How does the “new” Furness Rudder memorial adapt an ancient Christian symbol?

Rudder Memorial, 1880, newly reattributed to Frank Furness

As I continued to ponder the Rudder memorial’s new re-attribution to Furness (click here for last week’s post), I returned to my first words about the plaque 4 years ago that suggested its sophisticated design “recalls some Gospel covers.” When I revisited Gospel covers just now, I found such a striking similarity that it seemed meant to be recognized. Why? 

I’ll retrace my path. The Rudder memorial’s kinship to Gospel covers rests in its central brass plaque. I learned (since Gospel covers are new for me) that decorated plaques have provided protective covers, in various materials, over centuries for bound volumes that contain only the Gospels, Christianity’s core texts.

Plaque for book cover, Limoges, France, c. 12th c

I compared the Rudder memorial to one of the most famous such plaques, a 12th-century book cover in enameled copper with inlaid stones by the celebrated artisans of Limoges, France. Its basic imagery, I learned, is as traditional as its artistic quality is exceptional. 

The image or symbol of Jesus Christ (often within the almond-shaped vesica), framed by symbols of the four Evangelists, is a centuries-old symbol of Christianity or the Church, asserting the authenticity of its transmitted view of Jesus Christ and the Word. The composition appears frequently on covers for Gospel books used in church rites. Gospel books are so important to such rites even today that decorated portable examples are often featured in Gospel processions and presentations or readings. For some communities, including High-Church Anglican/Episcopalians, the Gospel book cover, usually small (c. 12 in. high), is made visually riveting for procession and presentation, its importance asserted in its sumptuous material presence. The one you see here is one of the most popular works at The Metropolitan Museum of Art, given in 1917 by J. Pierpont Morgan, suggesting its prestige among private collectors in the 19th century. 

Confirming their ongoing importance, “deluxe” Gospel covers with this composition are still produced and bought. Here’s a model for Episcopal churches by C.M. Almy available online, with the Evangelists’ “compartments” forming the cross that anchors the vesica, as in the Rudder memorial.

So back to Furness’ Rudder memorial. Like ornate Gospel covers, the memorial is masterfully designed, crafted, and visually arresting, even if more restrained in its detail. It’s also monumental (about 6 x 4 feet), magnifying a familiar Christian symbol. 

Yet Furness adapted that symbol to frame an epitaph that’s focused in content and executed in large, well-spaced and differently colored characters. Furness’ judicious 2-D sense makes Dr. Rudder a balanced part of the symbol.

Placed within Christ’s domain, surrounded by the Evangelists, Dr. Rudder’s bond with Christ and the Church becomes paramount. Perhaps we’re meant to see an exemplary High-Church Episcopal priest: modern champion of the “true” early Church (in High-Church terms ), a dedicated apostolic successor and advocate of the Word, Sacrament, and Church structure. St. Stephen’s was still High-Church and Dr. Rudder, a graduate of, and influential protagonist in, the High-Church General Theological Seminary in New York.

The memorial’s size and setting play a large role in the plaque’s message too, I think. In executing the design on a monumental scale for this public space, Furness broadcast this central Christian creed as nowhere else in his redecoration of St. Stephen’s. Embedded, at ground level, in the nave as a unifying statement within St. Stephen’s new symbolic universe, the memorial likely drew attention with its size and a surface vibrancy that we can no longer appreciate, given its darkening with exposure and changed area lighting.

The Rudder memorial invites us to think ever more about Furness’ command of the symbolic language of form and color in space, in this case time-honored Christian ones. Come see!

— Suzanne Glover Lindsay, St. Stephen’s historian and curator