Our friend James Griffin of The Durandus Institute for Sacred Liturgy and Music wishes all our readers a joyous Easter season, by presenting two opportunities, at least for those in southeast Pennsylvania, to celebrate.
First, this coming Sunday at 5pm, there will be a solemn Vespers in the traditional Latin rite for the Second Sunday after Easter at St. Richard of Chichester Parish in south Philadelphia, with a quartet led by Dr. Rebecca Ostermann to bring works of Palestrina to life. Following Vespers will be a sermon and Benediction of the Blessed Sacrament. The church is located at 3010 S 18th Street.
On Sunday, May 18 at 1pm--the Fourth Sunday after Easter--there will be a pontifical Mass in the traditional Latin rite at St. Joseph’s Church in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, celebrated by His Excellency Ronald Gainer, Bishop Emeritus of Harrisburg. The program of sacred music includes Victoria’s Missa O Quam Gloriosum. St. Joseph’s is a beautiful neo-Gothic church that has been featured on this site many times in the past, located at 440 St Joseph Street.
The following is based on a real letter. Dear Friend,
I’m sorry to hear that you’re experiencing some “ups and downs” with regard to the liturgy there, though it’s hardly surprising in a way. Your diocese is not well known for liturgical propriety or taste, and, beyond that, priests mostly have control over how the liturgy goes, which is why we end up with a lot of messes and relatively few triumphs. Once you grasp the essential problem of the optionitis of the new rite, you can then see clearly why the challenge of agreement on what to sing and when arises in such acute form. Very few clergy are well-trained nowadays in sacred music, and they often have a hard time understanding why (to take one notorious example) one would wish to use a Gradual instead of a responsorial psalm. They are just used to what they’re used to, and other things seem odd. This is the power of custom at work, and even bad custom, unfortunately, feels like, and is treated like, law.
You asked me how I ever got to the point of being able to sing so much chant at the place where I used to direct music. It was rather remarkable how things worked out. When I was first hired, I was in a position to convince the pastor—then a conservative who was open to Ratzingerian ideas—that Mass should be as “reverent” and “traditional” as possible. We wrote up a guide that we followed almost without deviation. There was also always a desire for a strong choir; and once people heard what the choir was capable of, they simply wanted that beauty to continue. Both my friends and my enemies would probably say that I kept a stranglehold on the program and fought hard against innovation or change, except when it was change in a more traditional direction.
In the end, as you know, I was too traditional for the place, especially under the dominance of new and more “progressive” (in reality, regressive: “Back to the ’70s!”) leadership, and so my tenure came to an end—but not before eleven good years had passed.
The use of Propers at daily Mass is certainly very exceptional in the Novus Ordo Missae [NOM] world. The place you pointed to as a model happens to be one of the few places on the planet where the Graduale Romanum is more commonly used than a hymnal.
Moreover, one must grasp—this is crucial—that the mentality of Catholics about daily Mass is very much a “low Mass” one. They want to get in and get out in a half-hour or so if possible. To my mind, this worked well enough when you had the real low Mass—a quiet, peaceful, contemplative Mass said by the priest and servers, with no music. But with the NOM’s near constant flow of words, a daily Mass can be a painfully didactic and unedifying experience; the chant, I found, helps a lot to dissipate that feeling and to elevate the worship, and it is possible to sing the Ordinary and Propers without Mass taking longer than about 40 minutes, provided the preaching does not carry on. Still, you have to understand that you are working from a baseline assumption of no music for weekdays, so every piece you add, no matter how beautiful or fitting, is already a step beyond that, and likely to be experienced, at least by some, as an unwelcome imposition.
The various Gregorian antiphons are, in keeping with the NOM’s character, optional. That is why no one can ever say “they must be sung,” even on Sundays or Holy Days. One can try to make a “hermeneutic of continuity” argument that they should be sung, that it’s better to do so, more fitting, but at the end of the day, they are as optional as the day is long. And options often facilitate the attitude: do what’s quickest, or even skip it altogether.
In the music program I used to direct, we did the Propers because, at the time, I was firmly convinced of the need for (and the possibility of) liturgical harmony between the old and new forms of the Mass, and others there were willing to accept my view because they liked the results. In the old Mass, in contrast, degrees of solemnity, and thus, required items of music, are hard-wired into the liturgy: you cannot do a High Mass or Solemn Mass without singing everything that must be sung. In the new Mass, solemnity is a subjective concept that is made up of a lot of accidental elements, which, again, can make navigating the waters quite a challenge.
