The Oratory of San Pellegrino in Bominaco, Italy

Here is something marvelous I stumbled across on Wikipedia, a frescoed medieval oratory in the village of Bominaco in the Abruzzo region of Italy, about 64 miles to the east-northeast of Rome. It was built in 1263 as part of a Benedictine monastic complex originally founded in the Carolingian era. Although the exterior is about as plain as it gets, the interior is covered with fresco work which is in remarkably good condition, especially considering its age. The Saint to whom it is dedicated is a local martyr of whom very little is known.

Here are general two views of the frescoes; detailed images with descriptions are given below. (All images from this page of Wikimedia Commons, by Pietro, CC BY-SA 3.0, except the last two.)

The front of the oratory...

and the back.

The date of the oratory’s foundation and the name of the reigning abbot, Teodino, are given in this inscription over the window.

The left side of the counterfaçade is dominated by a picture of St Christopher. In accordance with the popular belief that if one saw an image of him, one would suffer no sudden misfortune that day, images of him were often made very large, which in turn created the tradition that he was a giant. Around, going clockwise from under the window, are the prophet Zachariah, holding a banderole on which is written, “Behold thy king shall come unto thee” (9, 9), in reference to the picture next to it of the Lord’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem; the prophet Isaiah, holding a banderole on which is written, “Be washed be ye clean”, in reference to the picture next to it of the Lord washing the disciples’ feet at the Last Supper; St Onuphrius, and the Saint Francis of Assisi. At the top of the right side, as part of a cycle of episodes of Our Lord’s infancy, the Massacre of the Innocents. 

Continue Reading this Article. . .

Per omnia saecula saeculorum and The Great Amen

Lost in Translation #162

Five words remain in the Roman Canon for us to examine.

Per omnia saecula saeculorum

The priest concludes the Canon’s doxology (the Per ipsum) by saying or intoning aloud, per omnia saecula saeculorum, or “unto ages of ages.” This Latin expression has an impressive biblical pedigree. It appears in various forms nineteen times in the Vulgate translation of the New Testament as a translation of the Greek eis tous aiōnas tōn aiōnōn. In most of these instances, the phrase is followed by the word “Amen,” suggesting that it already had a place in the worship of the early Church even before it was committed to writing by the authors of the New Testament.

The phrase requires some explanation, as it might conjure up an image of God passing through an infinite succession of temporal moments. And yet we know that eternity is not time ad infinitum but rather all of time (past, present, and future) as present in one single and complete “Now.” In the words of Boethius: “The flowing now makes time, the abiding now makes eternity.” For Boethius (and Aquinas), eternity is thus “the simultaneously whole and perfect possession of unending life.” [1] The talk of God living forever and ever or unto endless ages is therefore metaphorical, just like the corporeal descriptions of God in the Old Testament as having an arm or a hand. [2]

The Roman Missal uses the plural “ages of ages” (saecula saeculorum), but some passages in the New Testament (and other Christian prayers) instead have “age of ages” (saeculum saeculorum). According to St. Anselm, both point to God’s eternity but have different connotations: the singular “age of ages” bespeaks an indivisible unit (eternity as a single now?) while “ages of ages” in the plural conures up the notion of an unending immensity. [3] One can see why the latter is used in doxologies, which focus on God’s greatness.

The utterance of per omnia saecula saeculorum breaks a silence that has lasted the entire Canon (the priest’s audible Nobis quoque peccatoribus barely counts as an exception). It is common in apostolic liturgies to end silent prayers in this manner. This device, called an ecphonesis, [4] serves several purposes. First, it reconnects the priest with the congregation. In silent prayer, the priest prays to God one-to-one, as if he had entered into a cloud, “remaining hidden from them.” With the ecphonesis, he reunites “himself with the faithful in prayer,” [5] like Moses come down from the mountain. Second, the ecphonesis alerts the faithful that a new part of the Mass is about to begin. Third, it invites the faithful to affirm the priest’s petitions or activities with a response—in this case, with “The Great Amen.” As Nicholas Gihr writes:

By this majestic and overpowering conclusion, recited aloud or sung, the mystic and solemn silence of the Canon is broken, in order that the people, by answering Amen, may make known their assent to and approval of all that the priest alone with God praying and offering in the holy cloud has performed. [6]

And if the Canon makes present the Sacrifice of the Cross, it is not unreasonable to think of the end of the Canon as the end of Christ’s life on the Cross. We have already seen how the rubrics of the Per ipsum were interpreted as signs of Christ’s death. Similarly, the ecphonesis of per omnia saecula saeculorum was taken to signify Our Lord’s crying out in a loud voice before He gave up the ghost (Matt. 27, 50) while the “Amen” signified the centurion’s declaration “Indeed this was the Son of God” (Matt. 27, 54) as well as the lamentations of the women at the tomb. [7]

The Great Amen

The Great Amen, as we have seen, broadcasts the assent of the faithful to the Sacrifice that has just been made. Dionysius of Alexandria (d. 264-265) lists it as one of the three privileges granted to the laity at Mass, the other two being listening to the Eucharistic Prayer and receiving the sacred food. [8] The privilege was not taken lightly. The practice, at least as old as St. Justin Marty (ca. 150), was once observed with gusto. St. Jerome describes the Christians in Rome shouting the response:

