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News & Events > Calderhead Essays
> Every Picture Tells a Story
Every Picture Tells a Story
By
The Reverend Christopher Calderhead
Each illumination has a story of its own, its own little genesis. Donald and I
are standing by a large plan chest. The finished illuminations are spread out
before us. He waves his hand across a page of bright blues and golds.
“The illumination begins with the marks you make, the unconscious marks. I slap
something down. I make big, bold marks, from those it grows.” He paused. “You
want to know about the process.” He thought a moment. “There is a process which
is common to all the illuminations.”
Sally Mae, the studio manager, and Rebecca, the office manager, are talking
behind us. They are making tea. Donald’s eyes flit back towards the others. He
is distracted. Suddenly, the door bursts open. In come Vin and Mark, carrying
large colorful books. Pandemonium. It is the shipment of Konemann art books. The
group descends on the books, tearing off the plastic wrap, flipping through the
pages, commenting on the quality of the pictures. We break off for a cup of tea;
it will give Donald time to decide what he wants to say.
After our tea break, Donald and I sit down in earnest.
“The beginning of the process—pushed even further back— is Vin and me, looking
at the computer screen. It starts with spaces we manipulate in the first place,”
Donald says to me. The illuminations are all dictated by a list called the
‘schema.’ This master plan dictates which passages will be illuminated. Early in
the project, the schema was expanded with detailed ‘briefs’ giving Donald full
background on each passage. The schema says how large each illumination will be.
It is up to Donald to translate this into page layouts.
“Shape is a major limitation.” The layouts, worked out long in advance of even
the first rough sketches, determine what sort of shape Donald will be working
with.
“Vin reads the brief and then we discuss it. He’s a good listener; it helps me
a lot. It helps me sense the shape. A half page could be two quarter pages at
opposite corners, or one whole column.” The different possibilities of arranging
the shape suggest quite different solutions for the illuminations. The visual
choices made at this early stage already begin determining how Donald will work
his way into each illumination. There is also a need to think of how the
illustrations set a pace for the book: are they sprinkled evenly throughout, or
do they come in groups? Certain illuminations are close to one another: what
happens when turning the page from one illumination to the next?
“The Gospels/Acts volume is heavily illustrated, what about the others volumes,
which won’t have as many illustrations?” I ask.
“There’s very little pictorially in the Books of Moses,” he says. He thinks a
moment, and adds dryly, “If anything needs lightening up, it’s Leviticus.” I
laugh.
I say, “So, once the layout has been decided with Vin, then the pages go into
production with the scribes, and you don’t see them for months. Eventually,
you’re ready to begin. What do you do?”
“It’s back to the briefs again. I pore over them. I really absorb them. First I
look at the exegesis, the main ‘angle,’ if you like. Then I skip the Biblical
cross references and go straight to the free association, then on to the local
associations. In the free associations I usually find seeds of a way of dealing
with it visually: that’s important to me. Even if I didn’t choose any particular
things, it gives me a sense of direction. I highlight certain key things from
the exegesis.”
All of this lays the groundwork.
“Then I get Bible out. I plough through the passage minutely, looking for my
own understanding of it, along with the briefs. Then I look up the Biblical
cross references, too.”
Donald’s process is not unlike the monastic practice of Lectio Divina, a
careful mulling over the text, looking at the details, thinking, meditating,
letting it sink in. The Committee on Illumination and Text (CIT) has likened its
work writing the briefs to Lectio Divina. Donald’s sacred reading has a
practical aim: to spark visual ideas.
“What I’m looking for are core ‘action’ or ‘drama’ points.”
He describes it as a gradual honing in on an idea. “It’s a bit like focusing;
it’s like a radar scanner.” He frowns. “Or a dowser.” His face brightens, his
hand sweeping left and right, imitating the sensitive movements of a country
dowser. “Until I find a definite spring: an image that points me to the essence
of what I think they’re saying in the brief.”
The early stages of design witness the transformation of an idea: from the
literary, word-based briefs, to a visual, visceral interpretation of the text.
Sometimes the briefs suggest a very literary approach to the illumination.
“For instance, it’s a very literary thing, an anthology page,” Donald says,
referring to certain parts of the schema which call for a single illustration to
hold a group of stories. “It’s a deeply literary concept.” He sometimes has to
work hard to get beyond the words. “The CIT specify right down to the toe
nails—but they also say ‘don’t illustrate it.’” As Donald feeds them imagery, he
feels the CIT members begin to spark to his work in a more vibrant way.