Arguments for singing the antiphons at daily Mass are not difficult to come by (read this, this, and this), but you have to be prepared for pushback. One of the most disappointing aspect of fallen human nature is that a convincing argument, even an unanswerable argument, may still not be enough to shift someone to your position. That’s because people work by prejudice, sentiment, habit, instinct, laziness, fear, and a hundred other factors.
You asked me for recommended reading on the history and theology of the liturgy in our times, since your own education in Catholic institutions was deficient in this area. Don’t feel too badly; there is almost nowhere in the world where liturgy is studied from a traditional point of view, or even much at all, outside of traditionalist seminaries. Most degree programs are thoroughly in the grip of the “spirit of Vatican II” paradigm, and even when they are not, any serious or systematic critique of the liturgical revolution is verboten. Having and studying the following texts will constitute a profitable introductory course:
Ratzinger. A masterpiece—and the fact that it was globally attacked by progressives shows that he was very much on target.
Reid. A bit of heavy lifting but nothing is better on the concept of what development is and looks like and doesn’t look like.
Chiron. The perfect biography of a figure one must know about. Also lots of twentieth-century liturgical history.
Fiedrowicz. This book is essential reading on the history and theology of the liturgy. Just magnificent. And don’t skip the footnotes.
Shaw. Eminently practical and thorough, with copious sources of documentation. Indispensable for background of all kinds.
Mosebach. The masterpiece on the question of liturgy as art-form and the necessary aesthetic requirements of it.
That should be plenty to keep you busy. Be patient, do your best, and make time for the Byzantine liturgy you have in your neighborhood. It will teach you much.
Here are some great photos from
our Ambrosian correspondent Nicola de’ Grandi of the Portinari Chapel at the Basilica of St Eustorgio in Milan. They were taken during a special night-time opening made possible by a new lighting system; as one might well imagine, the Italians are extraordinarily good at this sort of thing, and more and more museums throughout the country are now offering occasional visits in the evening or night. The chapel is famous as the place where the relics of St Peter Martyr are housed in a large medieval “ark”, which, as noted several years ago in a guest article by our friend Dr Donald Prudlo, was designed so that the faithful could pass under it to touch and kiss it.
The ark of St Peter Martyr was carved by Giovanni di Balduccio in 1339, but has only been in the Portinari Chapel since the 18th century. The major panels on the front show St Peter’s funeral, his canonization, and a posthumous miracle by which he saves a ship in danger.
On the back, St Peter heals a mute, causes a cloud to cover the sun while he preaches outdoors, and heals a sick man and an epileptic.
This inscription records the praises of St Peter by his confrere St Thomas Aquinas. “When St Thomas Aquinas had visited the grave of St Peter as he was traveling to France in the year 1265, wondering at so great a martyr, he said ‘A herald, lantern, fighter for Christ, for the people and for the faith, here rests, here is covered, here lies, wickedly murdered. A sweet voice to the sheep, a most pleasing light of spirits, and sword of the Word, fell by the sword of the Cathars. Christ makes him marvelous, the devout people adore him, and the Faith which he kept by martyrdom adorns him as a Saint. But Christ makes new signs speak, and new light is given to the crowd, and the Faith spread (thereby) shines in this city.”
The dome and vaults of the chapel, painted by Vincenzo Foppa from 1464-68.
On the left, the miracle of the cloud; on the right, a very famous apparition in which the devil appeared to St Peter in the guise of Virgin, but was driven off when St Peter showed him a Eucharistic Host and told the apparition, “If you are truly the Mother of God, then adore your Son!”
I want to recommend the Catholic Heritage Currricula texts books to all who are looking for materials for courses in art history, art theory and artistic practice at the middle-school or high-school level. These books present a curriculum that combines art history, art theory, and a theory of culture in a Catholic way. Furthermore, they provide the basis for artistic practice, offering simple exercises for students that reflect the design and compositional features of the great works described in the course. The result is that it deepens the understanding and appreciation of what they are looking at, while also laying the foundations for artistic practice. This is done in a way that is open to all, regardless of their artistic ability. For more information, follow this link and scroll to the bottom.
I discovered them during a recent visit to the Stabat Mater Atelier in Tyler, Texas. This art school offers a full four-year training in classical naturalism within a Catholic environment. One of the contributors to these books is a senior tutor at the Atelier, and a master in the academic method of drawing and painting. This means that, in addition to art history, there is an explanation of how and why the artists used the materials they did, which is clearly and simply explained in the textbooks.