Where else does “Amen” reverberate like thunderclaps in the sky, and where else are the empty shrines of false gods shaken to the core? [9]

The response is simple but powerful. “Amen” is one of the few Hebrew loanwords in Christian life and liturgy. Although it is often translated as “so be it” (as with the French ainsi-soit-il), it is an adverb that means “truly” or “verily.” Erasmus’ expansive definition is:

Asserting in a manner of having believed in and continuing with utter trust to believe in the truthfulness and certainty of what has just been disclosed. [10]

And yet the Church deigns to leave “Amen” untranslated, perhaps for the sake of keeping a connection with the first Jewish converts to the Faith or perhaps out of fear that something might be lost in translation. Jerome cites Origen on the subject:

Owing to the native peculiarity of each language, [loanwords] cannot be expressed in the same way in another country as they have been uttered in their own country, and it is much better to cite them untranslated rather than to enfeeble their force by translation. [11]

What is enfeebled in this case, as Craig Toth writes, may be that sense of “a movingly heartfelt, confidently emphatic confirmation of what had just been prayed.” [12]

In any event, since the Great Amen is “the most important Amen in the entire Mass” [13] as well as “the people’s signature,” [14] we sympathize with those liturgists who advise the laity not to delegate this response to the ministers or the choir alone. It is an honor and a privilege to say to the newly confected Sacrament on the altar “Truly this is the Son of God” in the language of the Gospel’s first recipients.

Michael Foley is the author of Lost in Translation: Meditating on the Orations of the Traditional Roman Rite (Angelico Press, 2023).

Notes

[1] St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae I.10.1.

[2] Ibid., I.10.1.ad 4.

[3] St. Anselm, Proslogion 21.

[4] Adrian Fortescue, The Mass: A Study of the Roman Liturgy (London: Longmans, Green, and Co., 1912), 360.

[5] Pius Parsch, The Liturgy of the Mass, trans. Frederic C. Eckhoff (St. Louis, Missouri: Herder, 1940), 255.

[6] Nicholas Gihr, The Holy Sacrifice of the Mass: Dogmatically, Liturgically and Ascetically Explained, 6th ed. (St. Louis, Missouri: Herder, 1902), 694.

[7] William Durandus, Rationale Divinorum Officionorum IV.46.21.

[8] Quoted in Eusebius, Ecclesiastical History VII.9 (PG 20, 656).

[9] St. Jerome, Commentary on Galatians, trans. Andrew Cain (Washington, DC: Catholic University of America Press, 2010), 131-32.

[10] Quoted in Craig Toth and Louis Tofari, The Roman Canon: An Interlinear Translation (Romanitas Press, 2023), 232.

[11] Ibid., 232.

[12] Ibid., 232.

[13] John M. Cunningham, O.P., It is Right and Just: Responses of the Roman Missal (Pine Beach, NJ: Newman House Press, 2016), 45.

[14] Josef Jungmann, S.J., The Mass of the Roman Rite: Its Origins and Development, vol. 2, trans. Rev. Francis A. Brunner, C. SS. R. (New York: Benzinger Brothers, 1951), 273.

A Reconstruction of an Archaic Rite of Holy Communion (Part 3): Further Evidence

We are very pleased to share the final part of this essay by Zsolt Orbán: part one was published last week, and part two yesterday.

Elements supporting the above, which survive to this day in various liturgical traditions

1. The right palm held in the left hand

Naturally, on this point I do not assume that the hand position used in today’s ecclesiastical practice of communion in the hand is identical to that of antiquity, since the modern sacramental hand position – more precisely, the reception of the Eucharist by hand – differs substantially from the ancient sacrifice, despite the physical similarity of the hand positions.

The right palm, held in the left hand and turned upwards, is the traditional hand posture still found in today’s Orthodox tradition; however, this is naturally not used during the distribution of communion, but rather during blessings: for this is the hand posture for requesting a blessing – the gesture of the person asking for it.

2. The paten on the table

Among the textual sources, I mentioned above the letter of Bishop Dionysius of Alexandria, in which the sacrificial rite is alluded to; I believe this rite can be reconstructed in this paper based on the evidence provided by the images. To support this, I cite as an example the liturgy of the Copts, the modern heirs of the Alexandrian liturgical tradition, in which several elements can be identified that refer to what is depicted in the material artefacts and can be traced back to the practice depicted.

In the Codex Rossanensis, at the moment after the delivery of the Holy Body, Christ does not hold the paten in His hand, but rather takes the particle from the paten resting on the altar. Just as the Copts do in the video clip above.

3. The left palm of the celebrant

Christ places the piece taken with His right hand into the apostle’s mouth, whilst, as seen in the scene from the Codex Rossanensis, he holds his left palm protectively beneath it. After the communion, he continues to hold his left palm upwards, with his fingers slightly bent – so that no crumbs would be lost. Just as Coptic priests do: the video shows the way the priest holds his left palm. This seems very reminiscent of Christ, as seen in the enlarged image from the Rossano Codex above.

