Implementing the Traditional (Pre-55) Roman Holy Week, Part 1 — Introduction and Palm Sunday

This essay (which will be divided into three posts) is by the same anonymous author who contributed the series on the implementation of the pre-1939 (mostly the same as pre-1955) liturgy on every single day of the liturgical year. In that series, Holy Week is mentioned in broad strokes: which days to do first, and why.

Now let us consider the details of that rite. We shall not examine the “what to do” in detail, except where there is possible confusion, but rather the little things that have come up over years of celebrating the ancient Holy Week. This series transmits the lessons learned and what would have been nice to know years and years ago when first approaching the introduction of the classical Holy Week in a parochial setting. Some of what follows is in the realm of opinion, well-informed by books and by practice as it may be; but the goal is to give clergy, sacristans, MCs, and directors of sacred music food for thought.

In the end, I want to be clear: you can, and you should, celebrate the traditional Holy Week in parish churches even on a skeleton crew. 2020 and 2021 proved that this was possible. Plenty of evidence can be found on YouTube and on social-media platforms. But one cannot do this on a whim. It requires some planning, and that is the ultimate point of this series.

Why the traditional Holy Week of the Roman rite?

Why, indeed? A priest whom this author knows well puts it: the faithful like the Triduum, in the Novus Ordo that is, because it is the most Catholic part of the entire Novus Ordo, though they will not say this in so many words, without yet considering the degree to which it is more Catholic than the reformed rite of Pius XII and to which it has more in common with the classical Holy Week, or conversely the degree to which it retains elements of the Pian reform, and this even excluding the degree to which it declines towards or away from the ideal.

The Catholic nature is obvious, yet is somewhat obscured all the same when looking back to the 1955 rite, for one sees the catholicity even with no knowledge of the rites celebrated immediately “anterior” to the reforms initiated by the Second Vatican Council and is troubled in the same thought by the changes, even when one does not know explicitly that they are changes or that we should be bothered at all. For example, without getting too far ahead or off-track, one can immediately sense that the Litany of the Saints ought to be sung during the paschal vigil as one unified chant, not divided in two in order to do something else in between the two sections.

One is likely to be deeply moved by the character of the 1955 rites displaying in its way a deeper catholicity from even the best of the Novus Ordo, to say nothing of the typical celebration.  I recall my first brush with the Pius XII rites in my adolescence. The rite was celebrated in the afternoon of Good Friday. The black recalled a funeral, even though I had not yet been to a traditional Requiem Mass on any occasion (I had only read about it online), and the sober community mingling after the liturgy also called to mind the funeral customs of our own times.

Later, in my adolescence and into adulthood, when experiencing even the best of the Novus Ordo (ad orientem, Gregorian chant and especially sacred polyphony, three deacons reading the Passion without congregational participation, a second priest assisting in choir dress instead of Mass vestments, etc.), the wider flexibility in times permitted (a later hour may be chosen, per the rubrics, for “a pastoral reason”), actually worked against us: to celebrate the modern form of the presanctified liturgy of Good Friday in the evening (let us say at or after the customary dinner hour in most Western nations except for Spain), after a day jam packed with devotions, including the Stations of the Cross and confessions at noon celebrated for hundreds of people, instead of structuring those around the major liturgical office celebrated at a more dignified hour, meant that the liturgy became an afterthought, the loss of the funerary character even more apparent, already so from the get-go with the use of red instead of black vestments. Gregory DiPippo has expressed why this is so important and how it is indeed diminished in the changes made to the liturgy in 1970.

All of this is resolved when one finally attends the unreformed Holy Week. It is unambiguously Catholic. It is all tied to the Mass, the re-presentation of the Sacrifice of Calvary united to the offering of the Last Supper, in the expectation of the Resurrection and Ascension to come, all undergone by Christ that we too may share in new heavenly life. The rites are ordered and well-constructed even to the least knowledgeable observer. I would not say that I am jealous of those whose first and only experience of this sacred week is in the classical rite (some converts or children for example know only this rite, as unbelievable as that sounds), but there is something remarkable about this: they get to see possibly the most obviously Catholic rite that there is, in its depth, in its intensity. They have, up to this point, received nothing but the best, handed down as it ought to be.

