Over the years, we have published a fair number of articles about the medieval Use of Sarum, which predominated in England before the Reformation, but very little about the other English Uses of the Roman Rite, those of York, Lincoln, Bangor and Hereford. So I was very pleased when I stumbled across this video of a troped Kyrie sung during a liturgy according to the Use of York, celebrated at an Anglo-Catholic parish in that city called All Saints. The text is given in the video in both Latin and English; note that the words ‘Kyrie’ and ‘Christe’ are omitted in all but one of the invocations, which is objectively something of an abuse.
As was pretty generally the custom in the Middle Ages, the servers wears appareled albs. Also note that as the Kyrie begins, the chalice is brought in from the sacristy and filled, after which the altar is incensed. The preparation of the chalice during the first part of the Mass in this fashion was also a very common medieval custom, and is still preserved in the Uses of the Dominican and Calced Carmelite Orders.
The following first appeared as an interview in The Catholic Herald. Jan C. Benz, who conducted the interview, teaches philosophy at Blackfriars College, Oxford.
Los Angeles Cathedral, completed 2002
Jan C. Benz wrote:
For many Catholics, the experience is familiar and disquieting: newly built churches that feel more like conference centres than places of worship, stripped of ornament, symbolism, and the Holy. The question of ugliness in modern church architecture is often dismissed as a matter of taste or nostalgia. Yet for David Clayton, artist, educator and one of the most articulate contemporary defenders of traditional Catholic aesthetics, the issue runs far deeper. At stake is not merely style, but theology: how the Church understands worship, the human person and the relationship between beauty and truth.
In this conversation, Clayton argues that modern ecclesial ugliness reflects a loss of Catholic inculturation, a failure of formation, especially in seminaries, and a philosophical rupture that predates the Second Vatican Council by more than a century. Drawing on Benedict XVI, classical harmony and proportion and the liturgical traditions of East and West, he makes the case that beauty is not decoration but necessity: a formative power that shapes belief, prayer and even faith itself.
Jan C. Bentz (JCB): Many modern churches appear deliberately resistant to beauty, ornament and symbolic density. Do you think this widespread ugliness is primarily a failure of taste, or does it reflect a deeper theological, or even anthropological, confusion about what a church actually is?
David Clayton (DC): It is, I would say, a combination of all three. There is certainly a failure of taste, but that failure itself is rooted in something deeper: a loss of awareness of Catholic tradition and of how that tradition is inseparable from theology and anthropology, specifically, the Church’s understanding of what man is and what worship does to him.
We have become dislocated from our own inheritance. That rupture is largely the result of inadequate education and formation among Catholics today, and unfortunately this includes the formation of priests in seminaries, where these questions are often not given the attention they deserve. One of the most significant gaps is a lack of understanding of form, by which I mean not simply what is depicted, but how it is depicted. Style, proportion, harmony and architectural language all express a philosophical and theological world-view.
When this connection is lost, architecture and art are reduced to matters of personal taste. And taste, when it is not properly formed, becomes highly susceptible to contemporary trends and cultural fashion. People end up liking what they think they ought to like, rather than judging according to universal principles. At that point, beauty no longer refers to reality but to preference. That, I think, is at the heart of the problem.
JCB: You mentioned formation, especially in seminaries. Do you think there is an active lack of education in these areas? Should seminaries be more intentional about teaching beauty across architecture, art and music?
DC: Yes, very much so. Seminarians may encounter aesthetics in a philosophical sense, but what is really needed is a deeper Catholic inculturation. They need to be formed within a living tradition, not simply taught concepts in isolation. If you look at Orthodox or Byzantine Catholic priestly formation, the contrast is striking. Their clergy are required to understand what icons belong in a church, how iconographic schemas function and how art, architecture and liturgy work together as a unified whole. They are formed liturgically in a very concrete way. By comparison, Roman seminaries often teach what the liturgy is without sufficiently explaining how architecture, music and visual art are ordered towards it. There is, in short, a significant gap in formation. Without that integration, priests are left unequipped to make informed decisions about church buildings, and the results are all around us.
JCB: Do you see a connection between this loss of formation and a post-conciliar loss of confidence in symbolism, transcendence and tradition more broadly?
DC: Yes, but it is essential to be precise here. This is not the fault of the Second Vatican Council itself. Rather, the Council was used as a pretext by those who already wished to introduce changes, often in ways that directly contradicted what the Council actually taught.
Following Benedict XVI, especially in The Spirit of the Liturgy, I would trace the deeper roots of this problem back to the early nineteenth century. The real issue lies in a distorted understanding of worship itself and in the separation of liturgy from the artistic forms that properly belong to it.
Architecture is not merely a neutral container for worship. The church building actively forms those who worship within it. Its structure, orientation and beauty guide the faithful towards participation in the liturgy. When this formative role is forgotten, worship becomes increasingly internalised and cerebral, almost purely intellectual.
