The Silenced Woman
Contemplating sacred biblical art, domestic abuse, and the freedom of release
Inside the grand cathedral of Siena, Italy—just to the right of the magnificent altar—a large mural has been painted upon the upper wall. Completed in 1610 by Ventura Salimbeni, it shows a crowd of people engaged in all manner of worldly as well as biblical activities. In the center is a depiction of Esther and Ahasuerus from the Old Testament, with angels guarding the scene from above. Below and around these biblical characters, men are conducting business, haggling for prices, and in the far back we can see the hanging of Haman. Some of the people stare heavenward, as if appalled at the worldly scene around them.
Just slightly off-center and to the right, in the midst of all the other bustling characters, there’s one person who has always struck me, ever since my first visit to Siena nearly fifteen years ago:
“The Silenced Woman.”
At least that’s what I’ve always called her. I recently again visited my “home away from home” in Tuscany, and while there I made a deliberate pilgrimage to Santa Maria Assunta, the breathtaking black-and-white striped cathedral of Siena, so I could continue meditating upon this curious image.
While those around her are gawking at the execution, watching Esther stand before King Ahasuerus, or conducting worldly business, this woman is gazing at the heavenly host of angels above her head. Yet why has her mouth been erased? Is the blemish original to the mural, or did some later artist (or vandal) alter it?
I scoured all the Sienese and historical information I could find, as well as the internet, in hopes of learning more about this painting. Despite my efforts I was unable to come up with a reason for the silenced woman, a figure so prominent and so tragic.
The sad yet peacefully contemplative expression she carries—and the look of pain on the face of her boy-child—speaks volumes to my imagination. As a historical novelist I can come up with all manner of tales to explain this woman’s story, but let’s step back from the imagination for a bit. As a trauma-informed coach specializing in healing from domestic abuse, I imagine only one story—and it seems the most plausible.
As everyone else around her goes about their worldly business, only this woman has been muffled. She looks upward rather than at the people around her, as if imploring divine aid for her plight. Her voice has been taken from her, she has been stripped of the right to mingle with her fellow citizens, and her child also seems to be the victim of a smear campaign against her. Tucked behind him is what appears to be an angel, covering his eyes at the suffering of mankind.
Have you ever felt like the silenced woman? If you’re reading this article, chances are good you can relate. Domestic abuse does that—it robs us of our voice, strips away our very selves, and has an insidious way of impacting our children, no matter how hard we try to shield them.
Yet it doesn’t have to be that way. We can regain our voices and, gazing upward at the graces of God, acknowledge that nothing has been lost. Perhaps our lives have been rearranged, but God truly does make all things new (Rev. 21:5).