Ceremonials and Other Books

The Brignoles community produces a handy volume taken from the 1951 edition of Fortescue (O’Connell), The Ceremonies of the Roman Rites Described, apparently, per the monks, with emendations conforming to the 2017 indult from the Pontifical Commission Ecclesia Dei pertaining to the use of the ancient ceremonies.

Otherwise, the full Fortescue is available on the Internet Archive.

Francophones or those willing to grit their teeth should remember that Stercky’s Manuel de liturgie, volume 2, is the place to find the ceremonies of the various seasons and important occasions.

There are of course other volumes; Lawrence O’Connell’s The Book of Ceremonies is available from Corpus Christi Watershed; while relatively little in this volume pertains to Holy Week, as one must imagine that it was hardly celebrated solemnly with deacon and subdeacon even in American seminaries, the portion on the Forty Hours’ Devotion will clarify how to celebrate Mass on Holy Thursday after the consecration.

Other books are out there to complement these. Finally, one ought to follow Holy Week as provided for in the Memoriale Rituum designed for smaller churches with fewer resources and especially without the choral obligation of the Divine Office and conventual Mass, but the collective wisdom nowadays is to follow the ceremonies as prescribed for larger churches, cathedrals and those with a chapter of canons, making amendments as necessary to the shape of the building and to the personnel available, not omitting the rite or doing it radically differently as the preconciliar legislation envisions, wherein the Memoriale Rituum is obligatory in smaller churches. However, I believe that it is better to follow the full rite and to adapt a sung or solemn Mass to the circumstances of the available, qualified people and to the church building itself.

The Requisite Personnel

You might ask what I consider a skeleton crew: you need the priest. In the best of circumstances, you can find a priest or deacon and even a second minister to serve as subdeacon. He need not be in holy orders, although having two deacons or at least a second priest and a deacon lessens the burden on the principal priest.  (I am not going to address here whether laymen not in seminary or in holy orders can or should serve as subdeacon; that’s up to the priest in charge in the end). In any case, you obviously need at least one priest.

As to the servers:  you need four for the main functions of master of ceremonies, thurifer; and acolyte; a crucifer for Thursday, and  if one does not have a subdeacon, also for Sunday and Friday — this server can and will need to have other roles during the week — and then one or two capable of fetching and taking away things when they are needed or no longer needed. This could be the crucifer when he is not occupied, and one of these servers needs to carry the paschal candle during Saturday’s vigil.

Ideally, you have a second thurifer for Thursday, someone to carry the ombrellino, and torchbearers at the solemn Masses, at least two, up to eight. For Tenebrae, you need the minimum number of people who can sing the office competently including the readings; the same applies to the twelve prophecies of Holy Saturday, insofar as you will have not just a large number of readings but some which are quite long, and making just one person, or a few men plus the subdeacon if one is lucky to have one, sing everything tends to not work out very well in my experience. At least four men excluding the subdeacon is my preference, but you need to work with what you have and work up to what you prefer (all according to providence…)

Palm Sunday

First, the vestments. You need, in addition to the usual celebrant’s violet cope and chasuble, etc., two additional chasubles, then the ordinary deacon’s stole, plus two maniples.

If you are so lucky, you need three more deacons’ stoles and maniples for the Passion.

As to the shape and ornamentation of the chasubles, they can be whatever you prefer, all things being equal. However, the Roman or French forms cut short are the easiest to manage in my opinion, even though they are not truly folded. In these cases, you must have fabric for the broad stole worn by the deacon for the palm Gospel and then from the Gospel until the end of communion.

There are also fuller medieval or at least neo-Gothic forms, such as the forms preferred by English Benedictines and by the Solesmes congregation, of which I have given an example for another liturgical season; now, these are more elaborate, and the low Mass chasubles are not so elaborate, allowing for the possibility of rolling up a chasuble for the portions of the Mass where the deacon does so. Indeed, the truly folded chasuble is described in an earlier NLM article. This means that the separate piece of fabric is not necessary, although it may remain more convenient. 

