Other Gospels for the Ascension

The Roman Rite has various ways of arranging the Masses during an octave. That of Easter, for example, has a completely proper Mass for every day, that of Pentecost for every day but Thursday, which was originally an “aliturgical” day; when its Mass was instituted later, it was given proper readings, but everything else is repeated from Sunday. The feast of Ss Peter and Paul is continued with one Mass for the days within the octave, and another for the octave day itself, plus the special Commemoration of St Paul on June 30th. Some others, however, especially the relatively late ones like Corpus Christi and All Saints, simply repeat the Mass of the day throughout the octave.

A folio of the Echternach Sacramntary, 895 AD, with the last two prayers of the Mass of St Paul, those of Ss Processus and Martinian on July 2, and the first two prayers of the octave of Ss Peter and Paul.

The feast of the Ascension falls into the latter category, although the Mass of the Sunday within the octave, which is older than the octave itself, is different. Octaves are for the contemplation of mysteries that are too great for a single day, and it is certainly true that “repetita juvant”, a proverb which the Roman Rite, with its habitual conservatism, historically took very much to heart. One might argue, however, that there was some room for expanding the repertoire of readings within this octave in particular, in a way that would have been fully consonant with the tradition of the Rite, and expanded the scope of such contemplation.

The very oldest lectionary of the Roman Rite, the Comes (the Latin word for “companion”) of Wurzburg, attests to the Roman system of readings as it was in the middle of the 7th century. (The manuscript itself was copied out in roughly 700-750.) Although there are some notable differences, it is unmistakably the same system as that of the Missal of St Pius V. Its Gospels for the Easter season are almost entirely the same, while those of the second oldest Comes, that of Murbach, are exactly the same. Both of them also attest to a feature which was not included in the late medieval Missal of the Roman Curia, the immediate predecessor of that of St Pius V, namely, a series of ferial readings for the Wednesdays and Fridays throughout the year. In Wurzburg, this feature is very irregular; some weeks have readings for both days, some have one for Saturday as well, but others them have only for one day, and others have none. In Murbach, which is from roughly a century later, it has been completely regularized, and every Wednesday and Friday has readings assigned to it.

On the Wednesday after the Ascension, the Gospel is the very end of St Luke, chapter 24, 49-53. (Ss Matthew and John do not describe the Ascension, although Christ Himself refers to it in John 20, 17, in the words that form the antiphon for the Benedictus, “I go up to my Father and yours, my God and yours, alleluia.”) The Roman Rite tends to choose shorter passages than both the Ambrosian and Byzantine Rites, which have a longer selection from this passage, verses 36-53 (everything after the Supper at Emmaus), as the main Gospel of the feast; the Byzantines read the Roman Gospel at Orthros. In the Neo-Gallican Use of Paris, which expanded the Roman corpus of Scriptural readings considerably, while keeping to the traditional structure of the lectionary, verses 44-53 were assigned to the octave day of the Ascension.

Another passage which is connected to the feast is one of the most beautiful in St John’s Gospel, chapter 17, which Biblical scholars now often call the “priestly prayer.” On the vigil of the Ascension, the Missal of St Pius V has only the first 10½ verses, breaking off at vs. 11 “… and I come to thee.” The rest of the chapter is not read in either the temporal or sanctoral cycles, but verses 11-23 are the Gospel of the Votive Mass to remove a schism. In the Murbach lectionary, the rest of passage is read on the Wednesday following the Fourth Sunday after Easter; on the Sunday after the Ascension, the Ambrosian Rite reads the full chapter, while the Byzantine reads the first 13 verses. The revised Parisian Use kept the traditional Roman Gospel for the vigil, then very cleverly divided the rest into two parts. Verses 11b-19, in which Christ prays for the Apostles, is read on the Friday within the octave of the Ascension; the rest of the chapter, in which He prays “also for those who shall believe in Me though their word”, is assigned to Tuesday.

Two leaves of the Parisian Missal of 1736, with part of the propers for the Mass for the Friday after the octave of the Ascension, and the beginning of the vigil of Pentecost.

The Parisian Use is in many respects inspired by tradition, as in the examples given above, but did not shy away from innovations, which vary in quality. One of its better innovations, which has no precedent in the ancient Roman lectionaries, is the Gospel chosen for the Friday between the Octave of the Ascension and the vigil of Pentecost, which is traditionally celebrated as a kind of extension of the octave. (The Roman Missal repeats the Gospel of the Sunday). The liturgy of the Ascension often looks forward to the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost; an example is the responsory “If I do not go, the Holy Spirit, the Paraclete, will not come.” With the coming of the Holy Spirit, the Apostles will go out in the world to preach the Gospel, for which they, and many others after them, will receive the crown of martyrdom. The Parisian Use therefore moves away from St John, who dominates the Easter season, and takes this passage from St Luke, 12, 8-12, which looks forward to the ongoing witness to the life and teachings of Christ in the mission of His Church.

“At that time, Jesus said to His disciples: Whosoever shall confess me before men, him shall the Son of man also confess before the angels of God. But he that shall deny me before men, shall be denied before the angels of God. And whosoever speaketh a word against the Son of man, it shall be forgiven him: but to him that shall blaspheme against the Holy Ghost, it shall not be forgiven. And when they shall bring you into the synagogues, and to magistrates and powers, be not solicitous how or what you shall answer, or what you shall say; For the Holy Ghost shall teach you in the same hour what you must say.”

The Feast of St Petronilla

Long before either the Visitation or the Queenship of the Virgin Mary were celebrated on this day, and before those, St Angela Merici, the founder of the Ursulines, May 31st was the feast day of St Petronilla. Although she is missing from the oldest Roman liturgical books, she is seen in a painting of the mid-4th century in the catacomb of Domitilla, where she was buried, and her name appears on lists of the venerated tombs of martyrs in the sixth and seventh centuries. In the reign of Pope St Paul I (757-67), an ancient sarcophagus containing her remains was translated from the catacomb to the basilica of St Peter, the treasury of which still preserves a large metal reliquary with her skull inside it.

Fresco of the mid-4th century, with the martyr Petronilla on the right, leading a young woman named Veneranda into the garden of Paradise. (Image source.)

The true history of her life and martyrdom has long since been lost, but she was for many centuries believed to be the daughter of St Peter. This idea seems to have come partly from her name and the location of her relics, partly from a Gnostic “Acts of St Peter”, which speaks of a daughter of St Peter, without giving her a name. (In the Middle Ages, this apocryphal document would not have been understood as a work of heretical origin.)

The first edition of the Breviary of St Pius V carried over from its late medieval predecessors two brief Matins lessons of her life, which state that she was miraculously healed of paralysis by her father, relapsed, and while she was recovering again, a “count” named Flaccus conceived a wish to marry her sight unseen. Petronilla, “understanding that the human race’s most bitter enemy was readying an assault on her virginity, which she had dedicated to Jesus Christ”, prayed and fasted for three days, and then, after receiving the Eucharist, died. When St Robert Bellarmine and Cardinal Cesare Baronio revised the Saints’ lives for a new edition of the Breviary, published in 1602, these lessons were replaced with a generic one from the common of Virgins, a clear sign that the traditional story was considered wholly unreliable.

