• Personal Experience of God / Prayer

• Asceticism

• Union with God in Christ

• The Sacraments (especially Baptism & the Eucharist)

• Ecclesiology

• Eschatology

These categories are explored in various and interconnected ways throughout the writings of the theologians. Each of them emphasizes with their own words what was most relevant to their own contexts but nevertheless are united in their experience of God. St Symeon the New wrote a catechism, for example, which covers a lot about prayer, asceticism, and the sacraments. While St John’s writings may not be as thorough in describing the ascetic life, we can be quite certain he believed it has a place in the life of Christians.

It’s important for us to understand that those common themes, which can be found across all Patristic sources and the Holy Scriptures, are all vital to an Orthodox understanding of salvation. Eschatology, for St John, is not about speculating the time when Jesus will appear to us again. Rather, it’s about the Christian way of life and worship of God within the eschaton and in preparation of the final judgment. This means everything St John (and the other Theologians) said about prayer and asceticism and participation in the sacraments and Trinitarian dogma and ecclesial unity, and so on, is all describing the authentically Christian way of life which is within the last days.

“If you weep for the sake of God, you will know what a comfort He is. If you are merciful, you will know the mercy of God. If you build peace, you will know how it becomes you to be called a son of God. If you forgive men, you will know that God forgives you. No one can ever know that the teaching of Christ is the teaching from God, except he who does the will of God (Jn 7.17). Doing the will of God and fulfilling His commandments is the only key for unlocking Paradise, in which God is seen. That is the key for understanding Holy Scripture and all the mysteries of revelation.”

~ St Nikolai of Ohrid & Zicha: The Prologue of Ohrid (January 21)

Having life in the Name of Jesus Christ, as expressed by St John the Theologian, cannot be separated from the Christian way of life. Anyone who wishes to be a theologian must live in the same manner as St John and the other Theologians describe. One of the primary features of this way of life is silence.

The Meaning of Silence

According to an article published by the Iconography Department of the St. Petersburg Theological Academy, as well as this article, the gesture of raising one or two fingers to the mouth was a sign of contemplation that began to appear as early as the 8th century (and continued appearing through the 9-10th centuries). A prized example from this period is a mural fragment of St Anna, the Mother of the Virgin Mary:

As with many images in the Orthodox Tradition, we don’t have any writings from the iconographers explaining what they had in mind when painting these images. What we do have are certain archaeological facts, the broader Tradition of the Orthodox Church (hymnography, hagiography, homilies, commentaries, epistles, and etc.), and surrounding historical events that might have played a role in the development of these images.

The icon of St Anna with the gesture of silence is from the Faras Cathedral. More specifically, from the northern aisle of the cathedral. It was important during this period for the congregation to be ordered according to sex, which would have placed the women in this northern aisle. Women were held in high regard in this manner. The iconography of the northern aisle not only included the image of St Anna, but also of numerous other female saints including queens, foundresses, martyrs, mothers, and healers. The northern aisle was also used to access other places in the cathedral which were for women only in order to meet various ministerial and practical needs.

Although there is much more to say about the significance of St Anna, the most important takeaway is that the gesture indicating the virtue of silence has been around since the 8th century.

The virtue of silence in these contexts is about being attentive and receptive to the voice of another. Those who are silent in this manner are humble. This is reflected in similar images of male monastics in some murals from a Coptic monastery in Bawit. It’s not a gesture, in other words, that only belongs to women. When we consider this gesture being applied to St Anna, we should consider how she is depicted in hagiography. The two primary accounts of St Anna are the Gospel of James and the Gospel of the Nativity of Mary. Both accounts are similar in the depiction of St Anna: She is a woman of old age who is righteous, but barren, and retreats to a place of silence to pray for God to open her womb. An angel later appears to her announcing that God heard her prayers. These stories portray St Anna as a woman who is so close to God that she experiences communion with the angels. Monastics are said to be living the angelic life. St John the Theologian also communed with the angels. Silence indicates humility and communion with God. The one who has a silent heart, a heart that is stilled by virtuous deeds, is able to hear God.