The Saint Philip Neri and Spanish cuts are the least well-adapted to this context since the joints of the shoulders are blocked in the same way that a French chasuble pinned up, and not made short in the first place, gets in the way. Having worn a folded chasuble in the French style pinned up  as a straw subdeacon, it would be very difficult to wear such a vestment (that is, any form where the “folded” element is stiff and in the way of the shoulder joint) in my opinion. One needs to keep the arms pinned to the body when the hands are kept folded, but such a design impedes this; the arms are kept out at ninety degrees, closer to a yoga pose than to Christian worship. I hesitate to show an example of a Neri chasuble intended for contemporary liturgical celebrations of the ancient Roman liturgy, since the one which I have seen  is a commissioned piece from a relatively new studio (in other words, in both cases, I have a practical opinion to give, but also it is a matter of taste: de gustibus etc., and I do not wish to seem like I’m picking on someone).

Pins attached temporarily or snaps sewn onto the chasuble would be convenient if one chooses instead the Borromean form, which is softer like the Gothic chasuble; the soft fabric would not get in the way of the ministers’ arms. The vestment could be made with some skillful tailoring such that one can roll the deacon’s chasuble instead of purchasing a separate piece of material to serve as the broad stole.

The Ceremonies

For the first antiphon Hosanna Filio David and then for the distribution of palms, I strongly advocate making sure that the people have at least the antiphons as they do in the Ordinary Form. Giving the people the music, not just the text and translations, keeps them centered on the rite, even if they don’t sing, as this ceremony alone can last upwards of twenty minutes. It is easy to make the scores via some form of Gregorio (via an online editor or by using LaTeX in full, which is what I recommend) and to distribute them printed on copy paper; the chants are quite easy for the people to sing with the numerous repetitions.

Using the psalms given in the 1955 reform can work very well; you are still repeating the antiphons several times allowing for the popular participation described above. To me, there is a gap: should there be a doxology in these psalms? The office retains it, the Mass does not, and the 1955 reform treats it like the office. I leave it to each one’s judgement. You can use psalms, or you can make a repetition polyphonic. Between Palestrina, Victoria, and others, there are several approachable settings of one or both antiphons beginning “Pueri hebraeorum.” The important part is that Catholics in the choir (hopefully most members…) are able to receive palms without having to start the music only after the clergy, servers, and musicians do so; this depends on the size of the choir, its musical capabilities, and the arrangement of your church building.

I would also include the ferial tone of the dialogue of the palm-blessing preface in the material given to the congregation, as people tend to sing the usual solemn tone.

The choir should be in place to follow the clergy as they exit; there is time for this at the end of the prayers if the choir is singing in a gallery instead of from the chancel (sanctuary). For the procession, I personally do not feel scrupulous about singing any particular antiphons and especially all of them. Choose a selection of three or four and repeat; the people will probably not be able to follow very easily, so providing the text may be wise, but the music is probably unnecessary. However, you should give the faithful the chorus (in square notation, with translation)  of the Gloria, laus et honor, and you should give instructions for every musical element sung this week.

As an aside: henceforth, you should assume that I believe that the faithful should always be given some form of bilingual missals or books with square notation for the easier musical elements; Good Friday may be the only day where there is no congregational singing despite the ease of doing so, and Saturday presents little opportunities for it in the first place but on the other days, there is usually something to sing. The people are not an afterthought, and taking care of their participation through reading and singing fosters their prayerful participation. These ceremonies are too long to not do so.