As long as liturgical structures were fixed and immovable, they exercised a kind of corrective force. But once change was permitted without sufficient theological grounding, the floodgates opened. What we saw after the Council was not a sudden rupture but the acceleration of a trajectory long in the making.
JCB: Turning to architecture more directly: are modern movements such as functionalism or Brutalism fundamentally incompatible with Catholic liturgical theology?
DC: Yes, because these movements are grounded in materialist philosophies. They fail to acknowledge the metaphysical and spiritual dimension of the human person. Ironically, they are not even functional in the fullest sense, because they do not fulfil the true function of a church, which includes nourishing the spiritual life of those who worship there.
Utility has been reduced to purely material concerns: keeping out the rain, ensuring audibility and accommodating bodies. Those things matter, of course, but they are not sufficient. Beauty is not optional. It is essential, because it raises hearts and minds to God.
And not just any beauty will do. A railway station can be beautiful, but beautiful as a railway station. A church must be beautiful as a church. Its form must be ordered towards worship, towards encounter with Christ in the Eucharist.
Brutalist architecture, in particular, quite literally brutalises man by reducing him to a creature with purely material needs. Designing a church according to such principles is therefore incoherent.
Traditional harmony and proportion presuppose that beauty is objective, that it is rooted in reality itself, even though it is perceived subjectively. This assumption was undermined by Enlightenment philosophy, especially by Kant’s separation of perception from reality. Once that happens, beauty becomes merely emotional response.
Those ideas eventually filtered into architecture schools. By the mid-twentieth century, traditional harmony and proportion were no longer taught. Interestingly, many architects understood they were rejecting Christianity long before Christians themselves recognised it.
JCB: Defenders of modernist simplicity often argue that it fosters humility and prayer. How would you respond?
DC: Accessibility is important. People should not need a university education to respond to beauty. Traditional forms achieve this remarkably well, but they are not simple. They are complex, in the same way that the cosmos is complex: immediately accessible, yet inexhaustible.
The claim that complexity distracts is ancient. It goes back at least to the iconoclastic controversies, and even figures such as St Bernard worried that beauty might draw attention to itself. But authentic beauty does not trap the gaze; it draws us beyond itself, towards its source, who is God.
Experience overwhelmingly confirms this. The forms that have endured in Christian worship are not simplistic designs but richly ordered ones, capable of forming the soul precisely because of their depth.
JCB: Finally, on a practical level: if a parish or diocese were to build or renovate a church today, what principles should guide the project?
DC: The first principle is to find the right architect, someone deeply immersed in tradition. Whether classical or Gothic matters less than whether the architect truly understands a living tradition. But it is equally important not to reproduce the past uncritically.
Here I follow the guidance of Pius XII and Benedict XVI’s hermeneutic of continuity. We do not change forms unless we must. Modern elements may be incorporated, but only if they genuinely serve the needs of the worshipping community.
The liturgy is the wellspring of Catholic culture. Architecture, art and music must flow from it. Only then can the Church engage modern culture discerningly, rejecting what is harmful and integrating what is good.
If we begin with worship, grace will do the rest. Beauty will attract. And from that beauty, a truly Catholic culture can once again emerge.
The seven Penitential Psalms are a standard part of the liturgical material incorporated into Books of Hours, along with the Little Office of the Virgin Mary, the Office of the Dead, and the Litany of the Saints. Of course, many Books of Hours are filled with beautiful illustrations, and as a follow-up to a recent post about the Penitential Psalms in the liturgy of Lent, here is a selection of some of the images commonly chosen to go with them.
From the Maastricht Hours, 14th century (Stowe ms. 17, British Library): Mary Magdalene, the penitent Saint par excellence, meets the risen Christ in the Garden; a woman kneels before her confessor, as the hand of God absolves her from above. The bishop on the right is probably meant to signify that the priest can absolve sins only on the bishop’s authority.
The Maastricht Hours are famous for their repertoire of strange and whimsical marginal images, most of which have no relationship to the text and are not religious in character. Here is an exception, a black bird accompanying the words of Psalm 101, “I am like a night raven in the house.”
Book of Hours according to the Use of Ghent, 14th century. (Bibliothèque de l’Arsenal, 565, Bibliothèque nationale de France.) Christ in Judgment at the end of the world, with the dead rising from the earth, and a figure representing the mouth of Hell.
Book of Hours according to the Use of Paris, late 14th - early 15th century. (Bibliothèque nationale de France, Département des Manuscrits, Latin 18014.) The Trinity in Majesty, with the symbols of the Four Evangelists. Below, David, the author of the Psalms, in combat with Goliath, a popular subject with the Penitential Psalms.
The Hours of Brière de Surgy, 14th century. (Bibliotheque Municipale de la Ville de Laon, ms. 243q.) King David as an elderly man in prayer.