4. The communion cloth alluding to the ancient use of the himation

The small cloth worn by the communicant in the Coptic video also seems to evoke the himation seen in the images above. I believe that the changes in dress over the past one and a half thousand years may in themselves explain the replacement of the himation – that is, the ancient outer garment – during the Eucharist: the need to use a cloth, arising from reverence for the Eucharist, may have been stronger than the absence resulting from the disappearance of the himation due to changes in dress. However, the natural process of classifying items associated with the liturgy as sacred may also have led to the emergence of a cloth specifically intended for this purpose in liturgical use.

A communion shawl with a similar function is also used in the Byzantine liturgy, as can be clearly seen in the last video.

Among Ethiopian Christians (Ethiopian Orthodox Tewahedo Church), the himation – which has become entirely liturgical in purpose – has also been preserved under the name netela: both men and women wear it in church. This short video discusses how this shawl is worn and its spiritual significance:

5. The holy kiss

I have not found any trace of the kissing of the priest’s hand after communion in the various liturgical traditions, but in the Orthodox tradition there is another form of holy kiss that follows directly after Communion: after receiving the sacred species, the faithful kiss the base of the chalice. The holy kiss given to the base of the chalice, reminiscent of the himation, together with the use of a cloth identical to it in terms of its liturgical function:

Although this kiss differs from the presumed practice described in this text, in which a kiss might have been given to the right hand of the ministering priest, this may be explained by the change in the manner of communion under the two species compared to ancient practice. The distribution of the Body, placed in the Precious Blood, using a spoon – directly into the communicant’s mouth – eliminated the possibility of kissing the priest’s hand, as this could have endangered the contents of the chalice.

But the need to express the spiritual significance embodied in the kiss sought and found a place.

Concluding Remarks

The famous quote from Saint Basil (Letter 93) demonstrates that communion on the tongue was the normative mode of receiving the Eucharist in the Church from the beginning. Ecclesiastical practice deviated from this only under extraordinary circumstances, such as during times of persecution or a shortage of priests, and even then only temporarily (at the time the letter was written, around 372 AD, the practice of the lay faithful taking the Eucharist home was customary only in Alexandria). Despite this, the narrative of "communion in the hand" became dominant in the second half of the twentieth century, inextricably linked to the liturgical reform. The architects of the latter were enthusiastic proponents of this narrative (see, e.g., this article by Annibale Bugnini), which explains why today almost every scholarly textbook and popular publication treats it as a self-evident fact that communion on the tongue was unknown until the 8th or 9th century. Consequently, every written source is interpreted through the lens of this narrative. This, however, distorts the accurate understanding of historical reality and, by extension, hinders the return to correct ecclesiastical practice.

Therefore, it is crucial for researchers to finally re-examine the ancient sources allegedly proving the exclusivity or primacy of communion in the hand. They must thoroughly undertake the work that has been neglected for sixty years, researching actual ecclesiastical practice supported by the analysis of other available historical remains. Anyone who has examined in detail the ‘justifying’ textual interpretations and citations of Bugnini or the frequently cited Dom Ambrois Verheul OSB (La communion dans la main, in: Les questions liturgiques et paroissiales 50 (1969), pp. 115–122) can see their tendentious nature; thus, one can be confident that this narrative can be successfully refuted if the necessary time is dedicated to it.

In the preceding sections, I have addressed textual witnesses only partially; instead, I have attempted to reconstruct a probable ancient rite of communion based on the earliest surviving depictions of authentic liturgical scenes. Far from being contradicted, this reconstruction is rendered more plausible by even the most frequently cited textual sources of the ‘communion in the hand’ narrative, while elements preserved in various liturgical traditions support it in detail. I have done this in the hope of providing inspiration and insights to researchers, whose efforts are essential if a history of the concrete liturgical forms of receiving Holy Communion is to be compiled in accordance with historical reality.

The Canonization of St Gregory Barbarigo

Today is the anniversary of the death of St Gregory Barbarigo, cardinal and Patriarch of Venice, in 1697. When he was canonized in 1960, June 18th was occupied by the feast of St Ephraem the Syrian, and so he was assigned to the previous day. His cause had stalled for over a century and a half after his beatification in 1751; it was revived and brought to a successful conclusion by Pope St John XXIII, who was a native of St Gregory’s first diocese, Bergamo, and also patriarch of Venice.

Here is some footage of the canonization ceremony (unfortunately rather grainy, and without soundtrack), which was held in the Lateran basilica in Rome on May 26, 1960. This comes from the always interesting YouTube channel of the website Caerimoniale Romanum, which is dedicated to preserving historical records of this sort - feliciter!

A Reconstruction of an Archaic Rite of Holy Communion (Part 2): Insight into St. Cyril of Jerusalem’s Famous Text

The following essay is by Zsolt Orbán. Read Part 1 here.

The Testimony of Written Records

One might naturally ask: If Communion truly occurred in the way we described at the end of our first part, based on the Rossano Codex, the Riha paten, and the Stuma paten, why is there no written confirmation of such a practice?

In fact, such confirmation may well exist. To be sure, we lack a direct and unambiguous primary source that explicitly states – alongside other elements of the reconstructed rite – that “the priest places the Holy Body upon the believer’s tongue.” Nowhere is this ritual described in every minute detail; indeed, this very silence justifies the reconstruction attempted here.

