The Isenheim Good Friday

I've been aware of one of the great masterpieces of the Renaissance, the Isenheim Altarpiece for a long time. One of my regrets is that we didn't go and see it, when we went for a holiday with our young family in the Jura region of France - though they might have been too young to appreciate the expedition. My interest was rekindled by reading an essay by our friend, Margaret Williams, recently. She explained the background. It was commissioned in the early 1500s by Guy Guers, preceptor of the Isenheim monastery, near Colmar in Alsace.

Established around 1300, the Isenheim monastery belonged to Saint Anthony’s order, which had been founded in the Dauphiné region of France in the 11th century. The monks of the Antonite order ministered to victims of Saint Anthony’s fire, a horrible illness that was common in the Middle Ages. This calamity’s cause is now known to be poisoning from a fungus (ergot) that grows on rye grass, thus contaminating the rye flour used in making bread. Ergot contains a chemical that drives its victims mad and results in gangrene of the hands and feet due to constriction in blood flow to the extremities. To care for the sick, the Antonites served them good quality bread and had them drink a concoction called saint vinage, a holy fortified wine, in which the monks had first macerated a special blend of herbs and then soaked the relics of Saint Anthony. They also produced a salve from herbs possessing anti-inflammatory properties. (from Musée d'UnterLinden, Colmar, where the altarpiece is now)

The two-sided polyptych (as it's called, meaning painting on many panels) was placed in the hospital chapel. Margaret pointed out, as I recall, the artist, Mathis Gothart Nithart (Matthias Grünewald), had painted the agony of the crucified Christ with stark realism, previously not depicted, so that hands are contorted in pain, the body torturously twisted. And so, the victims would be reminded, as they meditated looking at it, that Jesus understood their pain. They weren't on their own. Not only that, when the side panels were opened, they would have seen the resurrection portrayed on the right-hand side - reminding them of the hope awaiting them beyond death. In a sense, the paintings depict the whole gospel for sufferers of a incurable and disfiguring disease: God entered this world of humanity. He suffered in our place and shared the experience of suffering with us. He died, but rose to life, drawing death's sting and giving us hope for future life with him.
It's not that Jesus' suffering makes ours easier. Far from it. But it does mean we can share it with him. As the writer to the Hebrews put it somewhere, "We don't have a High Priest (i.e. Jesus) who is unable to sympathise with our weaknesses, but one who in every respected has been tempted (or tested) as we are, yet without sin." As a modern song a friend of mine sent me yesterday puts it, "Jesus walked this lonesome valley". The temptations undoubtedly included self-pity and anxiety about dying. He understands. And he's done something radical about our case. 


We call it Easter. I hope you well and truly enjoy it - whatever your circumstances. He is risen indeed!