Earth Goddess or Biblical Saint?
Published in Ambassador Magazine May 2024
by Kristin D’Agostino
The Phoenix Bar on East Thirteenth Street in New York’s East Village holds within its heart a mysterious secret. These days, host to Abba singalongs and drag shows, no one would guess the building was once a funeral parlor that provided a gateway for Sicilian immigrants to gather and worship in a small adjacent chapel where stood a rare black statue of the Madonna. This dark-skinned version of Mary, the only one known to exist in the city at this time, was modelled after one in Tindari, Sicily. Fashioned of stucco, wearing a cloak stitched by nuns, she received the prayers of area Italian Americans from 1905 to 1987 before the chapel disbanded, its story lost to the shifting sands of history.
There are, historians believe, about 450 dark-skinned Madonnas throughout the world; frescoes, statues and icons existing predominantly in Europe that have long sparked debate as to their origin and meaning. Italy, at 35, has the highest concentration of these images. Others are found in countries including Spain, France and the Czech Republic. But how did the Black Madonna come to the small chapel on East Thirteenth Street in the early 1900’s?
Joseph Sciorra, a folklorist, author and director of the Italian American Institute at Queen College CUNY was the first stumble upon her story in an article in an old Works Progress Administration guide book from 1936 about the Italians of New York. The writer toted three chapels of the time where Italian Americans gathered to keep their traditions alive; one of them was the small chapel on East Thirteenth Street, home to the Madonna Nera.
Sciorra upon reading was instantly hooked. “I was fascinated with the Black Madonna for a number of reasons…” he says. “I’m interested in the ways in which art is created in people’s homes, streets and neighborhood social clubs; the way it creates a sense of belonging and community.”
Sciorra delved into researching the East Thirteenth Street chapel, its people and the Madonna Nera. He found that Sicilian immigrants to New York during the 1880’s to 1920’s brought their beliefs with them, including a cult of the Madonna of Tindari. The WPA book describes how “Sicilians, in an effort to revive the customs of their native land, hold a day of festivity once a year. On this day the statue of the saint is exposed in the window of the small chapel, the streets are decorated with lights and banners, and stands selling popular if not sanitary delicacies line the streets…”
Sciorra interviewed former parishioners including Mary Chinnici, a woman who had grown up in New Jersey and as a girl made a pilgrimage to the chapel’s shrine each September 8th feast day with her mother. He learned that Chinnici had been keeping the statue of the Black Madonna in her New Jersey home since the chapel disbanded in the eighties. There, on a makeshift platform under Chinnici’s watchful eye, the Madonna had continued to receive the prayers of seventy-five loyal followers each September. These days, with Chinnici in Assisted Living, the Madonna has moved in with her son. Still, each September, Sciorra keeps a longstanding tradition. “I call her on September 8th to say hello,” he says.
Black and Beautiful
Who is the Black Madonna and why does she continue to fascinate and inspire? The original Madonna of Tindari sits in north-eastern Sicily on a windy bluff overlooking the sea. Made of cedar, a verse from the Song of Solomon is etched on the base of the statue proclaiming “I am black, but beautiful, O you daughters of Jerusalem.” There are many stories as to how the statue came to Tindari. In the most popular, she was brought to Italy from the Middle East in the 8th century by sailors who’d rescued her from the iconoclastic wars in Eastern Christian countries. A storm forced their ship to seek refuge in Tindari, and the Madonna held it captive in port until she was taken out on to the beach and hoisted by locals up into the cliff’s monastery.
These days the Madonna is a nurturing presence for local Catholics who visit her daily; once a year on her September birthday, there is a procession and fireworks.
Interestingly, Sciorra says, this statue as well as the other Black Madonnas scattered throughout Italy from Positano to Venice, are treated no differently than any other saints or Madonna statues. Practicing Catholic visit the shrine of their own regional Madonna and don’t travel far to see another Madonna, whether black or white.
However, in America, the Black Madonna has taken on a whole new significance with a group of followers who believe her to have Pagan roots. Sciorra reflects, “She has charged meaning among young Italian Americans, a generation of women with a feminine focus that has gathered over the decades.”
Alessandra Belloni, 67, a singer and dance instructor in New York City and leader of healing retreats in Italy says, “People have been worshipping the Black Madonna since Turkish and Egyptian times. Mary, the mother of Christ was dark, North African. The statues are from Ethiopia and Turkey and nobody knows who sculpted them.”
Belloni’s tours, which include the Madonna of Tindari, focus on celebrating the statue’s African roots through drumming and southern Italian dance.
Lori Bruno, an Italian American witch in Salem Massachusetts, also finds strength and inspiration in the Madonna’s healing powers. She regularly prays to a statue of the Black Madonna for help in her work as a psychic. “I keep a candle burning for her twenty-four hours,” says Bruno. “She is the personification of all the goddesses. She gives me energy of the earth itself.”
Sciorra says it’s no wonder the statue has struck a chord with feminist and pagan communities; The Black Madonna, like many Catholic traditions, has her roots in pre-Christian systems. The city of Tindari was founded by the Greeks in the 4th century. The sanctuary where the Black Madonna sits was once the site of a pagan temple whose people had a strong devotion to Cybele, known as the Great Mother and goddess of fertility. During the 8th century Pope Gregory the Third encouraged the building of Catholic churches on the site of pagan temples, believing it to be a powerful means of conversion.
Despite this fact, Sciorra, after conducting years of research, believes Italy’s Black Madonna paintings and statues to be of 12th century European design. Her features, he points out, are not African; the images are clearly European, different from Madonnas created for communities in Africa, Asia and Latin America. So, then why is this European Madonna’s skin dark?
“The statue is carved of wood that’s brown,” he says. “The Tindari statue is made of cedar. It is similar to the Romanesque “throne of wisdom” figure, with the seated infant Jesus enthroned on his mother’s lap, created in Europe in the 12th century.”
As for the dark-skinned paintings, Sciorra points out that they’re similar to Greek icons whose faces are brown. “That’s part of the byzantine depiction of the saints and Jesus,” he says.
The Catholic church over the centuries has had different explanation for dark-skinned Madonnas saying the statues and frescoes have been blackened by soot from candles burning during mass. “Catholic priests swear the sullied images from soot and candle smoke are a testament to Catholicism’s longevity,” Sicora says.
He maintains the Madonna’s origins are not important. More intriguing is the way she continues to draw admiration from a new generation of Italian Americans.
“Lori Bruno praying to the Black Madonna is much more interesting to me,” he says. “Italian Americans identifying with her as a source of spiritual practice and empowerment. A rescripting of Italian American identity.”
It’s been over thirty years since the Black Madonna of Tindari drew worshippers to the East Thirteenth Street chapel for her annual feast day. But a new tradition has replaced the old. Every September 8th – leading up to the pandemic- Sciorra has organized a meeting at the Phoenix Bar for Italian Americans who wanted to celebrate the Black Madonna and her mysterious roots. In past years the bar has drawn up to 100 people: poets, storytellers, artists, musicians and elderly former residents of the East Side looking to share memories.
“One year there was a lot of younger Italian Americans and an elderly guy with an accordion,” Sciorra recalls. “People show up and say, ‘what’s going to happen?’ I say ‘I don’t know; what do you want to happen?’ It’s a chance to contribute to the creation of alternative Italian American identities… A way of reclaiming the space and bringing lost history to the fore.”
Read the story in Ambassador magazine by clicking the pdf below.
Kristin D'Agostino 