A reconstruction and partial cross-section view of old St Peter’s Basilica, with the mausoleum mentioned below on the far left. This structure was round on the outside, but octagonal on the inside. A narthex was later constructed between the left transept of the basilica and the rotunda, and doors opened up to form a passage from the church into the mausoleum. Another passage connected the mausoleum with its twin next door, also demolished by Vignola in the 1570s.

In the middle of the 5th century, a large mausoleum was built next to the left transept of the Constantinian basilica of St Peter. Six of its eight internal niches later became chapels, with that opposite the door being dedicated to St Petronilla; for a long time, this chapel was under the patronage of the kings of France. In 1498, Cardinal Jean Bilhères de Lagraulas, the French ambassador to the Papal court, commissioned his own funerary monument to be added to the chapel, from a 23-year-old Florentine sculptor named Michelangelo Buonarroti. This is, of course, one of the most loved and admired sculptures in the entire world, the Pietà.

Michelangelo did not know, of course, that only 7 years after the sculpture’s completion and the Cardinal’s death, both in 1499, Pope Julius II and the architect Donatello Bramante would begin (though just barely) the process of replacing the ancient basilica, then in a pitiable state. Much less did he know that, after decades of delays, he himself would take the project in hand in 1545, at the age of 70, and spend the last 19 years of his life working on the monumental church which we have today. Although he lived to an extraordinary age for that era, dying 2 weeks before his 89th birthday, he did know full well that he would not live to see the project finished. It fell to his successor as chief architect of St Peter’s, Giacomo Vignola, to demolish the mausoleum where the Pietà originally stood, in order to make way for the left transept of the vastly larger new basilica.

The Pietà now stands in its own chapel at the back of St Peter’s, and most of the thousands of people who come to see it every day never visit the chapel dedicated to St Petronilla on the opposite end of the building. (The new church is so much larger than the old one that this chapel in the northwest corner stands entirely outside the former footprint of the Constantinian structure.) Around the year 1623, the painter Francesco Barbieri (1591-1666), known by the nickname “Guercino” (“squinty” in the dialect of his native region, the Emilia Romagna), was commissioned to do a painting of the Burial of St Petronilla for this chapel.

Guercino was especially admired for a remarkably vivid blue paint of his own invention, which he uses for two figures in this painting, as well as the sky in the background. In the upper part, it clothes Christ as He receives St Petronilla into heaven. Although the historical St Petronilla was certainly honored as a martyr, as the legendary daughter of St Peter, she is honored as a virgin, but not as a martyr, and here she is shown receiving the crown of virginity, but not the palm of martyrdom.

Below, notice the intense realism of the scene of her burial; we see the hands of a man standing in her grave, but only his hands, reaching up to help lower her body into it. The fellow dressed in blue on the left is the painter’s tribute to Michelangelo, whose most famous sculpture formerly graced the chapel of the same Saint for whom Guercino himself made this painting. The face of this man is taken from a bust of Michelangelo carved by the latter’s disciple Daniele da Volterra, and his massive forearm is very much that of a sculptor. (Even as a very elderly man, Michelangelo never ceased to work in his favorite medium, sculpture in white marble, a labor-intensive and muscle-building activity.) Surely by design and not coincidence, the chapel immediately next to that of St Petronilla in the modern basilica is dedicated to Michelangelo’s name-saint, the Archangel Michael.

Portrait of Michelangelo by Marco Venusti, one of his friends and colleagues, ca. 1535. (Public domain image from Wikipedia.)

The Festival of St Joan of Arc in Orléans, France

Today is the feast of St Joan of Arc, kept on the anniversary of her execution by burning at the stake in the city of Rouen, in the year 1431. The second Sunday of May is kept as a national holiday in France in honor of her, called the “national holiday of Joan of Arc and of patriotism.” (The title isn’t any less awkward in French.) This date was chosen in reference to the liberation of Orléans on May 8, 1429, by troops under St Joan’s command; Orléans has its own annual St Joan festival, which runs from April 29-May 8. The city of Reims, where the French kings were traditionally crowned, has a festival on July 17, the anniversary of the coronation (also in 1429) of King Charles VII, which was made possible by the military defeat of the English in France, again, led by St Joan.

A friend of mine, Fr Jason Vidrine of the diocese of Lafayatte, Louisiana, was in Orléans at the end of April, and kindly agree to share these pictures of some of the events of the festival, and of the city’s cathedral. Part of the festival is held inside the cathedral...

where a young woman playing the part of St Joan is escorted in 

and is formally presented with a sword.

Continue Reading this Article. . .

The Holy Ghost Hole

A Holy Ghost hole in Saints Peter and Paul parish church in Söll, Austria

A curious architectural feature of some churches in France, southern Germany, and Austria is the Holy Ghost Hole, an opening in the ceiling into which different objects were once thrown during the celebration of the Mass. It is speculated that the art surrounding the hole indicates its original function. If the theme is the Holy Spirit, then the use of the Holy Ghost Hole was limited to Pentecost, but if the theme was more generic (such as the Eye of Providence featured below), it was used at other times of the year. The Holy Ghost Hole was an invention of the Middle Ages but it persisted into the Baroque era, at least as a façade, and in some churches, it could be disguised as a sound-hole for the organ.

Church of St. Michael, Ziegelbach, Germany

Annunciation

The Holy Ghost Hole was useful on at least three holy days. On the Annunciation (March 25), churches in western Germany that had one would lower a boy dressed as Saint Gabriel it to address another young actor playing Mary below. As the children in the congregation looked up in awe, their mothers would surreptitiously place cookies or candy on the pew benches, allowing them to believe that Gabriel’s heavenly companions put them there. [Francis X. Weiser, S.J., Handbook of Christian Feasts and Customs (Harcourt, Brace, and Company, 1958), 303.]

Ascension Thursday

Second, on the Ascension, some churches hoisted a statue of Jesus Christ up into the hole with a pulley after the Gospel was read. The first recorded instance of this custom is marked with tragedy: in 1433, the Provost of the Augustinian Canons’ Monastery in Bernried, Germany, was killed by a falling figure of Christ after the rope broke. Today the custom continues in two parishes in the Freising district of Germany.

One custom that did not survive is the sequel to the Ascension of the Christ statue. Inspired by the Book of Revelation’s description of the fall of the dragon from Heaven, some churches threw one or more straw effigies of the devil out of the Holy Ghost Hole. Apparently, this addition caused quite a stir, as spirited adolescents would drag the effigy through the streets before burning it. Tired of all the commotion, the clergy eventually suppressed the practice around the eighteenth century.