Today marks the 150th anniversary of the birth of His Holiness Pius XII, who was also elected Pope on this day in 1939, his 63th birthday; his papacy would be the 14th longest (among 266 thus far) in history, at 19 years, 7 months and one week. Here are some interesting videos of from reign, from the always interesting archives of the old newsreel company British Pathé.
The celebration of the 17th anniversary of his coronation, in 1956.
Here is a very nice recording of four pieces of Ambrosian chant, two of which are particular to the Lenten season, and used on this day, the Second Sunday of Lent, but not only on this day.
The first is an Ingressa, the Ambrosian Rite’s equivalent of the Introit, which is sung, however, without a psalm verse, doxology, or repetition; it is the first in a series of nine which are sung in rotation through the Sundays after Pentecost.
Incline, o Lord, thy ear, and hear me. Save thy servant, O my God, that hopeth in thee. Have mercy on me, for I have cried to thee all the day, hallelujah. (Psalm 85)
The second piece is also an Ingressa, that of the Second Sunday of Lent, which in the Ambrosian tradition is called the Sunday of the Samaritan Woman.
O God, come to my assistance; O Lord, make haste to help me. Let my enemies be confounded and ashamed that seek my soul. (Psalm 69)
The third piece is one of two litanies which are sung in place of the Gloria on the Sundays of Lent, except Palm Sunday. (It should be noted that the Ambrosian Rite does not have an equivalent of the Roman Kyrie, but does add three Kyrie eleisons to the end of a great number of things, including this litany.) The recording gives the second of these two, known from its first words as Dicamus omnes, which is sung on the Second and Fourth Sundays; the other one is the famous Divinae Pacis, of which we have written several times, which is sung on the First, Third and Fifth Sundays. This recording omits the invocations from V to VIII; click the link above for the translation. Both of these are included in various editions of Cantus selecti, and might very well be used as bidding prayers in the modern Roman Rite.
The 4th piece is a Psalmellus, the equivalent of a Gradual; Oculi mei is the fourth in a series of nine, which are likewise sung in rotation through the Sundays after Pentecost.
My eyes are ever towards the Lord: for he shall pluck my feet out of the snare. Look thou upon me, and have mercy on me; for I am alone and poor. (Psalm 24)
In the Roman Missal, the fifth prophecy is the same on all four of the Saturday Ember Days, Daniel 3, 47-51, with a few of the verses re-ordered. The words that follow in the Biblical text (verses 52-57) are sung as a canticle, according to a very beautiful melody; the text is from the so-called Old Latin translation of the Bible which was used before St Jerome’s version, and contains several more verses than are found in the Vulgate. In the Roman Use, the canticle is sung on the Ember Saturdays of Advent, Lent and September, but supplanted by a very short Alleluja on the Ember Saturday of Pentecost week.
The Sarum Use arranges both the reading and the canticle that follows differently on each of the four Ember Days. In Advent, it is basically the same as the Roman, with a few small variants. In Lent, on the other hand, the words of the Roman canticle are sung as part of the Lesson; the canticle of Sunday Lauds, the Benedicite (Daniel 3, 57-88) is then sung in a special arrangement, alternating between two cantors who sing the verses, and the choir singing the response.
The fifth lesson and canticle of the Ember Saturday of Lent in Sarum Missal printed at London in 1500. The lesson begins in the lower part of the second column.
The Lesson
The Angel of the Lord went down with Azariah and his companions into the furnace, and he drove the flame of the fire out of the furnace, and made the midst of the furnace like the blowing of a wind bringing dew. And the flame mounted up above the furnace nine and forty cubits, and burnt such of the Chaldeans as it found near the furnace, the ministers of the king who kindled the fire. And the fire touched them not at all, nor troubled them, nor did them any harm. Then these three as with one mouth praised, and glorified, and blessed God in the furnace, saying: (Here Sarum continues to read as part of the Lesson the words which are sung as the Canticle in the Roman Use.) Blessed art thou, O Lord the God of our fathers: and worthy to be praised, and glorified, and exalted above all for ever: and blessed is the name of thy glory, which is holy: and worthy to be praised, and exalted above all in all ages. Blessed art thou in the holy temple of thy glory: and exceedingly to be praised, and exceeding glorious for ever. Blessed art thou on the throne of thy kingdom, and exceedingly to be praised, and exalted above all for ever. (Here 3 verses are added from the old Latin text.) Blessed art thou upon the scepter of thy divinity: and exceedingly to be praised, and exceeding glorious for ever. Blessed art thou, that beholdest the depths, and sittest upon the cherubims: and worthy to be praised and exalted above all for ever. Blessed art thou, who walkest upon the wings of the winds, and upon the waves of the sea: and worthy to be praised and exalted above all for ever.
Here the canticle begins, alternating between two cantors and the choir.
