The Altar Facing the People — A Novelty of Our Time

We continue Luisella Scrosati’s series on the orientation of Christian worship with the third part, “L’altare verso il popolo, una novità della nostra epoca,” originally published in Italian on November 23, on the website of La Nuova Bussola Quotidiana, and reproduced here by permission of the editors. (Read Part 1; Part 2)

If there is one thing that emerges very clearly from the study of churches and Christian texts from the earliest centuries of the Church (see here), it is the fact that places of worship were built, with a few exceptions, on an east-west axis, with the apse mainly facing east. The altar was positioned so that the bishop and priests could offer sacrifice facing east: when the apse was on the eastern side, the ministers also faced the apse; when, less frequently, the apse faced west, they celebrated facing the front of the church, which was located on the eastern side.

What does not emerge at all from these historical reconstructions is that there ever existed a celebration “towards the people” and, consequently, an altar “towards the people.” In other words, the people were never considered the point of orientation for the public prayer of the Church, nor for the prayer of the faithful. That the Church as a hierarchically ordered people was the subject of this prayer was beyond question; but, precisely for this reason, its point of orientation was not in itself, but in God.

One could object – and in fact one does object – that “God is everywhere”, and therefore it would make no sense to physically orient prayer. But this was not at all the belief of the Christians of the early centuries, not because they did not believe in divine omnipresence, but because they were much more aware and attentive than we are in recognizing cosmic symbolism, a consequence of the creative act of eternal Wisdom, and its importance for the homo religiosus.

The sign of the sun did not leave any ancient people indifferent, not even Christians, who by then knew the full meaning of this cosmic sign, in its expression of the power of the risen Christ as well as the orientation of all human history towards the Parousia. The meaning of the orientation of prayer, and therefore of sacred buildings and altars, is certainly not understood starting from divine omnipresence, but rather from our humanity, which is located in a symbolic universe, coming from God, eternal Wisdom.

A mosaic of Christ with the attributes of Apollo, the Greco-Roman god of the sun, from the end of the 3rd or beginning of the 4th century, discovered in a mausoleum within the part of the Vatican necropolis which is now under St Peter’s basilica. (Public domain image from Wikimedia Commons.) 

Our time finds it tremendously difficult to comprehend this truth, because our relationship with the universe has been drastically reduced to its use and consumption or, at best, to its “understanding” in purely physical-mathematical terms. The reality, however, is that worship and the cosmos meet and illuminate each other precisely in their intimate reference to the transcendence from which they derive and to which they tend. And so geographical east and the orientation of prayer come together harmoniously.

Therefore, until very recently, there has never been an altar oriented towards the people, nor would such an orientation have been understood. Even when the sacred minister was actually facing the nave, he did so because the Church faced east rather than west. The reason is elementary even for religious people and for Christians in particular: prayer is addressed to God, the sacrifice offered by the priest rises before the Most High, the altar is a sign of the altar of Heaven that stands before the divine Majesty: only God is the point of orientation of the Church’s prayer.

Therefore, the physical point of this orientation must be capable of expressing this transcendent reality, according to a universal cosmic language. And the “people” certainly do not have this characteristic. The misunderstanding of this point is now so deeply rooted that even the traditional orientation towards God/east is understood only negatively, as “turning one’s back” on the people; an interpretation that further confirms how the people have now become, for the first time in history, not only of the Church but also of religions, the focal point of worship.

From our recent article on the solemn Mass celebrated on Sunday, December 15, in the basilica of St Ambrose in Milan. 

So where does this idea of an altar facing the people come from?

The answer to this question (which will continue in the next article of the series) must first clear the field of a persistent cliché, namely that this new orientation was desired by the Second Vatican Council. In reality, it happened did many other liturgical changes: the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy, Sacrosanctum Concilium (SC), does not say a single word on this subject, neither regarding the orientation nor regarding the construction of new altars.

It was the Instruction issued by the Sacred Congregation of Rites and the Consilium for the application of the liturgical Constitution, Inter Oecumenici (September 26, 1964), that took the liberty of introducing for the first time the expression versus populum in reference to the liturgical celebration: “It is good that the main altar be detached from the wall so that it can be easily turned around and celebrated facing the people.”

It is not clear which point of SC is being applied here, since, as we said, the liturgical Constitution does not mention it at all; in any case, it can be noted that the Instruction still speaks of a possibility, not an obligation. The text was incorporated into the General Instruction of the Roman Missal and, in its edition still under study in 2000, includes the apparently restrictive addition, “which is desirable wherever possible.”

The non-obligatory nature of altars detached from the wall and of celebration facing the people had already been highlighted by the then-president of the Consilium for the application of the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy, Cardinal Giacomo Lercaro, who on January 25, 1966, explained to all the presidents of the national episcopal conferences that “for a true and participatory liturgy, it is not essential that the altar be turned versus populum: in the Mass, the entire liturgy of the word is celebrated from the seat, the ambo, and the lectern, which are therefore turned toward the assembly; as far as the Eucharistic liturgy is concerned, loudspeaker systems make participation quite possible. Secondly, serious consideration should be given to artistic and architectural issues, as these elements are protected in many countries by strict civil laws.”

Said – and then denied: in all churches, the altar versus populum was in fact imposed, even leading to the abandonment and demolition of ancient altars.

The non-mandatory nature of this change also emerges from the response of September 25, 2000, from the Congregation for Divine Worship, which clarified that the indication in Inter Oecumenici “is not a mandatory form, but a suggestion.” Reflecting on how various factors may discourage making these changes, it concluded that “the position facing the assembly seems more convenient [...] without, however, excluding the other possibility.”

The rubrics of the current Roman Missal require that the priest, at the moment of the Orate, fratres, the Pax Domini, the Ecce Agnus Dei, and the Oremus that introduces the Prayer after Communion, be “facing the people” – a rubric that would make no sense if the entire celebration were necessarily already facing the people.

We can therefore observe a pattern to which we are unfortunately accustomed when it comes to liturgical reforms:

1. Vatican II does not speak of the altar and celebration versus populum;
2. the Instruction, which should simply apply the document on the liturgy, introduces the possibility;
3. Bishops and liturgists impose the obligation, prohibiting the traditional orientation, which for convenience we call ad Deum.