Kapelle Schanz in Ebbs, Austria

Pentecost

But the main use of the Holy Ghost Hole was on Pentecost. During the chanting of the sequence Veni Sancte Spiritus, communities came up with creative ways to mimic the descent of the gifts of the Holy Spirit upon the first disciples. The eminent scholar of feasts and customs Fr. Francis X. Weiser, SJ writes:

In some towns of central Europe people even went so far as to drop pieces of burning wick or straw from the Holy Ghost Hole, to represent the flaming tongues of Pentecost. This practice, however, was eventually stopped because it tended to put the people on fire externally, instead of internally as the Holy Spirit had done at Jerusalem. [ibid. 252]

France had a safer if not cleaner solution. In the thirteenth century, several cathedrals released real white pigeons that flew around inside while roses were dropped from the Holy Ghost Hole. The records do not show how the pigeons were collected afterwards, or who had to clean up the birds’ own contributions to the floor and pews.

Another option was lowering a blue disc the size of a wagon wheel with the figure of a white dove painted on it. The disc would swing in ever-widening circles as it descended. Some places even provided sound effects, imitating the noise made by the Holy Spirit’s appearance in the Upper Room with trumpets, windbags, hissing, humming, and rattling benches. It too was followed by a shower of rose petals.

Rose petals, in fact appear to have been the most popular (and reasonable) practice. The most famous example of this custom today is at the Basilica of St. Mary and the Martyrs in Rome, better known as the Pantheon. Volunteers from the local fire department scale the roof of the ancient temple and throw thousands of petals through the oculus, the opening in the center of the dome. Although the oculus predates the Holy Ghost Hole by a millennium, it serves the same function.

Gaming Parish Church

We conclude with a more modest example, the Pfarrkirche Gaming or Gaming Parish Church, in the tiny town of Gaming, Austria, (not to be confused with the magnificent medieval Karthause (former Carthusian monastery) less than a mile away.)

Exterior of the Gaming parish church

The small Baroque church serves the town’s 3,200 residents. Its simple exterior belies its ornate interior, which includes statues completely plated in gold, and an elaborate pulpit made of marble and wood. The church also has an organ that legend says a young Mozart once played.

The church organ

Interior of the Gaming Parish Church

More to the point, the small church boasts of two Holy Ghost Holes. The first, in the nave, is covered with the eye-and-pyramid image betokening the Providence of God, similar to that found on the back of every U.S. dollar bill.

The first Holy Ghost Hole over the nave in the Gaming Parish Church

That same pyramid crowns the reredos of the high altar in the sanctuary. As the eyes ascends beyond it, one comes to the second Holy Ghost Hole, which is covered with an image of a dove.

The second Holy Ghost Hole over the sanctuary in the Gaming Parish Church

No petals, fireballs, devils, or angelically-clad children came out of these two holes in the old days, nor did statues of Our Lord pass up through them. They are Baroque organ-holes masquerading as the real thing. Nevertheless, like their more authentic counterparts, they are both a marvelous testimony to the dramatic flair of our ancestors and a permanent reminder to the worshipper that the Holy Spirit stands ready to descend into our hearts every day of the year and not just on special occasions.

“Hold Fast to the Traditions” - Guest Article by Mr Jay Rattino

Our thanks to Mr Jay Rattino for sharing with us this interesting article about the folk customs of Italian Catholics, and the efforts being made to preserve and revive them.

The Italian Catholic communities throughout New Jersey and the surrounding areas are filled with long-standing traditions, and there are renewed efforts going on to revive the devotional customs brought to this country by their ancestors. For those unfamiliar with these practices, witnessing them can evoke both awe and confusion, often prompting the question, “What exactly is this?” Many of these traditions fall under the umbrella of Catholic folk piety, which Gregory DiPippo defines as “devotional customs and practices which have arisen spontaneously among the people, and not from the Church’s official rites.” Phillip Campbell, in a video for Unam Sanctam Catholicam, further reflects on how these simple acts express profound theological truths.

A great example—recently highlighted in an article on New Liturgical Movement—comes from Dr. Peter Kwasniewski’s pilgrimage to Catania, Sicily. The patroness of the town is St. Agatha, who endured multiple tortures, including the cutting off of her breasts. During her feast, which spans three days, Dr. Kwasniewski witnessed “countless individual candles,” “hundreds of devotees wearing white garments and medallions,” a “giant silver reliquary,” depictions of St. Agatha in prison, and more. The picture of an entire city embracing its patroness with such dramatic public devotion is striking. This is a vivid and moving example of Catholic folk piety in action.

The Italian immigrants who came to the United States brought with them many of these folk devotions, and while they may not be on quite so grand a scale in New Jersey — or in the United States as a whole — one can still see traces of them, which we can perhaps also think of as seeds read to sprout again.

During March, you can see a plethora of tables presented to St. Joseph at churches like St. Joseph’s in Lodi, St. Mary’s in Nutley, Our Lady of Mount Virgin in Garfield, and more. As the blog Il Regno explains, the St. Joseph table is a popular tradition throughout Sicily, which dates back to medieval times, when the saint interceded during a severe drought and famine. It is customary for these tables to include a serving of Pasta con le Sarde (Pasta with Sardines); the pasta is topped with toasted breadcrumbs (a muddica), symbolizing the sawdust of a carpenter’s workshop—a tribute to St. Joseph the Worker.

The St. Rocco Society of Fort Lee carries their saint in a traditional procession, but at one point, they begin to run—a joyful tradition known as the Running of the Saint, which traces its origins back to their hometown in Italy.

At St. Lucy’s in Newark, you’ll find St. Gerard’s statue on full display before the novena begins. Shortly after, you’ll consistently see blankets of cash wrapped around the statue—an expression of gratitude by devotees for favors received.

The St. Joseph Society of Lodi celebrates their patron on (or around) March 19 and May 1—but also during Labor Day Weekend. According to society leaders, the founders chose this weekend without work to honor St. Joseph the Worker, dedicating it as a time of rest in his name.

These traditions (and many more) are alive—some thriving more than others, comparable to a pilot light: steady and quietly burning. But recently, that pilot light has been turned up to full blast, thanks to a fresh wave of energy from young people involved in the Italian Apostolate of the Archdiocese of Newark.

Under the direction of Eric Lavin, the Apostolate has been actively supporting these traditions across the archdiocese through promotion and participation. In addition to preserving the rich cultural and spiritual heritage of Italian communities, the group has organized pilgrimages (including to the Padre Pio Shrine and Mother Cabrini Shrine) and continues to support both an Italian-language RCIA program and Italian-language Masses throughout the archdiocese. Most notably, the Italian Apostolate is also helping to revive and bolster forgotten or fading Italian Catholic traditions—and even to bring to light devotions previously unknown to many.

In southern Italian tradition, sepolcri are donated to churches and presented at the Altar of Repose on Holy Thursday. As Il Regno explains, these are potted wheat or lentil sprouts that lack color because they are grown in darkness during the days leading up to Holy Week. The pale, yellow plants represent death, rebirth, and the Resurrection. Over the past two years, the Italian Apostolate has revived this custom by growing the plants and providing them to parishes across the archdiocese.