At first glance, the available written records seem to confirm this rite only indirectly, insofar as they do not exclude, but rather permit, the interpretation I have presented. However, upon closer inspection, looking beyond popular translations that often embed their own interpretations, we find confirmation for this rite in the most unexpected places.

In the next section, while listing elements of the rite that survive to this day, I will demonstrate that most components of this reconstructed ritual have been preserved in the Coptic Liturgy. Since Christian liturgical traditions prior to the Novus Ordo did not develop ex nihilo, it is likely that the Coptic tradition did not emerge ex nihilo either, but was characterized by a continuity faithful to its origins. Consequently, elements of today’s practice may well have ancient roots.

If this is the case, the few remaining textual witnesses may indeed validate the reconstruction. Therefore, as witnesses to the reconstructed rite, I cite a frequently invoked Alexandrian example from Eusebius, and one from Saint Cyril of Jerusalem, along with a Syriac text often mentioned as another ancient precedent for the practice.

In his Historia ecclesiastica, Eusebius quotes a letter from Bishop Dionysius of Alexandria to the pope (book VII, chapter 9) regarding a believer who came from a heretical sect. Upon witnessing a true baptism for the first time, the man realized his own baptism had borne no resemblance to the real one and began to doubt its validity. From this letter, the following passage is often cited: “...and stretching forth his hands to receive the holy sustinence, and receiving it, and partaking of the Body and Blood of our Lord.” (“καὶ χεῖρας εἰς ὑποδοχὴν τῆς ἁγίας τροφῆς καὶ ταύτην καταδεξάμενον καὶ τοῦ σώματος καὶ τοῦ αἵματος τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν μετασχόντα.”)

Popular interpretation holds that “hands stretched forth to receive” clearly indicates communion in the hand. In reality, however, in nearly every Greek text cited as evidence for this practice, the word used for receiving Communion is the same one found here, yet its meaning is not what many assume. Among ancient Christians, the Greek word term hypodoché (ὑποδοχή) did not signify taking something into one’s palm. Originally, it was a Scriptural term for welcoming a guest (cf. Luke 10, 38 or 19, 6), and from there, it became a terminus technicus for Communion. This evolution is easily understood by anyone who recognizes that in Communion, we welcome the most Precious Guest. Furthermore, the text describes these hands as proteinanta (προτείναντα), meaning “stretched forward.” Thus, the actual meaning of the full expression used for Communion is: hands stretched forward for the welcoming / receiving of the Guest. This is correctly understood only when viewed through the lens of the practical ritual shown by the physical artifacts analysed earlier.

The second text is from the 17th Homily of Narsai of Edessa. This, too, is often presented as proof of communion in the hand; indeed, it cannot be ruled out that Alphonse Mingana, who discovered the text and was not above occasional forgery, sought to ensure it was read that way. In Dom R. H. Connolly’s translation, it reads:

“He who approaches to receive the Body stretches forth his hands, lifting up his right hand and placing it over its fellow. In the form of a cross the receiver joins his hands; and thus he receives the Body of our Lord upon a cross... And the priest who gives says unto him: ‘The Body of our Lord’... He receives in his hands the adorable Body of the Lord of all; and he embraces it and kisses it with love and affection.” (The liturgical homilies of Narsai online; see p. 108; in the original, p. 28)

Yet, in Mingana’s “original” Syriac text, the expression used for receiving the Host – just as in Eusebius – does not denote taking it with the hands. Instead, we find the same Scriptural term for “welcoming / receiving” as in the Greek. This term stems from the root Q-B-L, which in this context refers to the internal, spiritual, or faithful reception of the Sacrifice, much like in the Peshitta version of John 1, 12: “as many as received Him” (d-qabbelūhy).

Beyond the spiritual interpretation, the part of the expression referring to the hands allows for two grammatical readings. The preposition b- (b-īdayhī) can be either locative (‘in’) or instrumental (‘with/by means of’). In the latter case, Narsai’s text may not imply the Body being placed into the hands, but rather approaching the reception of the Body with hands outstretched in a gesture of welcome. The Syriac expression clearly supports this possibility precisely because of the aforementioned primary meaning of the terminus for communion. If, however, one still wishes to interpret the preposition as a locative, they may view it as a spiritual ‘place,’ much like the Father’s hands in Luke 23, 46, which feature the same preposition (b’idayk).

While the grammatical reading would ideally be determined by the subsequent parts of the text, the interpretation of the entire passage ultimately depends on what one considers a conceivable or plausible practice; thus, even the grammatical reading is decided primarily along extra-textual presuppositions. For example, it depends on whether one can imagine that the embracing and kissing of the Eucharist was not spiritual in sense, but an actual physical practice. Since I find this difficult to imagine, I more readily assume that the preposition has an instrumental meaning grammatically, involving a kind of spiritual instrumentality. Outstretched hands are symbols representing and signaling a readiness for reception, which practically served only to prevent crumbs from falling; thus, they are primarily spiritual instruments of a clearly spiritual reception. Therefore, in this text, the Body is perhaps not placed into the hands, but rather the communicant approaches for reception with outstretched hands, bowing.

The final example is the Fifth Mystagogical Catechesis of Saint Cyril of Jerusalem – often considered the “ultimate weapon” for proponents of communion in the hand. The passage in English reads:

“When, therefore, you approach, do not draw near with your wrists extended, nor with your fingers spread; but making your left hand a throne for the right, as for that which is about to receive the King, and hollowing your palm, receive the Body of Christ, saying, ‘Amen’.”

