The Tree of the Cross

“The fiery sword no longer guards the gate of Eden, for in a strange and glorious way the wood of the Cross has quenched its flames.  The sting of death and the victory of hell are now destroyed, for Thou art come my Saviour, crying unto those in hell: ‘Return again to Paradise.”


I have recently completed a small but highly interesting project, two years in the making, and involving several master artisans. It is a wooden cross with carved stone icons, crafted like a jewel, wholly traditional, and yet quite unlike anything seen before.

This is one of those projects that grew, perhaps providentially, from an initially simple commission. The client wished for Jonathan Pageau to carve an iconographic cross from stone to hang on the wall. But a stone cross is fragile, so we considered how to frame it. As the frame became more elaborate, I suggested the cross ought to have a more prominent liturgical function. Ultimately we decided to make two bases for it – one that allows it to stand on a table for veneration, and another, a tall shaft, that allows it to be used as a processional cross. It is intended to be a companion piece to a gospel book we made for the same client.



I began by designing all the parts, and sent templates to Jonathan. He carved the four icons in steatite, a fine stone from Africa that was used to carve icons in ancient Byzantine times. He also gilded certain details, which considerably increases the material beauty of the carving. I crafted the wooden frame, edging it in African rosewood and inlaying the front and sides with marquetry banding. Finally I designed the turned base, processional shaft, and matching candlesticks, and had them made by a master wood-turner. These parts are made from instrument-grade American curly maple and walnut. I ebonized the walnut with ferrous sulfate solution and finished all the woodwork with shellac and wax.

Thus this work is a collaboration among four artists: myself, the designer and woodworker; Jonathan Pageau, the carver; Lee Henson, maker of the marquetry banding; and Ashley Harwood, master turner.



Stylistically, this project draws from several traditional sources to synthesize what might be considered a new style. The use of inlay in Orthodox woodwork became prevalent in Greece in the 17th century. There are many fine doors and other furnishings on Mt. Athos that include inlay banding, and there is the spectacular example of the abbatial throne at the Phanar in Istanbul. This type of inlay work was, in a sense, foreign to Orthodoxy, but it arrived in Greece via simultaneous influence from both east and west. In the 15th-16thcenturies, inlaid furniture was developed to great refinement in the Islamic world, and at the same time, Italian masters began a fashion of decorating choir stalls and sacristy cupboards with a tour-de-force of marquetry. So it is no surprise that Greek monasteries imitated the beauty of foreign inlay work, and thus baptized this craft into Orthodox tradition.

Choir stalls, Church of Santa Maria in Organo, Verona, Italy, 16th century.

Inlaid door, Stavronikita, Mt. Athos

Abbatial throne, Ecumenical Patriarchate, Istanbul, 17th century

Much later, in the 19th century, inlay work became popular in American woodworking, not so much in fine furniture from urban centers, but in folk-woodwork, often made by farmers in wintertime. This American inlay-work often bears a striking resemblance to the old Athonite pieces. Whenever I observe a connection like this – an accidental resemblance of an American tradition to an Orthodox one, I know that it is a connection worth developing. After all, emphasizing these cultural sympathies is the natural way for Orthodoxy to become at home in a new land. As an artist, I also recognize that this process is periodically necessary to breathe new life into Orthodox tradition, to keep it fresh.

Inlaid picture frame, American, 19th century

Inlaid box, American, 19th century

Inlaid sideboard, American, 19th century

I hope you’ll agree that this carved and inlaid cross, made with materials and traditions from both sides of the world, constitutes a successful and inspiring marriage, and provides a glimpse of the staggering beauty that American Orthodoxy could potentially offer the world.

DSC_5822 used

DSC_5785 used

DSC_5730 used

DSC_5727 used

DSC_5586 used

DSC_5717 used

DSC_5589 used

DSC_5590 used

DSC_5366 usedDSC_5608 usedDSC_5692 used

DSC_5840 used

DSC_5665 used

DSC_5634 used

DSC_5713 used

DSC_5659 used

DSC_5755 used


Source: A Carved and Inlaid Cross, a Collaborative Work by 




Shine, Cross of the Lord, shine with the light of thy grace upon the hearts of those that honor thee.

On Earth As It Is In Heaven ❧

To forget this Beauty is to lose sight of the Heavenly Kingdom. Above all we must learn to desire Beauty. It was not for theology or propriety that the Byzantines so adorned their temples. It was for Beauty. In Beauty lies Truth, and by it we show our Love for God.

Hagia Sophia Interior (Ayasofya) - Istanbul


In 988, emissaries of Prince Vladimir of Kiev visited Hagia Sophia. They famously remarked, “only this we know, that god dwells there among men.” This statement highlights the attitude towards holy temples that was universal among ancient religions – that a god actually lived in the temple. Christianity has moved away from this belief, but Orthodoxy retains it as a liturgical concept. In an Orthodox church, Christ and the saints are present among the faithful. Prayers are directed towards their icons, not towards the sky. …



… This is a great difference from Western architecture. A Gothic church is a monument offered up to God. It is an attempt by man to order and beautify all that exists in creation. It points upward to God the Father who is outside of it, and prayers are directed likewise. in contrast, an Orthodox church is introverted. The interior represents Heaven, and to enter it is to step into the New Jerusalem. God dwells there among men, and they have no need of the sun, neither of the moon, for the Glory of God illumines it (cf. Revelation 21 : 23).



Light pours into a Gothic church through great decorated windows. Broken into dazzling colors, it overwhelms the materiality of the walls. The stonework itself magnifies the effect, as it is thin and delicate, and carven with most delicate tracery. The weight of the stone is denied. The worshipper is at once conscious of the awesome radiance and power of the light without and the tenuous structure of the material within. The light beautifies the structure by dematerializing it, even until the stone itself looks like rays of light.



