Praying with Trees: The Ruthwell Cross
This month in “Spiritual Tools for Artists” we spent some time looking at and exploring the Ruthwell cross. We viewed several photographic images of the cross, through computer magic.
Now on display indoors, it is thought to have once stood out of doors, amidst the elements.
To see this cross as a kind of tree was a guiding thought for me as I brought this to others’ to look at. The cross of Christ is spoken of in scripture, hymns, poetry and others forms of theology as a tree. Here, visual and sculptural theology stands the image of the cross as a tree in our midst.
The cross weaves together visual depictions of stories from the gospels and lives of desert saints, as well as other imagery drawn from the bible. These are enframed by the cross and central circle. The cross bears the decorative motifs of plants and animals, which convey contemplative sense of the gospel story set amidst an earthly fabric of expectant creation. This is not a dualistic cosmology where animals and earth are valued as bad or evil. They are among those who recognize the cross as an opening, an apocalypse, and Christ reigning as Lord. A latin inscription states that, possibly even an meditation upon Mark’s account of Jesus in the wilderness, “and he was with the animals.”
The runes written along vertical members of the cross are thought to quote from the 8-10th century poem ‘The Dream of the Rood.’ In this poem, the poet encounters the tree on which Jesus was crucified. The tree speaks to the poet, telling of that terrible and glorious day, of its own sense of sorrow and guilt at being the instrument of Christ’s suffering, and of gratitude and hope in ascending with the Lord. The tree awakens in the poet a longing to draw near to God and journey with the divine presence.
And something I came to appreciate more is how this cross is an invitation to a more contemplative life, and intentionally so. The poem quote draws the poet-witness, and the reader, into this longing to journey in the nearness of Christ that so marked the life of the celtic saints, monastics, hermits, and other ordinary faithful. The visual stories emphasize the contemplative life. Along with Christ’s infancy and the flight to Egypt, we meet Mary of Bethany and of Magdala, as well as John the Baptist. And we see Antony of Egypt and Paul of Egypt, two of the desert fathers, spiritual giants of the movement into the ancient christian desert. This was a movement away from worldly life and toward those ways of living simply, ascetically and humanely with others, with the goal being a single-hearted attention on God.
In our conversation, a few of us were drawn to the strong presence of these stories and images from the christian wilderness traditions that came out of Egypt and north Africa. John Cassian, as well as Benedict of Nursia, are among those who carried this formative influence beyond its original environs. A couple of us raised that there is thought and tradition holding that missionary monks from Egypt landed in Ireland and Scotland, bringing the forms of life and community, and the contemplative life of the desert to those places. Celtic Christianity, according to this point of view, belongs in the stream emerging from the desert mothers and fathers of christian north Africa. The Ruthwell cross might very well integrate this stream with others. This to me seems what is most exciting about celtic christian spirituality. Rather than comfortably reflecting back our contemporary concerns and un-freedoms, it brings them into dialogue and discipleship with the communion of saints and our holy ancestors.
