Once early Christianity became the dominant religion in Western Europe, the Eastern story of a Jewish messiah in a culture under Roman domination started changing from a story which marks the death and Resurrection of Jesus as a rupture from Judaism in the East, to the full expression of Christianity as flourishing in the West, where most of its believers lived.
The division between Jews and Christians deepened, and as the new religion grew, anti-semitism became important to medieval European Christians. The idea that "Jews killed Jesus" developed into all manner of writings and art which portrayed the "good guys" in the narrative as somehow less Jewish than they were, including Jesus himself. Christian churches had some subtle and some direct references to Judaism, which were essential to the religion's assertions that it was new, that it was a fulfillment of Judaism (making remaining Jewish an act contrary to godliness), and that the Christian gospels and letters redefined the Old Testament as a foreshadowing of the true religion. Churches needed to create accessible teaching of the essentials of Christianity to adherents who were mostly illiterate in general, and overwhelmingly illiterate in the chosen languages of the Church, Greek and Latin.
That European Christian communities asserted Jews were "other" and inferior is well-documented; what may be lost on many modern visitors to centuries-old churches is the symbolic meaning of figures in art which teach earlier parishioners how to regard Jewish people and Judaism's role in Christianity.
Medallion of the Crucifixion, 1415-1425, Louvre Museum
The heroic characters in the story of Jesus' death and resurrection are rarely represented as Jewish, but rather are dressed and featured as much like the figures in their contemporary community: ancient authorities and rulers are clothed as medieval (or later) kings and bishops were; women were shown as high-status women, or as women in humble dress due to their mourning and travail. Looking at the image above, the main characters are dressed in rich robes and hats. While Mary and Mary Magdalene's clothes may appear simple, the (literally) royal-blue robes are understood by the intended audience as reserved for those of high rank.
The medallion form restricted the artist's options into crowding a bunch of people into the scene without making them too small to discern. So, the angle at which this medallion is properly upright is somewhat debatable. The curators in the Louvre decided to display it this way, even though it places Christ parallel to the ground (such that his blood falls from his wounds in a way which would defy reality if he were upright). But this choice pays off, given the restrictions. The cross (and Christ's body) divide the scene into quadrants. The right-uppermost quadrant has larger figures: Mary Magdalene, John, (possibly) Simon of Cyrene, and one of the soldiers nailing Christ to the Cross. In the bottom-right, Mary is alone, kissing Christ's hand before the figure in the lower-left quadrant nails it to the wood. She is the largest figure after Christ, which should gain her a lot of visual weight, except that the darkness of her robe somewhat obscures her. In the bottom-left, a soldier is about to nail Jesus' wrist to the wood. Finally, in the upper-left are Joseph of Arimithea, Longinus with his spear, and Nicodemus.
The medallion teaches the hierarchy of the holy characters through their scale, haloes, and richness of clothing. The crucifixion is essential iconography in Christianity, and whoever owned this medallion may have worn it as a mark of piety and of status (given its expensive materials).
Deposition Capital, Madrid Archeological Museum, 12th-13th centuries
In this capital, we see similar iconography, but it's a different part of the story: the deposition (taking down) of the dead Jesus from the Cross. On the left is Mary, again kissing the not-nailed hand of her son, but the hole in the arm of the Cross above her head signals that this is not the beginning of the Crucifixion. On the right side of this face of the capital is another woman, with her hand to her face (a common symbol of sadness or dismay). She is probably Mary Magdalene. In front of her is Joseph of Arimithea , helping Nicodemus take Jesus off the Cross. Jesus is of a scale (as in the medallion) where, if he were to stand up, he'd be as tall as the Cross. So would Joseph and Nicodemus, but they are positioned beneath Jesus' arms in a way which diminishes their stature.
There is another case here of dressing the holy figures in recognizable contemporary garb: both Nicodemus and Joseph wear turbans, and Jesus wears a high-status keffiyeh. Nicodemus, in particular, has a striped turban. This headgear was typical to Muslims in Spain under the Reconquista. The workshop of artists were likely Mudejar; Muslims under Christian rule, who produced Islamic-derived art, even in Christian scenes.
How does the Deposition differ from the Crucifixion in didactic purpose?