The schola should walk ahead towards the end, in order to prepare for the door ceremony and the responsory, for which one may need to sacrifice a stronger singer to lead the clergy and people, positioned to do so while able to hear the end of the first chorus and the verses. Ideally, that singer can make it back for the Ingrediente, which lasts long enough for the clergy to change. In any case, the ministers should wait for the chant to end and for the introit to begin before they (the ministers, that is) start the prayers at the foot of the altar. The choir should start the responsory immediately after the subdeacon (crucifer) knocks on the door, returning to their usual place before the introit. By the way, finding a way to let sound out without cracking the door may be necessary. (There may be a window to open or some other interesting way to create a hole that doesn’t totally ruin the ceremony’s effect.)

The Passion should be sung by competent persons or omitted. Do not force a priest or deacon who cannot carry a tune to sing. Ideally, A or B flat is the reciting tone. The fewer sharps or flats, the easier it is to lose the key and then drop in pitch. By using A or B flat, or at least G, you also pitch this such that you do not need a true countertenor to sing the Synagoga and a true bass to sing the Christus. Those parts are simply noticeably higher and lower respectively than the Chronista’s.

If you do not already have one (or three), consider acquiring a legile, or rather three. This article is the folding wooden lectern especially used for the celebrant at Lauds or Vespers and for the ministers singing the Passion, so as to be both more Roman and to use something neater (in the sense of clean, not just fascinating or interesting) than a black metal music stand. These can be repurposed for the choirmaster and for the readings at Tenebrae; as noted above, one is customarily used by the celebrant of Lauds or Vespers in the true Roman fashion, as seen in the photo from the Institute of Christ the King Sovereign Priest. For Sunday, you will want three falls, either in the simple fabric without trim used to cover the images; or in the same fabric as the vestments, the frontal, and the tabernacle veil; or otherwise in an appropriate fabric. It need not be “churchy”; too often, fabrics with ecclesiastical patterns look cheap despite being expensive.

Do not pay for such a lectern in an ecclesiastical-goods shop. Find a woodworker. Three can be had for less than the price of one from a catalog if done right. Consider that clergy somehow seem to always fall on the extremes of height, below or above average. My resting elbow drop, from the top of the elbow to the floor, is 48 inches (around 122 cm). This is a bit taller than the shortest examples available to purchase from a manufacturer of such goods off the rack; the surface is plenty big enough for the Passion books, a missal (for the Exsultet or the readings of the Paschal Vigil), etc.

Now, if you can’t do it yourself, and you can’t have someone do it locally in their home shop, then commission a quality woodworking company to make this article. There are several who could produce an excellent product if you give them photos and work patiently through the design process, although giving a recommendation is impossible without revealing too much about my own situation. Naturally, the stain should match or at least complement the other wooden pieces in the church, but otherwise the question of ornamentation such as knobs is up to you.

There are several ways of keeping the legs together (chains or hinges both work) which can be gleaned from internet searches; as to the fall: either its weight plus that of a book will keep it in place, or you can consider a clip that goes the width of the leather. In my opinion (only that), the fall should come to just above the floor in the front and in the back, without a break. It’s not a pair of trousers. In other words, the example from Gricigliano is perfect, except that the fall could be a bit shorter for my liking, but no harm is done otherwise. Plus, if you use the same fabric as the vestments, or at least something that complements those well, a fourth fall can be purchased so as to serve as the broad stole; in fact, it is somewhat easier to just have a separate piece of fabric than to take off, tie up, and put back on the fuller “Gothic” or even conical chasuble even if it could (should) be done.

In the next installment we will continue with Holy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday.

St Stephen of Hungary and the Tomb of Pope Sylvester II

Today is the feast of St Stephen, the first king of Hungary, crowned on either Christmas day of 1000, or New Year’s Day of 1001; before then, the ruler of the Hungarians had been known as the Grand Prince. He held the throne until his death on the feast of the Assumption in 1038, and was canonized in 1083, together with his son Emeric, and a Venetian monk and missionary named Gerard Sagredo, the first bishop of Csanád, one of the eleven sees which Stephen established in his country. His feast is kept on the general calendar on September 2, the date on which the capital of Hungary, Buda, was liberated from the dominion of the Ottoman Turks in 1686; it is also the date of Emeric’s death in 1031.

