Heute im Doppelpack: Zwei Heilige, die unterschiedlicher nicht sein könnten und doch eine tiefe Verbindung in ihrem Wirken tragen. Der eine ein mutiger Bischof aus Lateinamerika, der sich für die Unterdrückten einsetzte, der andere ein mittelalterlicher Mönch, dessen Arbeit eine ganze Stadt prägte. Was sie eint? Ihr unerschütterlicher Glaube, der Mut zum Wandel und das Licht der Hoffnung, das sie hinterließen.
Oscar Romero – Der Bischof der Gerechtigkeit
Oscar Romero (1917–1980) war ein Mann, dessen Leben und Tod für soziale Gerechtigkeit und Menschenrechte standen. In einem Land, das von Gewalt und Ungerechtigkeit zerrissen war, erhob er die Stimme für die, die keine hatten. Er sprach für die Armen und die Unterdrückten, trotz der Gefahr, die ihm selbst dadurch drohte. Am 24. März 1980, während einer Messe, wurde er erschossen. Doch sein Erbe lebt weiter: Heute ist er der Patron der Armen und der sozialen Gerechtigkeit.
Gedenktag: 24. März
Rupert von Salzburg – Der Heilige der Alpen
Rupert von Salzburg (ca. 660–710) war ein Mönch mit einer Vision. Als er nach Salzburg kam, fand er nur Ruinen vor, doch er sah die Möglichkeit, eine geistige und kulturelle Blüte in den Alpen zu schaffen. Durch den Aufbau von Kirchen und Klöstern sowie die Förderung des Salzabbaues machte Rupert Salzburg zu einem geistigen und wirtschaftlichen Zentrum. Heute wird er als Patron von Salzburg und den Salzarbeitern verehrt.
Gedenktag: 27. März
Was verbindet diese beiden Heiligen?
Trotz ihrer unterschiedlichen Lebenswege gibt es eine tiefgehende Verbindung: Beide folgten einem unerschütterlichen Glauben, der sie dazu brachte, für Veränderung zu kämpfen. Sie waren bereit, für ihre Überzeugungen zu leiden und hinterließen ein Licht der Hoffnung für künftige Generationen.
Memorial Day: November 25th Patronages: Scholars, students, philosophers, speakers, lawyers, girls, wives, millers and wheelmakers
Catherine of Alexandria - a name that has endured through the centuries, like a shining star in the firmament of history. Her life, partly romanticized and partly concealed by the ancient chroniclers, tells the story of a young woman who challenged tyranny with wisdom and courage. It's the story of a ghost,
who did not break even in the face of death.
The scholar before the emperor– Geist bezwingt Schwert
Born in the ancient metropolis of Alexandria, Catherine is said to have been one of the smartest women of her time. Her beauty was legendary, but it was her intelligence that captivated people. She mastered the writings of philosophers and knew how to argue with sharp logic.
This erudition was her downfall - or her crowning glory, depending on how you look at it.
Legend has it that Catherine was brought before the Roman Emperor Maxentius, who was enraged by her refusal to sacrifice to the pagan gods. Instead of backing down, however, she confronted him. The elegance of their arguments and the power of their words so impressed him that he summoned fifty of his brightest scholars to
to refute Katharina.
But the discussion took an unexpected turn: Katharina convinced the scholars of the truth of their faith. Some reports even claim that they were baptized as a result. The emperor was furious. His threats bounced off Katharina's steadfastness like waves on a rocky coast.
Fate and the Wheel
The story gets darker: Maxentius had Katharina tortured and sentenced her to death by wheel - a cruel torture instrument that was supposed to tear her body apart. But when Katharina touched the wheel, it shattered into a thousand pieces. This miracle shocked even the pagan spectators, but not the emperor.
He eventually had her beheaded, and legend has it that angels carried her body to Sinai.
A role model over the centuries – Spirit conquers sword
Katharina's story is a reminder and an inspiration at the same time. She teaches us that true strength lies not in the sword but in the spirit. She reminds us that beliefs can unsettle even the most powerful tyrants.
Her symbol, the wheel, may at first recall the horrors of her martyrdom, but upon closer inspection it becomes an image of the passage of time and the triumph of wisdom over violence.
Katharina in everyday art
As a patron, Katharina can watch over a desk where she inspires students and writers. An image of her from our atelier Wonnereich, fine in ink worked can become an incentive in moments of uncertainty.
It is a reminder that clarity and fortitude are worthwhile even in the darkest hours.
Catherine of Alexandria – a name, a myth, an everlasting role model.
It was one of those winter nights when the cold crept through even the thickest walls. Everything was quiet in the castle in Thuringia, except for the slight creak of a door. Elisabeth, the young landgravine, crept through the snow-covered courtyard with a basket in her hands. Her breath formed little clouds in the icy air,
but she didn't let herself be stopped. Under her coat she hid bread that she had taken from the castle kitchen - a gift for the poor who were suffering in the cold.
