Solar Horarium, Organ Improvisation, Homeschool Music Curriculum, Sarum Rite, Aesthetics - Find It All in Season 8 of Square Notes

As the summer winds down, catch up with the latest (eighth!) season of Square Notes: The Sacred Music Podcast! The show is on its annual summer hiatus because of the Catholic Institute of Sacred Music’s summer graduate program; season nine will launch in the fall with new episodes. The timeless topics of the past season are well worth the time, whether you’re a church musician, casual appreciator of sacred music, or a Catholic who just wants to know more about the Church’s perspective on sacred music. The podcast is distributed via all major podcast platforms, including Apple Podcasts, YouTube, Spotify, Amazon Music, Audible, and Podbean.

Here’s a list of this past season’s topics and guests:

• Episode 1 – Building a Beautiful Homeschool Curriculum for Art and Music – with Elizabeth Lemme
• Episode 2 – From Puebla Cathedral to Today’s Spanish-Speaking Pews: The Legacy of Juan Gutiérrez de Padilla – with Fernando Gil
• Episode 3 – The Art of Organ Improvisation: Insights from Martin Baker
• Episode 4 – From Chant to Counterpoint: How to Improvise Polyphony – with Dr. Charles Weaver
• Episode 5 – Lenten Reflection for Church Musicians – with Archbishop Salvatore J. Cordileone
• Episode 6 – What Did American Sacred Music Sound Like in the 19th & Early 20th Centuries? A Snapshot from St. Patrick’s Cathedral in New York – with Salvatore Basile
• Episode 7 – Developing Great Vocal Technique for Singing Chant – with Dr. Rosemary Heredos
• Episode 8 – Chant Accompaniment, Organ Building, & Fundraising for Organ Projects – with Chris Berry
• Episode 9 – Is Beauty a Transcendental, Why Beauty Matters, and Can We Be Wrong About Beauty? Philosophical Questions Every Church Musician Should Consider with Dr. Margaret Hughes
• Episode 10 – All About Sarum: Ceremonial, Chant, Sources, and Processions from Medieval England – with Dr. Christopher Hodkinson
• Episode 11 – Learning & Living Gregorian Chant as a Monk – with Fr. Mark Bachmann, OSB, Choirmaster of Clear Creek Abbey
• Episode 12 – Caring for Temples of the Holy Spirit: The Busy Church Musician’s Guide to Nutrition, Health, and the Immune System – with Dr. Lizbeth Alter
• Episode 13 – A Masterclass in the Magisterial Compositions and Style of Palestrina – with Thomas Neal
• Episode 14 – Conflict Resolution, Work-Life Balance, and Avoiding Burnout As a Church Musician – with Angela Rosson
• Episode 15 – The Solar Horarium & Monastic Fast According to the Rule of St. Benedict, Plus Praying the Chant & Making Beer – with Fr. Augustine Wilmeth, OSB, Prior at the Benedictine Abbey in Norcia

Raphael’s Transfiguration of Christ

When Raphael was commissioned to paint the Transfiguration of Christ in 1515, the feast commemorating this event in the Lord’s life was still a new one in much of Western Europe. Although it had been kept in some places much earlier, it was given to the universal Church only in the reign of Pope Callixtus III (1455-58), in thanksgiving for the Christian victory against the Turks at the siege of Belgrade on August 6th, 1456. Coming only three years after the fall of Constantinople, this victory signaled an important halt to the Turkish invasion of Europe; in fact, the common custom of ringing church bells at noon began as a reminder to pray for the defense of this bulwark of Christendom.

In the Byzantine tradition, on the other hand, the feast is much older, and one of the Twelve Great Feasts commemorating the principal events of the life of Our Lord and His Mother. It is kept forty days before another of the Great Feasts, the Exaltation of the Cross, a custom based on the teaching of the Church Fathers that the purpose of the Transfiguration was to strengthen the faith of the Apostles in preparation for the Our Lord’s Passion. Long before the adoption of the feast in the West, this aspect of the tradition was also known to the Roman Rite, which reads St. Matthew’s account of the Transfiguration on both the Ember Saturday of Lent and the following Sunday.

The Transfiguration, in the apse mosaic of the monastery church of St. Catherine on Mt Sinai, ca. 565.

The painting was commissioned by Cardinal Giulio de’ Medici, the cousin of Pope Leo X, who had just been made archbishop of the French city of Narbonne. In accordance with a common abuse of the era, the cardinal had no intention of taking possession of the see to govern it personally, being as he was also the chancellor of the church in Rome; instead, he would have paid a vicar to fulfill the duties of bishop, while drawing the revenues of the see. (In the 10 years between his cousin’s election as Pope in 1513 and his own election as Clement VII, Giulio de’ Medici held ten different sees under various titles, five of them before his priestly ordination.)

Within a few decades, this abuse was completely extirpated by the Council of Trent and the Counter-Reformation; one must not imagine, however, that all the beneficiaries of it were entirely neglectful of their sees and abbeys. Cardinal de’ Medici commissioned the painting for the high altar of Narbonne’s cathedral, and would certainly have paid the artist a handsome sum for it. In the reign of a Pope whose family had been leading patrons of the Renaissance for generations, in a city filled with every kind of artist, Raphael stood head and shoulders above all of his contemporaries. His only equal in prominence, Michelangelo, had left Rome in 1513 shortly after the election of Pope Leo; in 1516, Raphael was made superintendent of Pontifical works, a job in which he could command his own prices, choosing for himself a few outstanding commissions, and leaving the rest in the hands of an army of assistants and apprentices.

The cathedral of Narbonne, dedicated to Ss Justus and Pastor. Their feast day is August 6th, the same as that of the Transfiguration, which was kept on the following day in the city itself; Raphael’s painting shows the two on the upper left side as witnesses of the Lord’s Transfiguration.

As I have noted before, in an age in which imitation was considered the very essence of art, which is to say, the imitation of the classical past, no-one had a keener eye for seeing what was good about the styles of other artists, taking it into his own, and improving upon it. In this painting, the last work of Raphael, one sees not merely the mastery of technique, but the perfect union at every point of technique to story. While certainly concerned to demonstrate his skill and versatility, especially in light of Michelangelo’s very recent triumph in the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, each technical feature of the painting serves to communicate the Biblical story and theological idea behind it.

In Lent and on the feast in August, the Roman Rite reads the story of the Transfiguration from chapter 17 of St Matthew. However, in the upper part of the painting, Raphael has taken account also the words of St Luke that “the appearance of (Christ’s) countenance was altered,” (chap. 9, 29), as it will also be after the Resurrection. (Mark 16, 12 and Luke 24, 16.) The Lord’s face is painted in a style very similar to that of one of Raphael’s early teachers, Perugino, a style greatly admired in the later 15th and early 16th centuries, and considered a kind of idealized facial type. Thus, as Christ reveals himself to be the perfect man, the man who is also God, he is represented with a “perfect” face. The rest of the figures are painted in a variety of styles, with a much more realistic range of facial types, reminiscent of various predecessors and contemporaries of Raphael, a great demonstration of his extraordinary versatility.

Christ in the Transfiguration of Raphael.