“The more they see images from me, the more they realize what I’m doing. They
begin to have ideas how it might look. Their approach has become less
illustrational, more abstract, symbolic.”
We turn to look at specific illuminations.
The
Genealogy of Jesus
Matthew 1
Frontispiece to the Gospel according to Matthew
The
‘Genealogy of Jesus’ stands at the beginning in more ways than one. This is the
page which launched the entire project. It is the frontispiece to Matthew’s
Gospel, and therefore stands at the beginning of the first volume Donald has
made. The ‘Genealogy of Jesus’ was also at the ceremony at the New York Public
Library which inaugurated The Saint John’s Bible.
It has crossed the Atlantic many times. It has been displayed at meetings of
donors. It has been under the hot light lights of television studios. It has
even made the cover of Smithsonian magazine. The fact it has survived all of
this hustle and bustle says something about the quality of its craftsmanship;
radical changes in temperature and humidity are invitations for gold to pop off
and paint to fleck or smear. It is still pristine.
The genealogy page was made before any decisions were finalized in the project.
The script had not been fully developed. Even the page size was not entirely
defined.
“It came straight from schema,” Donald says. “There was no brief, just a one
line description: ‘The whole sweep of Jewish history.’”
The first chapter of Matthew’s Gospel traces the lineage of Jesus back through
David to Abraham. The schema highlights this chapter as a sign of continuity,
rooting the Gospel in the traditions of the Old Testament. In Donald’s
illumination, the names of Christ’s ancestors appear in Hebrew letters sprinkled
across the page.
“I was on my own—I had to work it out. The idea was a bridge between old and
new. I used the main Jewish symbol, the menorah, to capture the Jewish aspect.”
It was delicate thing to use the religious symbol of another tradition.
“The CIT asked me to temper it. It developed into everybody’s family tree. The
text was an incantation, if you like—a plea for the authenticity of Christ’s
claim. But for me, there was the strong sense of the family of all people—hence
the connection with the idea of the DNA symbol, pushing that connectedness.”
The menorah stands as an armature through which different shapes swirl. Small
DNA double helixes dance in the spaces between its branches, made with a little
rubber stamp.
“The menorah becomes the tree of life. And it has a springing point, a circle:
the core from which all life comes.”
The imagery comes from sources world-wide.
The illumination “implies a kinship with other spiritual teachers—that’s why I
introduced Islamic style candles, light devices and cosmic mandala fragments
from the Buddhist visual tradition. A tiny passage in Arabic quietly emphasises
Hagar, Ishmael’s mother.” This makes a visual link to the third great Abrahamic
faith, Islam.
Donald’s ultimate aim was to suggest the “connectedness of all seekers of
enlightenment. All paths lead to God.”
The Birth of Christ
Luke 1, 2
Frontispiece to Luke
“This was the first or second illumination I did which involved a full brief.”
If it was hard working from a one-line description, the complexity of working
through a brief proved an even greater challenge.
“I remember the intense pressure on me. It was acute. As the project continues,
I’m learning how to deal with it.”
Donald’s copy of the brief is covered with underlinings, highlightings, and
notes. The brief for this illustration is two and a half pages long. He worked
his way through it. And then he began with a mis-step.
“The three kings: they’re in the Christmas cards. Everyone looks for them.” His
original ideas had included them in the scene. His jottings in the margins are
full of gold, myrrh, and frankincense.
“It was pointed out that they were was not in Luke’s version of the nativity
story. They had to go. So it was down to shepherds and the stable.”
Some key ideas shape the composition. The brief emphasizes the earthiness of
the scene: “Luke,” it says, “is specifying the moment when Christ takes up his
earthly existence.” It also advises avoiding cute Christmas card imagery of the
“sweet baby Jesus.”
“I started with the column of light on the crib,” Donald says. “The focus is on
crib. But there’s no baby Jesus!” The presence of the child is central. All eyes
are drawn to the crib. We know he is there. But he is not shown. The shaft of
gold pouring down from heaven strikes the manger, and the faces of the virgin
and Joseph and the gathered shepherds glow with light from the crib, but the
bounding ox blocks our view of the crib itself.
The picture composed itself around this central idea.