Courtesy of the blog Il Regno

In much of Italy, including the south, it is more common to distribute olive branches on Palm Sunday instead of palms. The branches are typically decorated with ribbons, paper flowers, and sometimes even caciocavallo cheese—a unique offering of beauty and abundance to begin Holy Week. The Italian Apostolate has embraced this tradition, organizing the distribution of these decorated olive branches to both Italian and non-Italian parishes throughout the archdiocese, continuing the legacy of southern Italian Catholic customs with renewed devotion.

Other examples of interesting devotions include two distinguished feasts—Madonna del Sacro Monte and the feast of Maria Santissima Incoronata—where young girls may dress as the Blessed Virgin Mary or an angel, and young boys as Saint Anthony of Padua or Saint Pio of Pietrelcina. The processions and reenactments are expressions of deep devotion, allowing children to embody the saints as part of the community’s act of worship and celebration.

Some other feasts have gone defunct, such as those of St. Rocco (Church of the Assumption in Emerson), St. Michael (St. Lucy’s in Newark), Our Lady of the Snows (same), and Maria SS. della Lavina (St. Aloysius in Caldwell). But this last has recently seen a promising revival, featuring a Solemn High Latin Mass, with the celebration resuming and growing steadily. Perhaps, with a little zeal, the others too may experience a revival.

Locally, the Italian Apostolate of the Archdiocese of Newark is working hard to bring people back to Mass, preserve long-held traditions, and revive those that were once lost. Beyond New Jersey, this trend is gaining traction among young Italian Catholics across America.

The Italian Mass Project of New York promotes Catholic initiatives for the Italian-American community throughout the New York area. In Denver, Colorado, La Società Maria SS. dei Sette Dolori seeks to restore religious and cultural traditions at their local parish, Our Lady of Mount Carmel. The Madonna del Lume Associazione is instituting an annual procession in Tampa, Florida—featuring a 24-man processional vara (platform) to carry their statue of Our Lady of Light. Under the patronage of St. Catherine of Alexandria, Italian Feasts promotes Italian celebrations and traditions nationwide, offering a current calendar of events that connects communities across the country.

“So then, brothers and sisters, stand firm and hold fast to the traditions that you were taught by us, either by our spoken word or by our letter.” 2 Thessalonians 2, 15

True pious devotions and traditions need to be preserved. Lost ones need to be revived.

At Newark Italian Apostolate events and meetings, you'll find the familiar group of dedicated members working hard to preserve, revive, and support Italian Catholic traditions.

But perhaps the greater victory is this: the curious secular soul who observes one of these traditions and asks, “What is this?” They drop into a meeting or event, drawn by something they saw in person or on social media. There, they encounter Catholic folk piety—and then say to themselves, “I’d like to be a part of this.”

That’s because these traditions can be the hook a soul needs to draw close to Jesus. Many people are not yet ready for direct catechesis—but the taste of a St. Joseph pastry or a plate of pasta con le sarde can be the first door to a life of grace in Christ and His Church.

Rendiamo grazie a Dio!

The Ascension of the Lord 2025

Men of Galilee, why do you wonder looking up to heaven? alleluia. As you have seen Him going into heaven, so shall He come, alleluia, alleluia, alleluia. Ps 46 All ye nations, clap your hands: shout unto God with the voice of joy. Glory be... Men of Galilee... (The Introit of the Ascension)

The Ascension, 1495-98, by Pietro Perugino (1448-1523); public domain image from Wikimedia Commons.

Introitus Viri Galilaei, quid admirámini aspicientes in caelum? allelúja: quemádmodum vidistis eum ascendentem in caelum, ita veniet, allelúja, allelúja, allelúja. Ps. 46 Omnes gentes, pláudite mánibus: jubiláte Deo in voce exsultatiónis. Gloria Patri... Viri Galilaei...

A motet by Palestrina on a similar text.

How Medieval Christians Celebrated the Rogation Days (with a Dragon)

The following description of the Rogation Processions comes from a canon of the cathedral of Siena named Oderico, who in the year 1213 wrote a detailed account of the liturgical texts and ceremonies used in his church.

“Mindful of that promise of the Gospel, ‘Ask, and ye shall receive,’ (John 16, 24; from the Gospel of the Sunday which precedes the Lesser Litanies) St Mamertus, bishop of Vienne, in this week instituted the three days of the Litanies, because of an urgent necessity … days which are greatly celebrated by every church with fasts and prayers. The Greek word ‘litany’ means ‘supplication,’ because in the Litanies we beseech the Lord that he may defend us from every adversity, and sudden death; and we pray the Saints that they may intercede for us before the Lord. … The Church celebrates the Litanies with devotion in these three days, with (processional) crosses, banners, and relics She goes from church to church, humbly praying the Saints that they may intercede with God for our excesses, ‘that we may obtain by their intercession what we cannot obtain by our own merits.’ (citing a commonly used votive Collect of all the Saints.) ...

It is the custom of certain churches also to carry a dragon on the first two days before the Cross and banner, with a long, inflated tail, but on the third day, (it goes) behind the Cross and banners, with its tail down. This is the devil, who in three periods, before the Law, under the Law, and under grace, deceives us, or wishes to do so. In the first two (periods) he was, as it were, the lord of the world; therefore, he is called the Prince or God of this world, and for this reason, in the first day, he goes with his tail inflated. In the time of grace, however, he was conquered by Christ, nor dares he to reign openly, but seduces men in a hidden way; this is the reason why on the last day he follows with his tail down.” (Ordo Officiorum Ecclesiae Senensis, 222)

Oderico does not describe the dragon, but given that Siena is in Tuscany, still a major center of leather-working to this day, we may imagine that the dragon itself was a large wooden image mounted on wheels or a cart, and the inflatable tail something like a leather bellows. It should be noted that in addition to the processional cross, Oderico mentions both banners and relics as part of the processional apparatus. In the medieval period, it was considered particularly important to carry relics in procession; so much so that, for example, a rubric of the Sarum Missal prescribes that a bier with relics in it be carried even in the Palm Sunday procession. A typical bier for these processions is shown in the lower right corner of this page of the famous Book of Hours known as the Très Riches Heures du duc de Berry. made by the Limbourg brothers between 1411 and 1416.

Why Louis Bouyer Is Delightful and Frustrating to Read

One experience I think many of us have had with liturgical authors who wrote prior to the Council and/or the imposition of the Novus Ordo is that we find in their works so many wonderful insights, mingled with passages of excruciating naivete, baffling optimism about the possibilities of reform-in-continuity, strange flights of reformatory fancy, embarrassingly erroneous theories (such as “the canon of Hippolytus” and “early Christian clergy celebrated versus populum”), and the like. It can feel a bit schizophrenic to go from a glowing paragraph on the glories of tradition to another paragraph about how this and that have to be rethought and reworked. One suffers from intellectual whiplash.