It goes without saying that the refrain today and then is nothing more than that of a presumed better participation of the people, so that those who defend the classical orientation can and must be opposed as “enemies of the people.” This, too, is a déjà vu of every self-respecting revolution. However, it must not lack the support of plausibility offered by science, as we shall see...

The Fourth Sunday of Advent 2025: O Oriens

Introit Isa. 45 Rorate, caeli, désuper, et nubes pluant justum: aperiátur terra, et gérminet Salvatórem. V. ibid. Et justitia oriátur simul; ego Dóminus creávi eum. Gloria Patri... Rorate. (The introit of the 4th Sunday of Advent.) 

Introit. Isa. 45 Drop down dew, ye heavens, from above, and let the clouds rain the Just One: let the earth be opened, and bud forth a Savior. V. And let justice spring up together: I the Lord have created him. Glory be... Drop down.

Note that in this recording, the Dominicans sing the introit not with the first verse of Psalm 18, as is found in the Roman Missal, but with the rest of the verse of Isaiah (45, 8.) This was a common practice with this particular introit in the Middle Ages, and is also found, e.g., in the Sarum Use.

Since it is the 21st of December, the following O Antiphon is sung at Vespers.

O Oriens, splendor lucis aeternae, et sol justitiae: veni, et illumina sedentes in tenebris, et umbra mortis.

O Morning Star, splendor of eternal light and sun of righteousness: Come and enlighten those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.

Mosaic of Christ the Pantocrator in Hagia Sophia, Constantinople; after 1261.

Durandus on the Ember Saturday of Advent

The following excerpts are taken from book VI, chapter 10, of William Durandus’ great commentary on the liturgy, the Rationale Divinorum Officiorum. As is usually case, I have slightly paraphrased him in a few places. It must be remembered that the Saturday Ember days are not just fast days, but also the traditional days for the conferring of all seven ranks of the Sacrament of Order.

On Saturday there are four lessons from the Old Testament (Isa. 19, 20-22; 35, 1-7; 40, 9-11; 45, 1-8) before the reading “The Angel of the Lord,” (Dan. 3, 47-51) … four, because there are four orders of those who bless God, namely, prelates, clergy, religious and laity. These does the prophet (David) enumerate, saying (Ps. 134, 19-20), “O house of Israel, bless the Lord,” this is the people; “O house of Aaron, bless the Lord,” this is the prelates; “O house of Levi, bless the Lord,” this is the ministers; “O ye who fear the Lord, bless the Lord,” through this is understood the religious. Therefore, the first reading pertains to the people, the second to the prelates, the third to the ministers, the fourth to all religious. In these readings, therefore, those who are to be ordained are instructed that, following the example of the holy fathers of the same four orders, they may bless the Lord with them, and their blessing come upon them.

The Prophet Isaiah, painted by Raphael in the basilica of St Augustine in Rome in 1512. On his scroll is written in Hebrew, from chapter 26 of his book, verses 2-3, “Open ye the gates, that the righteous nation which keepeth the truth may enter in. Whose mind is stayed on thee, Thou wilt keep him (in perfect peace).” The dedicatory inscription in Greek above reads “To Anne, the mother of the Virgin, to the virginal Mother of God, and to Christ the Redeemer, John Goritz” (hellenized as ‘Joannes Corycios’). Goritz, a merchant from Luxembourg, commissioned both the painting, which is on one of the pillars of the basilica, and the altar to St Anne originally located beneath it. The influence of Michelangelo, who was completing the Sistine Chapel ceiling when Raphael painted this, is very strong in this work; a famous story claims that when Goritz complained to Michelangelo about the price of it, he replied, “The knee alone is worth the price!”

Another reason why four lessons are read is that he who fasts must have the four cardinal virtues; namely, temperance, because fasting itself belongs to the temperate; prudence, for which reason the Apostle says (Rom. 12, 1), “Let your service be reasonable”. Regarding fortitude, Proverbs says (31, 17) about the strong woman, that is, the Church, “she girded her loins with strength,” since we must labor much to this end, that our flesh may be pure; and because this is a great battle, because the flesh is very corrupt, and brings forth thorns and thistles, (Gen. 3, 18) and only with much attrition is it restored to brightness like flaxen. Last is justice, of which Isaiah says, speaking of Christ in His members, “And justice shall be the girdle of his loins, and faith the girdle of his reins.”

When justice is done upon the earth, thieves depart; likewise, when justice is done by us, wicked impulses depart, and do not overcome us, even though they dwell within us. But if justice is not done, they do not depart, whence Isaiah also says, “And peace shall be the work of justice.” But faith is the girding of his reins, because as Gregory says, “The despising of earthly things restrains the billows of carnal desires.” (This is not an authentic citation of St Gregory.)

A Greek icon from the second half of the 18th century, signed by the painter, Konstantinos Adrianoupolitis, now in the Benaki Museum in Athens. The whole lower part of the image shows the episodes of the third chapter of the book of Daniel: the adoration of the Emperor Nebuchadnezzar’s golden statue, and the Three Children in the Furnace. In the upper right, the representation of the Three Children follows the opening words of Psalm 136, “Upon the rivers of Babylon, there we sat and wept, when we remembered Sion: on the willows in the midst thereof we hung up our instruments.” To the left of them, and further back within the image, is the episode of Daniel in the Lion’s Den, with the Prophet Habakkuk bringing him food.

Wherefore, if you fast from the foods of the body, you must also fast from the foods of the demon, and eat the foods of the mind. And he that so fasts will not be harmed by the fire of tribulation nor the fire of the world, as the three boys were not harmed by the fire of the furnace of Babylon, and therefore there follows the reading from Daniel, “The Angel of the Lord.”

Now before this reading comes the ordination of clerics, to signify that no one rightly can come to consecration, unless first he passed through the furnace, and in the furnace bless God, according to that saying of Ecclesiasticus (27, 6) “The furnace trieth the potter’s vessels, and the trial of affliction just men.” Those who come to the sacred ministry must be tried in the furnace of many tribulations and temptations, as the Apostle says (1 Tim. 3, 10), “And let them first be tried, and so minister.” It is read for the sake of the ordinands, to signify that they must live in such a way that no fire of the king of Babylon, that is the devil, harm them, as it did not harm the three children. And there follow the blessings, that is the hymn, “Blessed art thou, o Lord,” because after the trying they are crowned, and shall be blessed by the Lord.