The upper part of the Oddi altarpiece, which Raphael painted 15 years earlier. Note the similarity in the faces, all of which are reminiscent of the idealized facial type typical of Perugino.

The painting is also marked by three different major lighting schemes. In the upper part, the light of the transfigured Christ shines onto the clouds behind him, and back at us, while also illuminating the figures around Him, the Prophets Moses and Elijah, and the Apostles Peter, James and John. Through them, the divinity of Christ is revealed to us; thus the light of His divinity coming out at the viewer is not merely a special effect for its own sake, but helps to convey the meaning of the Biblical narrative. The lower part represents the next episode in the Synoptic Gospels, the healing of a possessed child. The very ancient date of the Exaltation of the Cross determines not only the day of the Transfiguration, but also that of the Ember Wednesday of September, always the Wednesday after it, on which the Church reads this episode in the words of St Mark.

And one of the multitude, answering, said: Master, I have brought my son to thee, having a dumb spirit. Who, wheresoever he taketh him, dasheth him, and he foameth, and gnasheth with the teeth, and pineth away; and I spoke to thy disciples to cast him out, and they could not. … And He asked his father: How long time is it since this hath happened unto him? But he said: From his infancy: And oftentimes hath he cast him into the fire and into waters to destroy him. But if thou canst do anything, help us, having compassion on us. And Jesus saith to him: If thou canst believe, all things are possible to him that believeth. And immediately the father of the boy crying out, with tears said: I do believe, Lord: help my unbelief. And when Jesus saw the multitude running together, he threatened the unclean spirit, saying to him: Deaf and dumb spirit, I command thee, go out of him; and enter not any more into him. And crying out, and greatly tearing him, he went out of him, and he became as dead, so that many said: He is dead. But Jesus taking him by the hand, lifted him up; and he arose. (Mark 9, 16-17 and 20-26)

The light enters the scene from the left and above, brightly illuminating the figures on the right, but leaving those on the left wrapped up in a mysterious dark mist. The former lighting scheme is based on the style of portraits done by Florentines, the latter scheme is that of the Venetians, another demonstration of the artist’s mastery of a variety of styles.

Raphael’s Self-Portrait with a Friend, ca. 1518, also known as the Double Portrait, currently in the Louvre. The identity of the man on the right is unknown, although many theories have been proposed by art historians. Note the same contrast in lighting schemes, although nowhere near as drastic, which appears in the lower part of the Transfiguration.

The lower part of the Transfiguration.

Raphael beautifully captures the pleading of the father in the expression on his face. The brightness of the figure symbolizes his faith, as it does likewise in the figure of the possessed child, for devils, as Saint James says, have no illusions about God: “Thou believest that there is one God. Thou dost well: the devils also believe, and tremble.” (2, 19) The brightest figure, though, is the woman kneeling next to the boy and pointing at him, an allegorical figure of Faith itself. Where the light on these figures expresses their belief, the remaining nine Apostles stand on the left side, wrapped in shadow to symbolize the lack of faith that prevented them from casting out the devil.

…and I spoke to thy disciples to cast him out, and they could not. Who answering them, said: O incredulous generation, how long shall I be with you? how long shall I suffer you? … And when he was come into the house, his disciples secretly asked him: Why could not we cast him out? And he said to them: This kind can go out by nothing, but by prayer and fasting. (Mark 9, 17-18 and 27-28)

Among the disciples, the Evangelist St Matthew sits in the lower left hand corner, holding the book by which he reveals the life of Christ to us. Underneath it, the external light source is reflected in a puddle of water, as is Matthew’s foot. This is another example of a special effect, difficult for modern people to appreciate, since we can recreate this effect fairly easily with a camera; but in the beginning of the 16th century, painting a reflection on a puddle was an extraordinary technical achievement. Once again, though the special effect is united to the story, for it was generally understood that the light bursting into the painting from nowhere signified divine revelation. It is therefore shown reflected directly underneath the book by which St Matthew reveals this and other episodes of Christ’s life to us. The book itself rests on a block of wood, a reference to the Crucifixion; the Cross is often referred to with the Latin word “lignum – wood”, as in the hymn Vexilla Regis, (“regnavit a ligno Deus”), and the “Ecce lignum Crucis” ritual sung before the Adoration of the Cross on Good Friday.

In the painting as a whole, the figures painted most colorfully are those who actually speak in the text of the Gospel: Matthew himself, the narrator, whose robes are painted with a tremendous range of blues amid the more uniform colors of the other disciples’ robes; Christ, whose robes are painted with a range of whites; St Peter, in bright yellow; and the father of the child, in a range of greens. Faith, kneeling next to him, wears a red garment partly covered by a blue one, a color scheme often found in images of the Virgin Mary, the greatest model of Faith. Red represents flesh and blood, blue royalty and divinity; the colors scheme of the figure demonstrates, therefore, that man in his mortality is elevated by Faith to knowledge of and union with God.

The lines of the various figures are arranged in a very jagged and chaotic way; the father looks across the painting at the Apostle in light red, who points to Christ, the line of Whose legs leads back down to Faith, who points to the boy, whose arm points up to Moses, and so on. Raphael therefore creates a superstructure within the painting by arranging the six figures at the top in a large circle, and the heads of four Apostles in the middle of the painting in a small circle. The two circles form a lopsided figure 8, much larger at the top where the most important figure is, thus uniting the two stories.

The union of these two Gospel episodes, which seems to be unique to this particular painting, highlights an important aspect of this feast as it was received from the Byzantine tradition. It is traditionally called the “Transfiguration of the Savior”, and understood to be Christ’s revelation of Himself not only as God, but also as the Savior of the human race. Therefore, the lower part of the painting looks forward to Christ as the deliverer of man from the power of the devil (the possessed child), from sin (the block of wood foreshadowing the Cross), and from death (the face of Christ transfigured as it will be in the Resurrection.) This idea of the revelation of Christ as Savior is also reflected in the adoption of this feast as the titular feast of the Pope’s own cathedral, popularly known as Saint John in the Lateran, but officially “the Archbasilica of the Most Holy Savior.”

Writing of the death of Raphael, Giorgio Vasari, the very first art historian, says, “Confessed and contrite, he ended the course of his life on the same day on which he was born, which was Good Friday, at the age of 37. … In the room where he worked, they placed at his head the painting of the Transfiguration which he had done for Cardinal de’ Medici, and at the sight of his dead body and of that work, every soul that beheld them … wept for grief. … O happy and blessed soul, for every man is glad to think of you, and celebrate your deeds, and admire every work you left behind. Well might (the art of) Painting, when this noble artist died, die Herself, for when he closed his eyes, she was Herself left blind.”

The Tomb of Raphael in the Pantheon.

Communion in the Hand: Ancient Norm, Humanist Myth, or Protestant Rebellion?

NLM is once again grateful to Zsolt Orbán for sharing the fruits of his extensive research with us.