The Baptism of King Stephen, 1875, by the Hungarian painter Gyula Benczúr (1844-1920).

The Matins lessons for Stephen state that “he obtained the royal crown from the Roman Pontiff, was anointed as king by his (i.e. the Pope’s) order, and offered his kingdom to the Apostolic See,” which is to say, placed it under his vassalage. The precise circumstances of this act, and its significance, have been the subject of much debate among historians, and I do not intend to delve into this very complicated matter. But it is worth noting that this event is depicted on the monument of the contemporary Pope, Sylvester II, who reigned from 999-1003. This was set up in the Lateran basilica in 1909, the work of a sculptor named Jószef Damko, at the behest of Vilmos Fraknói, a well-known priest and historian, as a tribute to the Saint who was very much the father of their nation. In the upper part, Stephen and Emeric kneel down before the Virgin and Child, and in the lower part, Stephen receives his crown from the Pope. (Both images from Wikimedia Commons by Sailko, CC BY 3.0)

The lower part of the monument is the original inscription from the tomb of Pope Sylvester, the only part which survived after the two fires that devastated the Lateran basilica in the 14th century. This man was born with the name Gerbert, in a town called Aurillac in south central France, about 945 AD. After studying in a nearby Benedictine monastery as a youth, he traveled to Spain, where he learned a variety of subjects then largely unknown to most of the West, but flourishing under the patronage of the Moorish rulers. It was he who reintroduced the general use of the abacus, and he is also said have been the first to use the so-called Arabic numbers, (which were actually invented in India). This gave rise to the foolish idea (repeated by the 12th century English historian William of Malmesbury) that he was a wizard, which in turn gave rise to a popular tradition among the Romans, (not, of course, ever endorsed by the Church), that when a pope is about to die, his bones rattle within the tomb, and the stone of the inscription sweats.

I was in Rome for Holy Week this year, staying not very far from the Lateran. I visited the basilica on Holy Thursday, but didn’t see or hear anything unusual about the monument, nor did I hear any reports to that effect, but it was the Triduum and Easter, and of course people were very busy; Pope Francis died four days later, on Easter Monday. But in 2005, I was at the Escorial in Spain on April 1, and overheard the women who worked in the giftshop repeating a news report from Rome, that the stone had indeed been seen to sweat, and a rattling noise heard coming from behind it, and John Paul II died the next day.

2025/26 Liturgical Calendar for the Ukrainian Greek-Catholic Church

We are happy to share this information from the London-based Society of St John Chrysostom, about its newly published liturgical calendar. The calendar is free to access as a pdf at this link:

https://ssjc.uk/wp-content/uploads/2025/09/Calendar-AM-7534.pdf

Yesterday, the Byzantine rite began its liturgical year with the Indiction, entering the year 7534 according to the Anno Mundi calendar system, which was the official method of recording the civil year in the Byzantine Empire until 1453, and in the Tsardom of Russia until 1699. To mark this, the Society of Saint John Chrysostom in the United Kingdom – a Catholic society founded in 1926 to support the Eastern Catholic Churches and East-West reunion – has published a Byzantine liturgical calendar for the coming year, based on that used by the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church (UGCC).

The first thing to note is that this calendar is fully Gregorian, including the dates of Pascha (Easter) and its dependent feasts and fasts, as is now the practice in the UK and most of the UGCC diaspora. Currently the UGCC in Ukraine itself, along with the Orthodox Church of Ukraine, follows the ‘revised’ Julian calendar, meaning that the dates of fixed feasts are synchronous with those of the Gregorian calendar, while the Paschalion remains that of the old, now inaccurate, Julian calendar.