“It started much bigger. The central scene completely filled the space. The
scale was wrong, so I reduced it.” Smaller in size, the nativity scene is now
surrounded with other elements.
“I have us looking at it through a deep picture frame,” Donald says. It is not
a hard, rigid frame, but is integrated with the rest of the image. Bits of
frame penetrate the image in the center, tying the whole illumination together.
“In my mind was a feeling of freedom and the spontaneous brushwork of
ninth-century Carolingian manuscripts. I never liked them as a younger man: they
were too scruffy. Now something in them really touches me. I feel they have more
to say to us now.”
The whole illumination is a delicate balance between areas of great precision
and areas of quick, spontaneous brushstrokes. “The marks,” says Donald, “take on
a life of their own.” The physical element of painting is vitally important to
him artistically, perhaps as the physicality of the incarnation is vitally
important to the story he is illustrating.
Bits of text also become integral to the composition. “They were asking for
quotes in association with this scene,” Donald says. Passages of canticles from
Luke’s nativity story appear within the picture frame, commenting on the scene
spread out before us. The text of the Gloria in Excelsis, the song of the angels
outside Bethlehem, dances with the angels at the top; words from the Benedictus,
Zechariah’s song, ring out to the side and at the bottom. Text and image become
an integrated whole, and tie different part of Luke’s nativity story together.
The dark background is lino ink, applied with a roller, setting the mood of
night. “Isn’t it interesting that so many of the big scenes happen in the dark?”
Rubber stamps also make an appearance. A circular pattern stamp suggests the
tradition of sacred geometry. Among the angels, too, are stamped figures. “The
rubber stamp angels, cut myself, are there for a different reason. It is about
the repetition of the same thing, about reverberation: they are not separate
angels. One angel multiplies. It is the knock-on effect of spiritual
arithmetic.”
Donald glows when he talks of this. “I’ve cracked the miracle thing—loaves and
fishes, for instance. It’s as if an act of sharing, an act of love, is
exponential. It has a power beyond our own small actions. I’m going to make
bread-and-fish stamps. Simply bloody well keep stamping it. The arithmetic is
exponential—people are fed, cared for, loved.”
The stable is interpreted as a rough kind of a home, in which animals are kept
downstairs from the family on the second floor.
“I felt the need for earthiness, the animal vitality of the world, of life.”
The bull image comes from the Lascaux cave, an example of “animal power and
danger in a symbol perhaps 40,000 years old. The traditional ass and sheep clash
with the dangerous ox: nature is dangerous and powerful. There is also the
element of time: it is from an ice age cave painting.
“As a boy, I knew stables. They were part of my experience. They are full of
rats, bugs, cockroaches. There are turds on the floor.” This earthiness grounds
the nativity in human, lived experience.
The
Eucharist
Luke 22
Luke 22 tells the story of the Last Supper. According to the briefs, Luke’s
version of the story suggests a good knowledge of Jewish ritual. The Last Supper
in Luke looks and feels like a Passover seder. During the seder, a number of
blessings are said over a series of cups of wine.
Donald built his composition around three vessels. “There is some ambiguity
about ritual procedure at time of Christ: were there three different cups?”
Donald asks.
“I looked for visual references for seder cups. But was the Last Super a seder?
It was unsatisfactory. I went to the Hebrew Museum in Jerusalem. They said it
was probably a single cup over which three blessings were said.”
Donald is full of questions: “How many cups? What did the cups look like? What
was a Jewish cup likely to look like at the time of Christ?”
The Hebrew Museum suggested there might not have been any such thing as a
Jewish cup. They said a first century Greco-Roman vessel would have probably
been used.
“Then I went to the British Museum. I photographed first century drinking
vessels there.
I took photos of a Greek one... when I saw what the figures on it were doing, I
thought to myself, ‘Well perhaps not that one...’” He laughs.
The illumination had to have the quality of sacred ceremony, and the cups began
to move away from literalism. Donald began to render them as a range of cups
through history.
“One cup is silver, Jewish. It is chased with a Hebrew design: a prayer.
Another cup is a composite Christian medieval chalice—gold. We get a sense of
progression from then to now. Then I drew a ceramic bowl. I wanted Christ to be
holding something not pretentious, but simple; the sacred and ceremonial linked
with the everyday. A lot of glass was used in the ancient world. I painted green
glass in background, a decanter.”
