Africa & Byzantium was a massive and complex exhibition that ran at The Met from November 19, 2023 to March 3, 2024. It included nearly 180 objects across many media, spanning North and East Africa from the second century to today. These assembled treasures tell many stories: stories of wars and empires, cultures and peoples, and trade and exchange could all be found in these objects. 

But, for many visitors, these objects tell a story of religious faith. The period covered by Africa & Byzantium saw the flowering and persistence of Christianity in North and East Africa, which was embodied in the artworks that were produced. Members of faith traditions from the Christian East still see many of the works in this exhibition as holy images or “icons” that serve not only as expressions of the church’s beliefs but as a means of prayer and encounter with the sacred persons depicted. To Orthodox Christians, these are devotional objects, precious and meaningful in ways that transcend their beauty and historical value.

 

In the months before the exhibition, Met staff held a series of conversations with members of ethnic and faith communities—including Orthodox Christians—that helped guide its design, activities, and materials. The reflections below grew out of these community conversations. Each is from a Coptic Orthodox Christian who aided The Met in shaping the exhibition before it opened. As a shared theme, all three contributions focus on the religious significance of icons from Egypt of the Virgin Mary, the mother of Jesus Christ, as featured in Africa & Byzantium. 

 

Because the churches of the Christian East understand Jesus Christ to be God and man, Mary is titled Theotokos (Greek for God-bearer). As the one who bore God, Mary is seen as the fulfillment of scriptural images of God’s manifestation on earth: the burning bush on Sinai, the temple in Jerusalem, the ark of the covenant, and others. Mary further exemplifies the mystery of the Church and God's presence in and among the faithful. But she is also a woman, a girl who said yes to God, and a mother whose son was killed before her eyes. The following community reflections speak to the religious and spiritual meaning of these images of the Theotokos.

 

Triptych with Crucifixion 

 

 

Triptych with Crucifixion, 13th–15th century. Coptic (Egypt). Tempera on wood, 29 5/8 × 22 1/16 in. (75.2 × 56 cm) 26 13/16 in. (68.1 cm). The Coptic Museum, Cairo. Courtesy Coptic Museum, Cairo

 

 

I’ve stood before this icon previously at the Coptic Museum in Cairo, awestruck at its beauty, detail, and size. In three panels, it includes scenes from the last week of Christ’s life—yet nothing prepared me for the tears that came to my eyes when I saw the triptych again at The Met.

 

At once familiar and new, I could see the details, color, depth, and emotions more closely than before. The icon’s scenes are crowded. Everyone wants to inch closer to Christ. It isn’t just about fitting all the story's characters into the frame but about telling the story of their relationships. The deep, rich colors—the red, the gold, and the worn brown—draw me in with warmth, connection, and even love.

Whenever I look at this triptych, I focus on something different in Christ’s life. The women in the crucifixion section, depicted in the largest, central part, draw my eyes. To the lower right are four women. From the gold around her head, we can guess that the woman in the middle in black is Mary, the Mother of God. There is a direct line of sight between her and Christ on the cross. What are they saying to each other with their eyes?

Three women surround Mary, the Mother of God: Mary Magdalene, Mary the mother of James and Joseph, and the mother of the sons of Zebedee. They hold the Theotokos up as she seems to either fall forward or kneel towards the cross. In the Orthodox Church, we glorify the Mother of God so much that sometimes we are at risk of forgetting her humanity. She held divinity in her womb, carried Him on her lap, and raised Him to adulthood while still being utterly human, still capable of being engulfed in grief as she watches her only son brutally and shamefully killed on a cross.

Every Saturday evening, Coptic Orthodox Christians sing these lines about the Virgin, “Through Mary the daughter of Joachim, we learned of the true sacrifice for the forgiveness of our sins.” Read carefully: the words startle. Christ sacrificed Himself, but she sacrificed Him.

The Mother of God carries Christ in every other icon of the Theotokos in Africa & Byzantium. In a critical paradox, she is the one carrying her Creator. Yet in this icon, these women take her, hold her, help her offer the true sacrifice. She knew “a sword would pierce her soul” (Luke 2:35), but knowing does not lessen her pain. So these women too, in a sense, become bearers of Christ. They hold up the one who held the Almighty. Their arms encircle her with love even as they too grieve. Yet even as the Theotokos leans on them, we still see her hand pointing toward Christ, showing us the way. 

 

— Phoebe Farag Mikhail

Encomium

 

Encomium, 892–893. Coptic (Fayyum Oasis, Egypt). Ink on parchment, 13 3/16 × 10 5/16 in. (33.5 × 26.2 cm). The Morgan Library & Museum, New York. Courtesy The Morgan Library & Museum, New York

 

 

In this ninth-century manuscript illumination, the Virgin Mary is seated on a throne, flanked by two angels, with Christ on her lap. While this is a conventional composition, an intimate detail sets this image apart from most of the other Theotokos icons in the gallery: Mary is presented breastfeeding Jesus, the oldest image of its kind in the exhibition. This theme is sometimes called Galaktotrophousa  (she who nourishes with milk) or Maria Lactans  (nursing Mary).