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Baby Kicks

Yam suddenly sprung forward from her relaxed posture on the couch and held her hand over her stomach. “Come quick!” She exclaimed. I rushed over and she grabbed my hand and placed it where hers had been. Her hand over mind, and ours over the mystery, we became still and silent with anticipation. At first nothing, but then everything!

The little “kick” of our son in the womb suddenly made the pregnancy real for me. The whole experience had been very real for Yam from the beginning. The morning sickness, the strange appetite, the bodily changes. All her sensible experiences had already been changing for months. These changes gave her an intimate experience of reality long before I even began to get a true sense of it.

Awareness of the distinction between theoretical knowledge of a reality and the actual experience of it is vital in the life of the Orthodox Christian. Knowing God the Father loves us is one kind of knowledge. Knowing the love of the Father personally—coming to the awareness of every good and perfect gift that comes from Him and being capable of receiving them like a child—is of another and better knowledge. It is the knowledge of acquaintance versus the knowledge of sonship.

Michael Garten has been doing some remarkable research and apologetic work concerning icon veneration. In a recent video he made a very insightful point that was both encouraging to me personally, and something I’ve tried to emphasize in my own various conversations with people about iconography and how to engage it well:

Iconography is three-dimensional.

This point may come as a surprise to most people. Anyone who has seen an icon would probably not include the adjective “three-dimensional” as a defining characteristic of the art. Yet it’s true. In fact, the three-dimensionality of the icon is one of the most practically important features.

The third dimension of the icon is like the experience of a father feeling their child kicking in the womb of the mother. It is the movement of one reality into the reality of another. Two realities begin to merge as one reality, and this is occurring both on a cosmological level as well as the level of personal experience.

An Appalachian Iconographer

Yam asked me to paint an icon of Our Lady of the Sign as her gift celebrating our 10th anniversary. In much of my recent work I’ve been painting familiar subjects in an immediate or direct fashion, and this is the approach I used for this icon as well. This means starting without any sketches or models to imitate. One of the benefits of this approach is that I am forced to test and more deeply internalize the central images of the Orthodox Christian faith.

The icons painted in this approach often inherit a more folk appearance. I imagine this is some amalgam of my iconographic and other artistic influences, along with my cultural connection to Southern American folk art as Western North Carolina native. Although there may be those who find some sort of fault in this, I would strongly suggest they are very misguided.

I’ll dedicate more time to this in a paid-subscriber post at a later date (this is your cue to become a Founding Member or pick up a yearly subscription!).

For now, just know that iconography should always be indigenous even when the ancient models are being followed. It is proper for Orthodox Christianity to develop in a culture organically, which will both import something of another culture while also converting the local culture. Managing to get an Appalachian to larp as a Greek, Russian, Antiochian, or any other ethnic group is not the same as converting an Appalachian to Orthodox Christianity. I digress.

The point is that it’s very desirous for my work to visually express the Orthodox faith with both a traditional and local dialects. This is one small mode of loving my literal neighbor as an iconographer. With enough time and resources, I hope to be able to provide every parishioner with their own icon of the “Appalachian School”. In the meantime, I do what I can by the mercies of God.

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Our Lady of the Sign

Iconographic Type

It’s helpful to think of icons in thematic and typological categories. This is because there can be several variations of one type of icon. These variations draw attention to specific theological emphases within the overarching type, and yet without eclipsing the other theological emphases present.

In this example, Our Lady of the Sign, fits within the “Mother of God Orans” icon type.

Orans refers to the posture of the hands. The uplifted, palms-out posture indicates the elevation of the heart (nous) to God in prayer. We should note, however, that the orans gesture itself is not specifically Christian, nor merely a gesture. Ouspensky, in passing, covers this in The Meaning of Icons. The orans gesture was known both in Ancient Greek and Hebrew contexts before the iconographic types, as we know them today, had developed. In these contexts, as well as a few others, the orans gesture indicated not only a state of prayer, but the personification of prayer.