They are presented in two volumes, or levels: the first covers prehistoric art up to the Renaissance, and the second spans from the Renaissance to the present day. For each level, there is an accompanying “Art Pad” which contains the artistic exercises.
These books are so good that I encourage teachers to make them the basis for art history and art theory courses at any level. They can consider supplementing the text with additional reading and setting essays and examinations that reflect the level of instruction they are providing.
It is challenging, at any level of education, from primary to university, to find educational materials that do not present a Marxist or atheistically materialist-influenced version of art history, which considers only socio-economic factors as influences on the content and style of art. While it is undoubtedly true that these factors should not be ignored, they are not the most important ones; it is essential to acknowledge that the most significant factors are matters of faith and worldview. Our understanding of the nature of the world around us, which cannot be separated from metaphysics and theology, profoundly affects how we visually represent it. To illustrate this point with a simple example, one should always be open to the possibility, at least, that one of the motives for painting a picture of Christ on the cross is that the patron and artist are Christian. Many textbooks, however, will not even acknowledge an authentic faith as a possibility.
John Paul II spoke of the central importance of faith in the forms of culture in his encyclical Centesimus Annus, written in 1991 (parag. 24):
“Man is understood in a more complete way when he is situated within the sphere of culture through his language, history, and the position he takes towards the fundamental events of life, such as birth, love, work and death. At the heart of every culture lies the attitude man takes to the greatest mystery: the mystery of God. Different cultures are basically different ways of facing the question of the meaning of personal existence. When this question is eliminated, the culture and moral life of nations are corrupted.”
At a time of turmoil, nothing could be better or more important than rooting ourselves more deeply in the Catholic tradition. One of my favorite quotations is by St. Prosper of Aquitaine (390-455), writing in his own age of chaos: “Even if the wounds of this shattered world enmesh you, and the sea in turmoil bears you along in but one surviving ship, it would still befit you to maintain your enthusiasm for studies unimpaired. Why should lasting values tremble if transient things fall?”
Enter Os Justi’s new Theological Classicsseries. Noticing that many indispensable works of ancient, medieval, and more recent centuries are no longer (or were never) available in worthy print editions, we decided to do something about it. Our series, which could be compared to St. Vladimir Press’ Popular Patristics, will feature handsome, convenient, and affordable books, equipped with superb historical and doctrinal introductions.
The series commences with three masterpieces.
Placing Our Lady at the head of all (as is only fitting) the first in the series is St. John Henry Newman’s incomparable apologia for Marian doctrine, The Virgin Mary as New Eve: A Letter Addressed to the Rev. E. B. Pusey, which some consider the single best response to Protestant objections ever penned. This volume features an in-depth historical and doctrinal introduction by Fr. Thomas Crean, OP, and, for the first time, full translations of all the Latin passages quoted by Newman.
The second in the series is St. Vincent of Lérins’ Commonitory for the Antiquity and Universality of the Catholic Faith Against the Profane Novelties of All Heretics, a work that enunciates and illustrates the famous “Vincentian canon”: “In the Catholic Church, every care should be taken to hold fast to what has been believed everywhere, always, and by all”—which has resounded as a battle cry for defenders of dogmatic tradition; indeed, it served as an inspiration and catalyst for Newman’s Essay on the Development of Christian Doctrine. Os Justi’s new edition features the original Latin text side-by-side with a flowing translation into modern English, accompanied by ample notes and interpretive essays by Alan Fimister, Peter Kwasniewski, and Phillip Cambpell. Astonishingly, there has been no acceptable English edition of this very famous Patristic work in print for decades—until now.
The third in the series is Romano Guardini’s Sacred Signs, in which the author sets himself the task of “seeing and feeling” the basic language of signs out of which worship is composed: the human person and the objects, movements, and awarenesses of time and space that pervade everyday life. Its piercing insight, radiant piety, and almost fairy-tale-like style make it unique in the annals of liturgical writing. Os Justi’s edition is graced with the original line drawings as well as a pedagogically rich introduction by Benedictine Fr. Samuel F. Weber.
These books deserve to reach the hands of serious readers everywhere; they would serve well not only for private study but also as texts for university, seminary, homeschool, or adult enrichment courses.
