A visual Gospel

Joseph Shaw looks at the history of the Christmas crib

Surely no Catholic family home is complete, at Christmas, without a Crib: a three-dimensional representation of the Stable at Bethlehem, with its inhabitants. Like the Easter Garden discussed in an earlier edition of this magazine, the Crib not only marks the liturgical season, but lends itself to the marking of specific days. The Christ Child can be placed in the hitherto empty manger on Christmas morning (or on return from Midnight Mass), and at the same time the shepherds can join the Holy Family, the ox and the ass, and the angels. The three Wise Men can join the throng at Epiphany. The whole arrangement should of course remain on display until the end of the Christmas season, which is not Boxing Day, as some of our secular neighbours appear to imagine, but Candlemas, the Feast of the Purification, on 2 February.

The history of the Crib is an interesting one. It is clearly a cousin of the Medieval Mystery Play, another way of representing and making vivid key scenes from Scripture, which embedded them in the late Medieval Catholic imagination. It would seem that we have an exact time and place for the establishment of this tradition. According to St Bonaventure, St Francis of Assisi, obliged to organise a Midnight Mass out of doors because of the large number of the faithful at Grecio, Italy, in 1223, had the idea of having a manger on display, complete with straw and, presumably, a full-sized bambino figure. Recognising that this was something of an innovation, St Bonaventure notes that St Francis got permission for it from the Pope himself. When the time came to place the child in the crib, a respected former soldier, Master John of Grecio, solemnly affirmed afterwards that he had seen the bambino come alive in St Francis’ arms.

One connection worth noting is between the St Francis’ crib and his singing of the Gospel on this occasion (Francis was ordained deacon, never a priest). The crib is a visual Gospel, and its place in churches is entirely appropriate, as well as in private homes.

Clearly the tradition of representations of the Infant Jesus, in cribs and in other contexts, became very popular in the Church as time went on. While taking part in the Roman Forum Summer Symposium in Gardone Riviera in northern Italy last July, I visited the rather unique local Museo del Divino Infante (Museum of the Infant Jesus). This houses an astonishing collection of large figures of the Christ child, the majority of them dating from the 18th century, many of them from Spain. These are really charming, without descending into sentimentality. They are more realistic than the tiny adults one sees in some Medieval representations of the Infant Jesus, but they are still endowed with dignity and serenity, even authority; one could actually pray before them. The artificial emotions of sentimentalism make art useless for devotional purposes.

The 18th century displays for public veneration, in churches, were joined by domestic versions. The same museum has an enormous display of Neapolitan crib figures from that century, in an extended landscape, a scene which includes not only the saints, shepherds, and wise men directly involved in the story, but people going about their business in the village and nearby countryside. The figures are wooden, wearing specially tailored clothes, and were gathered by the German art collector Hiky Mayr.

The domestic crib scene took on special significance in revolutionary France. With the closure of churches and religious persecution, there was a greater focus on the devotional life of the home. In Provence, in particular, the domestic nativity scene became firmly established, populated by ‘santons’ (little saints), which are still produced and displayed in the region, which like their 18th century precursors can include the nearby peasants, innkeepers, and layabouts. The figures are made of clay, and sometimes, again, wear fabric clothes. Local museums and displays of these are worth a visit from readers who find themselves in Provence.

The tradition of domestic nativity scenes represents a wonderful survival of folk art and popular piety, purified in the furnace of persecution.

Nativity scenes can be purchased from the LMS shop.