Yesterday the Times carried an article stating that Cardinal O’Connor “called for the National Gallery to surrender a Renaissance masterpiece [the baptism of Christ by Piero della Francesca] – because it is a “work of faith” rather than art.” He went on to comment that works such as this 15th century painting ought to be restored to their proper context – a church. Hmmmm . . . .

This is a tricky one. The Cardinal points to something I’ve been talking about here and that is that religious art is not merely “about” faith, but it participates in the life of that community. I remember well the first time I saw an extensive icon exhibit in Washington DC many years ago – how strange I felt seeing these images disconnected from the congregations and homes in which they were an integral part of living the faith. In this light, I think that I can well understand the Cardinal’s overarching point.

On the other hand . . . . As Rachel Campbell-Johnston highlighted in her response to the Cardinal’s comments the idea is a bit mad: “our British clerics are not as rich as Medici popes. Surely the Church has more important priorities than paying for the sort of security systems and climate control mechanisms that an artwork of this enormous historical calibre would need if it were not to mildew and crumble, end up the subject of a ransom demand or be attacked by some attention-grabber.” That is to say that many of these wonderful spiritually charged images would have been lost long ago – especially in England where iconoclasm destroyed vast swathes of the country’s cultural heritage – had they remained in, or been restored to Roman churches across the land. What is more – would they necessarily go to “Roman” Catholic churches, or would they naturally go to Anglican (“English Catholic”) buildings? So now we’re off to the races fighting over a painting that was meant to instill in the viewer higher ideals and a better approach to his/her fellows.

Cambell-Johnston makes another equally valid point, that is what is to say that in a fine museum like the National Gallery one cannot pause, reflect, and be refreshed by the experience? She notes: “if the Archbishop thinks that just because a picture is in a church, people will recognise its specific religious import, then he clearly has not been to St Peter’s in recent years. The Angelus bell rings. Do the crowd bend their heads in respectful silence? No. The cameras keep whirring, the jaws go on champing gum. In fact, the possession of a great artwork is more likely to lead to the desecration of a sacred space.” I was in St. Peters last year and her point is well chosen. I remember standing before the relics of St. Peter – and in the din, and the shoving, the clicking, and whirring, over the noise of audio guides and iPods – it was well nigh on impossible to just have a moment to reflect and appreciate this one place. But you don’t have to go to Rome to see Cambell-Johnston’s point in action – one need only visit St. Paul’s or Westminster Abbey (and its Roman counterpart the cathedral) to experience the same concept. These are not so much “sacred” spaces anymore, but with their unique architecture, and the many pieces of art within, they are themselves works of art – tourist attractions. I’m not suggesting that they ought not to be so – they should, indeed they must be, because they say as much about the history and heritage of our society as they do about the religious faith that produced them. But there is an unmistakable “desacrilisation” that one experiences in these places.

Actually, one witnesses a tension between the desire to encounter the sacred, and the desire to encounter great works of creativity; both among the crowds, and even – within ones self. If anything what this article and response raises is an equally interesting discussion about the nature of sacred space. What constitutes sacred space? Can it be temporary? Can an item that is “sacred” make the space around it sacred? Likewise can displaying a sacred item in a “profane” space desacrilise that work?

Can these works, now disconnected from their original context, continue to participate in the life of faith and not become desacrilised images “about” religion? In their current place – in the National Gallery – can they not work in a new, possibly even better way to draw people to re-consider what it means to believe?