In this Mother of God Orans type, then, we have an established theology of the Theotokos being the personification of prayer. This reality is pushed even further by the liturgical use of this icon above the altar in Orthodox Churches. This means the Theotokos is not only the personification of prayer, but also the personification of the Church and the typological Ark of the Covenant.

More Spacious Than The Heavens

Our Lady of the Sign is often affectionately called Theotokos, More Spacious Than The Heavens. I personally prefer the latter because it more immediately communicates the theological thrust of the icon: The Uncontainable God contained Himself in the womb of the Virgin Mary, and thereby unites Himself to and redeems humanity. The former title gets us there as well, but first by calling to mind the prophetic word of Isaiah:

Therefore the Lord himself shall give you a sign; Behold, a virgin shall conceive, and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel. (Is. 7.14)

The miraculous virginal conception is the Sign announced by the prophet. The Incarnation, the revelation of the Second Person of the Trinity, and the knitting together of Christ’s human nature in His mother’s womb, are the major theological elements.

As we move through the major visual components of the icon of the Theotokos, More Spacious Than The Heavens, we’ll begin to see the profound relevance of this image to the Christian life. It’s my hope that this will also help us all move toward a more conscious and intentional veneration of the icon—the kind of veneration that results in communion.

The Mandorla

Although there are variations in which there are two mandorlas, one around Christ and the other around our Lady, for now we’ll only be considering the use of a single mandorla around Christ since that is the variation I used.

So…

…

…What the heck is a mandorla?

This Italian word describes the shape of an almond, and the shape is created by intersecting two circles. If you recall working on Venn Diagrams in grade school, the shape in the middle used for evaluating commonalities between two things is the mandorla shape.

We can also think of mandorlas existing on a spectrum. On one end are very strongly shaped mandorlas known as vesica piscis. On the other end are very softly shaped mandorlas that appear more ovular or circular. Regardless of the particular “strength” of any mandorla, the intersecting circles forming the mandorla can be understood as the intersection between two worlds.

Sometimes symbolic shapes and forms like the mandorla can provoke us to think about them in abstract and esoteric ways. But the use of these symbolic shapes is much more grounded and closer to home than we might expect. In the case of the mandorla specifically, it’s quite easy to perceive how the shape indicates a womb. Perhaps this became clear to you when I described some mandorla shapes, such as the one used in my own composition, as ovular. Oval means “egg-shaped”. A womb, then, is a powerful symbol not only indicating birth, but also the intersection between two worlds. The conceived child in the womb exists between the already and the not yet, between their creation and their birth, in the thin place.

The theology should begin to seem very apparent at this point, and we’re just getting started! Christ our God willed to be incarnate by the Holy Spirit and of the Ever-Virgin Mary. He condescended to be contained within the space between heaven and earth: the womb of the Theotokos.

You can see this theology demonstrated in my own composition. I designed the shapes and forms very simply. I also created complements and contrasts within that simple structure. Notice how Christ’s mandorla roughly follows the same kind of rounded shape used for the Virgin’s torso and shoulders. You could draw a third circle around her entire figure as well. The contrast to these shapes is the various linear cruciform patterns used throughout the composition.

Blue Light

St Paul’s encounter with Christ on the road to Damascus is a powerful story expressing apophatic theology.

Before encountering Christ, St Paul thought he saw everything clearly. He thought he had the right vision of reality, and that those Christian fools like St Stephen were the enemies of God. When the risen Lord appeared to him, and St Paul saw Jesus on the chariot-throne of Ezekiel, he was thrown from his horse and struck blind. Although he recovered some of his sight, it’s very likely St Paul was partially blind for the rest of his life. We know of a “thorn in the flesh” that hindered him in some manner, and that he wrote with large letters, and that most of his epistles were written by a companion.