Migne’s edition: “Προσιὼν οὖν, μὴ τεταμένoις ταῖς τῶν χειρῶν καρποῖς προσέρχου, μηδὲ διῃρημένοις τοῖς δακτύλοις· ἀλλὰ τὴν ἀριστερὰν θρόνον ποιήσας τῇ δεξιᾷ, ὡς μελλούσῃ Βασιλέα ὑποδέχεσθαι· καὶ κοίλανας τὴν παλάμην, δέχου τὸ σῶμα τοῦ Χριστοῦ, ἐπιλέγων τὸ, Ἀμήν.” (PG 33, 1124-25, pdf pp. 562-3.)

Here again, we see the author using the technical term hypodechomai (ὑποδέχομαι) for the act of receiving. Even more interestingly: if we can momentarily set aside the ‘communion in the hand’ narrative, we discover that the scene described here is entirely compatible with the reconstructed rite, without the Holy Body ever touching the palm. Because the text does not forbid approaching with hands extended; rather, it forbids approaching with wrists separated, with the right palm not resting in the left, with the right palm not facing upward, or with fingers spread and arms flung wide. The purpose of closing the fingers and slightly hollowing the palms is obvious: to prevent any fragments of the holy Body from falling, an issue the text explicitly addresses with its analogy of gold dust.

Essentially, the text forbids the very hand gesture before reception that the images above depict as the posture of thanksgiving – after communion. If we recall the educational intent mentioned earlier, the Apostle on the Stuma paten – standing with arms wide and fingers spread – shows that the posture St. Cyril forbade before communion was actually the correct posture after communion, during the time of thanksgiving. This was a point of such significance that it demanded the instruction of the faithful; hence, its representation was deliberately sought, even while navigating the inherent constraints of pictorial composition.

It is also worth taking a closer look at the following passage:

“So then after having carefully hallowed thine eyes by the touch of the Holy Body, partake of it; giving heed lest thou lose any portion thereof; for whatever thou losest, is evidently a loss to thee as it were from one of thine own members. For tell me, if any one gave thee grains of gold, wouldest thou not hold them with all carefulness, being on thy guard against losing any of them, and suffering loss? Wilt thou not then much more carefully keep watch, that not a crumb fall from thee of what is more precious than gold and precious stones?” (Μετ’ ἀσφαλείας οὖν ἁγιάσας τοὺς ὀφθαλμοὺς τῇ ἐπαφῇ τοῦ ἁγίου σώματος μεταλάμβανε, προσέχων μὴ παραπολέσῃς τι ἐκ τούτου: ὅπερ γὰρ ἐὰν ἀπολέσῃς, τοῦτο ὡς ἀπὸ οἰκείου ἐζημιώθης μέλους. Εἰπὲ γάρ μοι, εἴ τίς σοι ἔδωκε ψήγματα χρυσίου, οὐκ ἂν μετὰ πάσης ἀσφαλείας ἐκράτεις, φυλαττόμενος μή τι αὐτῶν παραπολέσῃς καὶ ζημίαν ὑποστῇς; Οὐ πολλῷ οὖν μᾶλλον ἀσφαλέστερον τοῦ χρυσίου καὶ λίθων τιμίων τιμιωτέρον διασκοπήσεις ὑπὲρ τοῦ μὴ ψῖχα ἐκπεσεῖν.)

Those who view the above quote as irrefutable evidence for Communion in the hand generally fail to address what exactly was to be done after receiving the Most Holy Body. If this text were meant in a literal sense, then the Eucharist would have had to be touched to the eyes, just as later the remaining drops of the Holy Blood on the lips would have been smeared onto the sensory organs. Yet, it is highly contradictory that the author argues against dropping Eucharistic fragments using the gold dust metaphor, while simultaneously prescribing that it be kissed and touched to the eyes, acts that would obviously increase the risk of crumbs falling.

Furthermore, smearing droplets of the Holy Blood would almost inevitably result in dripping. Such a practice is highly improbable because – as proponents of Communion in the hand often overlook – those who possess an “excessive fear” of losing a single particle, likening it to the loss of their own limbs, do not typically handle the Blessed Sacrament in their hands, much less touch or smear it onto various parts of their body. Therefore, a sober interpretation suggests that the quote refers to actions in a spiritual sense; thus, the eyes are sanctified by gazing upon the Eucharist rather than by physical contact.

This is further supported by grammatical analysis, specifically the presence of the instrumental dative (dativus instrumenti) in the phrase τῇ ἐπαφῇ. This term, denoting contact or touch, can be rightly interpreted here as a kind of dativus instrumenti spiritualis.

Thus, this text serves as a vital supplement to the reconstructed ritual of the faithful’s Communion. With this detail, the action immediately preceding the reception of the Holy Body can be visualized: the communicant, approaching with hands extended and covered by the himation, raised his gaze to the Holy Body before receiving it, saying “Amen,” and then receiving it from the priest’s hand directly into his mouth.