The other powerful element of the illumination is the theme of blood. Jesus
said ‘This is my blood’ over the cup; if it was a Passover meal, the slaughtered
lamb was also central. The brief was brutal in its description of the slaughter
of the lamb: “Passover lambs were slaughtered using particular rituals with
special knives. They were then splayed on a spit in a manner similar to
crucifixion. [...] The lamb was then roasted.”
Donald says, “They want the paschal lamb: I’m dying to do that
impressionistically. I want to blow up microscopic blood cells—the blood of the
lamb.”
When the committee sees that much blood, they pull back: less blood, if you
please.
The Death of Jesus
Luke 23
The
death of Jesus is rendered with great directness. The crucified figure in raised
and burnished gold is central to the composition. The cross is set at an angle,
heightening the drama of the scene. To one side, fragments of purple seem torn
by the bright glory of the gold.
“The brief tells us that the curtain of the Temple was covered with
astrological symbols.” The text in Luke says the Temple curtain was torn in two.
Here, it tears into fragments. Above the cross, a patch of sky suggests the
“blue of enlightenment and the new order” breaking in. The crucifixion marks a
transition from an old, hierarchical ritual order, to a liberating freedom.
“I used a coarse bristly brush for the blue, applying direct, dry dabs of paint
right onto something that’s taken me weeks. That’s just a need—I have to do it.
You do a coarse brush stroke with brute energy, and this then calls forth a
delicate counterpoint. There is the energy of attack with the delicate
supporting of embellishment.”
Surrounding the vibrant scene is a cool grey/blue border. This has medieval
precedents: often a heavy romanesque illustration will have a transitional,
softer edge. Hard color gives way to softer color; it helps tie the illustration
to the page on which it lies. In this case, there was a practical reason for it
as well.
“The writing on the page behind was disturbing the delicacy of anything I could
add, so I needed to obliterate it. That’s why I added the grey border. I broke
that down by printing on it with Broderie Anglais: English lace. It also brought
in the recurring theme of textiles. I am always looking for links, visual
metaphors linking each illumination to the others. For the torn curtain, I inked
a piece of silk, and printed it.”
The
Road to Emmaus
Luke 24
“The challenge in the Emmaus illumination was that the space was already fixed:
a long tall rectangle. The brief says we want to tell the story here. But how
can I tell a three-part story? I thought it was impossible.”
Donald lists the sequence of events:
1 Christ meets strangers on the road.
2 At supper, he breaks bread with them; they recognize him.
3 He disappears.
“It takes place on a road. How do I do it without it looking like a cartoon
strip or movie clip? Visually, I tried to imply progression, as in a walk, a
path. Movement can suggest progression in time. It can show the moment of
illumination, perception, when they realize it is Jesus.
“I tried using an illuminated border for the path. I just couldn’t do a rocky
road off into sunset. It would have looked like a like a Roadrunner cartoon. I
found a decorative border in an Islamic manuscript. I painted it in, zig-zagging,
a set of chevrons, as a path to push the eye upwards. But when I put it with
text, I didn’t like the chevrons. I saw that brushes could do the same job.”
The stark geometry of the zig-zag border gave way to a much softer look.
“Visually, I tried to pull the edges around. I want you to focus on Christ as
if you were one of the two disciples.
“The third scene is entirely abstracted—a flash of light. An action, not a
picture. A clap of thunder: Shazam! he’s gone. The gold band coming down from
the top: that’s God. I wanted to give the feeling of progression, ascending.
That’s the punch line: he ascends—or disappears.”
Broad brush strokes create the ‘scenery’ in which the story unfolds. It is
impressionistic, not a literal representation. “I want to give a feeling of
landscape, suggesting trees, rocky slopes, bushes dotted around.”
Strong brush stroke movements contrast with great delicacy in the details.
“The seven-branched shrubs are taken from an Islamic manuscript. They function
almost as signposts for your eyes, inviting you along the path, which is only
suggested by the color. They are simple, formal devices.
The
Raising of Lazarus
John 12
“How would Jesus be portrayed? The CIT didn’t know. Neither do I. Slowly, there
is becoming a representation.”
The ‘Raising of Lazarus’ was another of the early illuminations. It was one of
the first in which Donald grappled with representing Jesus. The brief is long
and detailed. In Donald’s words, it is ‘literary’ rather than visual.