The vision of Christ was so bright that St Paul’s physical eyes were darkened. This “darkness of God” that St Paul received acted to preserve him in a state of humility. Losing his sight granted him true sight. This is apophatic theology: knowing God by receiving unknowing through the revelation of Christ. Like pretty much everything in Orthodox spirituality, such as gaining life by losing life, this is a paradox.

A modern example would be a “blown out” photo. If you try taking a photo in an environment overly exposed to light, the camera sensor loses the ability to record information. The blue light of the mandorla expresses this. The light proceeding from the Unknown God is so bright that it appears to us as darkness, which is the deep blue at the center of the mandorla behind Christ. As the light moves toward us in concentric circles, the blue lightens. The light is the organizing principle allowing us to discern reality as much as we are able, and it is the “opposite” of how created light functions.

Take a look at a lightbulb (but please don’t stare into it—I need you to be able to read!). Notice that the brightness of the center of the light is almost completely white. As the light moves out from the center and into the world around it, the strength of the light diminishes and yet without failing the illuminate. The shadows are pushed into their proper places, and what do you know—you can see how you stubbed your toe! The uncreated light functions in the “reverse”: the center is dark but lightens as it moves outward.

I caveat the use of “opposite” and “reverse” because I think it’s better to think of the way uncreated light illuminates reality is the true way light and revelation functions.

Stare at the lightbulb long enough and you’ll go blind. Take one look at Christ with eyes “full of darkness” (Matt. 6.23) and you’ll go blind. The light which reveals the truth of the cosmos is also purgative, and this is why worldly people have a problem with Jesus. They prefer the darkness of human knowledge to the blinding light of divine revelation.

There are historic examples of using red instead of blue for the mandorla. The use of red forms a strong bridge between such icons and the Unconsumed Burning Bush icon. The divine fire illuminates the Theotokos without consuming or changing her (notice there are no purgative consequences for her), and this is another image of theosis or union with God. Although the bridge to the Burning Bush is stronger with the red mandorla, the theology is equivalent.

Three Stars

It’s typical to see the mandorla unadorned, but I’ve chosen to go with three stars in my own composition. The Festal icon for Theophany often includes a three-pronged beam of light in the composition, indicating the united operation of the Holy Trinity. This composition doesn’t allow room for something like that, which is why I’ve gone with the three stars. The Son eternally begotten of the Father is incarnate of the Holy Spirit and Ever-Virgin Mary.

I’m honestly not certain this was the best choice to communicate this, but I’m also not certain that even the three-pronged beam is much better. St Patrick’s shamrock and the Orthodox gesticulation for making the sign of the cross, along with the three-pronged beam, are all images that inadequately communicate the doctrine of the Trinity compared to the dogmatic expression of the Church. This is a bit of a rabbit-trail, but I bring it up simply to point out that both written and visual languages have their own limitations.

The Garments

The Theotokos is adorned in deep red and blue. The blue, which is mostly concealed, indicates the holiness of Theotokos. She is silent in her purity, adorned in three stars indicating her Ever-Virginity, allowing her holiness to be concealed by scarlet. Notice that the use of three stars mirrors the three stars of the Trinity. The communion of love shared in the Holy Trinity adorns the Theotokos.

The divine light of Christ radiates through her whole person such that the blue light of unknowing becomes a fitting garment. The theme of concealing and revealing is very subtle but important, and I’ll write on this another time.

Christ is adorned in gold and white. You can also see Christ adorned in white, and sometimes with gold as well, in the Festal icons for the Transfiguration and Anastasis. There is a theological bridge between these icons revealing that the Son of God is timeless and yet entered time.

The Gesticulations

As already mentioned, the Theotokos is posed with the orans gesture in her unceasing intercessions for us. Christ is blessing us with his right hand, while the other hand holds a scroll.