V. Blessed art thou in the firmament of heaven, and praiseworthy and glorious forever. R. Blessed art thou in the firmament of heaven, and praiseworthy and glorious forever. V. All ye works of the Lord, bless the Lord. O ye heavens, bless the Lord. O ye angels of the Lord, bless the Lord. R. Sing ye a hymn, and exalt him above all for ever. (This response is repeated by the choir after each verse.) V. O all ye waters that are above the heavens, bless the Lord. O all ye powers of the Lord, bless the Lord. O ye sun and moon, bless the Lord. R. Sing ye... V. O all ye waters that are above the heavens, bless the Lord. O all ye powers of the Lord, bless the Lord. O ye sun and moon, bless the Lord. R. Sing ye... V. O ye stars of heaven, bless the Lord. O every shower and dew, bless ye the Lord. O all ye spirits of God, bless the Lord. R. Sing ye... V. O ye fire and heat, bless the Lord. O ye nights and days, bless the Lord. O ye darkness and light, bless the Lord. R. Sing ye... V. O ye cold and heat, bless the Lord. O ye frost and snows, bless the Lord. O ye lightnings and clouds, bless the Lord. R. Sing ye... V. O let the earth bless the Lord. O all ye mountains and hills, bless the Lord. O ye that are born of the earth, bless the Lord. R. Sing ye... V. O all ye seas and rivers, bless the Lord. O ye fountains, bless the Lord. O ye whales, and all that move in the waters, bless the Lord. R. Sing ye... V. O all ye fowls of the air, bless the Lord. O ye beasts and cattle, bless the Lord. O ye sons of men, bless the Lord. R. Sing ye... V. O let Israel bless the Lord. O ye priests of the Lord, bless the Lord. O servants of the Lord, bless the Lord. R. Sing ye... V. O spirits and souls of the just, bless the Lord. O ye holy and humble of heart, bless the Lord. R. Sing ye. V. O Ananiah, Azariah, Misael, bless the Lord. R. Sing ye...
The Cantors repeat the beginning: Blessed art thou in the firmament of heaven. and the choir finishes: And praiseworthy and glorious forever.
O ye holy and humble of heart, bless the Lord!
When the Lenten station is held at St Peter’s Basilica, on Ember Saturday and Passion Sunday, the Papal altar is decorated with relics according to a particular arrangement. The relics of martyrs are placed closer to the edge of the mensa, and those of other Saints further in; the four corners are decorated with reliquaries shaped like obelisks, with long bones (tibias and such) in them. On each of the two short sides of the altar is set a rectangular panel containing relics of 35 Popes, between them, all of the Sainted Popes except the most recent.
On the long side facing the apse, a bust reliquary of Pope St Damasus I (366-84, feast on December 11), containing the relics of his skull, is placed in the middle. This is a particularly appropriate choice, since Damasus was a great promoter of devotion to the saints and the cult of the relics, particularly those of the Roman martyrs. Within many catacombs, he rearranged the spaces around the tombs of the martyrs to make it easier for pilgrims to find and visit them, decorating the tombs themselves with elaborately carved inscriptions written by himself in classical poetic meter. For this reason, he is honored as the patron Saint of archeologists.
A friend of mine, Mr Matthew Roth, has made some very nice new booklets for Tenebrae which include all the Gregorian chants, and a full translation in English. The text follows the Divino Afflatu reform (1911), with the music found in the Solesmes editions. They are on letter paper, and Matthew informs me that they don’t look good saddle-stitched (which tends to be too small anyway), so if the are printed out, they need to be need to be scaled for A4 if you are using A4 paper. Printer software should be able to do this easily. The files for each day may be found at these links: Thursday, Friday, Saturday.
Typographical or other errors may be reported via the comments here on NLM, or this thread on the Musica Sacra forum; the PDFs will be promptly replaced, and this does not break the relevant Dropbox links.
In his Life of St Augustine, St Possidius of Calama writes that in his final illness, the great doctor “had ordered the Psalms of David, those very few which concern penance, be written out; and lying on his bed … read the four of them (from the pages) attached to the wall, and wept copiously and continuously.” (chapter 31) He does not say which four these were, but we may safely assume that Psalm 50, often known by its first word in Latin, “Miserere”, was included among them, long recognized as the penitential psalm par excellence.
In the following century, Cassiodorus (ca 485-585), in his massive Exposition of the Psalms, refers in many places to the Penitential Psalms as a group, and when commenting on the first of them, Psalm 6, lists the others, according to the traditional numbering of the Septuagint: 31, 37, 50, 101, 129 and 142. (The list is given twice more, in the comments on Psalms 50 and 142.) At the conclusion of this section, he states that these seven are especially worthy of attention, since they “are given to the human race as an appropriate medicine, from which we receive a most salutary cleansing of our souls, revive from our sins, and by mourning, come to eternal joy.” As he explains each one individually, he often relates it in some way to one or more of the other six, as for example Psalm 142, which is placed last in the group “because these psalms begin from afflictions, and end in joys, lest anyone despair of that forgiveness which he knows has been set forth in these prayers.”