“I was again looking for those core ‘action’ or ‘drama’ points in the story.”
The Raising of Lazarus has been portrayed many times. In the tradition, there
are very detailed representations. These are usually viewed from a third
person’s perspective, as if the viewer is a member of a crowd standing to one
side. Jesus stands before the tomb and calls forth a mummy-like figure.
“Christ is always looking in, and Lazarus is appearing from the cave.” Donald
wanted to get in closer. “So I wondered to myself, ‘How am I going to do this?’”
The scene hardly lacked ‘drama points.’
“The guy’s rotting—he’s got worms in him. For me the endpoint had to be Jesus.
In him you have to believe in order for this to have any credibility. But bodies
have maggots in: they’re dead. How can I square myself with this?”
The breakthrough comes with a shift in perspective. Instead of looking on from
one side, we look out of the tomb toward Christ. We are with Lazarus.
“The brief suggests at one point that Lazarus had a near-death experience. That
must have sunk in, but I had forgotten about it. I didn’t even highlight it in
the brief.” This idea is powerfully rooted in Donald’s own history.
“My mother had a near death experience. It was when I was a young child, and
she miscarried. After that, she never had any more fear of death. She wanted to
stay—the doctor held her hand and talked her back. She did not want to come
back. It was ‘warm, so easy,’ she said.”
The illumination explores the story from this angle.
“Lazarus leans backwards: he is almost unwilling to be called back to life.”
That gives the visual representation a heightened drama. We are plunged into
the middle of what Donald calls “Lazarus’ dilemma.” This is not an external
view, but invites us to identify with the dead man, and to share his
ambivalence: do we want to be called forth back into the harsh light? The little
dot of light beckons us out of the tomb which has become our home.
“The tomb is not all maggots: it is pink, warm, as well as dangerous. Angels
are there—sweet companions of death? Or are they urging him out?”
The death’s head moth flies amongst the wrappings which are already loosening.
This distinctive moth has the figure of a skull on its back. It can be found in
Wales from time to time. Does it signify the place of death, or does it eat away
at the shroud, as if to destroy death? The shroud, printed from ribbons off
Donald’s daughter’s nightgown, unravels before us: Lazarus will choose life. In
the center, Christ is the magnet, drawing Lazarus, and us, into the light.
Resurrection
John 20
“How to tell a story? I make a little list.
Mary Magdalene goes to garden
Sees tomb empty
Runs back, tells others
They run back
She remains: looks, sees two angels
She spins around, sees stranger
Says: ‘Help me’
“Then I say, where is the ‘magic moment?’ It’s the moment of shock, of
recognition. A desire to touch. So one hand is on her mouth, the other hand is
reaching out. When Mary Magdalene recognises her teacher, it’s electric. I
picture little crystals of energy: icicles, as if your breath turns to ice.”
The illumination captures that moment of recognition, when, through her tears
and despair, Mary suddenly knows her teacher stands in front of her, risen from
the dead.
“So that’s the scene. But who is this Mary Magdalene? How do I feel about her?
Is she a prostitute? She is a sinner of some sort—we all are. I suspect she has
a few drinks too many and dances on the bar. A bit loud, perhaps.”
The converted Mary Magdalene has lost none of her vitality.
“Now she’s encountered a new way of life—and perhaps she’s threatening to men
because she’s powerful. She’s painted her face. I picture her in red lipstick.
She’d wear red shoes still if she had a chance. She’s vibrant and strong—not a drabster. My image for her started off with a photo of a middle eastern woman in
a fashion show: she wears middle eastern costume, bright and colorful.”
By contrast, Christ is a shadow. He is easily mistaken for gardener.
Donald describes an early phase of the illumination as a “wrong turn.”
“She goes before dawn: it’s bloody dark. It’s happening in the dark. And I
think to myself, ‘Great. I’ve just done Christ dying in the dark—everything is
too dark.’ The angels were big in this version, and she’s just turned around—the
only light is coming from Christ. He’s not in glory now: he’s definitely
low-key.”
The CIT did not respond well to this version.
“I do the sketch and send it. It gets a rather salty reception. They weren’t
keen on it. Their instruction to me is, ‘Start again.’ I didn’t like that. It
was a knock to my confidence.”
The illumination languished for a while, as Donald refocused his thoughts.