This experienced plays itself out with a wide variety of authors: Romano Guardini, Pius Parsch, Ildefonso Schuster, Joseph Jungmann, Joseph Ratzinger, Yves Congar, Hans Urs von Balthasar, Henri de Lubac, A.-M. Roguet, J.D. Chrichton, and others less famous. But the whiplash author par excellence must surely be Louis Bouyer—a theologian who, let’s say on page 35, was capable of dismissing as buffoons the squadrons of tinkering liturgists, and then on page 37 of declaring that Baroque excrescences had to be purged from the liturgy (presumably, by specialists like himself). His soaring lyricism about traditional aspects of the liturgy is matched only by his acerbic criticism of just about everything to do with the concrete liturgical life of the preconciliar era.

A good example of the mingling of true, dubious, and erroneous may be found in his important 1963 work Rite and Man, recently republished by Cluny Media. In what follows, I will first present an overview of major themes, then look at Bouyer’s take-away for the liturgical reform taking place at the very time he was writing, and lastly, discuss why Bouyer shows the fracture-lines he does.

What Is Required for Ritual Activity

Essentially, this work is an extended prelude to Guardini’s Sacred Signs that tries to explain the natural religious presuppositions of Catholic liturgy. Unless we deeply understand the roots of liturgy in human nature and Christian tradition, we are destined to misunderstand, misappropriate, and deform it even further.

Bouyer draws on recent discoveries of depth psychology and comparative religion to show how man, naturally religious, has expressed his religious experience in history. He shows empirically what we confess in faith: that the Christian religion is the fulfillment of all natural religion. He shows the origin of religious rituals, their relation to divine word, developing notions of sacred time and space, showing in each case how Christian rituals recapitulate and consummate these universal features of natural religion. Finally, he suggests how this study might inform the Liturgical Movement.

Primitive Rites and Natural Sacramentality. In its earliest stages, religious man felt himself surrounded by divine hierophanies: fire, mountains, woods, the rhythmic seasons. Each of these was a manifestation of divine power in which man participated out of reverence and fear. Thus, rites developed spontaneously as man’s attempt to participate in these divine revelations (e.g., fertility rites) and attain union with the divine powers. Each natural object had its hierophanic meaning (water, fire, earth, etc). Men understood these rites to be somehow divinely instituted—actions of the gods in which man was privileged to participate. 
 

Rite and Divine Word. These rites naturally gained expression in priestly prayers and in myths. Myths exist to justify the divine institution of primitive rites—this is a fascinating point: rites actually precede myths and give rise to them, but, at the same, thereby dangerously objectify them. Priestly prayers, too, though necessary for human participation in the ritual, can devolve into mere magic: a human arrogance that believes a set rite or prayer in a sacred language may obligate the deity. One may think of the Carmina Saliaria, the ossified antique Latin prayers used in religious rites even in the Late Republic: no one understood them anymore, but their supposed magical powers made them last.

Thus, the natural relationship between rite and divine word is essential to the survival of genuine cultus. The rite is established by divine word, because it is divine action. Only when clothed in the living divine word can the rite be what it really is: the gratuitous re-enactment for us by God of a divine action. If the divine word does not constitute the rite, then the rite devolves into magic: a collection of formulae and gestures whose validity binds the divine agent to confer certain boons. The Bible makes copious protest against such magic-making, when it insists on the radically conditional presence of God among His people. The sense of divine theophany is lost, and the rites become a mere instrument—a work of human hands.

Here is a marvelous passage that makes for painful reading when we think about the liturgical reform and the extent to which it falls afoul of the fundamental law Bouyer discerned:

This is why at all times and in all places rites are considered to be the work of the gods. The men who celebrate these rites would not celebrate them as they do if they thought that they were themselves their authors. And, in fact, the rites soon cease to be observed when men get the idea that they were instituted by other men before them…. Far from being an exception to this rule, Christianity is a transcendent realization of it…. Where this conviction fails or becomes obscured, the sacraments are emptied of their substance, just as in any case where rites come to be regarded as simple human actions, as pious means of teaching the people invented by theologians. In such a hypothesis, the theologians themselves have no need of these rites since they are supposed to have already been in substantial possession of the religion itself and to have later created the rites as a means of transmitting it to the people…. This aspect of the matter should be pointed up in more detail since it is so fundamental that if sight of it is once lost, the very possibility of a substantially religious ritual is also lost. (p. 69)

Bouyer also tarries for two chapters on the nature of sacred space and sacred time. He concludes by drawing several practical applications for the liturgical movement.

Applications to Liturgical Reform

First, he maintains that a sense of natural religion must be restored. This is where one feels the kinship with Guardini the most: we must “not attempt to rationalize [liturgy], to empty it not only of its mystery but also of its expressions that are not strictly rational. They should, on the contrary, seize again upon the chords in the heart of modern man which respond to these eternal expressions in order to restore to them their maximum efficacy. At the same time, we must do everything in our power to revive modern man’s atrophied faculties…and to bring back to our contemporaries a religious culture….,” that is, one rooted in the natural sacramentality of the world. Otherwise, there is no hope for man to live the liturgy.

A photo I took in Wyoming years ago at a ranch

This point has major implications in all kinds of spheres: family life, parish life, education. For example, ideally, schools should educate in natural religion, in two phases: first, students should be immersed in literature and poetry that fascinate with their beauty and indeed their superintelligibility, which escapes what the rational mind immediately grasps; then, they should be immersed in the wilderness, which will create a great void of silence and a sense of grandeur. (It could go in the other order, too; indeed, best of all would be some alternation between poetry and the wilderness.) With these experiences in place, the traditional liturgy is capable of capturing the soul with its beauty, transcendence, seriousness, and holiness. This is the process all students of the college should go through, because it is the true end of a liberal education: being truly free to worship God as He planned. Everything falls into line behind this supreme final goal!

Second, we should restore the primacy of the divine word. In Bouyer’s view, current liturgical practice—when the congregation stands silently by, either subjected to rationalistic commentaries on the sacred action or devoutly praying their private devotions—is a clear devolution into the sort of white magic that, according to his historical analysis, is an ever recurring danger in established rites when the ceremony is seen as a formulaic means of binding the divinity’s power. The Divine Word in the Eucharist is made present through the divine words of consecration as a consummation of the divine words of Scripture. Thus, according to Bouyer, the faithful should hear the Scripture (and much of the Canon) proclaimed in the vernacular, so that the liturgy is sufficiently manifest as divine word, rather than seeming to be a distant apotropaic relic.

Here, of course, is where red flags should be popping up. It seems like Bouyer, though he cites the dogma of ex opere operato efficacity, does not fully appreciate the objectivity of it; on his own account it might be criticized as magic (a description Sebastian Morello would take as a compliment). Bouyer is right to take a dim view of a liturgical minimalism content with validity and rubrical correctness, but surely there is quite a bit of terrain lying between magical thinking and the view that immediate verbal comprehension is the only way to see the liturgy as God speaking to us and accomplishing His salvation.