… At the prayer which is said after this reading, the Church does not kneel as at the prayers of the other readings … to show that it is like the three children. For Nebuchadnezzar made the statue, and forced all to adore it, but the three children with Daniel would not bend the knee before the statue. Such must they be who are to be ordained, men who do not kneel before the statue, that is, before the glory of the world.

A Wooden Model for the Cathedral of Pavia

Last week, we had two posts of Nicola de’ Grandi’s pictures of the cathedral of Pavia, Italy, and the tomb of St Syrus, the city’s first bishop. As I mentioned in the second one, the current cathedral is the result of a major rebuilding project that began in the later 15th century, and still remains technically unfinished. As a brief follow-up, here are pictures of a very beautiful and very well-preserved wooden model for that project, made between 1497 and 1501. It represents the fusion of the ideas of the original architect, Giovanni Antonio Amodeo, who planned the central nave, the external buttresses, and the external chapels, with Donatello Bramante’s design for the cupola and the large external apses. The church as it currently stands bears some resemblance to this design, but many of the model’s features were removed as the project slowly progressed.

In 1490, Leonardo da Vinci was called to Pavia to offer his opinion and advice on the project; here we see some sketched which he made in that period, one of a series of Greek-cross church designs, which were something of an obsession for the architects of that era. (Bramante would go on to be hired by Pope Julius II to rebuild St Peter’s basilica, which he planned as on a Greek-cross design, later imitated by Michelangelo, and not definitively altered until the early 17th century.) 

Another of a basilica, both in plan and prospective, based on some of the prominent church buildings in Lombardy such as the very ancient basilica of St Lawrence in Milan.

St. Francis of Assisi’s Canticle of the Sun: Sister Moon and the Stars

Lost in Translation #152

After Brother Sun, St. Francis turns to other lights in the sky:

Laudato si, mi Signore, per sora Luna e le stelle:

in celu l’ài formate clarite et pretiose et belle.

Which I translate as:

Praised be You, my Lord, through Sister Moon and the stars,

in heaven you formed them bright and precious and beautiful.

In the Canticle of the Sun, Francis follows the gender of the noun in Italian to determine whether he addresses a creature as brother or sister. Objects that have a masculine noun are called “brother” and objects that have a feminine noun are called “sister.” Since luna (moon) is feminine in gender, Francis calls the moon his sister.

He also calls the moon and stars bright, precious, and beautiful. We have translated the word clarite, from which we derive the English word “clear,” as “bright,” because that is its meaning, but the word can also suggest a kind of perfection, like a diamond’s clarity. Francis, in other words, is describing the moon and stars as jewels in the sky. One wonders if the Saint is contrasting his worldview before his conversion, when he delighted in the finer things of life (like clothes and maybe jewels), to his current view of the world, now seen through the eyes of God. Saint Francis does not mention the night by name, but it is obviously implied by the nocturnal celestial objects that he wants to praise God. The night can have negative metaphorical meaning. As the deprivation of light, it can symbolize a deprivation of goodness, understanding, or grace. That is why St. John of the Cross called his period of spiritual dryness the “dark night of the soul.”

St. John of the Cross

The night can also be a frightening thing on a more practical level. The temperature drops (which in winter can be life-threatening), and the darkness not only makes it difficult to travel but provides cover for nocturnal predators like wolves and tigers and as well as human predators like highway robbers and burglars. To this day, most violent crimes, such as murder and rape, are committed at night. Add to this folklore about witches, vampires, and ghosts, and you can see why the night was so feared by our ancestors.

On the other hand, the night has also enjoyed a good reputation. The moon and stars are indeed beautiful, and in an age free of light pollution, the constellations were especially spectacular on a cloudless night. Thanks to Aristotle, ancient and medieval Europeans thought of heavenly bodies as perfect in every way, from their shape to their orbits. Contrary to a popular misconception, geocentrists took no pride in thinking of the earth as the center of the universe, for if the heavens were the realm of perfection, the earth was the realm of imperfection. If the moon is a perfect sphere, the earth is a muddy mess.

Moreover, Christian artists liked to think of the moon as a symbol of the Blessed Virgin Mary and the stars as the Saints, just as the sun was a metaphor for God. Since the moon reflects the light of the sun and has long been associated with femininity, it is the perfect symbol for the Mother who bore and perfectly reflects the Light of the world. And one medieval hymn for a saint praises the day of his death as the moment when “he moved up to the constellations” (migravit sidera).

Although Saint Francis does not allegorize the heavenly bodies, his praise of their natural qualities provides the kind of appreciation for nature that opens up to such symbolism, and it helps us move beyond the moon and the stars to the Love that moves them.

This article appeared as “Beauty of the Night” in the Messenger of St. Anthony 127:5, international edition (May 2025), p. 37. Many thanks to its editors for allowing its publication here.

A Solemn Ambrosian Mass in the Basilica of St Ambrose in Milan

This past Sunday, a solemn Mass was celebrated in the traditional Ambrosian Rite in the basilica of St Ambrose, one of the most ancient and important churches in the city of Milan, as a special occasion for the Jubilee year, by kind permission of the mitred abbot of the basilica, Mons. Carlo Faccendini. The Mass was celebrated by Mons. Francesco Braschi, and our own Nicola de’ Grandi, who has worked tirelessly for many years to preserve the Ambrosian liturgical tradition, served as the MC. Our friend Don Elvir Tabaković, a former professional photographer from Croatia who is now in religious life, was also there, and we are grateful to him for sharing these beautiful pictures with us. Ad multos annos!

The entrance procession comes from the sacristy. The Ambrosian Advent begins two week before the Roman, so this past Sunday was the fifth, rather than the third of Advent; there is no Gaudete Sunday, so the vestments are violet.

The Mass was also attended by several members of the Confraternity of the Most Blessed Sacrament from the town of Vanzaghello, about 25 miles outside Milan. 

The basilica’s 9th century apsidal mosaic was badly damaged by a bomb during World War II, but expertly reconstructed. Christ is shown with the Archangels Michael and Gabriel and the martyrs Gervasius and Protasius to either side of His throne; below are portraits of St Ambrose’s siblings, St Marcellina and Satyrus, and St Candida.

The prayers at the foot of the altar.