Here’s a short video that gives a substantial peak inside the pages:
With his inquisitive right hand, Thomas searched out Thy life-bestowing side, O Christ God; for when Thou didst enter while the doors were shut, he
cried out to Thee with the rest of the Apostles: Thou art my Lord and my God. (The Kontakion of St Thomas Sunday at Matins in the Byzantine Rite.)
Who preserved the disciple’s hand unburnt when he drew nigh to the fiery side of the Lord? Who gave it the daring and strength to touch the bone that was flaming? Surely, it was that very thing which was touched! For if that side had not bestowed might unto that earthen right hand, how could it have touched those wounds which caused both things above and below to quake? This grace was given to Thomas, that he might touch and cry out to Christ: Thou art my Lord and my God. (The Ikos, which at Orthros comes right after the kontakion, and provides a commentary on it.)
The traditional sequence for Easter, Victimae Paschali laudes, is rightly regarded as one of the greatest gems of medieval liturgical poetry, such that it was even accepted by the Missal of the Roman Curia, which had only four sequences, a tradition which passed into the Missal of St Pius V. But of course, sequences as a liturgical genre were extremely popular elsewhere, and many, many more were composed for the most important feast of the year. And thus, for example, we find that in the Sarum Missal, there is a different sequence for each day of the Easter octave, and Victimae Paschali was sung only on Friday.
One of the most common Easter sequences, Laudes Salvatori voce modulemur, was written at the beginning of the tenth century by a monk of the abbey of St Gallen in Switzerland, known as Notker Balbus (or ‘Balbulus’, i.e., the Stammerer), to whom the Victimae Paschali has also been attributed. At Sarum it was sung on Low Sunday, but in other places on Easter itself.
The sequence is a genre that lends itself to prolixity and repetition, and to be honest, I didn’t find the recording above all that interesting. Like many hymns used in the modern Mass in Germany, it wanders around rather aimlessly, and in my opinion, is nowhere near as stirring as the Victimae Paschali. However, I decided to make an article of it because of this splendid setting in alternating Gregorian chant and polyphony by the Netherlandish composer Heinrich Isaac (ca. 1450 – 1517). It was written as part of his magnum opus, the Choralis Constantinus, a collection of nearly 400 polyphonic settings of the Mass propers for the entire year. The alternation of chant and polyphony extends the performance time to over 13 minutes. offering a nice break at the sedilia to the celebrant after the taxing ceremonies of the Triduum, but not so much to the choir. His yoke is easy, and His burden is light.
The Mass of Easter in a Missal according to the Use of Constance, Germany, printed in 1505, the use according to which Isaac composed the pieces in the Choralis. The sequence begins in the lower part of the left column.
One of the most magnificent features of the Byzantine Rite is a group of hymns known as the Paschal stichera. These are sung at Orthros and Vespers each day of Bright Week, as the Easter octave is called, and thenceforth on the Sundays of the Easter season, and on the Leave-taking of Easter, the day before the Ascension. As with all things Byzantine, there are variants in local usage; and they are also often sung during the Divine Liturgy in Eastertide while Communion is distributed. The church at which this video was taken, St Simeon Orthodox Church in Birmingham, Alabama, uses an English translation which keeps the traditional music of the Slavonic version, a wonderful example of how it is perfectly possible to employ the vernacular in sacred worship without destroying the musical patrimony of a rite. They also follow the custom of swinging the chandeliers on feast days; I have asked friends of mine who are quite knowledgeable about the Byzantine Rite what the significance of this is, and the answer is always pretty much, “It’s festive!” (I have tried to conform the translation below to what is actually being sung, but for obvious reasons, it is not always easy to make out exactly what they are saying.)
Let God arise and let His enemies be scattered! (Ps. 67, 2)
Today, a sacred Pascha is revealed to us, a new and holy Pascha, a mystical Pascha, a Pascha worthy of veneration, a Pascha that is Christ the Redeemer; a blameless (i.e. immaculate) Pascha, a great Pascha; a Pascha of the faithful; a Pascha that hath opened to us the gates of Paradise; a Pascha that sanctifies the faithful!
As smoke vanishes, so let them vanish! (Ps. 67, 3)
Come from the scene, O ye women, bearers of good tidings, and say to Sion: receive from us the good tidings of joy, of Christ’s Resurrection; exult and be glad, and adorn thyself, O Jerusalem, for thou hast seen Christ the King come forth from the tomb like a bridegroom in procession.