Third, purging the rites of “dramatic” substitutes for living rites clothed in the divine word. He is reticent about giving particulars in this book, but elsewhere he complains about certain elements of pomp and circumstance, the accumulation and duplication of ceremonial gestures that could seem fussy or superfluous, the importation of allegories, and other elements that seem to belong to a staged religious drama. This emphasis on “the word” as the be-all and end-all might prompt one to wonder if the old Protestant pastor in Bouyer has not quite let go of his grip.

Fourth, Bouyer approves of a certain adaptation of liturgy to modern man. At the same time, he explicitly condemns rationalizing the liturgy, turning altars around (!), etc. But he remains vague. What does he mean that the liturgy must be “adapted to modern man with his technical and rational outlook”? Is he too confident about the work specialists can do? How exactly is a technical and rational outlook compatible with the wellsprings of natural religion he so eloquently canvased? How is it compatible with spiritual perception of the divine word that brings Christian man into being? One might think, rather, that the Church needs somehow to work against the technical and rational outlook in order to prevent it from undermining liturgy altogether.
 

Modernity does not seem especially conducive to liturgy.

An Insoluble Contradiction

Bouyer was very influential in his day, yet he expressed himself in ways that were easily misconstrued and exaggerated. He regretted all this later when it was much too late; he could have made his own the words of Joseph Ratzinger:

Anyone like myself, who was moved by this perception [viz., that liturgy is a living network of tradition that cannot be torn apart] in the time of the Liturgical Movement on the eve of the Second Vatican Council, can only stand, deeply sorrowing, before the ruins of the very things they were concerned for.

Case in point: Bouyer generally criticizes liturgy from the late medieval period through the Baroque as “theatrical” and “courtly,” but doesn’t seem to recall that Scripture heavily uses the language of God as a King surrounded by His court (as I discuss here). He criticizes the Tridentine liturgy for being too privatized, ritualistic, and intellectual, but does not see that it connected people consistently with the numinous, with the real presence of our Lord, and spoke to their souls—the souls of very common people, of farmers, artisans, laborers, as well as the educated and sophisticated. That is, he was overlooking strengths that are obvious to us in retrospect, now that a banal fabrication has been substituted in its place. Again, he lamented the rationalization and verbalization of the Mass, but all too late.

It seems to me that Bouyer, like Guardini, was trapped in an insoluble contradiction. For them, religion begins in something primeval, natural, essential, vital; and yet modern man is trapped in technology, subjectivism, egoism, calculative reason, and is cut off from his natural roots. So how do we build a bridge? Well, we can either try to awaken man to what is natural and primordial, the mysterium tremendum et fascinans, or we can adapt and modify liturgy to his peculiar condition in an effort to educate him “as he is” and “where he is.”

The problem is that doing the latter—judging and reworking the liturgy, in other words, in contrast to submitting to a liturgy handed down from tradition—puts man in the pseudo-divine position of fabricating rites, when this is contrary to the very notion of a rite; or, one might say it implicitly makes him a god, the measure of all things, even of the sacred. Hence it compounds his alienation from the divine and makes the overall situation even worse. In contrast, the principle of tradition—namely, that one should have immense respect for what is given as a result of long centuries of organic development—has at least the merit of taking a man out of himself, out of his age and its limitations, and connecting him with, or at least confronting him to, something greater, deeper, broader, other than himself and his age.

Bouyer, it seems to me, is caught on the horns of this dilemma, which is why he will say in one chapter the sort of things traditionalists say, and then in the next chapter, the sort of things Bugnini or Lercaro say. Ultimately, I do not think his liturgical theology is altogether coherent, and yet it is extremely thought-provoking. It exercised a seductive power over the minds of men who genuinely wanted the faithful to be enthusiastic participants in the Church’s liturgy. The irony is that, in the effort to move away from “magic” to “word,” we ended up with a Protestantized “liturgy of the word”—and here I include the Canon inasmuch as it is said aloud in the vernacular—that lacks the dimension of mystery at the heart of the authentic notion of the word: the mysterion, the secret both hidden and revealed. Thus, we departed not merely from the Tridentine heritage of the preceding four centuries, but from the most ancient heritage of the Fathers, who already speak of the liturgy as something fearful, awesome, tremendous (as verified in this article).

It is true that Bouyer considered the experts of his day to be well-qualified for the work of revising the liturgical books, but as John Pepino recounts in his superb article “Cassandra’s Curse: Louis Bouyer, the Liturgical Movement, and the Post-Conciliar Reform of the Mass” (Antiphon 18.3 [2014]: 254–300), already as early as the 1950s Bouyer was complaining about would-be reformers impatient to replace the genuine liturgy of the Church with a pastoral construction of utilitarian aims. Like many churchmen, I genuinely believe Bouyer did not think it was possible or conceivable that the liturgy could or would be jettisoned in the manner in which it actually was jettisoned. He would have instinctively viewed it as monolithic, permanent, dominant, almost immovable, so that the reformers would have functioned more like men who were simply cleaning off the old mosaics or repositioning the pillars—not removing or replacing them. When things turned out differently, he was among those most surprised at the wreckage.

It is fair to say that Guardini and Bouyer would have heartily approved of what students at Wyoming Catholic College are doing: climbing mountains, memorizing poems, and learning Latin as a spoken language, among other full-immersion activities. By taking seriously the senses, the imagination, the poetic, the literary, in confrontation with God’s First Book, their souls are opened to receive the powerful divine message of the sacred liturgy. Perhaps this is the principal reform that needs to take place: a reform of our minds and hearts, so that the revelation of God will not fall on deaf ears.

The Crazy Liturgy of the Lesser Rogations in the Gallican Rite

The Lesser Rogations which we keep on the three days before the Ascension are actually older than the Greater Rogations kept on April 25th. They are called “lesser” because they were instituted in Gaul ca. 470 AD, by St Mamertus, the bishop of Vienne, and only adopted into the Roman Rite about 300 years later.

Two leaves of the Farnese Hours, showing a penitential procession and part of the Litany of the Saints. Painted by Giulio Clovio for Card. Alessandro Farnese, in 1546; now in the Morgan Library in New York City.

Compared to other ancient liturgical rites, the Roman Rite is almost always very simple and even austere. In the Office of the Rogations, those who do not participate in a procession observe these days by saying the Litany of the Saints after Lauds; the Greater Rogation is not otherwise commemorated in the Office. Monday of the Lesser Rogations is commemorated only at Lauds if impeded by a feast; Tuesday is not commemorated at all; Wednesday is effectively occupied by the vigil of the Ascension. The Rogation Mass is the same for all three days, and very simple, with no Gloria or Creed, and one Alleluja between the readings; the Epistle is 5 verses long, the Gospel 9.

