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Shrouded in controversy [link to www.thestar.com]
Burial cloth of Jesus or cynical counterfeit? The enigmatic linen known as the Shroud of Turin has befuddled clerics, scientists and observers for six centuries — and the debate still rages, writes John Moore
Jan. 12, 2006. 03:13 AM
TURIN, ITALY—Sylvana Gribaldi has seen the Shroud of Turin twice, during public expositions in 1998 and 2000. Both occasions were overpowering emotional experiences.
"During the 1998 exhibition, I used to go into the church (where the shroud was on display) in the evenings and sit there and pray for an hour or so," says Sylvana. "I could sense a real presence."
At the next exhibition, in the jubilee year of 2000, she was able to get even closer to Turin's most famous artifact.
"I was very happy during the last exposition because I was selected to read prayers during the procession as thousands of people passed the shroud. It was quite moving," she says.
Such expressions are apt to draw a skeptical squint from people uncomfortable with such devotion, and the shroud, which bears the double image of a bearded man whose body exhibits the scars of crucifixion, certainly has just such a polarizing effect on people.
Some say that the 4.5-metre-long, 1.1-metre-wide piece of linen is the burial cloth of Jesus Christ, miraculously branded with his image at the moment of his resurrection. Others denounce that as superstitious nonsense and say the shroud is a medieval counterfeit.
The debate has simmered ever since the shroud first appeared in the historical record some 6 1/2 centuries ago. The shroud was definitely identified in 1353 as the property of Geoffrey de Charny in France (but some proponents claim to have found mention of it in earlier sources). Even then, some clerics denounced it as a device to extort money from pilgrims.
The de Charny family sold it to Duke Louis of Savoy in 1453, who kept it at Chambery, France, until 1578 when his descendant Emanuele Filiberto moved it to Turin. The Savoy family retained ownership of the shroud until 1983 when it became the property of the Vatican in accordance with the will of Umberto II, the last king of Italy. Pope John Paul II decreed that the shroud would remain in Turin.
It has survived three fires, including one in 1997, despite suffering some scorching and water damage. It has been examined by scientists and subjected to an array of tests including carbon-14 dating, microscopy, chemical analysis, photography and computer imaging. But that has only intensified the debate as just about everybody with an opinion, scholarly or otherwise, has tried to out-debunk each other. Fact or forgery, the shroud continues to fascinate.
"It's a scientific mystery," says Guglielmo Perego, an expert on the shroud and Turin's architecture, who is accompanying me on a visit to the majestic cathedral and adjacent chapel which houses the shroud. "All the rigours of scientific study haven't been able to explain the mysteries of the shroud. If you believe in the Bible, if you believe in Jesus' resurrection, you have less of a problem explaining it."
The cathedral is almost empty on this foggy Sunday morning. Mass is in progress, but there are fewer than 20 worshippers.
There's a larger group of tourists at the shroud's display case. A sign asks visitors to approach silently and respectfully. People are kneeling in prayer at the railing, while others light candles (electric candle-shaped lights because of the fear of fire).
The shroud is kept in a casket-like container behind thick glass. Inside, Guglielmo explains, the cloth "sits on an aluminum bed with a crystal covering. There's no light, no air, just a mixture of inert gases and every quarter of an hour, the pressure, temperature and the mix of the gases is adjusted by computer."
Atop the box sits a thorn branch, and on the wall behind there is a reproduction of a famous photograph taken in 1898 which revealed the figure of the shroud to be a negative image — a shocking revelation that started the momentum for scientific inquiry.
There were no guards, but Guglielmo said there are usually volunteer plainclothes police officers on watch and additional security measures will be in place during the Olympics in February, although the shroud will not be on display (the next public exhibition is not scheduled until 2025).
An anteroom in the church contains a full-size reproduction and photographic exhibits. As an elderly woman, her eyes moist with tears, touches a photograph of the shroud, then makes the sign of the cross, Guglielmo speaks of the remarkable coincidences that evoke such fervour.
"We have a lot of probabilities," he says, looking at the reproduction. "This is the body of a crucified man. Was it Jesus? Was it not Jesus? What are the odds that this person would be killed with exactly the same torture, exactly the same wounds on the head and the back? Everything here corresponds exactly to the sufferings and the death of Jesus. We are not sure, but then, we are not sure of anything, are we?"
A museum dedicated to the shroud — and to examining the debate — is in the crypt of the church. It houses a fascinating collection of artifacts and exhibits that present a chronology of the shroud's history and a discussion of the photographic, scientific and religious record. There's even a remarkable bas relief sculpture which allows blind visitors to "feel" what the shroud looks like.
A video gives a fascinating description of the images on the cloth, then people can tour the exhibits, using an audio guide that resembles a cellphone.
David Anderson, a 24-year-old culinary student from Cincinnati, is pondering one of the displays, which shows a three-dimensional computer image of the man on the shroud. He looks perplexed.
"I can't say that I believe in this," David asserts, then hestitates and shakes his head. "But there's something about it ... you just can't pass over it and say it's all baloney."
That's a common reaction among the people at the museum. Pope John Paul II called the shroud "a challenge to our intelligence" which "forces questions to be raised." And so it does.
If it's a painting, it's a work of singular brilliance: a negative image created centuries before photographic negativity was discovered. A work that displays properties of three-dimensionality and perfect symmetry.
If it's the naturally-created image of a crucified man — as some scientists argue — who was he? Under what circumstances was he forced to endure such torture? I look at the familiar face with its expression in the peaceful repose of death, although the body bears the scars of torment ... bloody scratches on the forehead, whip marks on the back, barbaric nail holes in the wrists and ankles. I feel a sense of pity.
And if it really is the burial cloth of Jesus, its historical and religious significance is colossal. We may never know the truth, but it does make you think.
I ask Sylvana, who's a volunteer guide at the museum, her views on the shroud, the research and the controversy. She flashes a wry smile, the kind that's a bit unnerving, as if she knows something I don't.
"Scientific research can certainly help us to understand the history of the shroud ... but in the end, it's really a question of faith. You either believe, or you don't believe."
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