 |
| Fr John Henry offering the Armenian Divine Liturgy |
Of all the Eastern rites, the Armenian is the one whose shape
mirrors most closely that of the traditional Latin Mass. During extended
periods of reunion, the Armenians were very receptive to Latin influence. For
example, there are extended prayers at the foot of the altar, with Psalm 42. On
the other hand, there are things peculiar to the Armenian rite, such as not mixing water with wine
during the preparation of the chalice: the Armenians just use pure, unmixed
wine.
The Armenian rite is a great example of a traditional rite
that tranquilly maintains its traditions within the context of the modern
world. Like other “smaller”
rites within the Church, it was preserved from great damage after Vatican II
because it was so “off the beaten track”
that fashionable liturgists scarcely paid attention to it. Also, the spirit
of ecumenism worked to the advantage of the East and always to the disadvantage
of the West.
The Armenians were
told after Vatican II (especially under Pope St John Paul II) to restore whatever
needed restoring in their rite. All the same, the Armenian liturgy needed
little repair. In any case, the idea of root-and-branch change is unthinkable
to Armenians, due in large part to the ancient culture their liturgy preserves,
and which has given the people such a strong sense of identity over so long a
time.
Encountering the Sacred Mysteries East of Byzantium:
The
Armenian Liturgy as a Home away from Rome
Fr John Henry Hanson, O. Praem.
Being only partially Armenian in ancestry (a quarter, to be exact), it’s not
surprising that I was not raised in the rite of my ancestors. It was only after
ten years of ordination as a priest of the Norbertine Order that the
opportunity of exploring the Divine Liturgy of the Armenian Rite was
unexpectedly given me, when my assistance on Sundays was requested by the
Armenian Catholic Cathedral in Glendale, California.
The following video is a succinct overview of the history of the Armenian Church with liturgical footage:
An Orthodox Armenian liturgy celebrated in the National Basilica of the Immaculate Conception in 2015, commemorating the genocide:
Gloria TV has a complete Easter liturgy in Beirut in 2017 (here).
Before
beginning public celebrations of the Armenian Soorp Badarak (“Holy Sacrifice”), I was tutored in its rituals by
His Grace, Mikael Mouradian, Eparch of the Armenian Church in North America.
And although it differed much from the Roman rite, I found enough of the
liturgical terrain familiar territory. If the surface of the altar may be
likened to the “compact” holy city of Psalm 122, then the monuments, edifices,
and lanes looked a lot like home.
Over
and again I found myself registering the similarities between the traditional
Latin Mass and the Armenian, while also noting those ways in which the mystery
of Christ is celebrated in a uniquely Armenian way. These likenesses are no coincidence,
but rather the fruit of lengthy periods of reunion between Rome and the
Armenian Church, most notably from 1198-1375, when much Latin influence was
assimilated. Today, the division between Catholic and Orthodox Armenians
prevails, although their liturgy is substantially the same.
The
rare opportunity of seeing one’s native rite from the outside — from the inside of another rite — has afforded me a
wholesome compare-and-contrast, increasing my appreciation for both. For
westerners, in fact, the special beauty of Eastern Christian liturgies is
primarily one of fresh perspective: experiencing the mysteries of Christ
through a new lens. Each rite preserving its own proper character gives a
special glory to God by revealing an aspect of Christ not fully revealed by
another rite.
Pope
Benedict XVI alluded to this quality of the sacred liturgy in the letter
accompanying Summorum Pontificum.
Explaining the attraction felt by many young people to the traditional liturgy
of the Latin rite, he regarded their attraction as rooted in “a form of
encounter with the Mystery of the Most Holy Eucharist, particularly suited to
them.” While the Mystery remains the same, the form of encounter differs, and
should be held in reverence by those drawn to a different form of worship.
The
idea of liturgy as the venue of encounter with Christ in the Eucharistic
mystery is key to understanding not only the genius of one’s own rite, but of
other rites as well. As one Byzantine abbot put it in a homily I heard several
years ago, the eastern rites should not function merely as a “side show” for
western Catholics. If the end of the sacred liturgy is worship pleasing to God,
coupled with its inseparable purpose of uniting man to God, then it behooves
Christians of any rite to explore the ways in which their brethren worship and
how their liturgies do the work of bringing them into communion with the Lord.
In
a particular way, the Popes of modern times (from Leo XIII on) have insisted on
the equality, the shared dignity, of all Catholic rites. Pope Pius XI, perhaps
more than any pre-conciliar pope, vigorously defended the legitimate diversity
of rites while encouraging deeper familiarity with them, especially on the part
of Latin clergy. Appreciation for their cultural antiquity and unique
expression of the Christian mysteries can provide, as Pius XI said, “a more
adequate knowledge of Catholic theology … while conceiving a more ardent love
for the true Bride of Christ, whose enchanting comeliness, and unity in the
diversity of the various rites, will shine forth more clearly in their [i.e.
the clergy’s] eyes.”
