I’m a biblical scholar, with a particular love for all things apocalyptic, especially the book of Revelation. My research revolves around challenging scholarly assumptions through finding unexpected ways to re-view texts, particularly through film. Some of these assumptions are unconscious, shaped by a normative male-body paradigm and centuries of misogyny.
I’m a visual person with a love of the visceral; so I’ve always been drawn to biblical books like Revelation and Daniel, which engage the senses and throw different world-views at you. Finding ways to make things strange is essential for growth. Visual art and film allow us to explore the feelings these texts evoke by engaging our senses in unexpected ways, making our previous ways of seeing strange.
Studies show that humans now process more images per day than ever previously known, but, at the same time, very few people can instinctively “read” huge swaths of visual media. The iconography of a cycle of Byzantine mosaics has become obscure to 21st-century audiences, as has the artistic language of gesture. Even the early language of film, particularly black-and-white cinematography, fades into obscurity.
Our brains may be able to process images quickly, but that’s not the same as being visually literate. It means there’s still plenty for us all to learn, which is always a good thing.
Most films defined as “Christian” fall short in the artistic and ethics departments. A film that portrays specific teachings of Jesus superbly is Just Mercy (2019). It tells the story of a lawyer, Bryan Stevenson, who worked with death-row prisoners through America’s Equal Justice Initiative. It’s a film about his commitment to the plight of others — not for financial gain or power, but for mercy and justice. It’s Matthew 25.36 made manifest.
I’m currently researching the spectacular end-time scenarios that disaster movies have served up over the last 50 years. They’re often dismissed as mindless pulp, but they’ve a habit of revealing society’s collective anxieties, making them fascinating viewing. What is more, they present scenarios of popular eschatology which address pertinent questions such as: who should be saved if only some can? Should countries work together or take care of their own? What really matters in the end? Looking at five decades of these on-screen ends reveals the ideologies that creep into collective beliefs about the end of the world, both secular and religious.
Disaster movies are about the unexpected breaking into the world as we know it and shaking things up. It’s a bit like the heavenly visions of the biblical prophets which begin in known locations, such as the River Chebar or the island of Patmos, and then unveil mysteries which reassess the quotidian.
There are several disaster cycles: morality and relationships were the 1970s focus, whereas the 1990s lauded working together to defeat threats. And then, after the events of 9/11, a different tone was needed: survival, despite destruction. Recently, there has been a darker turn, with Greenland (2020) and Don’t Look Up (2021) presenting survival as near impossible because of the collective failure of leaders.
Sadly, the world we know is being altered irreversibly through climate change and human consumption. As the world ends in Don’t Look Up, Leonardo DiCaprio’s character laments: “We really did have it all, didn’t we, if you think about it?” Some human societies really have had it all, and may leave nothing but carbon dioxide and plastic as a legacy.
It’s easy to think the book of Revelation is all about the future. In fact, it’s infused with the past, awash with texts from the Hebrew Bible. It’s constantly reminding its audiences of things they have seen before, though the material is never exactly the same as previous scenarios. It’s recombined, reworked, and repurposed — unsettling readers and baffling scholars. My work with pastiche theory provides a way to embrace the not-quite-the-same nature of Revelation’s text, allowing its dialogue with the past to speak powerfully to new situations, new audiences, and new challenges.
The Visual Commentary on Scripture (VCS) is the brainchild of Professor Ben Quash, of King’s College, London. It’s funded by a philanthropic foundation with a longstanding commitment to theology and the arts who have, for many years, supported the work of the National Gallery.
I joined the VCS Team in 2016, evolving from someone who didn’t know their Rembrandt from their Rubens into a person who looks at a painting and says: “Hm, is that by workshop of . . . ?” Working with visual art is an amazing way to see the contextualised, received history of the Bible.
I deal with the day-to-day management of the VCS. I engage with contributors, discuss artwork choices, and advise on biblical texts. I work with our web team Cogapp. I speak to studios about featuring artists’ work. I research Jewish and Christian artistic traditions. I write commentaries on passages as diverse as Genesis 11, Daniel 5, Revelation 12, and the Synoptic accounts of the Last Supper.
We’re an online publication combining art history, theology, and biblical studies. We present short commentaries on Bible passages in dialogue with works of art. To date, we have over 1000 high-resolution artworks and over 1600 commentaries written by hundreds of academics. Our resources are completely free and available for anyone who wants to learn more about the Bible and art.
This December, we are offering a VCS Advent calendar, with daily artworks and commentaries on the theme of Creation. You can receive it by email via our website.
Although technically it’s about the Epiphany, I’ve always had an obsession with Christmas cards featuring the magi. Every year, they inspire me to set off into the unknown and to follow paths which take unexpected turns.
The ox and ass are a ubiquitous feature of nativity scenes, present in the earliest extant examples; but they’re not in either of the canonical birth narratives. Instead, they’re drawn from Isaiah 1.3, and the seemingly twee homage of these creatures has problematic origins. The Early Church Fathers appropriated Isaiah’s description to argue that gentile Christians (the ass) were the true heirs of Israel, as opposed to the Jewish people (the ox). These Judaeophobic interpretations creep into artistic renderings. We’re wise to not just accept what we see, but scrutinise the interpretations imbued in any artwork.
I grew up in rural Somerset, surrounded by animals and fields, before spending two decades in central London. I’ve worked in cross-cultural mission, the Houses of Parliament, and with the long-term unemployed, before finding my career as an academic. I now find myself back in a remote part of the south-west. It’s good to reconnect with the world outside of the human-made again.
A children’s picture Bible probably gave me my first glimpse of the divine. It’s terrifying how our core concepts are, from the outset, influenced by images.
Thankfully, the full range of the divine we encounter in the different books of the Bible is a far cry from a children’s book. It’s a constant mystery and a constant wonder.
Our continual and wilful destruction of creation due to a short-term, greed-fuelled, anthropocentric mentality makes me angry. I’m getting annoyed just thinking about it.
I’ve faced a lot of health issues recently, which has forced me to radically alter the way I live. I’ve had to rewrite what brings joy into my life, but I can say that I’ve finally learnt to find happiness exploring the wilds of Dartmoor with my husband. Also, my extremely furry Siberian cat brings me more joy than I ever thought possible. My cat’s purr is the greatest sound I can think of. He’s like a little lion.
On our current trajectory, it can seem hard to see things going well for humans; but as history has taught us, and as the biblical texts testify, empires do fall. Systems do crumble. Situations do radically alter. This gives me hope.
I’ll be spending Christmas with my husband and parents on Exmoor. My mother has recently retired from parish ministry, and so it’s great to give her a Christmas rest in remote surroundings.
Lock me in a church with Arnold Schwarzenegger. We could talk about his apocalyptic films: End of Days, Total Recall, and Terminator, as well as the current climate crisis. And he has a miniature donkey as a pet. What more could you want?
Dr Michelle Fletcher was talking to Terence Handley MacMath.
thevcs.org/Advent2024