The first incensation of the altar. An Ambrosian thurible has no cover, so it is swung in wide arcs to keep the contents inside by centrifugal force.

Continue Reading this Article. . .

The Orientation of Ancient Churches

We continue with the second part of Luisella Scrosati’s series on the orientation of Christian worship, “L’orientamento delle chiese antiche”, published in Italian on November 16 in La Nuova Bussola Quotidiana, and reproduced here in translation with the kind permission of the editors. (Read Part 1.)

Prayer directed towards the east. The altar oriented towards the east. The priest standing before the divine Majesty, positioned in front of the altar and facing east.

Martin Wallraff, a Protestant professor of ancient church history at Ludwig-Maximilians University in Munich, in his monograph Christus verus sol. Sonnenverehrung und Christentum in der Spätantike [Christ, the True Sun. Sun Worship and Christianity in Late Antiquity, 2001] summarized the importance of the orientation of prayer in the early centuries of Christianity:

Christians pray facing east. This principle was taken for granted throughout the early Church. Evidence of this is widely scattered throughout time and space. Nowhere is there any trace of Christianity without this tradition or with the custom of praying in a different direction.

This characteristic, so evident, which structures both personal and collective prayer, and so universally widespread, could not fail to determine the criterion of orientation in the construction of churches, which had to favor and almost embody this posture.

And in fact, the churches of antiquity, whatever their shape, were built on an east-west axis, so that the apse, near which the altar was placed, was usually located to the east. Sometimes, the apse could be placed to the west, but even in this case, the priest still celebrated facing east, thus turning his gaze in front of him, towards the facade of the church.

Problems in applying this fundamental orientation could arise especially when churches were built in urban contexts where existing streets “forced” the orientation of the building, or when secular buildings were converted into Christian places of worship. In these situations, it is quite obvious and understandable that the east-west orientation was not strictly adhered to. However, these are exceptions to the rule, due to contingent and insurmountable causes.

Baptisteries also followed the east-west axis, with the apse (when present) mainly facing east. In this case, the orientation served not so much for prayer as for the confession of faith. Before receiving the sacramental baptism, the catechumen had to confess his faith facing Christ (east), leaving behind the decadent world (west) of sin and paganism.

The eastward facing baptistery of St John in the Lateran in Rome, photographed by William Henry Goodyear (1846-1923); from the Brooklyn Museum archives via Wikimedia Commons.

Monsignor Stefan Heid (Altar and Church. Principles of Liturgy from Early Christianity, 2023) presents a broad overview of churches in different geographical areas of ancient Christianity, focusing precisely on their orientation. When we look at the Byzantine world, and more generally at the Eastern world, including the churches of Syria, Palestine, and Transjordan, the evidence that the church and prayer faced east is overwhelming.

In general, the buildings were structured in such a way that the faithful were already oriented towards the east, while the bishop’s chair and the presbyters’ seats were adjacent to the apse, thus facing west. This location has misled many, leading them to believe that the celebration took place facing the people. But this is a rather gross misunderstanding. In reality, the chair and seats were oriented towards the ambo or bema, which was usually located near the presbytery, in the center.

The building was therefore structured as follows: moving from west (entrance) to east, we find the nave, the ambo (which was not a simple lectern but a structure with steps), the presbytery with the altar, the apse with the episcopal chair and the seats of the presbyters. Therefore, during the singing of the pericopes taken from the Holy Scriptures, the bishop and priests faced the ambo (and therefore also looked towards the nave); but when the sacrificial part of the Divine Liturgy began, they descended to the altar, placing themselves in front of it, on its western side, and looked towards the apse, to the east.

It is interesting to note that there is evidence that, at this moment, the deacon exhorted the faithful to stand up and look to the east. This would give rise to the introductory dialogue of the Preface, in which we are urged to lift up our hearts (and therefore to stand upright) and turn them ad Dóminum, to the Lord, which in the liturgical context undoubtedly means towards the east. The exhortation to stand up was addressed to everyone, while the exhortation to turn towards the east was mainly addressed to those who, during the singing of the Word of God, sat along the perimeter walls, thus looking towards the interior of the nave. From that moment on, every member of the congregation, together with the sacred ministers and the bishop, had to look towards Christ—that is, towards the east.

Confirming this, many churches have a rather narrow space between the altar and the apse, while the space between the altar and the iconostasis is wider. Also noteworthy is the presence of a cross in the apse dome, indicating the point of orientation of the celebrant’s gaze, or the presence of a slab on the floor, on the west side of the altar, indicating the site of the celebrant while he was at the altar, or a mosaic carpet that was to be seen from west to east. However, there is no archaeological evidence for celebration towards the people.

Archaeological evidence is rarer in Western churches, due to the fact that there are few examples of altars dating back to the early centuries of the Church. However, where such evidence does exist, as in the church of Santa Maria delle Grazie in Grado or in that of San Vitale in Ravenna, it attests to the apse being located to the east and the altar being placed very close to the apse wall, a sign that the celebrant was located on the opposite side of the altar, which was more spacious, facing the apse.

No less significant than archaeological evidence is St. Ambrose’s commentary on Psalm 118, in which he compares the Christian to a sacred building and states:

If, therefore, you have the building of God within you and your windows are always open to the east, behold, the Word comes. Behold, it stands upright behind that wall [...], behold, it looks inside, through your windows. (Commentary on Psalm 118, Vau, 19)

Ambrose is suggesting a spiritual interpretation based on an established fact and common experience: in the church, the windows are open to the east so that the eyes of the rising Sun, Christ the Lord, can look through them and meet the eyes of his faithful, who are oriented toward him.

The Age of the O Antiphons

Since today is the first day of the great O antiphons of Advent, I happened to look at the Wikipedia article about them, and read the following statement in the introductory paragraph: “They likely date to sixth-century Italy, when Boethius refers to the text in The Consolation of Philosophy.” I particularly noticed this because there was recently a discussion about this very topic, the date of composition of the O’s, in a Facebook group about the Divine Office which I moderate.

I followed the footnote linked to that statement on Wikipedia, and discovered something very interesting. The source of this claim that they date to the sixth century is an article by J. Allen Cabaniss (1911-97), who taught history at the Univ. of Mississippi, published in Speculum, the Univ. of Chicago’s journal of medieval studies, in July of 1947. (“A note on the date of the great Advent antiphons”; vol. 22, no. 3; pp. 440-2). The author purported to identify a passage of Boethius’ Consolation of Philosophy (III, 12) as a citation of the first O antiphon, O Sapientia.

