Gregory of Nyssa, who made the following observation in his treatise on the Life of Moses: From this we learn also the mystery of the Virgin: The light of divinity which through birth shone from her into human life did not consume the burning bush, even as the flower of her virginity was not withered by giving birth (2.21). But the theological foundation for the idea goes back to a Church Father of the 300s, St. The monastery itself dates back to the earliest centuries of Christianity, although it’s unclear how early the icon of the burning bush appeared. Catherine Monastery in Egypt, located at one of the traditional sites of the burning bush. The icon, according to a paper at the icon museum, can be traced back to the St. The same idea inspired a Coptic hymn, titled the Burning Bush: The Burning Bush seen by Moses We praise you therefore in hymns to the ages (Ode Eight, The Eirmos). The youth vividly prefigured this, standing in the midst of fire and remaining unconsumed, O undefiled and holy Virgin.
Take these lines from the Akathist Hymn to Mary: The great mystery of your childbirth did Moses perceive within the burning bush. The association between the two is deeply rooted in the Eastern Orthodox liturgy. But the burning bush? That’s probably a new one to many of us. Many Catholics are familiar with the many women of the Old Testament who prefigure Mary, like Eve or Hannah. The title of the icon is the Mother of God of the Unburnt Bush. In the corners are four narrative scenes. The spokes and clouds around the star are filled with various angelic or saint-like figures. Here she is much smaller and so is Christ, relative to her and the icon as a whole. In most icons, Mary looms large, her head bowed ponderously. In the center, where the light would be brightest is the Virgin with Christ. Each star has four “spokes,” as one writer puts it.
The center of each star is over the other with their beams pointing out in different places. The icon (pictured above) has two giant stars spread over it. But this icon, on first glance, was completely inexplicable. I had taken time to pause over a row of icons showing the Anastasis or descent of Christ to hell. I was in the Russian Icon Museum in central Massachusetts, on assignment for a travel article, and had seen the increasingly familiar parade of Theotokos icons, usually depicting Mary with her head bowed in devotion, with the smaller Christ child cradled in the center of the image. To this convert from evangelical Protestantism, icons of Mary had long exuded a kind of strangeness, but this one was the strangest of all. At first glance, this image of the Mother of God was completely inexplicable.