The world’s oldest continuously inhabited Christian monastery is in Egypt. Named for St. Catherine, it sits at the foot of Mt. Sinai and was built between 548 and 565. Among many things it is notable for its mosaics, the finest collection of early icons in the world. 

One of these 6^th century icons is Christ Pantocrator, which translates as “Ruler of All”, or “Sustainer of the World”. Early Christian artistic depictions of Christ were varied, but eventually they morphed into common visual tropes. Christ Pantocrator is one such trope. The image of Christ holding the New Testament in his left hand and signaling a blessing with his right hand, a conventional rhetorical gesture that represents teaching. His expression is usually melancholy and stern. These are common in Byzantine-style churches. 

Another early and related artistic depiction is Christ in Majesty, or Christ the King. This is Christ seated on the throne, as ruler of the world, often flanked by other sacred figures. Examples of this include the tympanums of Chartres Cathedral and Westminster Cathedral.

One more variant, and the one most interesting for us tonight, is Christ in Judgement. This is the depiction of the second coming when Christ returns to judge the world. It’s the subject of the reading we just heard, and the basis for Bach’s Cantata No. 70. The most famous artistic portrayal is Michaelangelo’s Last Judgement, a massive fresco that adorns the entire wall behind the altar of the Sistine Chapel. 

Photo: Berthold Werner

This fresco is remarkable for several reasons. Its sheer size is striking and monumental. It contains over 300 figures arranged with a swirling, chaotic energy. Eschewing calm and cold symmetry, the work emphasizes movement, tension, and drama. The center is dominated by Christ as judge, surrounded by saints, angels, and the damned. 

It is interesting to consider these artistic depictions of Christ, and to compare them to tonight’s cantata. Bach, of course, did not write the libretto for the work. But his music injects a vivid energy that shares the drama and dynamism of Michaelangelo’s fresco, albeit from a different perspective. 

Bach certainly paints a dramatic scene with the wild and emphatic opening movement, complete with the final trumpet issuing which is pervasive throughout the piece. But while the tone varies between martial and meditative, the perspective is not that of one witnessing the last judgement but waiting for it. “Wait! Pray! Pray! Wait!” is the emphatic instruction we are given. 

The work illustrates the plight in various ways: it compares the hope for salvation to the ancient hope of Israel captive in Egypt. We are warned of the traps of earthly life; we are placed in the valley of sorrows (an illusion to the psalms) but expect to be called out of it. We see a ray of happiness burst forth amidst the collapse of the world. 

The imagery is quite vivid. Does it make you at all uncomfortable? All this talk of saints and sinners, casting into darkness, a final judgement? It’s fine if it is a Game of Thrones episode, or Marvel movie, but when Bach sets it to music and we listened to it in a church, does it suddenly become “problematic?” 

Well, lest I wade further into areas beyond my purview, let me offer two ideas to ponder as we complete the cantata.

The first is this: Memento mori. Translated, it means “Remember that you must die.” We do not escape this reality. Part of the reason we don’t like thinking about the end of the world, is that we really don’t like thinking about the end of us. But its human and, I think, healthy to do so. To recognize our mortality is one step towards making our life mean something. 

 The second: we don’t like the story of the sheep and the goats, because we are worried that we are a goat. We are sheep, too. Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn wrote “The line separating good and evil passes not through states, nor between classes, nor between political parties either — but right through every human heart.” It is up to us, every day of our lives, to make the choices that align ourselves with truth and goodness. The reading tells us clearly what a part of what it means to be so aligned: feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, take in the stranger, cloth the naked, visit the prisoner. If we all do that, Bach’s jubilant music might resonate with us in a new and profound way.