Here is the relevant statement from Cabaniss’ article; the emphases in bold are his, the translations in parentheses are mine.

“ ‘Est igitur summum, inquit [Philosophia], bonum quod regit cuncta fortiter, suaviterque disponit.’ (It is therefore, says [Philosophy], the highest good, which rules mightily over all things, and sweetly orders them.)

Compare with this the text of O Sapientia following: ‘O Sapientia, quae ex ore Altissimi prodiisti, attingens a fine usque ad finem, fortiter suaviterque disponens omnia: Veni ad docendum nos viam prudentiae.’ (O Wisdom, that comest from the mouth of the Most High, that reachest from one end to another, mightily and sweetly ordering all things, come and teach us the way of prudence.)”

Boethius died in 524, so this would mean that the O’s must have already existed in his time. A little research on Google books reveals that this claim about their dating has been repeated as an established fact by a great many authors since then. One could also reasonably extrapolate that they are even older, and might well go back to the 5th century, as some authors have in fact done.

The first page of a later 14th-century manuscript of Boethius’ Consolation of Philosophy, showing him as a teacher of philosophy above, and in prison below.

With all due respect to the late Dr Cabaniss, this is very weak sauce for a variety of reasons. We cannot even trace Advent itself as a liturgical season of the Roman Rite back to the early 6th century. Among the sermons of Pope St Leo I (440-61), there are nine “on the fast of the tenth month”, i.e. the December Ember days (the first of which is also today this year). None of these refers to the period as a time of preparation for the upcoming feast of Christ’s birth. The so-called Leonine Sacramentary, a collection of Masses used in Rome in the mid-to-later 6th century, has none for Advent. (I emphasize that this is not a dispositive point, since the collection is so irregular.) Our earliest patristic references to Advent in Rome are the sermons which Pope St Gregory the Great (590-604) preached on the Gospels of the 2nd, 3rd and 4th Sundays, and our earliest liturgical sources are the list of epistles in the Wurzburg lectionary, ca. 650, and the Masses in the Old Gelasian Sacramentary, ca. 700.

I now make a digression, as a way of steel-manning Cabaniss’ argument for him, with his own words. In another article which he wrote about the O’s nearly 30 years later, he contended that they were not in fact written for Advent at all, which would make the preceding point moot. But the only evidence for this which he adduces is an episode from the life of the great scholar of the Carolingian era, Alcuin of York, which he explains as follows, citing the text of his biography in the Patrologia Latina vol. C, 104D – 105B.

“In his last months he prayed that his death would occur on the feast of Pentecost. He therefore directed the brothers to sing at vespers after he died, ‘O Clavis David,’ as the antiphon on the Magnificat. Falling ill on Ascension day (9 May), 804, he was unable to speak until 17 May. On that day he rallied and sang the antiphon with some other verses before he relapsed. His pious wish was fulfilled when he died in the early hours of Pentecost (19 May.)”

This is, to put it very mildly, an astonishing misreading of the text. What it really says is that Alcuin himself, knowing that he would die fairly soon, and wishing for it happen on Pentecost, sang the fourth of the O antiphons, which the anonymous author cites in full. “O key of David and scepter of the house of Israel, who openest and no man shutteth, shuttest and no man openeth, come and lead the prisoners from the prison house, that sit in darkness and the shadow of death.” This would make it his prayer for a good death and safe passage to “the place of refreshment, light and peace.”

But the very next paragraph says that he celebrated Lent “most worthily”, as he had been wont to do, and then fell ill “while the solemnity of the Resurrection was going on.” (The context makes it clear that this means Eastertide, not Easter week.) Which is to say, Alcuin sang the antiphon O clavis David as a prayer for a happy death when it occurred in its regular place in the liturgical year, in Advent. The author makes note of this fact because Alcuin then sang it again, himself, on the third day before he died. Nothing about the text suggests in any way that he was asking anyone else to sing it for him; a fortiori, nothing about it suggests that there was any kind of custom of singing the O’s whenever the person in charge of the liturgy decided.

The article from which this comes was published in July of 1975 in The Jewish Quarterly Review (“A Jewish Provenience of the Advent Antiphons?”; new series, vol. 66, no. 1, pp. 39-56), and makes the bizarre proposal that the O antiphons were “developed in a Messianist community probably, but by no means certainly, Christian (my emphasis), which was either natively Semitic (Judaic) or, if Gentile, strongly Judaized.” His argument for this is a model of specious reasoning, namely, that nothing about these texts explicitly refers to either the Trinity or Jesus by name, and they contain lots of references to the Old Testament. This, as if it were not the whole point of Advent to proclaim that the one who is prophesied in the Old Testament is revealed in His Incarnation and birth, and then makes known to us the worship of the Holy Trinity.

But what makes this even more bizarre is that Cabaniss himself had recognized in his 1947 article that the words of the first O antiphon, “mightily and sweetly ordering all things”, are an unmistakable reference to Wisdom 8, 1. “Attingit ergo a fine usque ad finem fortiter, et disponit omnia suaviter. – Therefore She (i.e. Wisdom) reacheth from end to end mightily, and ordereth all things sweetly.” This is a very improbable choice of citation for a putatively Jewish author, who would not regard the deuterocanonical book of Wisdom as Scripture.

A icon of Holy Wisdom, 1860

The main thrust of his argument, then, is that Boethius very often refers to Scripture in the Consolation, but never quotes it directly. “It would be remarkable if this were the only exact citation from the Bible in a book so definitely influenced by Scriptural teaching and filled with so many opportunities for appropriate quotation. I therefore believe that Boethius’ words are a reminiscence of the Great Antiphon and only indirectly from the Bible by way of the antiphon.”

I believe that Cabaniss went wrong in 1947 at least in part, perhaps, because he did not have what has become an essential tool for the study of Scriptural citations in Patristic writings. This would be the exhaustive critical edition of the “Vetus Latina” (Old Latin), the collective name for the Latin versions of the Bible which are not in the Vulgate, and which for the most part predate St Jerome. The apposite volume on the book of Wisdom was published in eight different fascicles from 1977 to 1985. (Verlag Herder, Freiburg im Breisgau)

These volumes provide the Old Latin version of the Scriptural text, with a critical apparatus documenting the variations in the different manuscripts, and then a second apparatus of quotations of the relevant verses, whether direct or indirect, in ancient Christian writings. On most pages, the first part takes up about 20% of the space, and the two apparatuses take up about 40% each.

