I believe that every icon, no matter who or what it depicts, is in essence an icon of Christ. Icons of the Saints are icons of Christ, for without Christ, there are no Saints. The Theotokos would not be the Theotokos had she not borne God. Further, the very fact that icons exist is a testament to the Logos, which spoke all into existence, and the designated function we give our icons, formed with created matter, is one part of our participation in the redemption of the cosmos.
But that’s how I see it. My daughter, Clementine, who is 9 years old, functionally non-verbal, and autistic, sees things quite differently. She has begun to do this new thing on Sunday mornings following the Divine Liturgy – – once I have straightened up the altar area, folded and packed away my vestments, and stepped out into the nave, she takes me by the hand and leads me to a wall on the north side of the parish where hangs an old, large Epitaphios and she indicates that she would like to be picked up so that she may kiss it. After she violently smashes her face against the glass of the case, we stand there and look at the depiction of the body of Christ, surrounded by mourners and by angels in awe of God’s death. Recently, in one of these moments, she smiled and blurted out, “Cute Jesus. Cute Mary. Cute angels.”
Whenever I look at the Epitaphios, I focus on the sorrow of loved ones, the pain of a grieving parent, and the shock of the angelic hosts, and I repeatedly feel astonishment at the death of Life Himself- I contemplate what I believe is intended. But on that morning, my daughter saw peace in the intentionally dispassionate faces. I asked her what Jesus was doing, and she said, “Jesus baptism.” Not wrong, Clem; not wrong. Our own submersion into the waters of baptism is an entry into the death of Christ; the font is seen as both a tomb and a womb from which we emerge into a new life. Christ’s death was a baptism for those who had been held in the grave.
Clementine has a knack for focusing on and connecting with unique aspects of icons. In particular, she has gravitated to Saint Xenia of St. Petersburg and offers great attention to the open hand with which the Saint is often depicted, calling it St. Xenia’s “helping hand.” She links St. Panteleimon to Holy Unction because the surgical knife that is often depicted in his hand appears to her as an anointing brush; she knows he is tied to healing. “Throughout the Gospels, the true epiphanies and moments of revelation are always encounters — between the Son of God and the men and women with whom he lived and among those who met Jesus were forever marked by it.” After Christ’s emergence from the tomb, after the descent of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost, we find that true epiphanies are not limited to an encounter with the physical Christ, but also take place when He is encountered in His Saints and in every member of the εκκλησία (Church), whether in person or in image. “If man is λογικός,…if he is ‘in the image’ of the Logos, everything which touches the destiny of man – grace, sin, redemption by the Word made man – must also be related to the theology of the image.”
With the importance of both personhood and image in mind, the conference Gathered As One Body: Disability, Accessibility & Inclusion in the Orthodox Church was conceived. Expressive of the work of the Church, this conference aims to continue, or in some cases begin, Fr. John Chryssavgis commissioned an icon of the Theotokos, My Refuge, My Strength. As to the intent behind the icon, he says, “While we speak of the church as communion, we tend to forget those who are excluded. People with disabilities are often overlooked, even made to feel unwelcome as a result of physical and spiritual barriers. Moreover, they are rarely, if ever depicted in icons, except in scenes of miracles that underline abolition rather than acceptance of brokenness. Images of the Theotokos conventionally portray her with arms stretched upward in intercession. In this icon, Mary herself becomes the intercessor, reaching out to hold those with disabilities.
The title of the icon is derived from the Service of Supplication. The words ‘refuge’ and ‘strength’ are intended to avoid condescension or patronization, instead conveying our movement toward Mary as our safeguard and the response of Mary to us as our source of resilience.”
The iconographer, Fr. Aristidis Garinis, parish priest at St. Nicholas in Flushing, New York, said, “When I was asked to paint this icon, I was flooded with images from the Holy Scriptures, where Christ continuously cared for and healed the bodies and souls of those who surrounded Him. This icon depicts the Most Holy Theotokos interceding to her Son on behalf of those among us who are most vulnerable. Above her is the blessing hand of Christ, who grants grace and strength as the great physician of our souls and bodies. It is my prayer that this icon, through the refuge of our most holy Theotokos, brings comfort and spiritual healing to all who seek it.”
The Church Herself is an icon of many things — the Kingdom of God, the Ark, the Bride of Christ, but is also formed by, and in some ways modeled after, the Theotokos. The Church continues in the footsteps of the holy Mother of God, bringing Christ into the world and being a source of strength and a refuge. We, the Church, exist as a safeguard, a place where all are meant to find love and belonging; we are the embrace of the Theotokos to the world around us.
When Clementine saw this icon and I asked her about the people surrounding the Theotokos, she said, “All family.” When I pointed to a girl in the icon, depicted with ear defenders and an AAC (Augmentative & Alternative Communication) device, which are aspects of my daughter’s daily life, she patted her chest and said, “Clementine.” I’ll admit, I cried. To venerate this icon is to venerate, in part, my daughter and all the family of God. St. Basil tells us, that the honor given to the image passes over to the prototype, and so to reverence this icon makes it incumbent upon me, as the father of one depicted, to treat her and raise her with grave reverence seeing her for who she truly is, an icon of Jesus Christ. Despite the fact that her existence is iconographic, I never expected to see my child depicted iconographically (and shame on me for that), and even if that depiction was not intentional, she is a living image of God.
I am not certain what this icon will mean to others, as no two experiences are the same, no two disabilities — even with similar diagnoses — are the same, and no two people have lived the same experiences, but if we ourselves are made in the image of Christ, and if every icon is ultimately an image of Christ, then each icon shows us who we are intended to be. Moreover, every interaction we have with another person should be made knowing that whatever honor we show that person will be the level of honor which passes over to the Prototype, Christ. This icon, in particular, shows us that we are in the embrace of the Most Holy Theotokos without exclusion, that we are held by the same arms that held Christ in His birth and in His death, and that she stands with us as our fervid intercessor, an unconquerable wall, the fount of mercies, and the refuge of the world.
I cannot be certain what this icon means to my daughter because, though she understands, her expression is limited; but I do know that when encountering anything, we bring connections and connotations, viewpoints and experiences, our own unique perspectives. There is “the theology” of iconography, but there is also encountering an icon and what it means to each of us. There is “the theology” of personhood, but there is also the experience of loving a person. If life may be seen as a river, we are stones within it; its currents contour us, and in turn, our presence affects its flow. These altered currents change how the stones are shaped, and the modified shapes of the stones once again affect the way the water flows, and so on, constant interaction, into the eschaton. We are relational beings, affecting each other with our lives, both in person and in image. My daughter has shaped me greatly, renewing my hope in God and guiding me in love, and I know this icon has also affected me, contoured the shape of my soul, adjusted the flow of the love in my heart, to see another facet of my daughter, and through her, see another aspect of every person because we are all made in the image of God and each loved by His Holy Mother who is our refuge, our strength, and our joy.
Authored by: Jeremy Swartz, Assistant Grant Director, GOA Center for Family Care
Iconographer: Fr. Aristidis Garinis
The icon “My Refuge, My Strength” is dedicated to Mary Pauline Rouvelas and commissioned by the Huffington Ecumenical Institute at Hellenic College Holy Cross. For more information about the icon, please contact hei@hchc.edu