Deposition, 1178, Parma Cathedral, by Antelami
Antelami's bas-relief version of the deposition is considered a masterpiece for its craftsmanship and its moving representation of the event. The figures which balance the sides of the central scene all bow their heads in grief, but also in worship. The deposition represents that moment between Christ's anguish (and dying) on the Cross, and the fulfilled promise of Resurrection. It is a time of mourning for believers the enormity of what events have led to the cataclysm. This is the time when continued faith is most challenged and most called for. It encourages the viewer to feel empathy and sympathy for the figures in the story.
Deposition Sculptural Group, National Art Museum of Catalunya, last half of 12th Century
This wooden sculpture set of the Deposition (not complete here--more figures are in another museum, and John has been placed farther away from this grouping) is life-sized (for the time). The paint is mostly gone (though much of it remains on Christ), but a vividness, if not realism, is obvious in the colors in evidence. Even though the faces are mask-like, they convey sadness with the bowed heads and down-cast eyes. Though the original cross is gone, we can see the tell-tale iconography in Mary's engagement with Christ's non-nailed right hand, Nicodemus' embrace of Christ, and Christ's extended left hand, which has a nail in it, with blood emerging from the wound.
Nicodemus carries Christ down from the Cross
In this close-up, you can see the intimacy between Nicodemus and Christ's body. It almost looks as though Nicodemus is clinging to Christ for support, rather than preventing the body from collapsing. A curious figure holds the important position of standing closest to Christ's right side of the Cross: she is labeled "Ecclesia Exaltur." This roughly translates into "The Church, raised up." She holds a pennant with a Greek cross design on it, which may be an acknowledgement that the Christian church began in the East. In this moment of grief, she (as the church) comes into existence.
Mary Magdalene, Mary, and Ecclesia
She is richly dressed, and carries an oil lamp in her right hand. Her sad gaze is upward at Christ, though her head and posture are submissive. Contrary to the usual iconography, she is inserted between Mary and Christ's body, looking as though she could be a daughter of Mary, or, better, a daughter-in-law as the Bride of Christ (which is what the Church is often called). The lamp she carries indicates that she is being present as the Wise Virgin, who, in the parable in Matthew, is ready for her Bridegroom.
Behind Mary we find Peter, charged as the founder of the Church, and Mary Magdalene. Mary Magdalene is from her usual place in Crucifixion scenes, where she mourns by Christ's feet, often kissing them. By the 12th century, Mary Magdalene had fallen quite far in the Church's estimation, conflated with the woman taken in adultery and the woman who washes Jesus' feet with perfume and her hair. It would be a century after this work was made that she becomes, according to Thomas Aquinas the "Apostle to the Apostles."
Synagogue with Centurion
The figure of Ecclesia in this panel has a counterpart, balancing the composition: "Sinagoga Deponitur"--translated as "The Synagogue, put down." With much of medieval art, especially those representing the Crucifixion and the Deposition, down-playing or ignoring the Jewish ethnicity of the main characters in the Passion, this is a surprising addition. She is shown here without an oil lamp, so that she can be seen, by comparison to Ecclesia as a Foolish Virgin. She has dropped her blank pennant; the staff snapped in two. She has her arm up in a gesture of dismay, as the angel Raphael thrusts her head down, commanding she reverence Christ. If this were not enough, behind her is a Roman Centurion with his right arm raised as though he's about to strike her. This is by no means the most violent representation of Sinagoga in art, but its implied violence is counter to the rest of those in the scene, even the Jews and the gambling soldiers behind her.
Deposition, France, 1270-1280, Louvre Museum
A century later, this Deposition is made in Paris, carved out of elephant ivory. There's no provenance of this sculpture group before the 19th century, so there's no knowing whether this was made for a church or for the private use of a bishop or rich person. It is small (roughly 12 inches for each standing figure) , but precious: it was painted with gold paint and other colors, most of which are difficult to see. The cross is missing. The principal figures of the Deposition were raised up, according to the arrangement created by the curator of the Louvre. Ecclesia and Synagogue, like the figures in the Antelami panel, bracket the scene.
Church/Ecclesia, as Wise Virgin
Though this statuette is badly damaged, it is still discernible that figure wears a crown and veil. Her face holds an uncharacteristic (for medieval religious art) smile. She carries her oil lamp, which is presumably full. Her posture is upright, and she is richly dressed. You can see the gold borders on her gown.