Compare this with the manner in which the Lesser Rogations were celebrated in the Gallican rite within which they originated. This is the schedule of Scriptural readings added to the Divine Office.

Monday

At Matins: Dan. 9, 2-19

At Terce: the Epistle of St James (yes, that means the whole book); Matt. 5, 17-26

At Sext: the First Epistle of St Peter; Matt. 7, 1-12

At None: the book of Tobias; Matt. 6, 1-13

Tuesday

At Matins: Joel, 1, 13 - 2, 11

At Terce: the Second Epistle of St Peter; Matt. 13, 2-23

At Sext: the First Epistle of St John; Luke 12, 15-31

At None: the book of Judith; Matt. 5, 31-48

Wednesday

At Matins: Hosea 5, 1 - 6, 6

At Terce: the Second and Third Epistles of St John; Matt. 4, 13-17 and 11, 28-30

At Sext: the Epistle of St Jude; Matt. 21, 28-32

At None: the book of Esther; Matt. 6, 14-33

This is the set of readings given in the Lectionary of Luxeuil (ca. 700 AD; BnF. ms. Latin 9427). Our knowledge of the Gallican Divine Office is very incomplete, and I don’t know enough about it to contextualize this, but of course, this is all in addition to the regular Hours, the Mass and the Procession.

The picture is folio 165v, which gives the rubric for None of Monday, “the Book of Tobit, to the end.” (The three full books of the Old Testament are not included in the lectionary itself, since they would have been read from a Bible, but the seven Catholic Epistles are given in full.) The script is typical of the Merovingian period, a kind of chancery script that has been described as the result of dipping a chicken’s feet in ink and letting it wander around over the page for a while.

The Symbolism of Mary in Images of the Hospitality of Abraham

Here is a hymn to the Virgin Mary, a ‘Theotokion’ from the Canon of Sunday Orthros, tone 1, in the Byzantine Rite:

Rejoice, O well-spring of grace! Rejoice, O ladder and door of heaven! Rejoice, O lampstand and golden jar, thou unquarried mountain, who for the world gavest birth unto Christ, the Bestower of life!

And from the great hymn to the Virgin Mary, the Akathist, Ikos 3:

Rejoice, O Table laden with mercy in abundance!

We can see a pattern here: Tradition compares Mary to anything that is adjacent to God, facilitates His work, or contains Christ and the Eucharist.

In the first hymn, the ladder is a reference to the ladder which Jacob sees in a dream(Genesis 32, 24-30), by which angels ascend and descend as God speaks from above, symbolising a connection between heaven and earth. A lampstand is a more generic symbol: it bears the flame of the lamp, the light which represents the Light of Christ. And the unquarried mountain from which came the unhewn stone, representing Christ, as referred to in the Book of Daniel, is also a symbol of the Virgin. 

Consider now these paintings of the Biblical episode known as the Hospitality of Abraham, recounted in Genesis 18, 1-10. These first two are traditional Russian icons, the one on the right by the famous painter Andrei Rublev.

There is no direct depiction of Mary in these. However, the scene is interpreted as an allusion to the Eucharist held within jars on the altar, and the table upon which the meal is served is likened to an altar. The three strangers, who are subsequently revealed as angels from heaven, are traditionally interpreted as symbols of the three persons of the Trinity. Some contemporary commentators see in the Rublev the shape of a chalice, traced by the right edge of the left figure and the left edge of the right figure. I will admit that while I am happy to consider that the golden chalice, which is painted on the table, is an allusion to the Eucharist that the artist intended, I am not convinced that the second was more than a feature of good and balanced compositional design, intended to mimic rhythmically the shape of the chalice. Hence, it draws our attention to it through a graceful convergence of lines.

Regardless of what we think about this more modern interpretation, by connecting even the more conservative interpretation of the imagery of all images of the Hospitality of Abraham with the hymns given above, it is fair to say that if we think of the Golden Jar in the painting as the vessel containing the Bread of the Blessed Sacrament, then the table is the “Table laden with mercy in abundance,” that is, laden with Christ, present in the Eucharist. And we now see Mary symbolised within these paintings as both table and chalice.

Here is a much earlier representation of the Hospitality of Abraham, a 5th-century mosaic in the basilica of St Mary Major in Rome:

And another Russian icon of the Hospitality, painted by an anonymous artist in the 14th century:

And a 13th-century Gothic illumination from the French Psalter of St Louis:

In all of these, we can see the Eucharistic, and therefore also the Marian, symbolism within it. 

However, if we examine a painting of the same scene by Rembrandt, even though it is a beautiful work, the symbolism is lacking. I see no golden jar or any attempt to portray a table which might be interpreted as an altar. Rembrandt was a Protestant, so it is not surprising that this is missing.

Durandus on the Minor Litanies

The following excerpts are taken from book VI, chapter 102 of William Durandus’ treatise on the Divine Offices.

On the three days before the feast of the Lord’s Ascension, the Rogations, which are also called the Litanies: the Greek word “litania” in Latin is “supplication”, or “rogation” (from ‘rogare – to ask’), on which the Holy Church asks God… to destroy the counsel of those who wish to live outside Her peace. At the same time, we also beseech God that He may defend us from a sudden death, and from every infirmity, and we ask the Saints, that they may intercede for us before God. …

The Procession of St Gregory the Great, by an anonymous Sienese painter of the mid-16th century. The traditional story recounts that when the procession described below reached the Mausoleum of Hadrian, which is fairly close to St Peter’s Basilica, an angel appeared over it with a drawn sword in his hand, which he then sheathed, symbolizing the end of the plague as in 2 Samuel 24.

Now the Litanies are two, the Greater and the Lesser. The Greater is on the feast of the blessed Mark, and was created by the blessed Gregory (the Great), because of a plague, which caused a swelling of the groin. Paul, a monk of Monte Cassino, the author of “The History of the Lombards”, wrote the story of its institution, saying that in the time of Pope Pelagius (II, 579-90) there was so great a flood in Italy, that the waters rose as high as the upper windows of the temple of Nero in Rome … Then there came forth up the Tiber a multitude of serpents, and one very large dragon among them, whose breath corrupted the air; from this came the plague in the groin, from which men died suddenly all over the place. When nearly the whole population of Rome had been destroyed, Pelagius declared a fast and procession for all, but during it, he himself died, along with seventy others. Gregory I, who is also called the Great, took his place, and commanded that this Litany be observed throughout the world; it is therefore called the Gregorian or Roman Litany. It is also called “Black Crosses”, since, as a sign of mourning for the death of so many men, and as a sign of penance, people wear black clothing, and the crosses and altars are veiled in black.

A folio of the Echternach Sacramentary, 895AD, with the stational prayers for the Greater Litanies as they were done in Rome; the stations are at the church of San Lorenzo in Lucina, St Valentine (very far up the Tiber), “ad Pontem Olbi”, a corruption of “ad Pontem Milvium – at the Milvian bridge”, “at the Cross”, which was a station set up along the way, and two “in the atrium” of St Peter’s Basilica. (Bibliothèque nationale de France. Département des Manuscrits. Latin 9433; folio 76r.)