The narrow paths to the edge of town were dark, and the snow crunched softly beneath their feet. Elisabeth knew the route well, but her heart beat faster every time she left the castle behind her. Her desire for justice was stronger than any fear.
Suddenly she heard the clatter of hooves on frozen ground. A torch bathed the trees in flickering light. Her husband, Landgrave Ludwig, discovered her. "Elisabeth!" he called, and his tone was a mixture of worry and impatience.
She stood there, holding her cloak tighter around her, and waited for him to get off the horse. His eyes rested on her, stern but also full of affection. “What are you hiding there?” he asked, looking at the basket visible under her coat.
Elizabeth hesitated. She knew that her actions did not have the approval of the court, and yet she felt that she was doing the right thing. “Just bread,” she said quietly, her voice trembling with cold and uncertainty.
“Show me,” His gaze sharpened.
Elisabeth slowly opened her coat. The moment the torchlight fell on the basket, something unexpected happened: instead of bread, there lay a bunch of roses, fresh and bright, as if they had just been plucked from a summer garden. Their colors - red, pink, white - shone in the winter night,
and a gentle scent rose into the air.
Ludwig took a step back, his eyes wide with astonishment. “Roses? “In winter?” he whispered. Elisabeth lowered her gaze, a gentle smile playing on her lips. “It is the work of God,” she said quietly, “he blesses those who act with love.”
Ludwig looked at her for a long time before nodding. "You have a heart of gold, Elizabeth," he finally murmured. “Go do what you have to do.”
With these words he let her go, and Elisabeth continued on her way. This event, told over the centuries, remained not only a symbol of their charity, but also a testimony to the power of faith and humanity.
Find a modern interpretation of the motif of St. Elizabeth here
As much as is known about the public practice of the Christian religion over the centuries, the knowledge about devotion and encounters with God in private spaces remains hidden. But there are clues and, above all, artifacts that shed some light on the culture of private religious life. Some treasures made of wood or lace,
In earlier times, things made of silk or cotton, made of sheet metal or glass have been preserved through the centuries and still exude a great aura. In the Middle Ages, Christians strengthened their faith in public rituals,
such as the worship service and the communal celebration of the Eucharist in the newly built or carefully maintained churches. But believers also created private meeting areas with the heavenly powers in private chapels, a monk's cell or a corner of their own house.
To this day, the Herrgottswinkel has been preserved in many houses, especially in the Alpine region. It is much more than a protective symbol, it is a place of refuge, of worship, of the sacred in the middle of everyday life. According to an article from the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York, there were also zones for people in the Middle Ages,
where they sought to deepen their faith. Places of peace and meditation, prayer and dialogue with God. Psalters or private prayer books written by hand by monks appeared.
Pictures that were mostly small in size helped with the mental exercises. They provided a tangible object, gave outline to the subject of worship, and aided in concentration. In the Middle Ages, such images were produced in all sorts of materials, depending on the wealth and rank of the owner: “from parchment to gold,
from ivory to clay.” Stories, mostly from the New Testament, from the life and passion of Jesus Christ, were painted on it or carved into the surface. But the material and the execution were not the reason for the intimate treatment of these objects,
which people sometimes carried close to their bodies all the time, which accompanied them throughout their lives, which they repeatedly kissed and touched tenderly, especially when they were faced with difficult tasks or had to overcome crises. Sometimes these devotional objects even contained the relics of a saint.
Traces of worship can be seen in most surviving artifacts, so much so that some carvings are barely recognizable.
In a certain way, the images assured believers of the presence of those depicted in them in the here and now. This is an original function of devotional pictures and that, like all devotional objects, makes them so unique. This is probably why they are extremely rarely the subject of art historical consideration.
The devotional pictures were often said to have a special power to experience the closeness of God. I don't know whether this power was considered transferable to another person, such as an heir. There may have been one or two devotional items that were passed down through generations in a family.
I'm not talking about relics whose power can be transferred, but rather about these small, personal, often touchingly naive devotional images whose owners are convinced that they are a little more connected to God. Even if it is not part of the faith in Christian terms and should be viewed more critically,
Many people believed they were getting closer to God through these objects. In Christianity, man-made things themselves are generally not assigned any powers, which is why there are no Christian amulets or “good luck charms”.
Fortunately, at least the Catholic Church never really stopped this kind of popular piety and private devotional culture. Bringing God – in whatever form – into everyday life cannot be un-Christian. If artistic things are exalted by the realm of the sacred, and so much so,
The fact that ultimately only this exalted meaning is important to the individual is a sign of the finest cultivation. But I will research it further and report here.
Quelle: Department of Medieval Art and The Cloisters. “Private Devotion in Medieval Christianity.” In Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History. New York: The Metropolitan Museum of Art, 2000–. http://www.metmuseum.org/toah/hd/priv/hd_priv.htm (October 2001)
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