Church as "The New Law," Milan Duomo, Balcony over West Portal, by Camillo Pacetti, 1810
The image of Church as Wise Virgin persisted in European religious art. This sculpture, made in 1810, recasts her as "The New Law," which is to be read as Christianity. She has her full lamp, but she also rests her arm on the cross as though it is either a shield, or a huge sword. She's been given a gold-painted, sun-like corona, which reminds me of Sol Invictus, where such rays were used for Mithras, and for early Roman representations of Christ. (You're not imagining things: this sculpture is considered to be an inspiration for the Statue of Liberty in 1886.)
Synagogue, as Foolish Virgin, 1270-1280, Louvre
Returning to the Louvre's Deposition, we find Synagogue, in contrast to its Ecclesia, has the same bent posture as the figure in the Antelami panel. Her dress is plain, and she carries no oil lamp. She has two other accessories which became more common in the 13th century, as a way of explaining whom she represents: she is blindfolded, which was meant to indicate that Judaism, in refusing to convert to Christianity, made itself willfully blind. She carries tablets, like those used to represent Mosaic Law, but they are dangling downward, instead of resting in the crook of her arm, where they could be read. They are in her left hand, which further casts them in a negative light.
Synagogue, as Foolish Virgin, plaster cast (1924) from Strassbourg Cathedral, circa 1230, Musee de l'Architecture et du Patromoine, Paris
In Strassbourg Cathedral, this version of Synagogue uses the same broken pennant seen in the Antelami panel. Like the Louvre's Synagogue sculpture, she is in plain dress, blindfolded, and carries the tablets of Mosaic Law close to the ground, in her left hand. Her head, facing downward, seems to turn away from the front of her body as though she is ashamed, and looks backward.
Synagogue, "The Old Law," by Camillo Pacetti, Milan Duomo, Balcony over West Portal, 1810
By the time the Enlightenment rolls around, the figure of Synagogue is rehabilitated somewhat, at least in this sculpture in Milan. She wears a headdress which covers her hair (which was Jewish custom in the Middle Ages), and it has some Hebraic characters on her hat, which I couldn't discover whether they really said something or were just to signal whom she represented. She wears Aaron's breastplate, sort of. (As described in Exodus, there were 12 gemstones in the plate. It was referred to as the "breastplate of Judgment".) And, she carries tablets which connote Mosaic Law, upright this time. Does this suggest that, to the sculptor and his patron at least, the "Old Law," though superseded by the "New Law," still had a place in Christianity in the 19th century?
The most interesting (and rather puzzling) element of this statue is the set of bells on the hem of her skirt. There are three (or more) interpretations of the bells being worn by a representative of Judaism: 1) Aaron is described in Exodus as being required by God to wear bells on his garments to ward off evil. So, perhaps the sculptor was drawing directly from Exodus to personify "The Old Law." 2) In some regions in the Middle Ages, Jews (and lepers) were required to wear bells, to warn Christians of their presence. In this case, the bells would be a sign of Synagogue's negative distance from Christianity. 3) In the 14th and 15th century, it was the fashion for noblewomen to wear bells on their clothes; they were called folly bells. It could be that the sculptor wanted to portray Synagogue as a noble woman in antique fashion.
Owl as Judaism, St. Pierre Cathedral, Poitiers, 13th century capital
This capital from Saint Pierre Cathedral in Poitiers points out that anti-semitism in the Middle Ages was expressed in multiple ways in religious art. One prevalent device was that of installing carvings of owls, especially owls with either eagles or doves attacking them. In this example, the owl (who was thought to see poorly or be blind--go figure how they developed that idea, given that owls are generally night predators) is being pecked to death by doves, a symbol of Christianity. The doves have strength in numbers against the large, imposing owl, which may illustrate the idea that Christians must join together to fight against threats to their religion. Those concepts about owls appear to be lost to most modern church visitors, who (I've witnessed) express joy at seeing beautiful owls in the building, thinking they're a representation of Creation. Which, in one case I know of, is true:
Animals on the eve of Nativity, John Piper, St. Mary's Church, Iffley, England 1982
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