So let sinners perish at the presence of God and let the righteous be glad!(Ps. 67, 3-4)
The myrrh-bearing women at the break of dawn stood before the tomb of the Life-giver; they found an angel sitting upon the stone; he greeted them with these words: Why do you seek the living among the dead? Why do you mourn the incorrupt amid corruption? Go, proclaim the glad tidings to His disciples.
This is the day which the Lord has made; let us rejoice and be glad therein!(Ps. 117, 24)
Pascha of beauty, Pascha, the Lord’s Pascha, the Pascha all-venerable hath dawned upon us. Pascha! let us embrace each other joyously. O Pascha! Ransom from affliction, for today, as from a bridal chamber Christ has shone forth from the tomb, and hath filled the women with joy, saying: proclaim the glad tidings to the Apostles.
Glory to the Father and to the Son and to the Holy Spirit. Both now and ever and unto the ages of ages. Amen.
This is the day of Resurrection, let us be radiant for the feast, and let us embrace each other. Let us say: Brethren, even to them that hate us, let us forgive all things on the Resurrection, and so let us cry: Christ is risen from the dead, trampling down death by death, and upon those in the tombs bestowing life! (3x)
To all those who celebrate the Feast of Feasts this week, we wish you every blessing in the Risen Lord - He is truly Risen!
In the Breviary of St Pius V, Vespers of Easter Sunday and the days within the octave present only one peculiarity, namely, that the Chapter and Hymn are replaced by the words of Psalm 117, “Haec dies quam fecit Dominus; exsultemus et laetemur in ea. – This is the day that the Lord has made; let us be glad and rejoice therein.” In the Office, this is labelled an “antiphon”, but it is really the first part of the Gradual of the Mass, and is also sung at Lauds and the minor Hours.
The vast majority of medieval liturgical Uses, however, apart from those of the monastic orders, had a special form of Vespers which was used only in this week. I will summarize it broadly here (without giving every detail) from the critical edition of the Sarum Breviary published by Francis Procter and Christopher Wordsworth in 1882, since the rubrics of the Sarum liturgical books are generally more complete than those of others Uses. There were a great many variants to this ceremony, far too many to note here, but the basic outline is the same from one Use to another.
A page of a Dominican Breviary printed at Venice in 1477; Vespers of Easter Sunday begins in the 10th line of the left column. Although the Kyrie in place of ‘Deus in adjutorium’ at the beginning is one of the most consistent features of these Vespers, it was later removed from the Dominican Use, as were the verse of the gradual, the alleluia, and the sequence.
Essentially, the first part of these Vespers corresponds in form to the Mass of the Catechumens, with the psalmody representing the Epistle, and the Magnificat representing the Gospel. The chants which are sung between the Epistle and Gospel in the Mass are repeated between the Psalms and the Magnificat, with certain variations. The second part consists of a series of processions: first to the baptismal font, which is the most important part of the ceremony, and its raison d’être, then “ad crucem”, which is to say, to a chapel with a Crucifix as its main feature, where Masses for the Dead were traditionally said, and then to a chapel of the Virgin Mary. (At Sarum, where the cathedral itself was dedicated to the Virgin, this last part was done as the procession returned to the main choir.)
At the beginning, the customary “Deus in adjutorium” is replaced by the Kyrie of the Mass Lux et origo, which is given as Mass I in the modern Liber Usualis. The first three psalms of Sunday Vespers, 109, 110 and 111, are sung with a single antiphon consisting of four Alleluias, followed by the gradual and alleluia of the Mass. The second part of the gradual varies from day to day, just as it does at the Mass; the alleluia is often different from that of the day’s Mass, or made longer by the addition of a second verse. In many Uses, but not that of Sarum, the sequence Victimae Paschali was said as well. There follow the Magnificat with its antiphon, and a prayer, in the customary manner.
At this point, the procession to the baptismal font is formed in the following order: the cross-bearer, two acolytes carrying candles, the thurifer, two deacons who carry the holy oil and the chrism, a server to carry the book, and the celebrant, followed by the leaders of the choir (called “rectors” at Sarum), and the rest of the clergy. A rubric of the Sarum Breviary notes that it was not their custom to carry the Paschal candle at the head of this procession, indicating that this was certainly done elsewhere.
Before the procession starts, the rectors intone an antiphon, “Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia,” which is completed by the choir. They then begin the fourth psalm of Sunday Vespers, 112; one “Alleluia” is sung after each verse, and the procession begins moving after the first verse is completed. It makes it way to the baptismal font, where the first verse of the psalm and then the antiphon are repeated, and the font is incensed, after which the celebrant sings a versicle, the choir sings the response, and the celebrant sings a prayer. Many Uses added the Vidi aquam to this part of the ceremony.