Reflecting on the “evolution” of Eucharistic reverence, Pope Benedict XVI noted,

Here again we know that until the ninth century Communion was received in the hand, standing. That does not of course mean that it should always be so. For what is fine, sublime, about the Church is that she is growing, maturing, understanding the mystery more profoundly. In that sense the new development that began after the ninth century is quite justified, as an expression of reverence, and is well-founded. But, on the other hand, we have to say that the Church could not possibly have been celebrating the Eucharist unworthily for nine hundred years. [1]

This quotation condenses the fundamental theoretical issues surrounding the practice of Communion in the hand, the very problems this article addresses, among which the most vital question is: do we really know this for a fact? Was there truly no Communion on the tongue until the ninth century? Was its emergence merely the result of a new development, while the standard norm across the entire Church had been for lay faithful to receive the Blessed Sacrament in their hands?

I doubt that this was actually the case, for two primary reasons.

The first reason, the true argument, is one that proponents of Communion in the hand generally fail to grasp. Because they implicitly or explicitly assume that unfolding the essence of Church doctrine, and thus understanding the true nature of the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, required time for a certain “development” to take place, during which entirely new elements emerged. In reality, they do not believe that the Church understood the meaning of the Eucharistic Sacrifice and the Blessed Sacrament from the very first moment, and approached it accordingly from the very beginning.

Yet, because the Apostles understood the Mass from day one, they understood it to mean exactly what the Church would later teach about it. They also understood the priesthood itself. Consequently, from the very dawn of the Church, a distinction existed between the ordained and the laity, not only in the administration of the sacraments in general, but also in matters concerning the Most Holy, namely, the handling of the Blessed Sacrament. Therefore, I doubt that the touching of the Blessed Sacrament by unordained faithful could ever have been the norm, rather than a deviation from it; in other words, that it was a legally permitted default practice.

According to current scholarly consensus, the section of the Liber Pontificalis that attributes the prohibition of laymen touching the sacred vessels to Pope Sixtus I is a sixth-century compilation (dating to around 530). Even if this is true, the fact that such a decree could be compiled around 530 from earlier texts – and, moreover, that it carried authority – inherently proves that a widespread and normative practice of Communion in the hand is an impossibility. A regulation that ran directly counter to theological and liturgical evidence and practice could never have emerged at the very heart of the Holy Mother Church.

Furthermore, if in the first half of the sixth century a pope, or a decree circulated under papal authority, forbade the laity from even touching the sacred vessels, how reasonable is it to assume that this same prohibition did not apply to the contents of those vessels? Why would anyone consider the vessels holier than what they contained? This is especially true given the beautifully resonant reasoning the author of the decree attached to it:

It has been decreed by us, the other bishops, and the rest of the Lord’s priests, that the sacred vessels are not to be touched by anyone other than men consecrated and dedicated to the Lord. For it is exceedingly unworthy that the Lord’s sacred vessels, whatever they may be, should serve human use and be handled by anyone other than men who serve the Lord and are consecrated to Him; lest the Lord, being offended by such audacities, strike His people with a plague. [2]

And how far we still are at this point from the ninth century, when the “novelty” of Communion on the tongue supposedly appeared!

The second reason exposing the flaw in the narrative of a normative and universally permitted Communion in the hand is the surprising lack of sources supporting it. I call it surprising because, due to the sheer volume of repetitive arguments used by proponents of this narrative, the sheer number of their supposedly clear patristic references can seem convincing. However, this illusion lasts only until one takes the trouble to verify their citations. It then becomes clear that these quotations are not about what they claim, and fail to prove their vehement assertions. Despite the notion that has prevailed since the rise of Humanism and the Reformation, we have only a few sources, and those dubious in either authorship or meaning, which show that the Church permitted the taking of the Blessed Sacrament home exclusively in times of emergency. Yet, contrary to the presuppositions of the narrative, even these sources do not bear witness to the laity actually touching the Blessed Sacrament with their hands.

James Tissot’s envisioning of Communion being given at the first Mass to the kneeling apostles; note the suggestion of Peter and John serving as something like deacon and subdeacon.

When examining the patristic quotations used to ground the Communion-in-the-hand narrative, we encounter several highly typical errors.

The first is that writings supporting this narrative all rely on quotations copied from one another. As a rule, these quotations lack broader context; it is only a shared preconception that links them together into a chain of argument.

The second error is also due to a lack of context, but represents a very specific case: patristic quotations are brought forward to justify Communion in the hand without considering whether the text in question refers to an ordained priest, a bishop, or perhaps a layman. Since this fundamental distinction is never explicitly addressed in their works, I am inclined to view it not as mere accidental oversight, but rather as deliberate distortion. It is through such distortion that writers like St Augustine (Contra litteras Petiliani), Peter Chrysologus (Sermo XXXIII), or various Ordines Romani are cited either as authors or as examples proving Communion in the hand. These distortions become even more glaring when the context is deliberately erased, as seen when Dom Ambroise Verheul used ellipses to excise references to the priesthood in his article “La communion dans la main,” quoting a work by Tertullian to create the false impression that the passage applied to the lay faithful (in Les Questions Liturgiques et Paroissiales 2: 115-22).

The overwhelming volume of repetitive, cluttered arguments is a problem in itself. Guided by a preference for quantity over relevance, the text piles up mismatched and miscontextualized quotations. Proponents view – and try to make others view – every single quotation containing the words hands, communion, or receiving (accipere, ὑποδέχομαι) through the lens of their preconceived notions of Communion in the hand. One reason for this is an ignorance of the ancient rite of communion; the other is a misunderstanding of the true meaning of these terms.

Ignorance regarding the role of the hands is a particularly characteristic error. One never finds an explanation in these works as to why the hands could be called “worshippers” in antiquity, how one can worship with the hands, simply because the authors themselves do not understand the true symbolism of extended hands.

This lack of familiarity with symbolic meaning is also evident in their interpretation of various patristic sermons. They bring forward quotations from the Church Fathers as proof of Communion in the hand that only demonstrate the quotation-gatherers’ inability – or unwillingness – to understand tropological scriptural exegesis. Captives of their own ideology, they interpret sermons strictly in a sensus litteralis. A highly typical, recurring example of this is the parallel drawn in sermons between the touching of Christ by the woman with the hemorrhage and the “touching” that takes place in Holy Communion. They are always eager to discard the spiritual dimension of the sensus moralis, failing to grasp the true meaning conveyed through the use of contrast.

Yet, this exploration of the narrative would not be complete without answering the question: how did the claim of its ancient normativity ever develop in the first place?

It is crucial to recognize to what extent the Protestant rebellion played a prominent role in this. Although Humanism intensified the desire to examine ancient sources, during the rebellion, sharp, ideologically driven assertions were formulated long before the quotations to back them up were actually gathered. Thus, the opening – and sharpest – assertion lacked any patristic citation whatsoever; it rested solely on the claim of a patristic consensus referred to as “veterum monumenta”, which supposedly proved ancient Communion in the hand beyond doubt.

It was precisely this claim that one of the first ideologues of Communion in the hand, the Calvinist reformer Martin Bucer, used to support his position. In his Censura super libro sacrorum (1551), written as a critique of Cranmer’s Book of Common Prayer, Bucer argued vehemently in favor of receiving Communion in the hand while denouncing Communion on the tongue as a practice belonging to the Antichrist. He considered a fierce assertion sufficient, which explains why his work lacks a supporting collection of citations. Nevertheless, his role in the formation of this narrative remains inescapable: he was the first to attach a lasting connotation to unspecified patristic quotations. He successfully crafted and placed the spectacles of the ancient Communion-in-the-hand narrative upon everyone’s eyes.