“They say the two angels aren’t that important. I take them out. I toyed with
rendering a real photograph of Mary, thinking of her as a brash young woman who
lives on Park Avenue in New York. She has a rather over the top personality.
After all, she was the one who had the guts to go out there in the dark and
look.”
Still, the illumination did not gel.
“I put this on the back burner. I asked myself the question: ‘Why is this so
wrong?’ Then the penny dropped: It isn’t dark! I had focused on ‘It was before
dawn’, but by the time this scene takes place, it was daylight, in a garden. And
the CIT were trying to emphasise the joyousness: they don’t want to look at the
dark side too much.”
This was the breakthrough. The resurrection appearance in the garden could be
full of light, of flowers, of brightness.
“I made a new version. It was a complete shift. Light and color—blue, orange,
red. Jesus is rendered in ultramarine. It is much more vibrant.”
The dour grey of the first version gave way to a burst of energetic color.
“It’s the story of how we work from nothing to something—and with difficulty!”
Pentecost
Acts 2
Bright, shimmering, breaking into humdrum reality, the Holy Spirit enters the
story. It is Pentecost, the great Jewish pilgrimage feast fifty days after the
Passover. In the Acts of the Apostles, this feast marks the moment when the
Spirit comes rushing down on the Apostles. Tongues of fire appear above their
heads and they preach to people gathered from every nation in the known world.
It is the beginning of the Church. The Gospel message begins its journey outward
into the world.
The imagery of the illumination reflects the joyous vitality of the story.
Distinctions of time and place fall away. The brief says, “The Holy Spirit is
effecting a new creation.” In Donald’s copy of the brief he has highlighted
these words: “We see a surrealistic kaleidoscope with different shapes that show
dynamism or different people in pictures (pieces).”
Like many of the illuminations, this one uses a column of gold to suggest God’s
entry into the physical, earthly realm: a column of fire at the heart of the
composition.
“It’s a visitation from God upon the multitude. The first thing I did was a
column of light straight down.”
This is flanked by bands of blue.
“Three strong verticals meet the horizontal land.”
The blue is not static; like the gold, it is full of curved, lively strokes, as
if the gold, passing through, activates everything around it. Large curling
strokes to the left suggest waves: does the golden light pass through air, or
water?
“The elements themselves are being called forth. It is a new creation through
wind, fire, earth, water. The Spirit passes through water, through time itself.
Where it hits the land, the gold seems to dissolve the abbey church, revealing
a vision of a middle eastern town. It shimmers with gold. There are palm trees.
“The abbey church is an icon of the twentieth century,” which gives way to an
image of long ago: time and space no longer stand as a barriers within the new
creation.
In front of this scene, on the wide expanse of green lawn, a raucous band of
twelve people move about, their bright colors taking life from the vibrant red
flashes of fire raining down on them from above.
“I took images from a football match (game, should I say?) at Saint John’s. The
color of it was brilliant. And the energy was fantastic. I tried to capture the
energetic joy of a time like that.”
The colorful pageantry of a football game suggests other images.
“Little appliqued fragments of pure color have turned almost into flags,
symbolizing our own time and the gathering of all nations. I based these on
pictures in Venice of festival hats, the brilliantly colored caps at Carnival. I
photographed these and chopped them up. I painted them in the very colors they
use.”
The colors are pure and brash.
“Carnival in Venice has the color, energy, and tension I am looking for.”
The keys, a symbol of Saint Peter, float above the crowd. He is crucial to the
scene, presented as the spokesman of the Apostles. Like everything else in the
illumination, they are active, moving about.
“The keys are floating: it just happened that way. They come straight at you
like a frisbee.”
The coming of the Spirit “starts above and far away.” But it comes right up
into our time and space.
“The church and crowd are symbolic of the pertinence of the scene: this is
about us, not just about something that happened to the Apostles in the past.
The text is putting it on the line: this means you, now.”
Illumination
Each and every illumination functions to bring the text to life. They are not
simply illustration, but come out of a long pocess of living with the text. Some
of them are exercises in pure painting; others are more desnely theological in
their visual logic. All of them do more than translate the text from words into
images: they resonate with the text.
“The process begins with the intellectual. There is a selection. I look coldly
at the text: what is the essential message? The several foci? Then there is
Bible reading: what the text ‘says.’ But finally, it is emotional: how does it
feel?”
And ultimately, if he can make us feel the text, as well as simply understand
it, then he has done his job.
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