4/23/2025 Painting of the day: The Pilgrims at Emmaus, Lithograph by Maurice Denis (1870-1943), Issued in 1895, Lithograph on paper, Alamy
Fr. Patrick commented this art using Luke 24:13-35 (the supper at Emmaus):
In this lithograph, Maurice Denis offers a contemporary interpretation of the Supper at Emmaus. We see Christ seated at the table, blessing the bread. Opposite him sits the artist himself, portrayed as the disciple who has just recognised the true identity of his extraordinary table companion. Denis’s wife, Marthe, enters the room carrying a dish, while a friend follows with two small jugs; one for water, the other for wine, a clear Eucharistic reference. The print, based on Denis’s original painting now housed in the Van Gogh Museum in Amsterdam, reimagines the scene from today’s Gospel in a modern setting. Notice, too, the two candelabra on the table: their flames seem to merge into one. It is a beautiful image: our own light drawn into Christ’s, shining all the more brightly together.
I think it's unlikely for a modern Catholic priest to expound on Luke 24:25 ("O foolish ones!"), instead he would always try to make Jesus a gentle soul, impossible for anger and rebuke.
4/22/2025 Painting of the day: Noli Me Tangere, Painted by Abraham Janssens I (1575-1632) & Jan Wildens (1586-1653), Painted circa 1620 Oil on canvas, Musée des Beaux-Arts de Dunkerque / Wikimedia
Fr. Patrick's input (John 20:11-18: Do not cling to me):
the risen Jesus says to Mary Magdalene: ...“Do not cling to me”, or in the Latin that titles our painting by Abraham Janssens and Jan Wildens, “Noli me tangere.” But this phrase carries far more weight than a simple “don’t touch me.” It speaks of letting go, of not holding on to Christ in the way we once knew him. “Cling” is, in fact, a powerful word: it suggests grasping at something tangible, physical. And Jesus gently tells Mary not to cling to his earthly form, but to cling to him in his spiritual form for soon he will ascend to the Father.
This is the defining moment of Mary Magdalene’s life. This is the instant everything changes. In the painting, she is shown in a graceful, almost reverent posture: kneeling, reaching out, yet holding back. She has just realised the gardener is none other than her friend, the risen Lord. Christ stands before her, clothed in a flowing blood-red cloak that opens to reveal the wound in his side. In his hand he holds a spade, a subtle, traditional symbol in depictions of this moment, and the only remaining sign of his humanity. Note how the tip of the spade rests gently on the soil, an almost symbolic bridge between the divine and the earth, uniting heaven and humanity in a single, humble tool...
The garden around Jesus and Mary overflows with fruit, a sign of new life and spiritual abundance. The image of Christ as the gardener is a very helpful one.
4/21/2025 Painting of the day: Resurrection, Painted by Andrea Mantegna (1431-1506), Painted in 1497, Tempera on panel, Musée des Beaux-Arts de Tours, France
Relating the painting to Matthew 28:8-15, giving money to the soldiers to silence Jesus' resurrection, here's Fr. Patrick's input:
Our painted panel by Andrea Mantegna depicts Christ rising from the tomb, framed against a massive rock. He is encased within a mandorla, an almond-shaped aura surrounding the whole figure. The almond-shaped mandorla is formed by the intersection of two circles drawn behind Christ—one symbolising his divine life, the other his full humanity. The overlapping space, where divinity and humanity are perfectly united, creates the almond shape, expressing the mystery of the Incarnation. The guards surrounding the tomb each have different expressions in the face of the Resurrection: awe, belief, disbelief, indifference (one is even still half-asleep), curiosity, remorse. These are not just historical reactions; they are human reactions. We can see ourselves in those faces.