Beyond its spiritual significance, the act of raising the eyes may have served a practical purpose. The phrase “carefully” (Μετ’ ἀσφαλείας) emphasizes the mindfulness with which the eyes are raised to gaze upon the Holy Body. This suggests a practical role for the gesture: by looking up at the Host, the face and mouth of the communicant, who approaches bowing with hands extended and covered, are placed in the optimal position for receiving Communion, thereby ensuring the safety of the metadosis (the priest’s handing over of the Holy Body). This aspect of safety is paramount, underscored by the Greek word for great care, “ἀσφάλεια”, a constant liturgical technical term in the Byzantine tradition. This very care is traditionally prescribed in Byzantine rubrics for priests administering the Eucharist. An example of this consistency is found in the Great Horologion (Horologion to Mega, p. 70), published in Venice in 1856, where the rubric for the priests’ communion prescribes: “And thus he takes what is in his hand with fear and great care.” (Καὶ οὕτω μεταλαμβάνει τοῦ ἐν χερσὶ μετὰ φόβου, καὶ πάσης ἀσφαλείας.)

In summary, it can be asserted with confidence that the texts presented here do not exclude the possibility of the reconstructed Communion rite. On the contrary, if we understand the spiritual state of the faithful – approaching bowed, with covered and extended hands as a humble sign of readiness to receive – we discover a posture identical to the traditional gesture of requesting a blessing preserved in Eastern traditions to this day, as we shall see in the final part of this essay.

Maurice Duruflé’s 40th Anniversary

Today is the 40th anniversary of the death of the French composer, organist and teacher Maurice Gustave Duruflé (1902-86). He was born in a small town in Normandy, and attended the cathedral school at Rouen from age 10 to 16; In 1919, right after the end of World War I, he moved to Paris, and took lessons with the famous organist Charles Tournemire. The following year, he began studying at one of the most prestigious music schools in Europe, the Conservatoire de Paris; later on, in 1943, he was hired by this school, and taught there until 1970. In 1927, the organist of Notre-Dame, Louis Vierne, took him on as his assistant; the two became good friends, and ten years later, Duruflé was at Vierne’s side when the latter died suddenly in the middle of a recital. From 1929 until his death, he was the organist at the Parisian church of St-Étienne-du-Mont, although in the last eleven years of his life, after being seriously injured in a car crash, he was almost entirely unable to perform.

A photo of Duruflé taken in 1939.

His best known work is a Requiem (Opus 9) for choir, two soloists, orchestra, and organ, first published in 1947. Duruflé was a perfectionist who frequently revised his own composition, and this piece is therefore known in three versions, one for symphony orchestra, one for chamber orchestra, and one with organ. (One of his Masses was similarly revised and published in three different versions.) The Dies Irae is reduced to just the last two lines (Pie Jesu Domine, dona eis requiem), but the Libera me and In paradisum are both included.

“Deification and the Sacraments: Perspectives East and West” - Conference in London, June 25-26

There are still some places left for anyone interested in attending the conference which will take place on June 25-26 in London, on “Deification and Sacraments: Perspectives East and West.” My good friend Fr Andrew Marlborough, who is an occasional contributor to the NLM writing about sacred art, is one of the organizers of what promises to be a great event, with a spectacular lineup of great speakers. (Two that caught my eye are Dr Matthew Levering and Fr Uwe Michael Lang.)

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The Sainte-Chapelle of Vincennes

The term “Sainte-Chapelle”, French for “holy chapel”, is most often used to refer to one of the most famous Gothic churches in the world, the chapel on the Île de la Cité in Paris which St Louis IX built to house the Lord’s Crown of Thorns. But there are nine other chapels of royal or noble foundation which are also so called, and there were four others which no longer exist. Of these, the best known is the Sainte-Chapelle de Vincennes, the chapel of a castle complex called the Château de Vincennes on the outskirts of Paris, which was often used as the royal residence from the time it was built the 1360s, until it was effectively replaced by Versailles in the late 17th century. 

Construction of the chapel was begun in 1379, ten years after the castle was finished, but not completed until 1552. With the permanent move to Versailles under Louis XIV in 1682, it lost its importance; the castle itself ceased to be an official royal residence in 1754, and the collegiate chapter that officiated in the chapel was suppressed in 1787. The chapel was badly damaged during the Revolution, later to be restored by Eugène Viollet-le-Duc (better known for his important work on Notre-Dame de Paris), but many of its decorations, including the spire, the tympanum, almost all the exterior sculptures, many of the stained glass windows, and all of the original furnishings (e.g. the choir stalls) were irreparably lost. Despite this, it remains an impressive example of the style of later phase of Gothic architecture known as the flamboyant. These pictures were taken by Nicola during a recent visit.

The small tower-like structure on the left of the church is the sacristy; the upper story was a treasury to house other relics of the Lord’s Passion. (I have been unable to find a source which says which ones exactly.) 

An especially good shot from a window within the castle.

Continue Reading this Article. . .

St Basil the Great on the Value of Tradition

St Basil the Great died on January 1st, 379, after serving the Church as bishop of Caesarea in Cappadocia for about 8½ years. The structure of the Byzantine Rite permits the joining of two feasts much more readily than the Roman Rite does, and so it keeps his feast on the day of his death together with that of the Circumcision. In the West, his feast was hardly kept at all before the later 15th century; once it began to spread, the date most commonly chosen for it was that of his episcopal consecration, June 14th, since his death day was already occupied. This choice was then consolidated by the Tridentine Reform, which raised him to what was then the highest of three grades of feast, together with three other Easterners, Ss Athanasius, Gregory of Nazianzus and John Chrysostom, and granted them all the title of Doctor of the Church.