Cassiodorus takes it for granted that his reader know this tradition, and therefore we may safely assume it was already part of the Church’s prayer by his time; his influence was very strong in the Middle Ages, and we may also assume that his writing did much to solidify its place in the liturgy. They were added to a variety of rites, such as the dedication of a Church according to the Roman Pontifical; in the traditional ordination rite, the bishop enjoins those who receive tonsure and the minor orders “to say one time the seven Penitential Psalms, with the Litany (of the Saints) and the versicles and prayers (that follow).”
One of the oldest manuscripts of Cassiodorus’ Exposition of the Psalms, from the library of the Swiss monastery of San Gallen. (Cod. Sang. 200, 950-75 A.D.)
Of course, they are particularly prominent in the liturgy of Lent. The customary of the Papal court known as the Ordinal of Innocent III (1198-1216) prescribes that they be said after Lauds every ferial day of Lent, together with the Litany of the Saints. To these were added the fifteen Gradual Psalms (119-133) before Matins, and the Office of the Dead, a burden which unquestionably increased the temptation to add more Saints to the calendar, since these supplementary Offices were routinely omitted on feast days. The Breviary of St Pius V distributed them over the days of the week, so that the Office of the Dead would be said on the first ferial day of each week of Lent, the Gradual Psalms on Wednesdays and the Penitentials on Fridays, if the Office was of the feria. This remained in force until the reform of St Pius X, in which all mandatory recitation of them in the Office was abolished; the Gradual and Penitential Psalms are not included as specific groups in the post-Conciliar Liturgy of the Hours.
The Use of Rome, with characteristic simplicity, simply recites the Psalms as a group with a single antiphon, based on the words of Tobias 3, 3-4: “Ne reminiscaris Domine delicta nostra, vel parentum nostrorum: neque vindictam sumas de peccatis nostris. – Remember not, Lord, our offenses, nor those of our forefathers, nor take Thou vengeance upon our sins.” In other Uses, the antiphon was followed by a series of versicles like those sung with the Litany of the Saints, and various prayers; this custom was highly developed in German-speaking lands, less so elsewhere. At Augsburg, for example, each day of the week had a different collect to conclude the recitation of the Penitential Psalms; the prayer for Monday was as follows.
“Deus, qui confitentium tibi corda purificas, et accusantes se ab omni vinculo iniquitatis absolvis: da indulgentiam reis, et medicinam tribue vulneratis; ut percepta remissione omnium peccatorum, in sacramentis tuis sincera deinceps devotione permaneamus, et nullum redemptionis æternæ sustineamus detrimentum. O God, who purify the hearts of those that confess to Thee, and release from every bond those that accuse themselves, grant forgiveness to the guilty, and bring healing to the wounded, so that, having received the remission of all sins, we may henceforth abide in Thy sacraments with true devotion, and suffer no detriment to eternal salvation.”
The beginning of the Penitential Psalms in the Book of Hours of Louis de Roncherolles, end of the 5th or beginning of the 16th century. (Bibliothèque de l'Arsenal, Ms-1191 réserve, Bibliothèque nationale de France)
At Salzburg, the intentions for reciting the Penitential Psalms were summed up in the following prayer, attested in a few other breviaries and books of hours.
“Suscipere digneris, omnipotens Deus, hos septem psalmos consecratos, quos ego indignus et peccator decantavi in honore nominis tui, et beatissimæ Genitricis tuæ Virginis Mariæ, in honore sanctorum Angelorum, Prophetarum, Patriarcharum, in honore sanctorum Apostolorum, in honore sanctorum Martyrum, Confessorum, Virginum et Viduarum, et sanctorum Innocentum, in honore omnium Sanctorum, pro me misero famulo tuo N., pro cunctis consanguineis meis, pro omnibus amicis et inimicis meis, pro omnibus his qui mihi bona et mala fecerunt, vivis et defunctis: concede, Domine Jesu Christe, ut hi psalmi proficiant nobis ad salutem et veram pænitentiam agendam, et vitam æternam consequendam. Deign thou to receive, almighty God, these seven holy psalms, which I, though unworthy and a sinner, have sung unto the honor of Thy name, and of Thy most blessed Mother the Virgin Mary, to the honor of the holy Angels, Prophets and Patriarchs, to the honor of the holy Apostles, to the honor of the holy Martyrs, Confessors, Virgins and Widows, and the Holy Innocents, to the honor of all the Saints, for myself Thy wretched servant, for all my relatives, for all my friends and enemies, for all those who have done me good and ill, both living and dead; grant, o Lord Jesus Christ, that these Psalms may profit us unto salvation and the doing of true penance, the obtaining of eternal life.”