This
balanced and appreciative Magisterial thinking is a welcome antidote against
the often superficial and uninformed polemics launched from various sides of
ongoing liturgical debates (discussions which also exist, in their own way, in
the oriental churches). Easterners tend to do better at respecting the sacred
liturgy as a sacred inheritance, a family heirloom, and this is a wholesome
corrective against liturgical fads, the pressure to reinvent, or reduce the
liturgy to its bare essentials (whose ironic side-effect is a
quasi-demystification of the mysteries). Mysteries need to be presented with an
air of mystery, of the transcendent, or else we fallen creatures will never
rise from the mud of daily life.
This
is not to say that our liturgy is a kind of museum piece, to be admired from
afar, and curated (not to say comprehended) only by a select few. Nor is it
frozen in time. The liturgy is alive and, like all living things, grows and
develops organically — which is why Benedict XVI asserted: “In the history of the
liturgy there is growth and progress, but no rupture.”
Put
simply: In liturgy, there needs to be a part we get and a part we don’t get.
The “food” part of the Eucharist we get, the God part we don’t. It is the
nature of a sacrament to present incomprehensible realities under the form of
comprehensible signs. But to treat those signs with great dignity and solemnity
better points us to the invisible workings of grace than using common and
ordinary things which can’t effectively point beyond themselves.
Easterners
have a deeper sense of the cultural and apostolic lifelines preserved in their
liturgy than do Latin Catholics. What Benedict XVI said in Summorum Pontificum itself is very applicable to the eastern rites:
“What earlier generations held as sacred, remains sacred and great for us too….
It behooves all of us to preserve the riches which have developed in the
Church’s faith and prayer, and to give them their proper place.” Whereas the
Latin rite emerged from Greco-Roman culture, with its unique modes of verbal
expression and ritual, the contemporary Catholic in the pew is not likely to
perceive a connection between the liturgy of their mainstream parish and that
of their ancient ancestors — a sad result of inauthentic application of the
Council’s intentions for the liturgy.
Where
the Latin rite is often characterized by a kind of austerity and sobriety of
expression — a holy restraint reflecting our inability to express the ineffability
of the mysteries we celebrate — the Eastern rites tend to express themselves in
superlative fashion. Mining human language for its richest expressions,
utilizing poetry where prose falls short, and employing ritual gesture that
engages the outer man as much as the inner, are some of the most conspicuous
marks of eastern liturgies.
This
has not prevented at least one eminent Armenian Orthodox scholar and prelate
from describing the divine liturgy as somewhat “dysfunctional,” in that modern
Armenian-Americans bring along their inevitably modern mentality to church and
fail to find meaning in the ancient rituals, language, and chants of their
native rite. Even if the dysfunctional culture in which the people are immersed
is the more likely culprit, the problem is a real one: ritual relevance. The
solution of many in the western Church has been to introduce novelties that
might engage some for a time, but in the end lack the weight of tradition to
sustain them.
Armenians
manifest a healthy balance between preservation and adaptation. The lectionary
is more or less invariable like that of the Tridentine missal, and valuably
preserves closer than any other rite the primitive Jerusalem lectionary. And
although the liturgical language is classical Armenian, modern Armenian is
often employed in the proclamation of the Scriptures — often, as in the
extraordinary form, read in addition to reading in the classical language.
Individual
eparchies are also free to employ the vernacular for other parts of the Mass at
the discretion of the Eparch. Hence, you will find Armenian Catholic parishes
celebrating good portions of the liturgy in, for example, Arabic, French, and
English. But although modern languages are utilized, the ritual remains the
same. What the priest and ministers do at the altar admits of no variation, but
reflects the Armenian mode of worship. The altar is always eastward in
orientation, priests and sacred ministers wear liturgical slippers during the
liturgy, duel thuribles are almost continually in use, along with metal
liturgical fans, and the laity (in general) are not given access to the
sanctuary.
Armenian
worship is unique in the family tree of Christian rites, standing independent
of the other eastern liturgical offshoots. Armenians have uniquely assimilated
Syrian, Byzantine, and Latin influences — so much so that Catholics who regularly
attend the extraordinary form will find in the Armenian rite much to remind
them of home: Prayers at the foot of the altar, including Psalm 42, unleavened
communion bread (given on the tongue after intinction), normally a rectangular
stone altar instead of the square Byzantine style, a single canon recited
silently (although accompanied by the chanting of the hauntingly beautiful
Armenian Sanctus), the Last Gospel
(chanted rather than recited), and an open sanctuary not permanently covered by
the iconostasis. At those several moments in the liturgy requiring a veiling of
the sanctuary, a large curtain is drawn instead.
The
liturgy is generally traced back to that of St Basil, although the Greek
liturgies of St James and of St John Chrysostom are clearly in evidence.
Combine this with generous Latin influence, and you have a rite all its own.
One may argue that it has absorbed the best features of both eastern and
western rites, forming a kind of ecumenical liturgical bridge between east and
west.
The following video is a succinct overview of the history of the Armenian Church with liturgical footage:
An Orthodox Armenian liturgy celebrated in the National Basilica of the Immaculate Conception in 2015, commemorating the genocide:
Gloria TV has a complete Easter liturgy in Beirut in 2017 (here).