In doing so, Bucer was driven by a clear intent to eradicate the very foundations that had previously made lay Communion in the hand unthinkable for the Church as a norm: the priesthood and faith in the Real Presence. As he wrote:

In fact, I have no doubt that this usage of not putting these sacraments in the hands of the faithful has been introduced out of a double superstition; firstly, the false honour they wished to show to this sacrament, and secondly the wicked arrogance of priests claiming greater holiness than that of the people of Christ, by virtue of the oil of consecration. [3]

Bucer’s spectacles became inescapable even among Catholics. Although the ancient texts had been known to churchmen ever since their composition – having been copied by monks, read, studied, and utilized by clerics throughout history – it was Bucer’s assertion that organized them into an interpretive framework. To be sure, among Catholics, this did not entail a desire to alter church practice until the twentieth century, yet they could not break free from this interpretation. It is due to this that Bucer’s contemporaries among the Catholics themselves, and not the Protestants, ultimately fashioned the modern historical arsenal for Communion in the hand: a corpus of citations designed to prove the practice's antiquity and normativity.

The collection of patristic citations was established by Iacobus Pamelius’s two-volume work entitled Liturgica latinorum (1571), which was significant not primarily in terms of the quantity of the citations, but rather in their contextualization. In this work, the titles of individual sections served as summaries of the content, formulated as definitive assertions. These pithy summaries conveyed a message that remains deeply influential to this day, shaping the discourse through seemingly unassailable topoi: “The Body of the Lord was given into the hand”; “They were also permitted to take the Eucharist to their homes”; “To men, the Body of the Lord was given into their hands, and to women, in a clean linen cloth.”[4]

Pamelius had great merits in publishing the works of certain Church Fathers, including those of Cyprian, from whom most of the quotations forming the basis of Pamelius’ observations on our topic originate. In one of his commentaries on Cyprian, specifically regarding the gestari-gustari problem, Pamelius also played a role in the formation of a specific quotation-related trope. This was, of course, not because he was a determined innovator, but because he was unfamiliar with the actual ancient practice of administering Communion.

The lineage continued with Caesar Baronius, who, in his footnote (c) written for August 15 in the Martyrologium Romanum (1586), already listed several quotations from various ancient authors. According to him, these indicated that it was once permissible for the faithful to take the Eucharist home. However, even though he knew the Greek sources only through translation, as a perceptive historian he assumed a process that could be deduced from the letter written to the patrician Caesaria (attributed to Saint Basil the Great), and provided an interpretation of the phenomenon based on this. He summarized the process by stating that after the persecutions, the Church abolished the possibility of taking the Eucharist home, and he expressed astonishment that this practice could nevertheless have persisted for some time afterward: “What is even more surprising, however, is that after the peace of the Church was established under the Christian and orthodox emperors, this same custom remained in place for some time.” [5]

Ioannes Stephanus Durantus (Jean-Étienne Durant, 1534-89), in his work De ritibus Ecclesiae Catholicae (1592), incorporated not only Pamelius’ quotations but also Baronius’ contextualizing observation:

Once, during times of threatened persecution, when the faithful Christians were not permitted to assemble freely and anywhere for the breaking of bread and holy communion, they received the consecrated Eucharist into their hands from the leaders of the churches, wrapped it in clean linen, carried it home, and preserved it so that they might receive it when necessity arose. [6]

Yet, Durantus also significantly expanded the array of references provided by Pamelius and Baronius, so that in his work there already appear many of the ancient quotations cited nowadays as proof of Communion in the hand.

This series was later supplemented with a few newer ones in a work published in 1659 by Henricus Valesius (Henri de Valois, 1603-76), in which he presented Eusebius’ ecclesiastical history in Greek alongside a new Latin translation. His annotations became the permanent commentary on Eusebius, and consequently, on the presumed quotations regarding Communion in the hand. Volume 20 of the Patrologia Graeca adopts these very notes in its footnotes. [7]

The Communion-in-the-hand corpus, which had essentially matured prior to the twentieth century, came together with Chapter 17 of Book II of Cardinal Bona’s (Giovanni Bona, 1609-74) work Rerum liturgicarum (1671). Stripped of Baronius’ contextualizing remark, this work presents the array of classic quotations that seemingly prove the widespread prevalence and normativity of Communion in the hand, opening with this flourish:

For Holy Communion, according to ancient custom, was not received by mouth, as is done today, but by hand; and whoever received it, raised it with reverence to his mouth. On this matter, countless testimonies from the Greek and Latin Holy Fathers are available; but lest I be too tedious, I shall exercise moderation in listing them. [8]

Despite Cardinal Bona’s “moderation,” his work crowned the process by which, by the nineteenth century, the notion regarding the ancient and early medieval manner of communion and its normativity had become self-evident “knowledge.”

This work and the quotations compiled within it then became the primary sources for twentieth-century liturgists. Although several researchers did indeed deal with individual quotations, and major works on liturgical history were produced, the studies parading this list of citations in the 1960s and 1970s were all tied to the unholy battle aimed at permitting Communion in the hand. Such were the study by Dom Ambroise Verheul OSB and the newspaper articles by Bugnini, in which he largely draws from Verheul, with a few additions taken from elsewhere.

Moreover, although they received these loci ready-made – Verheul, for example, likely adopted the vast majority of his quotations from Cardinal Bona’s work – his article, despite posing as a true scholarly opus, contained not even a mention or a reference to Cardinal Bona or his work. Of course, the scientific value of the innovators’ works does not converge to zero primarily because of this, but because they were first and foremost ideological warriors who dressed their desire for “profane innovations” in scientific garb (“always rejoice in profane innovations, disdain the decrees of antiquity, and through the oppositions of knowledge falsely so called, make shipwreck concerning the faith”).[9] Their essential activity actually consisted of doing what no Catholic scholar, theologian, liturgist, or church historian had ever thought to do until the twentieth century: they demanded the introduction of Communion in the hand, as Dom Ambroise Verheul OSB did, or they presented its introduction as historically legitimate and justified as a continuation of ancient practice, as Bugnini did in his writings.

An illustration from a 1914 breviary, showing imagined hand-communion of the early Christians

And since I began with a quotation from Benedict XVI, I would conclude by citing the article by Verheul, which supports the grand assertions of Jungmann’s Missarum sollemnia – one of the sources of Benedict’s knowledge – with quotations; for it is this very article, with its collection of citations, that became the foundation for most modern scholarly or apologetic writings that support Communion in the hand and present it as historically normative, even if, being a difficult article to access, few are personally familiar with it. [10]

At the beginning of this, Verheul starts as follows:

The manner of receiving Communion by placing azyme (unleavened) bread on the tongue, which is traditional in the Western Church, is not as old as many would think; it was certainly not the ancient manner of receiving Communion, since it dates back only to the ninth century. In the first eight centuries, in both the East and the West, Communion was generally given into the hand. During this entire period, no one saw any irreverence in this. On the contrary, to our surprise, the testimonies we have collected show that this healthy and mature manner of receiving Communion went hand in hand with the respect due to the Lord present. Worship and fear of the sacred had not yet degenerated into anxiety and scrupulosity.