The Penitential Psalms were also generally used at the beginning of Lent, at the ceremony by which the public penitents were symbolically expelled from the church, and again on Holy Thursday, when they were brought back in. These ceremonies were particularly elaborate in the Use of Sarum, but similar rites were observed in a great many other places. After Sext of Ash Wednesday, a sermon was given; a priest in red cope, accompanied by deacon, subdeacon and the usual minor ministers, then prostrated before the altar, while the choir said the seven penitential psalms. At the end of these were said a series of versicles and prayers, most of which refer directly to the public penitents.
“Dómine Deus noster, qui offensióne nostra non vínceris, sed satisfactione placaris: réspice, quæsumus, super hos fámulos tuos, qui se tibi gráviter peccasse confitémur: tuum est enim absolutiónem críminum dare, et veniam præstáre peccántibus, qui dixisti pænitentiam te malle peccatóris quam mortem. Concéde ergo, Dómine, his fámulis tuis, ut tibi pænitentiæ excubias celebrant; et correctis áctibus suis, conferri sibi a te sempiterna gaudia gratulentur. Lord our God, who are not overcome by our offense, but appeased by satisfaction; look we beseech Thee, upon these Thy servants, who confess that they have gravely sinned against Thee; for it is Thine to give absolution of crimes, and grant forgiveness to those who sin, even Thou who said that Thou wishest the repentance of sinners, rather than their death. Grant therefore, o Lord, to these Thy servants, that they may keep the watches of penance, and by correcting their deeds, rejoice that eternal joys are given them of Thee.”
The ashes were then blessed, followed by a procession, which, as I noted in an article last week, was a normal part of the Ash Wednesday ceremonies in the Middle Ages. The Sarum Processional specifies that a cross was not used, but an “ash-colored banner” was carried instead at the head of the procession. At the door, the penitents were taken by the hand, and led out of the church, while the following responsory was sung, reprising an ancient theme of meditation on the Fall of Man in the readings of Genesis in Septuagesima.
An illustration from a Sarum Processional of the Ash Wednesday procession; the captions reads “The station on the day of ashes, when the bishop expels the penitents.” The ash-colored banner is seen up top. Reproduced in a modern edition by WG Henderson, 1882. (This would seem to be one of the inspirations for Fr Fortescue’s famous little illustrations in the Ceremonies of the Roman Rite.)
R. Behold, Adam is become like one of us, knowing good and evil; see ye lest he take of the tree of life, and live forever. V. The Cherubim, and the flaming, turning sword, to guard the way to the tree of life. See ye…
On Holy Thursday, when the penitents were brought back into the church, usually referred to as their “reconciliation”, the process was reversed, again by a priest in a red cope, accompanied by the various grades of ministers and the ash-colored banner. This ceremony deserves its own post, which I shall do on Holy Thursday; suffice it therefore to note here that the penitential Psalms are said again before the final absolution is imparted.
Before the early eighth century, the church of Rome kept the Thursdays of Lent (with the obvious exception of Holy Thursday) and the Saturdays after Ash Wednesday and Passion Sunday as “aliturgical” days. (The term aliturgical refers, of course, only to the Eucharistic liturgy, not to the Divine Office.) This is attested in the oldest liturgical books of the Roman Rite, and in the collection of papal biographies called the Liber Pontificalis, which tells us that Pope St Gregory II (715-31) instituted the Masses of these days. This is why even in the Missal of St Pius V, the Thursdays of Lent borrow their chant parts (the introits, graduals, offertories and communions) from other Masses; the respect for the tradition codified by St Gregory the Great was such that it was deemed better not to add new pieces to the established repertoire. (The two formerly aliturgical Saturdays simply repeat the Gregorian propers from the previous day, indicating that their Masses were added by a different Pope.)
When the Mass was instituted for today, the station was appointed, for no readily obvious reason, at a church on the Esquiline Hill dedicated to St Lawrence, traditionally said to be the very place where his martyrdom happened. To distinguish it from his many other Roman churches, it now bears the nickname “in Panisperna”, but was long known as “in Formoso”; the origin and meaning of these terms is disputed. The Introit of the Mass is therefore repeated from his feast day. “Confessio et pulchritúdo in conspectu ejus: sánctitas et magnificentia in sanctificatióne ejus. Ps. 95 Cantáte Dómino cánticum novum: cantáte Dómino, omnis terra. Gloria Patri. Sicut erat. Confessio. – Praise and beauty are before him: holiness and majesty in his sanctuary. Sing to the Lord a new song: sing to the Lord, all the earth. Glory be. As it was. Praise.”
The Epistle, Ezechiel 18, 1-9, was clearly chosen as a prequel to that of the following day, verses 20-28 of the same chapter. This refers directly to St Lawrence, whom Pope Sixtus II set in charge of the Church’s charitable activities. “If a man be just, and do judgment and justice, … (and) hath given his bread to the hungry, and hath covered the naked with a garment: hath walked in my commandments, and kept my judgments, to do truth: he is just, he shall surely live, saith the Lord God.” The words “if a man be just, and do … justice” refer to a verse of Psalm 111, “He hath distributed, he hath given to the poor: his justice remaineth for ever and ever,” which is cited by St Paul in the Epistle of St Lawrence’s feast, 2 Cor. 9, 6-10. This also looks back to the previous week’s reading from the prophet Isaiah (chap. 58, 1-9): “deal thy bread to the hungry, and bring the needy and the homeless into thy house: when thou shalt see one naked, cover him.”