In the calendar, edited for convenient use in English in the UK, the readings for the Divine Liturgy are included for each day, as well as festal readings for feasts ranked Class III and greater. In some traditions, both the moveable and fixed sets of readings are chanted each day at the Divine Liturgy. However, as the latter are mostly readings common to categories of saints, these are usually omitted in UGCC usage for lower-class feasts. The reader will, nonetheless, find a rich tapestry of feasts and commemorations in these pages. The UGCC liturgical calendar is ecumenical, being mostly composed of feasts inherited from Kyiv’s mother see, Constantinople, many of which commemorate ancient Western saints. But continuity is established with the second millennium, following the restoration of communion with the Roman see since 1595/96, as can be seen from the commemorations of Saint Francis of Assisi (d. 1226), Mother Teresa of Kolkata (d. 1997), and Pope Saint John Paul II (d. 2005).

This works both ways, as the Metropolis of Kyiv was permitted to continue commemorating Saints canonized between the period of the so-called Great Schism and the 1596 Union of Brest. This includes many local saints, such as those of the Kyiv Caves Monastery (founded 1051) and the late-Byzantine theologian Saint Gregory Palamas (d. 1359), whose once-controversial theology led to the suppression of his feast on the Second Sunday of Lent between 1720 and 1974. Of great importance also are those local post-Union Ukrainian saints, many of whom, like Josaphat Kuntseyvich, the Thirteen Martyrs of Pratulin and Blessed Klymentiy Sheptytsky, were martyred for their Catholic faith by mobs, tsars and Soviet commissars for refusing to break communion with Rome. Sadly, this oppression has returned in the latest Muscovite brutalization of Ukraine. Another local commemoration of note is that of the Consecration of the Patriarchal Cathedral of the Resurrection of Christ in Kyiv on August 18, which marks the return to Kyiv of the primatial see in 2005, after being in ‘exile’ in Lviv since the first liquidation of the UGCC by Moscow in 1805.

Divine Liturgy commemorating the consecration of the Patriarchal Cathedral of the Resurrection in Kyiv, August 18, 2025. 

Another interesting feature of this calendar is its comprehensive fasting guide, which demonstrates just how austere the traditional Byzantine fasting rule is, to the point that it is almost never fully observed even by the Orthodox. The introduction makes it clear that this is not the point:

In Latin Christianity the obligation to fast has been penitential in nature and enforced ‘on pain of sin’. In recent times it has relaxed or adapted to different circumstances across the world and society. In Byzantine Christianity fasting is more extensive and frequent, but understood as an ideal towards which to strive. […] The rule is austere and rarely observed in its entirety, but is included here as a ‘gold standard’ from which we can adapt our practice to account for personal circumstances, health, and spiritual development.

The rule itself is from the fifth-century typikon (service book) of Venerable Sabbas the Sanctified which, while developed in Jerusalem, remains the primary point of reference for liturgical life in the East Slavic churches. It prescribes abstinence from meat, eggs, dairy, fish, oil and wine (alcohol) on most Wednesdays and Fridays of the year, as well as throughout Lent and the other fasting periods, subject to relaxation on certain feasts and days of the week. A detail which is often overlooked in some Orthodox fasting guides, however, is fasting itself, rather than abstinence only. The Sabbaite rule, according to the calendar’s introduction, prescribes a total fast until the Ninth Hour (about 3pm), which accords with Saint Thomas Aquinas in the Summa Theologiae (Question 147). However, this year’s calendar also features in an appendix a translation of Canon 115 of the Particular Law of the UGCC, which mandates a much more lenient fasting rule as the canonical minimum.

It is hoped that this calendar will be of great assistance to English-language Byzantine rite Catholics in their daily prayer life, but also of interest to Latin Catholics who wish to learn more about the East and the many commonalities and differences between the Roman and Byzantine calendars.

Online Resources: Critical Editions of the Pontificale Romanum

A friend has brought to my attention the work of the website Caeremoniale Romanum, which is based in Poland, and also has a wonderful archive of films of old liturgies on its YouTube channel. They have recently made available scans of some important works for the study of the Roman liturgy, scans of critical editions of the Pontificale from two different periods, which may be accessed at this page: https://caeremonialeromanum.com/en/pontificalia-romana-andrieu-dykmans-vogel/. The first is in three volumes, and the second in four.

The ordination of a bishop, depicted in a Roman Pontifical of the later 15th or 16th century.  