The Lesser Litanies, which are also called Rogations and processions, take place on the three days before the Ascension, … they were created in Vienne by the blessed Mamertus, bishop of that city. Because of a plague of wolves and other wild beasts, who were ferociously killing men in Gaul, and because of the dangerous earthquakes which were frequently taking place there, he enjoined a fast of three days on the people, and instituted the Litanies. But when the danger had passed, the fast became a custom of annual observance … This latter is called the Lesser Litany, because it was instituted by a lesser person, that is, by a simple bishop, and in a less important place, Vienne, while the Greater (Litany) is so called because it was instituted in a more important place, namely, Rome, and by a greater person, namely, Gregory the Great, and because of a great and very serious plague. However, the Lesser Litany is older, since it was instituted when Zeno was Emperor (ca. 470 AD), and the Greater in the time of the Emperor Maurice (582-602)

Litanies are also held for many other reasons, wherefore Pope Liberius established that a litany should be held for war, famine, pestilence, and other imminent adversities of this sort, so that we may escape from them by supplications, prayers and fasts. Therefore, because in this time of the year especially wars are wont to break out, and the fruits of the earth, which are still in bud or flower, can easily be corrupted in many different ways, the litanies are held, so that we may ask God to turn these things away from us, and to defend and deliver us from bad weather, and war, and the enemies of the Christian religion, as we also implore the patronage of the Saints …

… we beseech the Saints, because of our poverty, and their glory, and reverence for God. And when we celebrate the Litany because of imminent dangers, in penitential and mournful garb, we represent that last procession of the women who wept after the Lord when He was being led to the Cross, weeping, according to the Lord’s command, for ourselves and our children.

The imposition of ashes before the Rogation procession celebrated in 2017 in Milan; in the Ambrosian Rite, the penitential character of the Rogation days is far more marked than in the Roman Rite.

The Litanies also take place in this time, since the Church now asks more confidently, because Christ ascends, Who said, “Ask and ye shall receive.” (In the Gospel of the Sunday before the Ascension, John 16, 23-30.) She fasts at this time and prays, that through the mortification of the flesh, She may have little to do with it, and gain wings for herself through prayer, which is the wing by which the soul flies up to heaven. Thus is She is able to freely follow Christ as He ascends, and opens the way for us, and flies upon the wings of the wind. This is the reason why we join the last litany, the last fast, to the Ascension, so that through prayers and fasts, we may be able to lay aside the weight of the flesh, and follow Christ as He ascends.

Therefore, during the Litanies, there is a procession, and in some churches, (the antiphon) Exsurge, Domine is sung at the beginning. The Gospel canticle “Holy God, holy mighty one, holy immortal one, have mercy on us,” is also to be sung repeatedly by the boys’ choir, for John of Damascus tells the story … that in Constantinople, litanies were held because of some trouble, and a boy was taken up to heaven from the midst of the people, and there taught this chant; and returning to the people, sang it before everyone, and at once the trouble ceased. This chant was approved by the Council of Chalcedon, and therefore it is considered praiseworthy and authoritative …

… in the procession itself, the Cross goes first, and the reliquaries of the Saints, so that by the banner of the Cross, and the prayers of the Saints, demons may be repelled…

A banner is also carried to represent the victory of Christ’s Resurrection and Ascension, since He went up to heaven with great spoils … just as the multitude of the faithful follow the banner in the procession, so also a great gathering of the Saints accompanies Christ as He ascends. Banners are also carried in imitation of that which is said by Isaiah (11, 12), “And he shall set up a standard unto the nations, and shall assemble the fugitives of Israel, and shall gather together the dispersed of Juda from the four quarters of the earth.” The Church took the carrying of banners and crosses from Constantine, who, when in a dream he saw the sign of the Cross, and heard the words ‘By this sign thou shalt conquer’, ordered the Cross to be marked on his war banners. The fact that in the Litanies the cross-bearer takes his cross from the altar reminds us that Simon of Cyrene took it from Christ’s shoulders.

A Rogation procession held in the village of Balatonderics, Hungary in 2017.

In some places, the litany is done in the fields, so that demons may be expelled from the crops, or rather, so that the crops may be preserved by the Lord. … It has also become the custom that a dragon with a long tail, upright and inflated, should go before the Cross and banners on the first two days, but on the last day, looking back, with its tail deflated and lowered, it follows behind. For this dragon symbolizes the devil, who in three periods, that is, before the law, and under the law, and in the time of grace, which these three days symbolize, has deceived men, and even now seeks to deceive them. In the first two periods, he reigned, and as if he were the lord of the world, had a long tail, which shows his power, and inflated, which symbolizes his pride. For this reason, Christ calls him the prince of this world (John 12, 31) and John says in the Apocalypse (12, 4) that the dragon, falling from heaven, drew with him the third part of the stars, which symbolize people. And the Lord says in the Gospel, “I saw Satan falling like a lightning bolt from heaven” (Luke 10, 18), as a figure of which, on two days he goes at the head … But in the time of grace, he is beaten by Christ, and power is given to the Apostles to cast out unclean spirits; therefore, on the third day he follows after the Cross, to show that his power is lost through the spread of the Faith, and his tail is deflated, and hangs down, and is not long, because he does not dare to reign as mightily as he formerly did, but rather seduces men through suggestion, and in a hidden way, those whom he sees to be lazy and remiss in good works, and who follow not the way of life, as if he were looking back like a thief, to see if someone may wander and fall away from the righteousness of the Faith, so that he can draw that person to himself …

A page from an 1882 scholarly edition of the Sarum Processional, by W.G. Henderson, showing the order of the Rogation procession. The rubric above the image mentions both a dragon and a lion carried in the procession, the latter presumably in reference to the words of Apocalypse 5, 5, “Behold the lion from the tribe of Judah hath conquered.”

On the Litanies, all must abstain from servile labor, … and be present for the procession until the end, so that, just as all have sinned, so all may ask for forgiveness, and all raise their hearts to God, with their hands, that is, raise up their zeal for prayer.

But since on the preceding days, a double Alleluia, is sung, why on these days is only one sung? And again, since Alleluia is not said on other fast days, why is it said on this one? To the first question, we answer that ... a double Alleluia is sung on the preceding days because of the double stole which will be given in the general resurrection, namely, that of the soul and of the body. But the liturgy of Easter, which this signifies, is now finished, and therefore, the cause being taken removed, the effect is also removed . To the second, we answer that on the other fast days, Alleluia is not sung because it is a song of joy, and those fasts are held because of sins, wherefore they are called fasts of mourning; but this fast, and that of Pentecost, are matters of rejoicing, because they are not held for sins, but so that the power of the devil, and the plague, may be removed; and therefore, Alleluia is sung on them.