Faith Works 12-2-22 & 12-9-22

Faith Works 12-2-22
Jeff Gill

Turning from thanksgiving to expectation
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We spent most of November talking about the Courthouse angels, figures perhaps of harvest and death, but perhaps a bit more.

From the outside, four figures of Justice dominate people's image of the courthouse square. But if you go inside, if you are caught up in the austere majesty of the law at work, you will find Ludwig Bang's two angels keeping your attention. But let's not forget the man, the woman, and the child, clearly meant to be the same persons repeated in both paintings, while the angels seem different.

And the tools. In one the man wields a scythe, the other the same man a musket. It does not take a preacher, I think, for this passage to come to mind: "They shall beat their swords into plowshares; and their spears into pruning hooks: nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore."

From Isaiah 2:4 we get a comprehensive vision of harvest tools, plowshares for grain, pruning hooks for grapevines. Mingled and mixed, grain and grapes, bread and wine.

But there's also an evocation of Revelation, chapter 14, in a section often headed "The Harvest of the Earth": "Then I looked, and behold, a white cloud, and seated on the cloud one like a son of man, with a golden crown on his head, and a sharp sickle in his hand. And another angel came out of the temple, calling with a loud voice to him who sat on the cloud, "Put in your sickle, and reap, for the hour to reap has come, for the harvest of the earth is fully ripe." So he who sat on the cloud swung his sickle across the earth, and the earth was reaped."

You might well be thinking now not only of the Bible or the courthouse paintings, but of a song made famous by the Civil War, often sung in 1901 and still well known now: "The Battle Hymn of the Republic," with the lines "He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored." Grapes, wheat, pruning hooks, scythes, terrible swift swords, muskets.

The Revelation passage goes on: "Then another angel came out of the temple in heaven, and he too had a sharp sickle. And another angel came out from the altar, the angel who has authority over the fire, and he called with a loud voice to the one who had the sharp sickle, "Put in your sickle and gather the clusters from the vine of the earth, for its grapes are ripe." So the angel swung his sickle across the earth and gathered the grape harvest of the earth and threw it into the great winepress of the wrath of God."

You could ask the question of our two angelic paintings behind the bar of justice in the heart of our courthouse: do I read them left to right like the printed page, or right to left? Is the message one of the soldier with the gun heading into battle, later on to turn his hand to the harvest, symbolically giving up his weapon for farming tools as Isaiah foretold? That works against the story of the nursing infant on the left, now an upright if young child clinging to a protesting mother now also erect on the right. The growing child indicates a traditional narrative from left to right, while the prophetic story runs right to left, as does the echo of Winslow Homer's "Veteran in a New Field."

Perhaps the story is a question for us, the citizens whose courthouse this is.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he's thinking that the prophetic call to beat swords into plowshares or scythes or pruning hooks is for every generation. Tell him what you think we need for peace to prevail at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.

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Faith Works 12-9-22
Jeff Gill

Preach the Gospel at all times, in many ways
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Ludwig Bang is a minor German regional artist who has been preaching the Good News to Licking County since somewhere around 1901.

That's been my theme for some weeks now: to unveil the symbolism and messages in two paintings that perhaps too long have been seen as cryptic and obscure, not as the richly allusive and potentially compelling narratives they are.

Placed squarely behind the chief judge's bench in the center of the main courtroom in the Licking County courthouse, not only the artist who painted them but the officials who paid for and approved them had to be aware of what was being said in these visual images. They're not just two pictures selected for attractive, placid, decorative value.

There's a saying attributed to St. Francis of Assisi: "Preach the Gospel at all times; if necessary, use words." We're not sure who said it first, and it can be abused (nothing wrong with a good sermon!), but the message is clear. Good news, God's good news in particular, needs to be communicated by image and example and in song and story, not just from pulpits on Sundays.

I do not know Mr. Bang's religion. It would be safe but not certain to call him a Lutheran from his place of origin and ultimate destination, the resort community of Bad Doberan in northern Germany. I'm quite certain he knows his Bible from Isaiah in the Hebrew Scriptures to Revelation at the conclusion of the Christian testament.

And he knows his art, Winslow Homer much beloved in America, and Greek sculpture as seen through the lens of the Louvre.

The echo of "The Veteran in a New Field" is changed not just by the addition of a wife and child and angel overhead, but a subtle difference: he's wearing breeches and stockings in Bang's painting, evocative of Revolutionary garb. And the counterpart work showing the same man going off to war, if you look closely (and perhaps soon more visible after restoration work), shows unmistakably British soldiers marching across a distant battlefield. This may be work done in 1901 or just after, but the year 1876 is still blazoned across the exterior stonework, marking the centennial of American Independence, and the reminders are still all around of a heritage in wars both revolutionary and civil.

You could read the two paintings as a grim harbinger of doom, sacrifice bravely accepted even as a spouse mourns in advance, the child all uncomprehending, invoking the losses in 1776 and the 1860s as having built our republic to this date, flanked by two assassinated presidents on either side, Lincoln and McKinley. The price of liberty.

Or you could read them as a pairing which interrogates one other, and asks of us as the viewers: which way do we want the story to go? The angel of God's presence is with us in either case, but the initiative is with us as citizens, and as a nation. Do we continue to turn scythes into swords, or muskets, or worse, or can we send our veterans back to the farm, to their children and families, to peace?

The choice, Bang is saying, is ours.

You could call these paintings cryptic, and to the casual viewer, they are. But if you spend time reflecting and considering what the respective images are saying, to each other, and jointly to us, the viewers — witnesses and defendants and officers of the court and citizens in general — they are evocative and instructive works, which are still speaking to us, even in 2022.

And I suspect for many years to come.


Jeff Gill is a writer, storyteller, and preacher in central Ohio; he appreciates your patience in letting him guide you through these narrative paintings. Tell him if you think antique art can teach us today at knapsack77@gmail.com, or follow @Knapsack on Twitter.