Had he been able to consult it, Cabaniss would have seen that Wisdom 8, 1 is cited by so many Christian authors, almost all of whom predate Boethius, that the citations take up the equivalent of about 2½ pages of very small type. The first Latin adverb, “fortiter”, is in the citation apparatus more than 70 times. Any verse which is cited so often would certainly be well-known to an author as widely read as Boethius, and there is no reason to suppose that he might not have gotten it into his head, as it were, from its frequent use in other authors, rather than from the antiphon specifically. In other words, this constitutes no proof whatsoever that the antiphon existed in Boethius’ time, and the whole argument for dating the O’s to the sixth century falls apart.

O Sapientia and the beginning of O Adonai in a Dominican antiphonary ca. 1300. (Bibliothèque nationale de France, département Musique, RES-1531)

Finally, for no reason I can discern, Cabaniss seems to take it for granted that if similar words appear in the liturgical text and the Consolation, then the latter must be citing it from the former. But laying all other considerations aside, there is no reason why the influence should not have gone the other way, and the composer of the antiphon been inspired by Boethius.

The Golden Mass of Ember Wednesday

When examined as a group, the Gospels for the Masses of Advent may seem to be ordered in a rather peculiar way. They are in fact arranged chronologically backwards. On the First Sunday of Advent, the Church reads from St Luke Christ’s account of the signs that will precede His return in glory at the end of the world. (21, 25-33) This sets a theological note that will be repeated throughout the season; the first coming of Christ to redeem the world is often contrasted to the second coming, when He shall return to judge it. On the Second Sunday, John the Baptist, imprisoned by King Herod, sends his disciples to ask Christ if He is indeed the Redeemer whose coming the world has long awaited. His answer is that the signs of the first coming are already happening, as foretold in the prophets. (Matthew11, 2-10). The Gospel of the Third Sunday recounts an episode from the early days of John’s ministry, before his imprisonment. When men were moved to ask him if he was the Messiah, John confessed that he was but the Forerunner of another who stood in their midst; Christ Himself does not appear or speak in this Gospel. (John 1) The Gospel of the Fourth Sunday is the very beginning of John’s mission, St Luke speaks once again, and draws us further back in time, to the prophets who foretold not only the coming of Christ, but also that of the Forerunner. This is the only Gospel of the liturgical year in which Christ Himself makes no appearance at all. (3, 1-6) (Pictured right: St John the Baptist, from the St Bavo altarpiece by Jan van Eyck, 1430-32)

If we were to consider only the Sunday Gospels, it would almost appear that Christ is drawing away from us as we come closer to the day of His Nativity. However, this backwards motion from the end of the world to the days of the Old Testament places in even greater relief the importance of today’s Mass, the Ember Wednesday of the Advent season. On this day, the Church reads the Gospel of the Annunciation (Luke 1, 26-38), at which point, the beginning of mankind’s redemption, the story begins to move forward. On Friday, there follows the Gospel of the Visitation. (Luke 1, 39-47) In the Breviary homily of that day, St Ambrose calls to our attention the first meeting of the Word Incarnate with His Forerunner, while both are still in their mothers’ wombs; “We must consider the fact that the greater one comes to the lesser, that the lesser may be aided: Mary to Elisabeth, Christ to John.” Having announced the mysteries of the Incarnation and the Visitation, the Church then anticipates on Ember Saturday the Gospel of the followed day, the Fourth Sunday of Advent. In the three Ember Day Gospels together, therefore, God becomes Incarnate, goes to the last of His prophets, and sends him forth “to prepare His way.”

The “Missa Aurea – Golden Mass”, as it was often called, no longer enjoys the prominence which it once held; even Dom Guéranger, the founder of the original Liturgical Movement, does not include the text of the Mass in his “Liturgical Year” because it was so rarely celebrated in his time. The Breviary and Missal of St. Pius V permitted more or less any feast to impede it, but in the Middle Ages, it was very often the custom to transfer feasts away from it. This custom was partially restored (for a very brief time) by the rubrical reform of 1960.

In the traditional Roman Missal, all four sets of Ember Days have the same stations appointed at major Roman churches. On Wednesday, the station is at Saint Mary Major, on Friday at the church of the Twelve Apostles, and on Saturday at St. Peter’s Basilica. This last was originally the traditional day for ordinations in the church of Rome; the seven readings (five prophecies, Epistle and Gospel) correspond to the seven orders. The medieval liturgical writer Rupert of Tuy (1075-1129) offers this beautiful commentary on the choice of Mary Major for this day.

“On the first day of the (Ember) fast, the station is fittingly appointed at Mary Major; for it is clear that the whole office of that day, properly belongs to that temple of the Lord… in which God entire, dwelling for nine month, deigned to become man. Indeed, from the Gospel is recited the Annunciation or Incarnation of the Lord, that was proclaimed beforehand by the trumpets of the prophets, brought to be present by the Angel, received by the faith of the blessed Virgin, completed and brought forth by Her incorrupt womb.”

Rupert also notes how all of the texts of the Mass are chosen in reference to the Gospel. The Introit is the famous text Rorate caeli, from the forty-fifth chapter of Isaiah, sung in several different places in the liturgy of Advent. These words prophesy the coming of the Angel Gabriel to Mary, the belief of the Virgin, and Her reception of the Word Incarnate. The two Epistles (Isaiah 2, 2-5 and 7, 10-15), chosen for their traditional association with the Virgin Mary, “doubly refresh the souls of those who are fasting.”

In non-Roman Western rites, it was the custom to celebrate the feast of the Annunciation shortly before Christmas; the Ambrosian liturgy keeps the last Sunday of Advent as the “feast of the Incarnation”, while the Mozarabs fix the Annunciation to December 18th. In a similar vein, some churches in the Middle Ages used white vestments for the Ember Wednesday Mass instead of violet, with the deacon and subdeacon in dalmatic and tunicle, the vestments of joy, rather than the penitential folded chasubles. This manner of treating the day almost as a second feast of the Annunciation was observed at Paris, for example, well-known for its strong devotion to Our Lady; it was retained in the neo-Gallican revision of the Parisian liturgy, and continued in use until Paris adopted the Roman liturgy in 1873.

