Iconic mosaics of Madaba

Hugh & Colleen Gantzer

In a predominantly Muslim nation, we discovered much of our ancient Christian heritage. A legendary age ago, austerely beautiful Jordan was the home of hardy tribes of pastoral people. Their chequered history and beliefs became the Old Testament of the Bible. Out of these remembered events has grown an enormous body of sacred art. In South India, isolated from much of the turmoil and vandalism of savage invaders, other beliefs have been captured in stone and metal. In West Asia, where the socio-cultural environment had not encouraged the development of such techniques, they chose another way to preserve their traditions. They created mosaics. Using materials found in their bare mountains and deserts, they made detailed pictures by fitting together tiny pieces of coloured stone like an intricate, and virtually indestructible, jigsaw. This graphic technique, dating back many thousands of years, was raised to an exquisite art form in the churches and houses of Jordan’s Madaba.

Our first impression of Madaba was that it was a desert settlement still growing, very unhurriedly, into a town. It seemed to be snugly contented with its past and viewed the modern world with a sort of happy, drowsy, serenity. We meandered along a narrow lane, hemmed in by sun-warmed walls and entered the Greek orthodox church of St. George.

Profusely enriched with icons, orthodox churches, as might be expected, retain much of the ambience of early Christianity. Created in an age before their artists had discovered the technique of simulating depth by using perspective, these images are flat, two-dimensional. Nevertheless, a mosaic of Madonna and Child evoked all the love and warmth that a more realistic oil painting would have done. Empathy overcomes the absence of technical illusion.

Icons, however, are not the prime attraction of this church: its floor is. We stood in awe before a huge, historic, mosaic, once considered to be the oldest cartographic work in the world. It had originally contained two million pieces, measured 16 by 6 meters and was made around 560 AD. Vandals and an earthquake have partially destroyed it and reduced its size but it is still so accurate that it can be used to illustrate a guide book to the ancient Holy Land. Cities and religious places are identified; oases have palm trees, and a freshwater stream pours into the hyper-saline Dead Sea. We do not know why such a map had been created on the floor of a church but art and religion have always been closely linked. This was probably the artists’ way of paying their homage to their creator.

Madaba offers a treasure trove of their ancient art and we wandered through old houses, which have now become museums to preserve their superb mosaics. Reputedly, the oldest mosaics in Madaba are still being restored in the Church of the Apostles. This 578 AD building is not a living church but an archaeological site. In the middle of its floor, there is a curious mosaic. It shows a lightly clad woman emerging from the sea, surrounded by waves and sea creatures. A plaque claimed that the figure represented the Christian faith. We, however, feel that it was inspired by a pre-Christian deity absorbed into the Christian tradition. As a faith matures and expands, it adjusts and incorporates icons and beliefs from earlier religions to make it easier for their followers to accept the evolving dispensation.

Off another lane, we trod down some time-worn steps, and entered the Archaeological Park. It had, apparently, been a number of old, middle class, houses and the conservation architects had, very sensitively, left these dwellings, and their mosaics, untouched. The former residents of these houses had, quite literally, walked on art. Their feet, unshod and washed at the door, had gently polished the stone chips giving them a sheen that no mechanical device could ever have imparted. Even after so many centuries, the floral designs, abstract motifs, and depictions of living creatures were even brighter and clearer than they had been when they were so painstakingly assembled, chip by hand-pressed chip.

We were tired but filled with wonder when we sat down to lunch in the tree-shaded courtyard of another old house, now the Haret Jdoudna restaurant. Jordanians are as happily vociferous as we are at meals and Mediterranean food is robust and healthful. Suitably restored we went in quest of an answer to our next question: is the creation of mosaics a dying art?

Happily it’s not. We visited a mosaic factory where handicapped women created mosaics using techniques evolved out of ancient skills. The limestone rocks of Jordan come in many colours. In this workshop they were clipped, and trimmed into finger-nail sized bits, and then inserted into wet plaster or mortar to form interlocking geometric shapes, flowers and leaves, animals and birds, religious icons. Then, just off the Church of St George, we found a shop glittering with mosaics: framed pictures, trays, wall plates. They shimmered in the light falling in from the street like a secret hoard. Fascinated, we spoke to the owner. He had earned a nest egg in the Gulf where he had supervised Indian construction workers. He welcomed us as if we were long lost friends.

We bought a framed mosaic which now glitters on the wall of our dining room. It is a reassuring reminder that people of a distant Islamic nation still respect our ancient Christian heritage.