About Our Rose Window 

The rose window at All Saintsʼ Church is intended to represent the pivotal incident of Pentecost, that moment in time when the Disciples of Christ received the grace of the Holy Spirit in the form of twelve flames descending upon them (Acts 2:3).

The window, though contemporary in concept and modest in size, possesses a comprehensive design very much in the tradition of 12th and early 13th Century mediaeval glass. Not only has the same rich color palette been drawn upon but the general asymmetrical scheme of the tracery is not disparate from that of the famed “Bishopʼs Eye” (tree of Life) rose at Englandʼs Lincoln Cathedral (1235). This basically balanced tracery of the “bush of Moses” is an especially imaginative adaptation paralleling traditional rose windows of the Middle Ages and the concept directly relates to the great “Tree of Jesse” window at Chartres (1150).

However, the plant depicted in the All Saintsʼ is not a tree but rather represents “the burning bush of Moses, The Lawgiver,” and the non-consuming flames of Sinai become the power-filled cloven tongues of fire which transformed the Apostles from mere mortal followers to holy priests and teachers — in fact the Churchʼs first saints (certainly an appropriate theme for All Saints). Symbolically, the burning bush and the flames of Pentecost unite the Old Testament with the New, paralleling the very concept of Chartresʼ “Tree of Jesse” window.

The “eye” or central design, surrounded by the flames and mystical blue of the rose window is the “LOGOS,” the Greek letter lambda enclosed in the pure crystal triangle of the Trinity. This represents “The Word” as described in the Christmas Gospel (John 1). Here we have the intellectual symbol of Christ “the New Lawgiver,” around whom everything in the Church is centered.

The “burning bush,” forming the windowʼs tracery, with the green leaves of new life added, surrounds the central aureole of the “Logos.” These leaves also symbolize the “healing of the nations.” Superimposed on the branches of the bush are the flames of the Holy Spirit. These cloven tongues of fire move downward to the window below thus uniting the three rectangular openings beneath the rose. The seemingly swirling roundels of rich blue represent the mighty rush of wind which occurred at Pentecost as well as on Mount Sinai.

Following the tradition of all great windows, the purpose of the four Pentecost windows is to remember those who are memorialized as a source of inspiration to their families and friends by giving them, and others, cause for meditation (through the language of symbolism) upon their present condition and their future as un-named members of “the whole company of saints.”

As the great American glassman, Charles J. Connick, wrote: “The entire conception is based upon the belief in the spontaneous emotional appeal of pure color alive in light. It belongs to the region of poetry and should enrich (the buildingʼs) fabric from sunrise to sunset with implications of spiritual beauty beyond the reach of words.”

The Pentecost Rose Window is given to the greater glory of God and in loving memory of Edward Charles LaVille.

The marriage of modern technology with the pure vivid color and spiritual ethos of Romanesque glass represents a landmark accomplishment in the less than century-old tradition of American stained glass.

The use of modern faceted glass in its natural “raw” brilliance returns the viewer to the original state of the first breathtaking glass of Abbot Sugerʼs St. Denis (1144) or William of Sensʼ Canterbury (1180). Excepting figures and borders these windows were also unpainted and were often set with small jewels in much the same way as pure crystal is set in the Ivoryton window. This same simple use of pure color can be seen at Le Mans, Poitiers, and in the early windows at Chartres (Tree of Jesse) as well as at St. Denis and Canterbury.

When discussing pure unpainted glass the famous glassman, Charles J. Connick, once said “dirty old windows and their resistance to light helped establish the notion that cathedral interiors are essentially gloomy places and that modern churches should not have too much light … well designed windows were brilliant harmonious units in their first patterns.” The late Henry Lee Willet emphasized this same truth when first he saw the unusual brightness of the small nave at lvoryton and vehemently urged the designer to explore unpainted *dalle de verre* glass.

The design of the All Saintsʼ Pentecost Rose not only takes into account the virtue of pure color but it also honors the traditional relationship of shadow (or lead lines) to light. Most modern designers have either been disinterested in preserving this tradition or have been unsuccessful. The use of epoxy for setting glass (as in the All Saintsʼ window) has permitted techniques impractical or impossible with traditional lead came setting. These possibilities should certainly be exploited. Even when they translate into a new exciting departure (which indeed they do) there is nevertheless a justifiable reason to execute windows which attempt to rediscover the original 12th Century spiritual content. A window in a church is not a shadow theater displaying silhouettes but it is a source of sacred light.

Light, in the Christian context becomes something very spiritual. This concept goes back to the blinding experience on the road to Damascus. In the 4th Century, St. Augustine wrote, “The power of God is ‘Lightʼ and also the power of His Son and of the Holy Ghost.”

The Abbé Suger and his glassmen believed this, consequently the idea of stained glass as a part of the fabric of the church building is a religious matter. This concept was ignored as the mediaeval spirit waned and was only recognized as once again important to aesthetic excellence within the Twentieth Century.

It is the writerʼs contention that with the rapid growth in the use of faceted glass (at present approximately a third of all church installations are executed in this medium) the inherent spiritual quality of pure color is in danger of being ignored in ecclesiastical installations, and windows in churches will be little different from those designed for corporate headquarters and high-rise office buildings. Especially with the ascendancy of Post-Modern architecture, opportunities for secular use abound. This use should be encouraged where purely decorative aesthetics are most appropriate, but slick, faddish jukebox flash should never enter the chancel.

The 1981 caution of Fulbright Scholar and stained glass artist, Robert Sowers, is worthy of mention in considering the motivation for commissioning windows: “Coventry and the Jerusalem windows of Chagall were all the focus of some particular bootstrap operation with social and political implications that went quite beyond any concern with stained glass, as such, and hence were celebrated out of all proportion to their artistic merit.”

It would seem most appropriate to vigilantly keep the medium subservient to the original intent of its invention when used in a Christian building context. This is the precept which the designer of the All Saintsʼ Pentecost Rose has tried to observe. Such an attitude need not result in stereotyped traditional creations. Even this rose window projects contemporary abstract qualities without offending more traditional taste. This approach has succeeded almost entirely because of the aforementioned theory of ‘Light. The obvious “secret” here is the control of the ‘blues.ʼ E. Crosby Willett commends the designer in writing: “… certainly one of our best recent efforts in this medium … The rich blues juxtaposed against the brilliant rubies are absolutely breathtaking.”

And in speaking of those ‘bluesʼ it is fitting to quote Viollet-le-Duc who said: “One might maintain that the first condition for an artist in glass is to know how to manage blue. The blue is the light in the windows, and light has value only by opposition.”

As for Moses and the Burning Bush we can read in two of Sugerʼs windows still at St. Denis the following:

“Just as the Bush is seen to burn yet is not burned,

So he who is full of the fire Divine burns with it yet is not burned… 

That which Moses hath veiled,

the doctrine of Christ hath unveiled.”

Let us focus our eyes and minds in unity with Brother Sun and seek the true inspiration originally intended by those who first glorified Light through the medium of glass eight centuries ago. — WCB

The Pentecost Rose Window was fabricated by 

the Willet Stained Glass Studios of Philadelphia 

under the supervision of  the late William C. Bendig, 

the designer of the rose window

 and a former Vestryman of this Parish.