An icon of St Basil the great, 1764, by the Greek painter Spyridon Romas (1730-86). Image from Wikimedia Commons by Sailko, CC BY-SA 3.0. 

Some years ago, I happened across this very interesting passage from his treatise on the Holy Spirit, which is well worth considering. (chapter 27)

“Of the beliefs and practices, whether generally accepted or publicly enjoined, which are preserved in the Church, some we possess derived from written teaching; others we have received delivered to us in a mystery by the tradition of the Apostles; and both of these in relation to true religion have the same force. And these no one will gainsay – no one, at all events, who is even moderately versed in the institutions of the Church. For were we to attempt to reject such customs as have no written authority, on the ground that the importance they possess is small, we should unintentionally injure the Gospel in its very vitals; or, rather, should make our public definition a mere phrase and nothing more.

For instance, to take the first and most general example, who is thence who has taught us in writing to sign with the sign of the cross those who have trusted in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ? (This means the ritual of signing the catechumens with the sign of the cross on their foreheads before baptism.) What writing has taught us to turn to the East at the prayer? Which of the saints has left us in writing the words of the invocation at the displaying of the bread of the Eucharist and the cup of blessing? For we are not, as is well known, content with what the Apostle or the Gospel has recorded, but both in preface and conclusion we add other words as being of great importance to the validity of the ministry, and these we derive from unwritten teaching. Moreover we bless the water of baptism and the oil of the chrism, and besides this the catechumen who is being baptized.

On what written authority do we do this? Is not our authority silent and mystical tradition? Nay, by what written word is the anointing of oil itself taught? And whence comes the custom of baptizing thrice? And as to the other customs of baptism, from what Scripture do we derive the renunciation of Satan and his angels? Does not this come from that unpublished and secret teaching which our fathers guarded in a silence out of the reach of curious meddling and inquisitive investigation? Well had they learned the lesson that the awful dignity of the mysteries is best preserved by silence. What the uninitiated are not even allowed to look at was hardly likely to be publicly paraded about in written documents.”

This translation is taken from the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers series, published between 1886 and 1900, as a companion to the earlier Ante-Nicene Fathers series (1867-73), both originally put out by T&T Clark, which still exists as an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing. The founder, Thomas Clark, was a member of a break-away Presbyterian sect called the Free Church of Scotland, and the two series were conceived as a response to a similar series begun in 1836 by the founders of the Oxford Movement, The Library of the Fathers, which was seen as too sympathetic to Roman Catholicism. (Given that one of the founders and most active contributors to the latter, St John Henry Newman, ended his days as a Roman Catholic cardinal and religious, this view was, from a Presbyterian point of view, perfectly reasonable.) The anti-Catholic tenor of the notes in both of Clark’s series is very pronounced, but personally, I find it almost touching to read their fierce defense of points of doctrine which the majority of the churches born at the Reformation would not touch with a barge pole today.

The authors of the series recognized (how could they not?) how damning this passage is to the logical contradiction that is sola Scriptura, and certainly deserve credit for their honesty in noting that the slippery Erasmus tried to remove it as inauthentic, but that this cannot be justified. They therefore introduced certain other passages of St Basil in the same note, which purportedly show that he “is, however, strong on the supremacy of Holy Scripture.” But even if such passages did prove what they imagined they proved, and that St Basil therefore essentially contradicted himself, what this really proves is what the Roman Catholic Church has always taught, namely, that since the Fathers themselves do not agree on every point, it is necessary that there be an authority which can pronounce definitively on the meaning and value of what they say.

The Miraculous Responsory of St Anthony of Padua

R. Si quaeris miracula, Mors, error, calamitas, Daemon, lepra fugiunt, Aegri surgunt sani. * Cedunt mare, vincula: Membra resque perditas Petunt et accipiunt Juvenes et cani. V. Pereunt pericula Cessat et necessitas: Narrent hi, qui sentiunt, Dicant Paduani. Cedunt. Gloria Patri. Cedunt.	R. If you ask for miracles, Death, error, all calamities, Leprosy and demons fly And health succeeds infirmities. * The sea obeys, and fetters break, And lifeless limbs thou dost restore, While treasures lost are found again, When young and old thine aid implore. V. All dangers vanish at thy prayer, and direst need doth quickly flee, Let those who know thy power proclaim, Let Paduans say, “These are of thee.” The sea obeys... Glory be.. The sea obeys...
V. Ora pro nobis, beate Antoni. R. Ut digni efficiamur promis- sionibus Christi.	V. Pray for us, blessed Anthony. R. That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.
Oremus. Ecclesiam tuam, Deus, beati Antonii Confessoris tui at- que Doctoris solemnitas votiva laetificet, ut spiritualibus semper muniatur auxiliis, et gaudiis per- frui mereatur aeternis. Per Chri- stum Dominum nostrum. R. Amen.	Let us pray. May Thy Church, o God, be gladdened by the solemnity of the blessed Anthony, Thy Confessor and Doctor: that she may be evermore de- fended by Thy spiritual assistance, and merit to possess everlasting joy. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.

