The Sabbath Christ

Second of four short (ish) posts inspired by Going to Church in Medieval England, published in late August by Yale University Press. 

First long post here. First shortish post here.

Now on to the “Sabbath Christ” or, as Orme terms the image, “St. Sunday:”

Moreover, despite the concessions, there remained a strong sabbatarian belief in keeping Sunday holy: a belief found locally as well as in bishops’ pronouncements. A common image in late-medieval churches was the painting known in those days as St Sunday. It showed a bleeding Christ surrounded by the instruments that wounded him afresh in modern life: in other words the distractions of the Sabbath. Some were implements used by Sunday workers: the spades, harrows, sickles, and rakes used by peasants, and the shears, scissors, and mill-wheels of industry. Others were dice, musical instruments, and playing cards, reproving recreational activities at least at the time of the services in church. The painting was not only an advertisement but an icon, and in some places there were stores of money attached to the image, reflecting offerings made to it in veneration.

Here’s an excellent webpage with images and links to many such paintings in English churches:

This painting has, like some other examples of the subject, been misidentified as Christ blessing agricultural and other implements; in fact it is perhaps the clearest and most unequivocal version of the Warning to Sabbath Breakers in England. Perhaps this is the moment to say clearly that I do not believe that paintings of Christ blessing implements and the human activities they imply were ever made in England. I suspect that this sentimental notion came about sometime in the late 19th or early 20th century, and that it is connected with beliefs about the dignity of labour and the innate sanctity of honest toil, especially of the kind carried out by the peasantry and other persons outside the ruling classes. Conclusions about what paintings like the Breage example were intended to convey were thus jumped to, I think, and the misidentification began….

This implication is strengthened further, I think, by the most interesting object of all, one which can only be a harp, tucked into the space between Christ’s left wrist and his side. Matters are complicated by the many red lines in the painting ostensibly linking the implements themselves to Christ’s wounds, perhaps most explicitly so in the case of the harp and the very clear nail-hole on the left hand. The painting has been restored more than once, however, and I am uncertain about these lines, which might have been introduced by restoration to emphasise that precise cause-and-effect point. Restoration might also account for the mysterious ring-like object on Christ’s left thumb. The possibility that the original painter included a plectrum for playing the harp has to be considered, but the placing of it on Christ’s own hand is obviously incongruous, and I suspect that this plectrum, if that is what it is, is another misleading detail introduced by restoration.¹

In short, there are many puzzles at Breage, and the painting is certainly not as the medieval painter left it. But the most important objects in it – the playing card, the cart, the harp, the ewers for wine or other strong drink and above all Christ’s crown are I think undoubtedly original, making Breage an important reference point for the Warning to Sabbath-Breakers.

The post has links to other examples.

This is all fascinating to me, but just as important, as Orme makes clear, while some sabbath-breakers and none-church goers bore consequences, the medieval church certainly understood what kinds of work could not take a sabbath, took that into account, and even ministered to those involved:

Miners, although craftsmen in a sense, may have been another privileged group. The Forest of Dean in Gloucestershire, which was a significant industrial centre, formed an extra-parochial area but its nearest prominent church was that of Newland. In 1548 the chantry priest of Our Lady in that church was said ‘to go from one smith to another and from one mining pit to another within the same parish twice every week to say them gospels’: probably the opening chapter of the Gospel of John, In principio, along with a distribution of holy bread.

To the margins, indeed. Maybe not invented yesterday.