Regarding his own writing, Verheul modestly indicated that it “renders our traditional manner of communion highly relative, against which criticisms are rightly mounting,” given that “compared to Communion in the hand, it seems somewhat childish and passive.” And to substantiate my aforementioned summary regarding the core added value of twentieth-century liturgists, he presented the rebellion against the rules prescribing the traditional manner of receiving Communion as the work of the Holy Spirit:

Here we are dealing with a current that can no longer be stopped. To oppose a current that is good in itself, and which, with a little common sense, can be foreseen to become universal and legally recognized shortly, would cause unnecessary unrest; it would be a tilting at windmills. Alongside obedience to the law, there is also that which is prompted in God’s Church by the Spirit of the living God. What we call obedience to the law can sometimes become disobedience to the Spirit of God.

These are grave assertions; therefore, it is worthwhile to examine the quotations that prompted him to make them. Due to space constraints, this is not possible here; therefore, those interested can read the quotations of the corpus and their commentary in detail in an online collection that I have prepared. For the sake of a gentle jibe, this collection of quotations on Communion in the hand was given the name Corpus Bugninianum.

In compiling it, I followed the method that I was able to learn from Matías Augé, a professor at the Anselmianum. In his critique of Enrico Zoffoli’s work Comunione sulla mano? Il vero pensiero della chiesa secondo la vera storia del nuovo rito, Augé attempted to refute Zoffoli’s lines – which argued in favor of Communion on the tongue – slowly and articulately, using a mockery disguised as jovial kindness fit for the simple-minded. His essential endeavor during this was to demonstrate that Zoffoli’s quotations are insufficient proof of his assertions:

Our conclusion, therefore, sounds quite different: based on the texts used by Zoffoli, it cannot be proven that the administration of Holy Communion in 5th-to-6th-century Rome was done on the tongue, nor that this practice transferred to the regions of Gaul in the 7th century. What is most striking about this “true history” is the omission of highly explicit testimonies from ancient tradition that speak of Communion in the hand beyond all doubt.[11]

Augé’s method serves as a vital blueprint for anyone wishing to scrutinize the citations advanced by the proponents of Communion in the hand. Adopting this approach is highly rewarding, as it demonstrates that the citations within the “Corpus Bugninianum”, whether viewed individually or collectively, fail to substantiate what Augé labels as “highly unambiguous testimonies” for the practice.

Indeed, it would be highly desirable for researchers to scrutinize the citations of the “Corpus Bugninianum”, whether by applying Augé’s method or developing others, and to expand and refine these commentaries. It is high time we move past an era where misunderstood or intentionally misinterpreted patristic quotations are used to present a practice contrary to the norm as the norm itself. 

NOTES

[1] God Is Near Us: The Eucharist, the Heart of Life. Ignatius Press 2003, p. 70

[2] cf. Decretum 70, pdf p. 52.

[3] Martini Buceri scripta Anglicana, p.462, pdf p. 460. 

[4] Tomus I. pp. 201-202, pdf.

[5] p. 366; pdf p. 366.

[6] Book I, Chapter 16, 11, pdf.

[7] Annotationes in Librum VII, p.145, pdf p. 889. 

[8] pdf.

[9] Vincent of Lerins; pdf.

[10] pdf.

[11] link.

The Sequence of St Dominic

For the feast of St Dominic, here is a very nice recording of In caelesti hierarchia, the Sequence for his Mass in the Dominican Missal. Dominic was, of course, the very first Saint of his order to be canonized; this was done in 1234 by Pope Gregory IX (1227-41), who had known him personally, and declared that he no more doubted his sanctity than he did that of Saints Peter and Paul. The author of the Sequence is unknown; it is attested in Dominican liturgical sources that predate the codification of their Use which took place in the mid-1250s, and still forms the basis of it to this day. 

In caelesti hierarchia, nova sonet harmonia, novo ducta cantico: Cui concordet in hac via, nostri chori melodia, congaudens Dominico. Ex Aegypto vastitatis, virum suae voluntatis vocat Auctor saeculi, In fiscella paupertatis, flumen transit vanitatis, pro salute populi. In figura catuli, praedicator saeculi matri praemonstratur; Portans ore faculam, ad amoris regulam populos hortatur. Hic est novus legislator, hic Elias aemulator, et detestans crimina. Vulpes dissipat Samsonis, et in tuba Gedeonis, hostis fugat agmina. A defunctis revocatum, matri vivum reddit natum, vivens adhuc corpore: Signo crucis imber cedit; turba fratrum panem edit, missum Dei munere. Felix, per quem gaudia tota jam ecclesia sumens exaltatur. Orbem replet semine, in caelorum agmine tandem collocatur. Jacet granum occultatum, sidus latet obumbratum: sed Plasmator omnium, Ossa Joseph pullulare, sidus jubet radiare, in salutem gentium. O quam probat carnis florem, omnem superans odorem, tumuli fragrantia! Aegri currunt, et curantur, caeci, claudi reparantur, virtutum frequentia. Laudes ergo Dominico personemus mirifico, voce plena: Clama petens suffragia, ejus sequens vestigia plebs egena. Sed tu pater pie, bone, pastor gregis, et patrone, prece semper sedula, Apud curiam summi Regis, derelicti vices gregis commenda per saeculi. Amen.    Alleluia.

Now new canticles ascending, And new strains harmonious blending, ’Mid the hierarchies of heaven: With our earthly choirs according, Join this festival in lauding, To our holy father given. For the welfare of the nations, Called from Egypt’s desolations By their God and Maker, he Was the chosen one and glorious, Passing o’er the wave victorious, In the ark of poverty. Ere his birth, the preacher brother Is prefigured to his mother By a hound with torch of fire; So her son, his torch-light bearing, Midst the nations dark appearing, Leads them on with full desire. He, another Moses, teacheth, And Elias-like he preacheth, Sin denouncing with his might Samson-like his foxes sending, And the foe his trumpet rending, Gedeon-like he put to flight. From death’s sleep a child he waketh Whom alive his mother taketh: When the holy sign he makes, Cease the floods; and bread from heaven For his fainting sons is given Which into their hands he breaks. Happy he, whose elevation, Is our mother’s exa1tation, Is her joy and weal indeed. To his home by saints attended, Hath his soul for aye ascended, Having filled the earth with seed. Like the hidden grain he bideth Like the clouded star he hideth: But the Maker of the spheres, Joseph’s dry bones readorning, Will reveal the star of morning, Till earth’s darkness disappears. O surpassing fragrance, telling Of the virtues of that dwelling, Which within the tomb doth lie! Thither flock the sick for healing, Blind and lame the grace revealing That his body lives for aye. Wherefore now with jubilation Bless and praise him, every nation, Cry aloud, and crave his care: Sing Dominic the glorious, Sing Dominic victorious, Claim his help and promised prayer. And thou, father, kind and loving, Shepherd, patron, unreproving, Kneeling heaven’s high throne before, Lift for us thy voice prevailing, To our King with prayers availing Evermore and evermore. Amen.    Alleluia.