The walls of an Orthodox church are immensely thick and strong. The windows are small and up high, set deeply into the openings. The light is seen reflected off the thickness of the wall, rather than directly from the windows. In some Byzantine churches the window is translucent alabaster or marble, so that the light seems to glow from within the wall itself. Gold mosaics or bright frescoes play the light from many surfaces. Polished lamps and inlaid furniture reflect highlights from every direction. Deep aisles or side chapels behind arches appear as mysterious shadows in the distance, which make the church look brighter by the rich contrast. This is mass transfigured by light. It is the same light as in the icons, holy and all- pervading, the Uncreated Light which emanates from god to his creation. The stone and plaster glow from within. They do not seem transitory, but more real. Walls and piers seem as silent and as still as ancient mountains. They are bathed with the Light of Christ, and are sustained and strengthened by it as we are.

… A church building is the structure and organization of all the icons within it. As a unified edifice, these make up a single integrated icon which encompasses all the history and theology of the Church. The organization of the icons broadly follows three architectural axes.

The first axis is west to east. This is the liturgical axis. The narthex repre- sents the fallen world, and is used for preparation and exorcisms, for judg- ment is at the gates of heaven. The nave represents the redeemed world, or the Church, where the faithful gather among the saints for the worship of god. The sanctuary represents highest heaven; the altar is the throne of god and his tomb. (1)


The second axis is vertical and can be understood as hierarchical. The Pantocrator is at the top of the dome with hands outspread, embracing the universe he created. Below are angels in their appropriate ranks, followed

 by the evangelists, representing the beginning of the church, and then the saints in their tiers below. To the medieval mind, hierarchy meant freedom; it was the mark of identity and security. This axis and hierarchy exist also in the iconostasis as a miniature version of the same concept. The vertical axis has another interpretation which is the approach of god and man. The dome, most brightly lit and filled with angels, is heaven. It touches the nave at the pendentives, where the evangelists are painted, because they record the meeting of god and man. alternately, some churches have four great feasts which are theophanies at the pendentives, for the same reason. The Theotokos of the sign in the apse represents the Church reaching back up to god. Christ appears in the sign before her, emphasizing that by the Incarnation He is already with Her.


The third axis is circular and horizontal, the interplay of icons cycling around the nave and relating to one another across it. This axis often por- trays the flow of time, although it can express many other relationships as well. The great feasts may be ordered chronologically around the nave, or specific feasts may be combined or face one another to highlight theological connections. In a large church there may be hundreds of biblical and historical scenes, and their placement with respect to one another and to the principal feasts can suggest almost limitless depths of interpretation.

Historically, church builders have struggled with the interplay of these three axes. …



… Of all forms, the cube and the dome are the most sacred and universal in architecture. The cube or square represents the earth, while the dome symbolizes the sky. It was ever the desire of the Romans to combine these forms and represent the universe. They achieved this at Hagia Sophia. The square nave has the most water-like pavement in the world. Sheets of wavy blue-gray marble flow from the altar like the river of the water of life from the Throne of God. Rows of columns rise from the banks like trees. Amazingly, the builders abandoned the thousand-year-old tradition of the Classical orders, and crafted a new type of capital which looks like the fronds of palms blowing in the wind. The arches above the capitals are decorated similarly. The whole nave is like a walled garden of unimaginable scale, the very image of Paradise.








In Islam they build mosques that have the quality of jewel boxes. They are ornamented with a tremendous richness and regal splendor, but are completely devoid of anything iconographic, anything representational. They seem like abstract spaces, as does the Muslim worship within these spaces — the bowing down toward a mihrab, which is, in and of itself, nothing, but only an abstract architectural gesture that indicates the direction of Mecca. And of course, the Islamic faith emphasizes that man is very low and that God is very high, and that, really, the two do not meet; they surely do not meet in the sense that they meet in Christianity. So regardless of how beautiful a mosque may be, mosque architecture has never sought to convey an impression that God is within the mosque. It only conveys the impression that man has attempted to dignify himself by beautifying the mosque to an extent that man might be found worthy to kneel before God (because, of course, one only kneels in a mosque). So, if it is true that the emissaries of St. Vladimir attended services in an Orthodox Church, a Catholic Church, and in a mosque, I think it’s very appropriate that they would have observed that only in the Orthodox Church does it seem that God dwells with men. The very specific and deliberate attempt of Orthodox liturgical art is to convey that impression, and this is, of course, the fundamental gospel of Christianity.


… A good modern building flooded with white light can be beautiful and people will often call such a building uplifting or inspiring. But we need to remember that the purpose of liturgical architecture, of an Orthodox church, is not to uplift and inspire but to make us mindful of the presence of God and the saints. Traditional architecture does this iconographically by revealing the beauty of the uncreated light shining through the saints, through the icons, and by suggesting the veil of mystery and the cloud of witnesses around the altar. For this iconographic technology to be effective requires a certain dim and mysterious light so that the reflections of light off of the gilded icons can be seen as brilliant and even supernatural in the setting of a dark church. A church that is flooded with natural light robs the icons of their ability to shine more brightly than the sun.



(1) For the full article “ON EARTH AS IT IS IN HEAVEN ❧ Form and Meaning in Orthodox Architecture by ANDREW GOULD, go to

(2) For excerpts of the article “Mass Transfigured by Light”: The Iconic Vision of an Orthodox Church and ANDREW GOULD’s interview, featured in the current issue of Road to Emmaus Journal, go to