The Gradual, borrowed from the Tenth Sunday after Pentecost, is taken from Psalm 16, and on this day is read as the prayer of the great martyr in the midst of his sufferings, sung by the Church on the very site where they were inflicted upon him. “Custódi me, Dómine, ut pupillam óculi: sub umbra alárum tuárum prótege me. V. De vultu tuo judícium meum pródeat: óculi tui vídeant æquitátem. – Keep me, o Lord, as the apple of Thine eye, beneath the shadow of Thy wings protect me. V. Let my judgment come forth from Thy countenance: let Thine eyes behold equity.” (Ps. 16, 8 and 2) The Gradual of his feast day, which in Rome would have been celebrated at his tomb, is taken from the same Psalm, and represents his plea to God after his sufferings had ended, and his body laid to rest. “Probasti, Dómine, cor meum, et visitasti nocte. V. Igne me examinasti, et non est inventa in me iníquitas. – Thou hast proved my heart, and visited it by night. V. Thou hast tried me by fire: and iniquity hath not been found in me.” (Ps. 16, 3)” Note the contrast between the first, which ends with the word “aequitas”, and the second, which ends with its opposite, “iniquitas.”
The Gospel, Matthew 15, 21-28, is the story of the Canaanite woman who comes to the Lord to plead for the healing of her daughter, who is possessed by a devil. The Lord at first appears to reject Her with the words, often so sadly misrepresented, “It is not good to take the bread of the children, and to cast it to the dogs”, but at her reply, “ ‘Yea, Lord; for the whelps also eat of the crumbs that fall from the table of their masters’, Jesus answering, said to her, ‘O woman, great is thy faith: be it done to thee as thou wilt’ and her daughter was cured from that hour.”
Christ and the Canaanite Woman, by Pieter Lastman (Dutch, 1583-1633), 1617
For the Fathers of the Church, this episode represents the conversion of the nations, an important theme in Lent, the season of baptismal preparation. In the first commentary on the Gospel of St Matthew by a Latin Father, St Hilary of Poitier explains that the Canaanite woman, who had “gone forth from the regions (of Tyre and Sidon)” represents the proselytes, the pagans who had “passed from the nations unto the works of the Law… She herself now needs no healing, who confesses Christ to be the Lord and the Son of David.” Her possessed daughter represents the unconverted: “but she asks for help for her daughter, that is, for the people of the nations, seized by the dominion of unclean spirits.”
“And so that we might understand that the Lord’s silence came because He chose when to speak, and not from any difficulty in His will, He added ‘O woman, great is thy faith’, so that she, now certain of her salvation, may also trust in the gathering (into the Church) of the nations, who, believing in that time, just like the girl, will be delivered from the rule of unclean spirits. … For after the people of the nations were prefigured in the daughter of the Canaanite woman, immediately, those who were taken by various kinds of illness are offered to the Lord upon the mountain (verses 29 and 30), which is to say, unbelievers and the sick are instructed by the faithful to worship and fall down (before the Lord), even they to whom health is restored, and all the powers of their mind and body are remade, so that they may hear, and behold, and praise and follow God.” (Commentary on Matthew 15, PL IX, 1004C sqq.)
A statue of St Hilary of Poitiers by Franz Anton Koch (1742) in the church of St Michael in Mondsee, Austria. The serpents at his feet represent the heresies which he fought and defeated with his writings. (Image from Wikimedia Commons by Wolfgang Sauber, CC BY-SA 3.0)
An interesting theme runs through this Mass, in which “bread” is mentioned in both readings: in the Epistle, “if a man be just, and do judgment and justice, … (and) hath given his bread to the hungry”, and in the Gospel, “It is not good to take the bread of the children, and to cast it to the dogs.” The Communion is taken from the 15th Sunday after Pentecost: “The bread that I will give is my flesh, for the life of the world.” (John 6, 52. Incidentally, in the Gospel of this Sunday, Luke 7, 11-16, Christ also performs a miracle on behalf of a mother, the widow of Naim.) The Offertory is taken from the Sunday before that, and refers to eating. “The angel of the Lord shall encamp round about them that fear him: and shall deliver them. O taste, and see that the Lord is sweet.” (Psalm 33, 8-9)
It seems possible that this theme was chosen to encourage observance of what was originally a liturgical novelty, the celebration, and therefore also the reception, of the Eucharist on a Thursday in Lent. On the following Thursday, the Communion is that of the Ninth Sunday after Pentecost, also taken from John 6, “He that eateth my flesh, and drinketh my blood, abideth in me, and I in him, saith the Lord.” (verse 57)
In the current arrangement of the Roman Breviary, this feria also has a responsory which makes reference to the Canaanite woman, and is used only on this day. (In some other Uses of the Roman Rite, the responsories of the first week of Lent are ordered differently, and this one is used more often.) Palestrina really outdid himself when he set it as a motet in 1572.