The Finding of St Stephen the First Martyr

Today is the feast of the Finding of St Stephen the First Martyr. This took place in the year 415, when the teacher of St Paul, Gamaliel, who is named twice in the Acts of the Apostles (5, 34-40 and 22, 3) appeared in a vision to a priest of Jerusalem named Lucian, on three successive Fridays, and named the location of the burial. Gamaliel further revealed that he himself had taken charge of Stephen’s body after his martyrdom, and buried him on his property near a village that bore his own name, Caphargamala; and that he himself was later buried in the same place, along with his son Abibas, and Nicodemus, who is mentioned in three places in the Gospel of John. (“Abibas” is the Hellenized form of the name “Habib”, which means “beloved” and is very common in Semitic languages.)

St Stephen Mourned by Gamaliel and Nicodemus. Attributed to the anonymous painter known as Pensionante del Saraceni (active 1610–1625), a follower of the Venetian painter Carlo Saraceni (1579–1620); ca. 1615. Public domain image from the website of the Boston Museum of Fine Arts.

Gamaliel ordered Lucian to tell what he had seen in these visions to John, the bishop of Jerusalem, who then sent Lucian to investigate the site. In due course, the graves were discovered, with inscriptions to confirm the identity of the persons buried therein. John was then attending a synod at Lydda (the place of St George’s martyrdom); on receiving word of the discovery from Lucian, he hastened to the site, attended by two other bishops and a large multitude of people. When the coffin of St Stephen was opened, the ground shook, and “an odor of such sweetness and fragrance came forth therefrom, … that (those present) thought they were in the delight of Paradise”; seventy-three persons were healed of possession and a great variety of physical ailments. The relics were then translated to a church on Mt Sion, which Lucian’s letter, the first source for this story, anachronistically describes as the place “where Stephen was ordained as archdeacon.”

From there, portions of the relics were subsequently sent out to many other places, as attested inter alia by a sermon of St Augustine. “His body lay hidden from (the time of his martyrdom) until these days; but recently appeared, as the bodies of the holy martyrs are wont to appear, by the revelation of God, when it pleased the Creator. And indeed, it was revealed to him who showed these very things when they had been found; for the place was shown beforehand by signs, and the discovery made just as had been told by revelation. Many have received relics from there, because God willed it so, and these have come here.” (Sermon 318, 8) At the end of the 5th century, Gennadius, a priest of Marseille, wrote a continuation of St Jerome’s book On Illustrious Men, in which he states that “Lucian the priest, a holy man, to whom God revealed the place of the burial and the relics of St Stephen the First Martyr, in the time of the Emperors Honorius and Theodosius, wrote down (the story of) the revelation to all the churches, in Greek”, which a Spanish priest named Avitus then translated into Latin. (capp. 46-47; PL 58 1084B).

A reliquary for the hand of St Stephen from the cathedral of Genoa, Italy.

Prior to the Tridentine reform of the Breviary, it was far more common for the lessons of a Saint’s life to occupy all the lesson of Matins, and readings from Scripture on feast days were very rare. Therefore, in the Roman Breviary of 1529, the lessons of August 3rd tell the story as above, with a number of other less important details, in six lessons which occupy the first two nocturns of Matins. In the third nocturn, a homily of St Jerome on the Gospel of the day, Matthew 23, 34-39, is repeated from St Stephen’s main feast day.

In 1568, however, the lessons are reordered according to a pattern which was made universal by the Breviary of St Pius V, in which those of the first nocturn are always Biblical, those of the second are either a Patristic sermon or the life of a Saint, and those of the third a homily on the day’s Gospel. In the case of today’s feast, the lessons of the third nocturn remain the same, while those of the first are repeated from St Stephen’s octave day, Acts 7, 51 – 8, 2, the end of his speech and the account of his death and burial.

The story of the discovery of the relics by Lucian would normally then be compressed into the three lessons of the second nocturn, as was done for countless other Saints. However, they are actually reduced to two lessons, while the sixth is taken from the last book of St Augustine’s City of God.

“When the bishop Projectus was bringing the relics of the most glorious martyr Stephen to the waters of Tibilis, a great concourse of people came to meet him at the shrine. There a blind woman entreated that she might be led to the bishop who was carrying the relics. He gave her the flowers he was carrying. She took them, applied them to her eyes, and immediately saw. Those who were present were astounded, while she, with every expression of joy, preceded them, pursuing her way without further need of a guide. Lucillus (bishop of Sinita), in the neighborhood of the colony Hippo, was carrying in procession some relics of the same martyr, which had been deposited in the castle of Sinita. A fistula under which he had long suffered … was suddenly cured by the mere carrying of that sacred burden.” (De Civ. Dei 22, 8)

These are only two of the many miracles which St Augustine attributes to the relics of St Stephen in this chapter; he goes on to list several others, and more still which took place in the towns of Calama and Uzali, which also had relics of the Saint, miracles of which he had personal knowledge. “I cannot record all the miracles I know; and doubtless several of our adherents, when they read what I have narrated, will regret that I have omitted so many which they, as well as I, certainly know. … I beg these persons to excuse me, and to consider how long it would take me to relate all those miracles … For were I to be silent of all others, and to record exclusively the miracles of healing which were wrought in the district of Calama and of Hippo by … the most glorious Stephen, they would fill many volumes.”

St Augustine, by Giuseppe Antonio Pianca, ca. 1745

As is so often the case (see here, here, and here) the inclusion of this passage in the Breviary is part of the Church’s response to the Protestant reformation. The early reformers frequently claimed to find in the writings of the Church Fathers proof that their novelties were in fact the original teachings of Christ and the Apostles, long obscured by medieval corruptions, and happily restored by themselves. On this score, St Augustine was frequently appealed to especially in matters pertaining to the doctrine of grace; John Calvin famously stated about him “totus noster est – he belongs entirely to us” (a typically gross exaggeration), while Luther himself had been an Augustinian.

It hardly needs to be said that apologists on the Catholic side had an easy rejoinder to this, namely, that the same Church Fathers frequently and enthusiastically taught and practiced things which the reformers themselves rejected. St Jerome, for example, was the only authority to whom they could appeal in support of their rejection of the Deuterocanonical books of the Bible, but he was also a fierce defender of the Papacy, of asceticism, monasticism, celibacy and virginity, all of which made him particularly distasteful to Luther. Likewise, here we see St Augustine, the supposed Protestant doctor of grace, unreservedly promoting not just devotion to the Saints (which many Protestants could accept in some form), but also the importance of relics.

There were, of course, many dubious or manifestly false relics in circulation at the time of the Reformation; it also true that in some places, clerical avarice benefitted greatly from the laity’s devotion by charging them to see or touch the relics kept in churches, a frequent matter of Protestant complaints. True reformers rightly wished to see such abuses put to an end, and the problem was raised and effectively dealt with at the final session of the Council of Trent. But passages such as the one from St Augustine added to the Breviary show the complete rejection of relics on the part of the reformers for what it truly was, a radical break with a universally held tradition, one with roots in the Bible itself, and faithfully passed on by the Fathers.