Si quaeris miracula is the eighth and final responsory of the Franciscan Office of St. Anthony of Padua, whose feast is kept today, the anniversary of his death in the year 1231. It is traditionally known as the “miraculous” responsory, from the once-common custom of reciting it to ask for St. Anthony’s miraculous intervention. English-speaking Catholics today perhaps think of him principally as the Saint to call upon when something is lost, for which there is a well-known rhyme, “St. Anthony, St. Anthony, please come down: something is lost and cannot be found.” In his own lifetime, however, and for centuries after, Anthony was principally known for his extraordinary learning and his skill as a preacher; he was the first Franciscan to study at a university and teach.

St Anthony of Padua, ca. 1272, by an anonymous artist known as the Master of St Francis. In his hand he holds a book on which are written the words of Wisdom 7, 7 “I called upon (the Lord), and there came upon me the spirit of wisdom and understanding,” a verse often associated with the Doctors of the Church. (Image from Wikimedia Commons by Sailko, CC BY 3.0)

He was also known for a variety of highly spectacular miracles. The 39th chapter of The Little Flowers of Saint Francis tells the story of how he preached before the Pope and cardinals in consistory, and was understood by them all,

Greeks, Italians, French, Germans, Slavs and English, and other languages… as if he had spoken in their own languages … and it seemed that that ancient miracle of the Apostles at the time of Pentecost was renewed, when they spoke by the power of the Holy Spirit in every tongue. And they said to each other with admiration, “Is this man who preaches not a Spaniard? And how do we all hear our own language as he speaks?”

By an interesting coincidence, St. Anthony’s feast day is also the last day possible on which the feast of Pentecost can occur. He was canonized within a year of his death by the Pope in whose presence this miracle took place, Gregory IX (1227-1241), who also referred to him publicly as the “ark of the covenant, and the treasure-chest of the Divine Scriptures”; this is sometimes said to be the fastest canonization ever, but that honor actually belongs to the Dominican St. Peter Martyr. On the occasion of his canonization, Pope Gregory intoned in his honor the Magnificat Antiphon for Doctors of the Church, “O Doctor Optime”, a title which was formally confirmed in 1946 by Pope Pius XII.

The Franciscan Office of St. Anthony of Padua was composed by a German member of the order, Julian of Speyer, roughly ten years after the Saint’s death: one of the best known examples of a later type of Office known as a “rhymed office”. Rhyme itself was not used by the ancients, and where it occurred it was considered a blemish on poetry. Verse was formed by the alternation of long and short syllables in regular patterns; the iambic pentameter used so much by Shakespeare is broadly similar. (His type of English poetry is however much freer than Latin verse.) An example of this type of poetry in the liturgy is an antiphon found in the Office of St. Peter in Chains on August 1st.

Solve, jubente Deo, terrarum, Petre, catenas,
Qui facis ut pateant caelestia regna beatis.

Release at God’s order, o Peter, the earthly chains
Who make the kingdom of heaven open to the blessed.

These two lines are written in dactylic hexameters, the same metrical form used in the epic poetry of Homer and Virgil; they were composed by Pope St. Leo I, (440-461) and inscribed on a wall of the ancient church of St. Peter.

As the Latin language evolved into the modern Romance languages, the vowel quantities on which ancient poetry was based came to be less and less perceptible, leading over the centuries to the emergence of rhyme as we understand it today. (The older forms, on the hand, never ceased to be used.) By the high Middle Ages, this new type of poetry had become extremely popular in the liturgy. Four of the five sequences in the Tridentine Missal (“Lauda Sion” on Corpus Christi, “Veni Sancte Spiritus” on Pentecost, “Stabat Mater” on the feast of the Seven Sorrows, and the “Dies irae” of the Requiem Mass) are in rhyme.

The responsory Si quaeris miracula in a 16th century Franciscan antiphonary. (Two pages cropped and joined.)

Likewise, whole Offices were routinely composed in which all of the proper musical parts, (antiphons, hymns and responsories), are rhymed. Julian of Speyer is considered one of the great masters of this type of liturgical composition, and the rhymed offices which he wrote for St. Anthony and St. Francis were widely imitated from his own time (he died in about 1250), until the Tridentine liturgical reform, when rhymed offices fell out of favor. Many continued to be used by the older religious orders, and churches which maintained their own proper Offices, but the newer orders, in the spirit of the Tridentine reform, preferred to base their proper Offices on Scriptural quotations. Thus, for example, the five antiphons used by the Oratorians at Lauds of St. Philip Neri are all quotations from the Bible, while the proper hymns are all written in thoroughly classical meter. (The Jesuits, unsurprisingly, do not even have a proper Office for St. Ignatius.)

The disfavor into which rhymed offices fell is also a by-product of the increasingly common habit in the Tridentine period of reciting the Office in choir recto tono, i.e. singing everything on a single note, rather than with its longer, proper notation. This manner of saying the Office makes the sing-song quality of the medieval rhyme schemes far more obvious; most people would agree that the “Dies irae”, for example, sounds much better when sung then when read. This recording of the Miraculous Responsory shows very nicely how the proper musical notation transcends the rhyme scheme.