The scroll represents the judgment, and this is another theological bridge to the icon of the Transfiguration. The scroll contains the record of all humans deeds, and it remains sealed until the Final Judgment. Only Christ is worthy to break the seal of this scroll. Until the Day of the LORD, repentance and salvation is available to everyone. There is hope indicated, then, by scroll remaining closed. It means the contents can be changed if we repent in the body in the present.

Christ’s right hand of blessing emerges just beyond the veil of the mandorla, anticipating the full communion of Christ with humanity—in particular at the Eucharistic meal.

The Interpretation

The Theotokos is the Ark of the Covenant, the personification of the Church, of true prayer and union with God. The Uncontainable made Himself to be contained in her womb.

It’s wonderful to meditate on the holiness of our Lady, especially in contrast to our earlier consideration of St Paul. When St Paul encountered Christ there was a purgative consequence. His impurity was violently purged by the light of Christ. God willed to be incarnate within the Virgin, and the consequence was that her holiness was amplified. The presence of Christ in her made her pure and spotless womb more spacious than the heavens. How marvelous and awesome is this?! The heavens were too small for God, so He entered the womb of the Virgin.

The implication is that the Virgin Mary was already purified and holy before receiving the incarnate Christ in her womb by the Holy Spirit. There was no purgative consequence because there was nothing in her to purge. This state of purity is the ideal state of the humanity. It is also the ideal state of the fallen person before receiving Christ’s Body and Blood.

The bar is high, and the love of God is deep.

God choose to make Himself known to us, and He does this is the best and most beautiful way possible. He becomes incarnate. Not being circumscribable, God becomes circumscribed. Not being knowable, God makes Himself known. God deigns to make us participants of His holy, divine and immortal life-giving mysteries. He strengthens us in His holiness so that we might live according to His righteousness.

Baby Kicks, Again

Iconographers can suffer imposter syndrome just like anyone else. It often comes on very strong just before the finishing an icon. I felt imposter syndrome creeping up while working on the mandorla around Christ. It’s a bit lopsided due to the improvised and direct approach to painting I employed, which avoids using the tools that excite the passion of perfectionism (aka the compass).

I was feeling very bothered by the slightly lopsided mandorla and had been considering repainting it. But then I was listening to Michael Garten and heard him talking about the three-dimensionality of the icon…

I suddenly remembered all the times when Yam held my hand on her womb to feel our children kicking and moving about. I also suddenly remembered that there were occasions when I could briefly see their movements. Sometimes the pushing against the proverbial veil was so strong that the round shape of Yam’s womb would go lopsided for just a brief moment. It was the breath of another universe was moving into my own.

I’m gonna go out on a limb and say that the lopsided mandorla was a happy accident. My human imperfection, my weakness, became a touchpoint for a more profound perception of the three-dimensionality of the icon.

If you haven’t picked up on it already, the third dimension of the icon is you. Every element comes together for the purpose of drawing you into the composition to experience communion with our God and Savior Jesus Christ and His Mother.

But there is a veil (the iconostasis).

We cannot know God without being purified and illumined, and this process can sometimes be very difficult while at once being a joy beyond sorrow. But if we can at least try to become like the Theotokos and conceive Christ in our hearts, then it’s possible that our own bodies can become thin places. We can become meeting places between heaven and earth for all the people we love, and even our enemies. By God’s grace, our hearts will become more spacious than the heavens.

I imagine this was very therapeutic for her. There’s a certain appeal to sitting still and quiet while meditating on the good ‘ol days.

Grandma Linda would occasionally tell us the stories she was thinking about as she worked. I don’t remember too many of them. As a young boy I found all this extremely boring. I could have been running around swinging a stick-sword while imagining fantastical adventures in some far off land. But for Grandma Linda, those stories were everything. They were her people. They were all part of her story. Many of them having already reposed, they had become her adventure in the far country of heaven.

Perhaps when encountering iconography you have felt a lot like I felt as a young boy looking at those photos of relatives I had never known. Although there is often a general understanding of what is happening in an icon—such as St George slaying a dragon, or the St Gabriel appearing to Mary in the Annunciation—sometimes we fail to see what the icon is supposed to mean because we don’t know who or what we’re seeing.