Folio 113r of the Saint-Sever Apocalypse, a mid-11th century manuscript which contains inter alia the Commentary on the Apocalypse of St Beatus of Liébana (ca. 730-800). This page represents the words of Apocalypse 6, 9-11, “I saw under the altar the souls of them that were slain for the word of God, and for the testimony which they held. And they cried with a loud voice, saying, ‘How long, O Lord (holy and true) dost thou not judge and revenge our blood on them that dwell on the earth?’ And white robes were given to every one of them one; and it was said to them, that they should rest for a little time, till their fellow servants, and their brethren, who are to be slain, even as they, should be filled up.” The golden T in the upper right corner of the picture is the altar (labelled ‘ara aurea - the golden altar’) and the birds beneath it are labelled ‘the souls of the slain.’ In the lower part, the caption reads ‘to these were given white stoles.’ (Bibliothèque nationale de France. Département des manuscrits. Latin 8878)

In another example of its classic liturgical conservatism, the Roman church kept the feast of the Finding of St Stephen with almost the same liturgical texts as his principal feast on December 26th. The lessons of Matins described above are the only proper feature of the Office; the Mass is exactly the same, apart from the change of a single word in the Collect: “Grant us, we beseech thee, O Lord, so to imitate what we revere, that we may learn to love even our enemies; for we celebrate the birth/finding of him who knew how to pray for his very persecutors to our Lord.”

There was however, a completely proper Office for the feast, based on the text of Lucian’s letter, which was used in many other parts of Europe. Here are the three antiphons for the Gospel canticles.

Folio 312v of an antiphonary produced for the abbey of St Maur in France in the last quarter of the 11th century, with the first part of the proper Office of the Finding of St Stephen. (Bibliothèque nationale de France. Département des manuscrits. Latin 12584)

Ad Magn. Aña in I Vesp. Ostendit * sanctus Gamaliel per visum Luciano sacerdoti tres calathos aureos rosis refertos, et quartum argenteum croco plenum, et dixit: Hi sunt nostri loculi, et nostræ reliquiæ: hic autem sanguineas habens rosas, loculus est sancti Stephani, qui solus ex nobis martyrio meruit coronari. – The holy Gamaliel showed the priest Lucian in a vision three golden baskets filled with roses, and a fourth of silver, filled with saffron, and said, ‘These are our coffins, and our relics; and this one that hath roses the color of blood is the coffin of Saint Stephen, who alone among us merited to be crowned with martyrdom.” (In the letter, Gamaliel explains that the saffron represents the purity of his son Abibas, who died very young, and that they were buried together, hence there are only three coffins.)

Ad Bened. Ex odoris * mira fragrantia sanitas ægrotis emanavit maxima: septuaginta namque et tres tunc a variis languoribus curati sunt homines in Inventione corporis Stephani dilectissimi Martyris, Deum benedicentes. – From the wondrous fragrance of the smell, very great healing came forth unto the ill; for seventy-three persons were then healed of various ailments at the finding of the body of Stephen, the most beloved martyr, as they blessed God.

Ad Magn. in II Vesp. Hodie * Joannes Pontifex cum maximo cleri plebisque tripudio, pretiosas Protomartyris Stephani reliquias in sanctam transtulit ecclesiam Sion, ubi quondam Archidiaconi functus est officio: cujus pia apud Deum sit pro nobis, quæsumus, intercessio. – Today, bishop John, with very great rejoicing of the clergy and people, translated the precious relics of the First Martyr Stephen to the holy church of Zion, where once he fulfilled the office of archdeacon; and we ask that his holy intercession may stand for before God.

St Alphonsus on the Need for Reverence in the Liturgy

When he was appointed bishop of the small town of St Agata dei Goti in 1762, St Alphonsus de’ Liguori (OF feast day August 1, EF August 2) began his episcopal ministry by sending missioners out to every corner of diocese. He “recommended two things only to these missioners, simplicity in the pulpit, charity in the confessional, and after hearing one of the priests neglect his advice he said to him, ‘Your sermon kept me awake all night... If you wanted to preach only yourself, rather than Jesus Christ, why come all the way from Naples to Ariola to do it?’

At the same time he set about a reform of the seminary, and of the careless way that benefices were granted. Some priests were in the habit of saying Mass in fifteen minutes or less; these were suspended ipso facto until they amended their ways, and the bishop wrote a moving treatise on the subject: ‘ “The priest at the altar”, says St Cyprian, “represents the person of Jesus Christ.” But whom do so many priests today represent? They represent only mountebanks earning their livelihood by their antics. Most lamentable of all is it to see religious, and some even of reformed orders, say Mass with such haste and such mutilation of the rite as would scandalize even the heathen... Truly the sight of Mass celebrated in this way is enough to make one lose the faith.’ ” (Butler’s Lives of the Saints, revised by Herbert Thurston S.J. and Donald Attwater, 1956)

St Alphonsus Kneeling Before the Blessed Sacrament; stained glass window in Carlow Cathedral, Ireland. (Photo from Wikimedia Commons by Andreas F. Borchert, CC BY-SA 4.0)

Liturgical Notes on the Feast of St Peter’s Chains

The Latin name of today’s feast in the Tridentine Missal and Breviary is “Sancti Petri ad Vincula”, which is translated literally as “the feast of St Peter at the chains”, not “the feast of St Peter’s chains” or “of St Peter in chains.” This title is found in the oldest liturgical books which attest to it, and even earlier, in the list of the station churches given by the lectionary of Wurzburg, from the mid-seventh century. (Stations are kept there on the Mondays of the first week of Lent and the Pentecost octave.)

The beginning of the calendar for August in the Echternach Sacramentary. (895 A.D.; Bibliothèque nationale de France, Département des manuscrits, Latin 9433) “On the Kalends of August, (the feast of) St Peter at the chains, and the birth of the seven Maccabee brothers with their mother.”

Like many specifically Roman feasts, it began as the dedication feast of a basilica, which in this case is located on the Esquiline hill, within sight of the Colosseum. When a city has more than one church dedicated to the same Saint, they are often distinguished from each other by nicknames; the appellation “at the chains” would therefore serve to distinguish it from the Vatican basilica. Its great antiquity is demonstrated by the fact that it was restored by Pope Sixtus III in the 430s; an inscription which records the restoration mentions that the building was already considered old, and that the Pope re-dedicated it to both Apostolic founders of the See of Rome.

The breviary refers very obliquely to a tradition stated more explicitly in the Golden Legend and elsewhere, namely, that the Romans dedicated the month of August to honoring the Emperor Augustus’ memory, and that this second feast of St Peter was created to supplant this holiday. It is true that the Latin names for the seventh and eighth months of the year were originally “Quintilis” and “Sextilis”, and that the Emperor Augustus renamed the former for his adoptive father, Julius Caesar, and the latter for himself. However, it is not likely that the cult of “the divine Augustus” was so vibrant in the mid-5th century as to require serious opposition from the Church. There are 32 days between June 29th, St Peter’s principal feast day, and August 1st; this perhaps suggests the tradition that Peter was bishop of Antioch for seven years, and bishop of Rome for twenty-five, a total of 32 as the visible head of the Church, one less than the 33 years of Our Lord’s earthly life.