In many places, it was also the custom to sing the Gospel with special solemnity on this day. Mario Righetti notes in his Storia Liturgica that at Bayeux, the Gospel was sung by a priest (rather than a deacon) wearing a white cope, holding a palm branch in his hand. It was also a common custom to ring the Angelus bell during the singing of the Gospel.

The Annunciation, the central panel of the Mérode Altarpiece, by Robert Campin, ca 1425

In the use of Sarum, the reading of the Gospel and Homily at Matins was the subject of a particularly beautiful ritual. “The deacon proceeds with the subdeacon, (both) dressed in white,…bearing a palm from the Holy Land in his hand, with the thurifers and torch-bearers…and he incenses the altar. And so he proceeds through the middle of the Choir to the pulpit, to proclaim the Exposition of the Gospel, …with the torch-bearers standing to either side of (him), …and he holds the palm in his hand while he reads the lesson.” The Sarum Rite further underlines the festive quality of the day by omitting most of the penitential features of the Divine Office at Lauds, such as the ferial prayers and the prostrations. Some art historians believe that the dress of the Angel Gabriel as represented in paintings of the Annunciation reflects the local liturgical use observed in the celebration of the “Missa aurea.”

The Gospel of the Annunciation is not, of course, entirely absent from the traditional texts of Advent before the Mass of Ember Wednesday. It is read as the Matins lessons of the Little Office of Our Lady throughout the season, and it provides the text of many of the antiphons and responsories from the very first day of Advent. When the Church began to celebrate the daily Office and Mass of the Virgin, a special version of both was used in many places for the Advent season, and most of the texts for the Mass of the Blessed Virgin in Advent are borrowed from the “Missa aurea.” Several places retain the custom of celebrating this “Rorate” Mass early in the morning, and by candlelight if possible. King Sigmund the First of Poland loved the Rorate Mass so much that in the year 1540, he built a special Lady Chapel within the Cathedral of Krakow, in which it would be celebrated every day, regardless of the season. (pictured right, exterior view) The choristers of this chapel were called “Rorantists,” and were also responsible for singing the Gloria in excelsis at the principal Mass of the main choir. A similar custom prevails to this day at the Holy House of Loreto, in which all Masses, public and private are the votive Mass of the Annunciation.

Did St Pius V Mandate That All Masses Be Celebrated in the Morning?

The short answer is, No, he did not.

A friend recently sent me a question about an old article of mine (the best way to flatter an author’s vanity!), titled “Vespers in the Morning?”, in which among other things, I explained the very ancient custom by which Mass was traditionally celebrated after either Terce, Sext or None, according to the quality of the liturgical day: after Terce on Sundays and greater feasts, after Sext on ferias and lesser feasts, and after None on vigils and fast days.

Folio 1v of the Gellone Sacramentary, ca 780 AD., with the rubric before the Mass of Christmas Eve, “On the vigil of the birth of the Lord, at the ninth hour, (station) at St Mary (Major.)” In the ancient liturgical books of the Roman Rite, the year begins with Christmas Eve, and ends with Advent. (Bibliothèque nationale de France. Département des Manuscrits. Latin 12048)

I should add first that this is now a strictly historical question, since this discipline no longer obtains in any form in the Roman Rite. Furthermore, what is said here applies to conventual and solemn Masses, but not to private Masses. Regarding the latter, the rubric in the Roman Missal “on the hour of celebrating Mass” stated they had to be celebrated after the recitation of Matins and Lauds, anytime from one hour before dawn until noon. (Noon was the latest permitted starting time, so ending by about 1 p.m. at the latest.)

My friend’s question was, Why did St Pius V impose noon as the latest starting time for the Easter Vigil? to which I replied that I was not aware that he had made any such imposition. He then directed me to some articles which made this claim, citing the bull Sanctissimus, issued on March 29, 1566. (Cherubini, Magnum Bullarium Romanum, vol. 2, p. 178; Lyon, 1682.) But it is a misinterpretation to assert that this bull mandates that all Masses be celebrated before noon. It does not. What it does is revoke a privilege by which some Masses were celebrated in the evening, which is not the same thing.

It must be borne in mind that curial documents of all sorts, not just bulls, were written by canon lawyers trained to be very precise in their language, and they must therefore be read very precisely. If something is not mentioned by a document, then that document is not relevant to it. One cannot treat the admission as accidental, or extrapolate from the text beyond the strict bounds of its letter to apply it to something to which it does not expressly refer.

Portrait of St Pius V, by the Venetian painter Iacopo Negretti, generally known Palma il Giovane (1548/50-1628).

That being said, Sanctissimus begins by explaining that some rectors and superiors of various kinds of churches have obtained permissions to celebrate the midnight and dawn Masses of Christmas, the Mass of Easter morning, “and perhaps (the Masses) of other festivities… late (de sero), perhaps also around sunset of the vigils of these same feasts.”

Note that the only Masses which are specifically mentioned here are those of feasts, specifically, those of Christmas and Easter, “perhaps” some others. In the first place, therefore, this bull is relevant only to the hour at which feasts are celebrated. It has nothing to do with those of ferias, vigils and fast days, including Holy Saturday, the occasion for my friend’s question.

Secondly, the bull declares that all such permissions are permanently revoked, and must no longer be used as a pretext to celebrate Masses “vespertino tempore – in the evening.” But the sixth hour, after which the Masses of lesser feasts and ferias are celebrated, is not in the evening; it is at noon. Likewise, the ninth hour, after which the Masses of vigils and fast days are celebrated, is also not in the evening; it is in the mid-afternoon. So even if the restriction were applied to such Masses other than those of major feasts, it would not prohibit their celebration after noon or around 3 p.m.

Third, that is the end of what the bull orders; the rest is a standard legal “anything to the contrary notwithstanding” formula, and the decree for promulgation. The bull makes no mention of a positive mandate to say all Masses in the morning hours, contrary to the letter of the pertinent rubric in the Missal itself (which, by the way, was promulgated after the bull, by the very same authority.) Therefore, as I stated in the article linked above, a religious community of any sort was always free to observe the ancient discipline on Holy Saturday and other fast days, that is, to say None, Mass and Vespers at the appropriate time in the afternoon.