R. Tribulárer, si nescírem misericordias tuas, Dómine; tu dixisti: Nolo mortem peccatóris, sed ut magis convertátur et vivat: * Qui Chananaeam et publicánum vocasti ad poenitentiam. V. Secundum multitúdinem dolórum meórum in corde meo, consolatiónes tuae laetificavérunt ánimam meam. Qui Chananaeam.
R. Troubled had I been, but that I knew Thy mercies, o Lord; Thou didst say, “I will not the death of the sinner, but rather that he turn from his way and live”, * Thou, Who didst call the Canaanite woman and the publican unto repentance! V. According to the multitude of the sorrows within my heart, thy consolation have given joy to my soul. Thou, Who didst call…
In the Introit Reminiscere, (the Church) asks for liberation, namely, that which is had through fasting, and in the epistle and reading, we are admonished to fast by the example of Moses and Elijah.
Introitus, Ps. 24 Reminíscere miseratiónum tuárum, Dómine, et misericordiæ tuæ, quæ a sǽculo sunt: ne umquam dominentur nobis inimíci nostri: líbera nos, Deus Israël, ex ómnibus angustiis nostris. Ps. Ad te, Dómine, levávi ánimam meam: Deus meus, in te confído, non erubescam. Gloria Patri... Reminíscere.
Introit, Psalm 24 Remember Thy compassion, O Lord, and Thy mercy, that are of old, lest ever our enemies have dominion over us; deliver us, o God of Israel, from all our distress. Ps. To Thee have I lifted up my soul, o Lord; my God, in thee do I trust; let me not be put to shame. Glory be to the Father... Remember.
The reading... is taken from Exodus chapter 24 (12-18), “Go up to me on the mountain, etc.” But the Epistle is from the Third Book of Kings (19, 3-8), “Elijah came (to Bersabee of Judah).” How our fast ought to be, namely, spiritual, is shown to us through the fast of Moses, but its usefulness through Elijah. For in unleavened food does one come to Horeb, the mountain of God, that is, to the height of that table, when we shall eat upon the table of the Father of Christ in His kingdom. Indeed, through fasting the wrath of God is tempered and mitigated, which is shown through the Gospel (Matthew 12, 38-50), which treats of the Ninivites, who tempered the wrath of God through their fast.
The Transfiguration of Christ (the Gospel of both Ember Saturday and the Second Sunday of Lent), with Moses, Elijah, the Apostles Peter, James and John, and the donor, Jacob Rassler; ca. 1618, by the Swiss painter Kaspar Memberger. Public domainimage from Wikimedia Commons.
And note that on this feria, the solemnity of the fast is doubled, since one fasts both because it is Lent and because it is the Embertide. And because the bodies of the penitents who fast more severely are dried up, there does not dwell in them the unclean spirit, who walks around in dry places, seeking rest, and findeth it not, as is said in the Gospel. For (such a spirit) is disgusted by bodies withered with fasting, therefore, so that we might seek to fast more willingly, Moses and Elijah are put forth as examples, both of whom are asserted in their readings to have fasted for forty days and forty nights. (William Durandus, Rationale Divinorum Officiorum, 6.35)
Last July in Spain, I had the great joy of meeting a priest from a Spanish family, albeit born in Chicago (and thus perfectly fluent in both English and Spanish), who now happily ministers in the traditional rite to faithful of the Asturian diocese of Oviedo.
I share with readers of NLM the comments and photos he shared with me some months ago.
“This afternoon I celebrated a beautiful TLM Wedding, according to the venerable Toledo usage contained in an appendix to the 1897 Rituale Romanum for dioceses in Spain. At the head of the appendix is a prayer that a priest is to say privately before administering any sacrament:
One finds an admonition in Castilian which describes the essence of the sacrament of Marriage. Great material therein for a homily or catechesis.
Particularly interesting from a linguistic perspective is the usage of medieval and renaissance Castilian – the “Vos” to refer to a singular person “you”, but not like the formal “usted”, it’s rather a more elevated form used to address royalty, even today for those well-mannered enough. As to the verb form for “Vos”, the plural you (“vosotros”) is used, that is, the verb form used commonly in Spain for informal plural you (not so much in Spanish America), but used in the context of “Vos,” referring to a singular “you” in a distinguished manner. Think of this as Thee, Thou. From a grammatical point of view, it sounds old, venerable, and thus beautiful. Tolkien no doubt knew of it since he liked the sound of Spanish!