The Baptistery of St John in the Lateran in Rome, photographed by William Henry Goodyear (1846-1923); from the Brooklyn Museum archives via Wikimedia Commons. (The current baptismal font of Salisbury Cathedral is comically hideous.)
The procession then goes to the chapel of the Cross, while singing the fifth psalm of Sunday Vespers, 113, repeating an antiphon of just one “Alleluia” after each verse. (In many places, Psalm 113 was sung while processing to the font together with Psalm 112, and a responsory was sung here instead.) The Cross is likewise incensed, followed by another versicle, response and prayer.
The procession then returned to the main choir, while singing a Marian antiphon, also followed by another versicle and prayer; at Sarum, this antiphon varied each day of the octave, while in other Uses, such as that of the Dominicans, the Regina caeli was sung every day. At the end, Benedicamus Domino and Deo gratias are sung with two Alleluias as in the Roman Rite.
It should be obvious that this ritual had its origins in the very ancient days of the Church, when the newly baptized would return each day of the Easter octave to the font where they had been reborn in Christ on the eve of Holy Saturday. The eminently baptismal character of the ceremony also explains why it is not in the Roman Breviary, a form of the Office originally used in the chapel of the Papal court, which was not a parish, and hence had neither catechumens nor a font. In fact, the Ordinal of Pope Innocent III, which lays out this form of the Office in the early 13th century, contains a rubric noting that Vespers of Easter was done in a completely different manner in the Lateran Basilica from that done in the Papal chapel. This is also why we find that in the Dominican Use, the entire portion which was sung while processing to the font (Psalms 112 and 113) is simply dropped, since the earliest Dominican churches would not have been parishes, and hence not had baptismal fonts.
The most common variant of this rite, as noted above, was the singing of a responsory while processing to chapel of the Cross, instead of Psalm 113 as at Sarum. This beautiful text is attributed to King Robert II of France (972-1031), also known as Robert the Pious.
R. Christus resurgens a mortuis jam non moritur, mors illi ultra non dominabitur: * Quod enim vivit, vivit Deo, alleluia, alleluia. V. Dicant nunc Judaei, quomodo milites custodientes sepulchrum perdiderunt Regem ad lapidis positionem: quare non servabant petram justitiae? Aut sepultum reddant, aut resurgentem adorent nobiscum, dicentes: Quod enim vivit.
R. Christ rising again from the dead, dieth now no longer, death shall no longer have dominion over Him: * For in that He liveth, He liveth unto God, alleluia, alleluia. V. Let the Jews now say how the soldiers that guarded the tomb lost the King where the stone was laid: why did they not keep the stone of justice? Let them either give back Him that was buried, or with us adore Him as he riseth, saying: For in that He liveth…
To catalog of all the variants of this ceremony found in medieval liturgical Uses would be a truly Herculean task, since there do not seem to be two cathedrals in all of Europe that did it in quite the same way. One more text, this remarkable antiphon from the Use of Paris, calls for particular notice; the very simple rubrics of the Parisian Breviary of 1492 simply say that it was sung “ad crucem”, i.e., the cross on top of the rood screen.
Aña Ego sum Alpha et Ω, (omega) primus et novissimus, initium et finis, qui ante mundi principium et in saeculum saeculi vivo in aeternum. Manus meae, quae vos fecerunt, clavis confixae sunt; propter vos flagellis caesus sum, spinis coronatus sum; aquam petii pendens, et acetum porrexerunt; in escam meam fel dederunt et in latus lanceam; mortuus et sepultus, resurrexi, vobiscum sum. Videte, quia ego ipse sum et non est Deus praeter me, alleluia.
Aña I am the Alpha and Omega, the first and last, the beginning and the end, who before the beginning of the world, and unto all ages live forever. My hands, which made ye, were fixed with nails; for ye I was scourged, I was crowned with thorns; as I hung, I asked for water, and they offered vinegar. They gave Me gal for food, and a spear in My side. Being dead and buried, I rose, I am with ye. See that it is I, and there is no God beside me, alleluia.
Courses are held on the beautiful campus of St. Patrick’s Seminary in Menlo Park, California from July 7 to 25, immediately following the Fons et Culmen Sacred Liturgy Summit.