 

The development of this image is often linked to ancient statuettes of the Egyptian goddess Isis nursing her child Horus. While the nursing Virgin would appear in the West much later, the Copts were painting this image as far back as the seventh century. Thus, it is not far-fetched to say this is a characteristically Egyptian contribution to Christian art.

 

The theme of the nursing Virgin appears elsewhere in Egyptian Christianity. I am reminded of a Coptic Orthodox prayer that we still use today called the Fraction to the Son, in which the priest addresses Christ: “Arms carried you, and the knees of the Virgin lifted you. A mouth has kissed you and milk-fed you, O you who provide for all creation out of your bounty.” A hymn in a Coptic service called the Midnight Praises (Tasbeha) echoes this theme with its refrain, “He took what is ours and gave us what is His.”

 

Viewers may be understandably puzzled by this intimate portrayal, perhaps feeling like they’ve walked in on a private moment. This discomfort is at the heart of the paradox the image presents. God, who is all-powerful, becomes a vulnerable child, receiving milk from His human mother. Though He is on earth, He is still glorified by the angels in heaven who surround His throne. 

 

This may be why this image appears in the original manuscript just before The Encomium on the Four Bodiless Creatures. It is a sermon on the four angelic creatures who stand around the throne of God in heaven, as described in the biblical books of Ezekiel and Revelation. But in this accompanying image, the Virgin Mary has become the throne of God, the incarnate Christ, surrounded by the angels. 

 

Notice that Christ holds the hand that offers Him the breast to suckle from. He submits to Mary’s motherhood, which happens through His will. This image expresses a mystery of love between Creator and creation, one that is difficult to resolve with words and is often best described through images. The paradox is intentional and inspires awe in worshippers. If this poor virgin from a small village can become the throne of God, then heaven, in all its beauty, has come down to earth.

 

— Kirollos Kilada

Icon of the Virgin Enthroned

 

Icon of the Virgin Enthroned, 6th century. Byzantine (Egypt). Wool, 70 1/16 × 43 5/16 in., 65 lb. (178 × 110 cm, 29.5 kg). The Cleveland Museum of Art, Leonard C. Hanna Jr. Fund (1967.144)

 

 

The word icon is Greek for image. The first chapter of the Bible describes God making man in the image of God. Man becomes the first icon, and God is the first iconographer or icon-maker. As an iconographer, I see the calling to imitate the Divine in all acts of creating. Standing before a textile of Mary and Christ enthroned, I contemplate the beauty of the form and what it expresses. I see the Divine Child, the Master Weaver, who elects to be woven in the womb of Mary. I am drawn by the constellation of color to imitate the Master Iconographer, to greet the calling to embody He who is embodied. Earth and heaven are before me and Christ is enthroned, flanked by the heavenly court. Here, humanity receives God—through His birth from Mary—not just in the past but here and now. The pensive mother holds the Apex of existence. I, like Mary, am called to be the threshold of heaven and earth—to bear God—to enthrone Love within me.

 

The textile is a lively and eternally verdant garden, and I stand in it with Christ the Divine Gardener, awaiting to cultivate. The portraits of the apostles hang like fruit from branches, their testimony ripe and beautiful for consumption.

  

The ascension of Christ to heaven, shown at the top of this textile, was often the iconographic focal point in Coptic Orthodox churches in some shape or form. Just as you can step into a church, you are also called to step into the icon. Every character faces you, and you are an active participant. You complete the image simply by standing before it.

 

Ephrem the Syrian, a fourth-century poet, hymn-writer, and theologian, writes in a hymn, “I will sing and tell how the Godhead in the womb wove Itself a vesture. He put it on and came forth in birth…” How will I sing with Ephrem? What harmonies will erupt from my easel? In becoming genuinely human with this Child, I will vest for the liturgy of life. As a textile is drawn from a window to reveal light, so am I drawn to reveal Light. Here, descension and ascension are one, and a small child is portrayed as victor. In a world plagued with cacophonic hatred, darkness, division, confusion, and chaos, a still, small voice emerges, the sun rises, and the garden blooms.

 

This textile prompts me to create. Furthermore, it pushes beyond the easel and loom, the altar and sanctuary. It invites me to seek Beauty in all created things. As I stand before the textile of Mary and Christ enthroned, Christ contemplates with me; I am not the only viewer. The Child also looks out. What textile does the Weaver see suspended before Him? Hanging from your wooden loom, what image will you reveal when you are complete?

 

 

— George Makary

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