The breviary lessons for the feast day also give the traditional story of the church’s famous relic. When the Empress Eudocia, the wife of Theodosius II, went to Jerusalem in the year 438, she received as a gift the chain by which St Peter was held in prison under King Herod, as narrated in the Epistle of the feast day, Acts 12, 1-11. She then sent it to her daughter Eudoxia in Rome, who in turn presented it to the Pope. When it was exposed for the veneration of the faithful together with the chain by which Peter had been held during his imprisonment in Rome under the Emperor Nero, the two chains were miraculously united, so as to appear to be a single chain.

Photo by Agnese Bazzuchi, from our 2014 Lenten stations series.

In the year 1706, the painter Giovanni Battista Parodi decorated the basilica’s ceiling with a fresco of a famous miracle attributed to the chains, which is also recounted in the breviary. A count of the Holy Roman Empire was possessed by an evil spirit which caused him to bite himself; when he accompanied the Emperor Otto II to Rome in 969, Pope John XIII placed the chain around his neck, at which the demon was expelled.

Image from Wikipedia by Maros Mraz (click to enlarge.)

Many other miracles have been attributed to the numerous fragments of the chain that were shaved off and given by the Popes as gifts, a practice to which Pope St Gregory refers several times in his letters. A medieval sermon on the feast of Ss Peter and Paul, incorrectly attributed to St Augustine and also read in the Roman Breviary, speaks of this when it says, “if the shadow of (Peter’s) body could then bring help (Acts 5, 15), how much more now the fullness of power? … Rightly is that iron of the chains of punishment considered to be more precious than gold throughout the churches of Christ.”

A feast of St Peter’s Chains, (or “chain” in the singular) is also kept in the Byzantine Rite, on January 16. Its very first chant at Vespers refers to the miraculous healing of both body and soul. “Thou didst bind the deceit (of the devil) when thou wert bound in the Lord, and closed up in prison, o Apostle; therefore with love we honor thee, and with faith we embrace thy chain, drawing from it the strengthening of the body, and salvation of the soul. We praise thee, as our duty, who beheld God, and are like unto the Angels.”

Two other chants of the same day refer to a portion of the chains which was given to the church of Constantinople, and kept in Hagia Sophia itself, as noted in the Synaxarion, the Byzantine equivalent of the Martyrology. The apolytikion (dismissal hymn) of Vespers says “Without leaving Rome, thou didst come to us by the precious chains which thou didst bear, o first-enthroned of the Apostles, which we venerate in faith, and pray, that by thy intercessions before God, He may grant us great mercy.” Likewise, in the Canon of Matins, we read “Thou sanctifiest Rome by the burial of thy holy body, Peter, and by faith enlightenest the New Rome, that keeps thy honorable chain.” And: “The Apostle Peter came forth from Palestine as the bearer of Christ, and having proclaimed him to the world in older Rome, fell asleep, but gave to the New Rome his chain to venerate.”

Despite the antiquity and universality of the feast, it was removed from the calendar in the Breviary reform of 1960. It is hard not to see this as a function of a very modern embarrassment at the very idea of miracles and relics, since the same reform also suppressed the Finding of the Cross, St John at the Latin Gate, the Apparition of St Michael, the Finding of St Stephen’s Body, and St Francis’ Stigmata. It is true that we do not have a chain of custody from St Peter’s time to our own to prove the authenticity of the relics. On the other hand, we should shudder at the implication that so many of our ancestors in the faith were stupidly gullible at best, or liars at worst. St John Henry Newman wrote about this in the Apologia pro Vita Sua; in a note in the appendix “on Ecclesiastical Miracles,” he points out that both Testaments have stories of miracles effected by relics. A corpse is brought to life when it touches the bones of Elisha (4 Kings 13, 21), “and God wrought by the hand of Paul more than common miracles, so that even there were brought from his body to the sick, handkerchiefs and cloths, and the diseases departed from them, and the wicked spirits went out of them.” (Acts 19, 11-12.)

In addition to the relic and the basilica’s dedication, today’s feast also commemorates the Biblical event of St Peter’s release from prison. The importance of this episode is indicated by the fact that the church of Rome chose the relevant passage from the Acts of the Apostles for the text of both the Introit and Epistle, not only for today, but also for June 29th.

When the Apostle was held in prison in Jerusalem, and in danger of being killed by the monarch, he was freed by a direct act of divine intervention. Twenty-five years later, when he was held in prison in Rome, and in danger of being killed by the monarch, he was freed by human intervention, that of his jailers, Ss Processus and Martinian. The Christians of Rome then urged him to leave the city, for fear that he be captured once again, and executed. As he started down the Appian Way, the road leading to the port of Brindisi, where he could find a boat to bring him back to the East, Peter encountered Christ just outside the gates of the city. “And when he saw him, he said, ‘Lord, whither goest thou thus? And the Lord said unto him, ‘I go into Rome to be crucified. And Peter said unto him, ‘Lord, art thou being crucified again?’ He said unto him, ‘Yea, Peter, I am being crucified again.’ And Peter came to himself, and having beheld the Lord ascending up into heaven, he returned to Rome, rejoicing, and glorifying the Lord, for that he said, ‘I am being crucified”, which was about to befall Peter.” (from the apocryphal Acts of Peter.)

This episode, which otherwise would seem to have no connection to the feast, is cited in an antiphon for the Office of St Peter ‘ad vincula’ which was very widely used, although not at Rome itself. “Beatus Petrus Apostolus vidit sibi Christum occurrere; adorans eum et dixit: Domine, quo vadis? Venio Romam iterum crucifigi. – The blessed Apostle Peter saw Christ coming to meet him. Adoring Him, he said, ‘Lord, where art thou going?’ ‘I come to Rome to be crucified again.’ ”

We therefore see in today’s feast that St Peter was freed from prison in Jerusalem because his mission was not finished. He was destined to go to Rome, so that he might preach to all nations, “so that the light of truth, which was revealed for the salvation of all nations, might spread itself more effectively through the whole world from its head.” (Pope St Leo I, first sermon of the feast of Ss Peter and Paul.) The Lord Himself sent him back to the eternal city, choosing it as the place to establish the headship of His Church upon the earth, “the first throne”, as stated above in the Byzantine Office of the feast.

Quo vadis, Domine?, by Annibale Carracci, 1601-2

NLM’s Twenty-First Anniversary

Today is the twenty-first anniversary of the New Liturgical Movement, and as always, we cannot let the day pass without a word of thanks to our founder Shawn Tribe for his nearly eight years of dedication to the site, to our long-time contributor Jeffrey Tucker, who succeeded Shawn as editor, to our publisher, Fr Robert Pasley, to our parent organization, the Church Music Association of America, as well as to the rest of our team, new and old, and our many guest contributors, for all the work they have put into NLM over these many years. And of course, thanks to all of our readers for your support, encouragement and the inspiration you provide to continue our work.

Sometime in May, we passed the 18,000-post mark; past items remain accessible in our archives, although many of the older links within them are now dead, including the link which provided our very first article, a piece by Stratford Caldecott (R.I.P.) entitled, “Why a New Liturgical Movement?”

For your amusement, here are a few screen captures of some of the early designs of the site; after the third one, we’ve stayed pretty much the same. (Click images to enlarge.)

2005-2006

2007

2010