Once we know who and what we’re seeing, the importance and relevance of the icon to our lives becomes more clear.

I think this is what people mean when they ask, “Emanuel, can you teach me how to “read” icons?”

But I want to suggest that there is a better question to ask: “How can I learn to consciously and intentionally venerate icons?”

Firstly, this question is better because it rightly understands the paradoxical nature of the icon. It is at once a humble teaching aid and a profoundly exalted and venerable sacred object. It is at once mediating communion with God and the saints by our prayers, and is a visual medium communicating dogmatic truth. To put it another way, this question assumes the right posture of the person toward the icon. The person asking this question desires both to be consciously aware of what is being communicated by the icon, and to intentionally seek communion and participation in who and what is being communicated through veneration.

Secondly, this question is better because it respects the human capacity of the person to learn. Although there are a number of high-level academic works concerning iconography, the truth of the icon is extraordinarily simple. Icons are (supposed) to be painted with the local indigenous person in mind. Icons are (supposed) to be painted in a technique that the average person, whether child or adult, is able to discern and comprehend.

This doesn’t mean icons are always easy to understand, nor that they should be.

A child learning to ride a bike only occasionally succeeds in the beginning, but is constantly making incremental improvements through all the scraped hands and knees. They are learning as they go. Eventually the practice will transform into the actual skill to ride a bike, and even that skill can be further developed by practicing more difficult techniques. Learning how to consciously and intentionally venerate icons is very achievable by all those who love God and seek His testimonies.

Thirdly, this question is better because it doesn’t imagine iconographers to be esoteric gurus who’ve managed to obtain hidden knowledge. Icons shouldn’t be treated like they’re a quiz from God. Let me be the very first to tell you that I’m not a guru. I don’t have hidden knowledge or secret wisdom. I often struggle to even pray while painting icons. This is because I’m still growing and I’m on the same spiritual journey as every other ordinary Orthodox Christian.

Painting icons doesn’t make me special. Painting icons does provide a valuable and special service to the Church, but this is the gift of God. It isn’t a gift that comes from me. Iconography is a good and perfect gift from above, coming down from the Father of lights. Iconography is special because it is participation in the revelation of the incarnate Son of God and the redemption and restoration of mankind into the image and likeness of God.

On a certain occasion, I was speaking with someone who was looking at my iconography. They really appreciated the work and seemed to be deeply affected by it. They began pointing at something in the icon and asked, “What does that mean? What does it symbolize?” At first I thought they were talking about some part of the figure, but they said, “No, no—what’s that…“ and pointed to something in the painting. “I think that might be a scratch or a stray brush mark,” I said, and the person seemed so disappointed. Although a bit humorous, this is an unfortunate consequence of the false idea that icons and iconographers are esoteric.

We’re just about down to brass tacks so we can finally answer our question: “How can I learn to consciously and intentionally venerate icons?”

Cue the kinda-sorta cliffhanger!

The Saintly Folk publication is dedicated to providing readers with in-depth explorations of the lives of the saints, the feasts, and many other kinds of icons in the Orthodox tradition. This will be accomplished by taking readers into my process for composing and painting those very icons.

What will make the Saintly Folk publication unique is the pairing of my posts and articles alongside my creative process. This publication is not, by the way, a collection of iconography tutorials. The purpose of going with me into the creative process is so that you can learn and discover for yourself how to consciously and intentionally venerate icons.

I’ll be writing 2-3 posts per month, and paid subscribers will have access to the Saintly Folk community! I want to hear your thoughts. I want to hear from you. I also want to learn from you. Paid subscribers of Saintly Folk can make suggestions for future content. You’ll get to tell me what you want to know!

We’ll be kicking things off by doing a deep dive into the Festal icons. There’s so much to explore in them and they form the central focus of Orthodox spirituality: union with God in Christ.

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