A high mystery

The Christ Pantocrator at St. Fin Barre’s Cathedral in Cork, Ireland, (left), is partly obscured by colorful support beams. By contrast, te Pantocrator at Monreal Duomo in Palermo, Sicily, is in plain view. Yet there is one way to see the Cork mosaic clearly.

I like mysteries, but I like solving mysteries even more.

The latest mystery to catch my interest: Why would anyone place a beautiful piece of artwork in plain sight but almost impossible to see clearly?

  The question arises from a tour of a cathedral in Cork, Ireland, during our recent Wesley Study Tour of the British Isles.

  St. Fin Barre’s Cathedral is certainly magnificent. On a relatively small footprint, it soars high into the sky – so high I could barely crane my neck back far enough to see the upper reaches.

  It is there that I spotted it.

  High above the altar is a depiction of Christ Pantocrator, or Christ the King.

  Similar representations of Christ date back to the sixth century and are especially popular in Orthodox iconography. Christ is portrayed as the stern but compassionate ruler of the universe who raises his right hand in blessing and holds a Gospel book in his left hand.

  Linda and I have seen excellent versions of the Pantocrator in the dome of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher in Jerusalem and on a wall in Hagia Sophia in Istanbul.

  Alas, there is apparently no clear view of the mosaic at St. Fin Barre’s. A series of what one commentator calls “intersecting painted ribs” obscures the mosaic, no matter where you stand to get a better line of sight.

  Architect William Burges is said to have taken great care in every detail of the cathedral, completed in 1870. So is the obscured view of the Pantocrator an oversight, or maybe the unintentional result of necessary structural elements?

  Maybe I’m the only one who cares about this, but the Pantocrator image has long held great meaning for me, though it’s not easy to explain why.

  I have seen versions of the image that are quite intimidating, but I don’t see the stern visage as threatening. No, I see it as both magnificent and terrifying, the way you might see a lion in the wild.

  The notion that this great lion (think Aslan) might regard me as friend rather than prey is wildly exhilarating, and humbling, and comforting.

  He personifies the notion of “fear of the Lord.” Not quite fear as in terror or dread. More like fear as in great awe.

  I decided that the best way to solve the mystery was to go to the source, so I contacted St. Fin Barre’s Cathedral by email.

  A spokesman kindly offered an explanation.

  “Unlike other Gothic and Neo-Gothic Cathedrals such as Notre-Dame de Paris and the Washington National Cathedral, St. Fin Barre's Cathedral does not have outside flying buttresses, which serve to support the lateral and downward thrust from heavy stone vaulted ceilings.

  “William Burges undoubtedly took great care and responsibility over every detail of the cathedral's design and construction but chose not to use buttresses, perhaps to rein back on spiraling costs and expenses.”

  Rather, he said, Burgess might have chosen to use the interior wooden beams instead of exterior buttresses to support the high walls of the cathedral.

  He noted: “It is said here that to fully view and take in the Pantocrator mosaic scene, one should lie on the high altar floor underneath and view it in all its glory from there. Next time you visit us here in Cork you are more than welcome to try this!” 

  Lying on the floor of the high altar to view the Pantocrator mosaic? That posture might suggest some deep theological meaning, might it not?

  My great thanks to the cathedral staff for bothering with my query.

  As I ponder the meaning of the posture myself, I offer it to you as your own mystery to consider