The papal chancery in Rome, in an engraving by the Italian artist Giuseppe Vasi (1710-82); in St Pius V’s time, official documents of the Holy See were often formally promulgated by affixing a copy of them to the doors of this and various other buildings.

In passing, I note that less than five months later, in the bull Providentia, St Pius V also permanently (“perpetuo”) revoked all faculties for clerics of the Roman Rite to celebrate the Byzantine Rite, and vice versa, using very similar language. (A good portion of this bull is copied word-for-word from Sanctissimus.) It would obviously be rash to claim on the basis of this one document that no such faculties were or could ever be granted again. One should always be very careful and precise in treating all such documents.

The Orientation of Prayer

Luisella Scrosati is one of the finest Catholic journalists in Italy at this time. She often writes articles of considerable interest on liturgical topics. With the permission of La Nuova Bussola Quotidiana, we offer NLM readers the following translation of her article series on the topic of spiritual, architectural, and liturgical orientation, beginning today with “L’orientamento della preghiera”, originally published in Italian on November 9 of this year.

No religious man, whether pagan, Jewish, or Christian, neglected the posture of the body in prayer, and especially in the presentation of offerings to the deity. In particular, three aspects appear especially well documented in writings and visual representations: standing posture, raised and open hands, and eyes turned toward the sky—characteristics that were common to both the faithful who presented offerings and prayers and the priest who sacrificed them to the deity.

These bodily attitudes express a clear aspect: prayer and the offering of sacrifices are performed in the presence of God; the body is called to present itself before the deity, adopting appropriate postures, while orienting the deep intention of the heart. This participation of the body in prayer is a typically and exquisitely human characteristic: when we address a person with respect, we also turn physically towards them, we seek their gaze with our eyes, we assume a suitable posture.

But there is another significant aspect that marks the orientation of prayer. In pagan cults, images of idols played the role of focus of orientation. The person praying turned toward the image and stretched out their hands in that direction. The same was true for sacrifice: the offerer and the priest were oriented toward the image.

This led to an interesting fact: the altar had a direction, that is, it had a front and a back, so that the priest offering the sacrifice stood in front of it, oriented toward the image of the deity. Stefan Heid (Altar and Church, pp. 236-237) points out that, according to the Roman architect Marcus Vitruvius Pollio, the altar had to be located outdoors on the western side of the temple, facing east, so that the priest could offer the sacrifice with his gaze turned towards the sky, in an easterly direction, in front of the image of the idol. Clement of Alexandria also confirms this orientation: “This is why even the most ancient temples faced west, so that those who stood in front of the statues of the gods would be led to turn towards the east” (Stromata, VII, 43, 7).

In Judaism, too, orientation was fundamental. The prohibition against making images of Yahweh prevented there being statues and representations similar to those of the pagans, but this prohibition did not cancel out the importance of the correct orientation of prayer and sacrifice. Referring to the sacrificial offering, God commands Moses: “This is the perpetual burnt offering for your generations, at the entrance of the tent of meeting, in the presence of the Lord, where I will meet with you to speak with you” (Ex. 29, 42). The sacrifice of animals took place on the bronze altar, inside the sacred enclosure, but outside the Holy Place. The sacrifice had to be offered by the priests “in the presence of the Lord,” that is, facing the Holy of Holies. The sacrifice of incense also had to be offered “before the Lord”: “He shall burn it at sunset, when Aaron fills the lamps: a perpetual incense before the Lord for your generations” (Ex. 30, 8). Every sacrifice offered by the king and the people was offered “before the Lord” (cf. 1 Kings 8, 62).

This expression is found in many passages of the Old Testament to indicate not so much an inner attitude as a physical orientation, closely linked to the orientation of the altars. No Levite would ever have offered a sacrifice standing between the Holy of Holies and the altar, and no Jew would ever have prayed with his back to the Temple—something expressly condemned by the Lord through the prophet Ezekiel (cf. Ezek 8, 16).

For Christians, too, the exercise of the priesthood is synonymous with standing in the presence of God, standing before God, standing before his face, presenting oneself before the eyes of the divine Majesty. In conspectu Dei stare, coram oculis Dei, astare coram te, adstantes ante tuam Maiestatem, are expressions that are found in abundance in ancient liturgical texts and in those of the Fathers. Expressions that, once again, are not intended to express mere inner recollection, but a concrete bodily orientation: the priest stands before God because he stands at the front of the altar (ante altare stans), facing the image of Christ and the East—a cardinal point also present in pagan cults, which takes on a new meaning for Christians.

The priest who sacrifices and the faithful who offer are “on the same side,” in front of the altar, and they stand before God, looking at Him, represented in an image, as seen in numerous mosaics and apse frescoes; or simply towards the East, the cardinal point considered most noble by nature, an expression in creation of the Sun of righteousness (Mal 4, 2), the rising Sun (Luke 1, 78), Jesus Christ our Lord.

There are countless texts of the Fathers that indicate this custom of praying facing the East, that is, oriented, as coming directly from the Apostles. St. John Damascene, after explaining the reasons for this orientation, writes that “this tradition of the Apostles is not written; in fact, they have handed down to us many things that are not written” (The Orthodox Faith, IV, 12). St. Basil the Great gives as an obvious and established fact that prayer rises by turning to the East, although few now remember the reason: “This is why we all look to the East when we pray; but few know that we are searching for our original homeland, the paradise that God planted in Eden, in the East” (The Holy Spirit, XXVII, 66, 60).

In prayer and sacrifice, Christians and priests therefore face the East, often looking at an image of Christ. The altar is also oriented in this direction. It is important, in this regard, to clear up a misunderstanding: the oriented altar has often been confused with the “wall” altar, i.e., the altar that has only three sides free and is set in a more complex structure; the altar free on all four sides has been considered a sign of free orientation, imagining that the priest could stand facing the faithful. However, this is not the case: the altar was always oriented, i.e., it had a front and a back, and the priest stood at the front [i.e., the western side, facing east], even when the altar was free on all four sides.

This theme of the orientation of prayer introduces us to another important question, that of the orientation of sacred buildings. We will discuss this in the next installment.