The first of these is the theoretical reconstruction of the so-called Pontificale Romano-Germanicum, from the 10th century, a work begun by Cyrille Vogel and completed by Reinhard Elze, and based in no small part on the earlier research of Michel Andrieu. This work as reconstructed would represent the watershed transformation of the primitive Roman Pontifical, done at the abbey of St Alban in Mainz, Germany, around the year 960, which then became the basis for all future versions of the Pontificale, up until the definitive edition issued by Pope Clement VIII at the end of the 16th century. However, it must be noted that the validity of the reconstruction has been seriously questioned by Prof. Henry Parkes in his book The Making of Liturgy in the Ottonian Church (Cambridge, 2014); this is a topic largely outside my wheelhouse, but one of the wise men whom I consult on this sort of thing informs me that Parkes’ basic conclusion, that the PRG never really existed at all, has won broad acceptance.

The second work, published by Andrieu himself in 1938, is the new edition of the Pontificale produced for the use of the Popes in Rome in the 12th century, when they were reestablishing their place in the city and the Church after the long period of decadence of the 10th century and the first half of the 11th.

The Society for Catholic Liturgy’s Annual Conference in Washington, DC, Sept. 24-26

The 2025 Annual Conference of the Society for Catholic Liturgy will seek to examine the contribution of Joseph Ratzinger-Benedict XVI to the Church’s understanding and celebration of the sacred liturgy. This coincides both with the 25th anniversary of Ratzinger’s work, The Spirit of the Liturgy, and the Society’s own 30th anniversary (1995-2025).

The conference will be held at The Catholic University of America, Washington DC, from September 24-26 and will welcome over 100 scholars from across the United States and further afield. Keynotes will be presented by Professor Helmut Hoping (University of Freiburg) and Professor Christopher Ruddy (The Catholic University of America). Professor Hopping will address the cosmic dimension of the liturgy in Ratzinger’s writing, and Professor Ruddy will speak about the priority of God as the key understanding Ratzinger’s liturgical thought.

In addition, over 40 papers will be delivered during the conference. In keeping with the Society’s interdisciplinary and multidisciplinary scope, these will include topics such as sacred music, architecture, canon law, the liturgical celebration, liturgical history, and the reception of Ratzinger’s work.

As part of the conference, a Solemn Mass will be celebrated according to Divine Worship: The Missal, the liturgical provision approved by Pope Francis for the personal ordinariates erected for former Anglicans by Pope Benedict. This will be accompanied by the internationally acclaimed choir of the Basilica of the National Shrine of the Immaculate Conception, under the direction of Dr. Peter Latona; the music will include Lennox Berkeley’s exquisite Missa Brevis, composed for the Choir of Westminster Cathedral in 1960. On the final day of the conference, a Mass will be offered for the repose of the soul of Pope Benedict XVI, with music from the Requiem of Maurice Duruflé, sung by the Chamber Choir of The Catholic University of America under the direction of Dr. Peter Kadeli.

Further details of the conference, including registration, can be found on the Society’s website. The conference is open to the Society’s members and guests, and we warmly welcome any and all who wish to join us.

The Life of St Augustine, by Benozzo Gozzoli (Part 2)

The first part of this, which was published on Thursday, the feast of St Augustine, ended with the scene of his conversion; here we pick up the story from his baptism. As in the first part, these public domain images are all taken from the Wikimedia Commons page on the choir chapel of the church of St Augustine in San Gimignano, Italy, where these frescoes were done by the Florentine painter Benozzo Gozzoli between 1463 and 1467.

Eleventh scene: St Augustine is baptized by St Ambrose. In accordance with the tradition that the Te Deum was composed by them both on this occasion, the first words of it are painted on the wall behind them. Until 1913, the header “Hymnus Ss Ambrosii et Augustini” was printed in the breviary above it. In keeping with a common artistic convention of the period, after this, the Saint always appears anachronistically clothed in the habit of medieval Augustinian friars, which Gozzoli makes dark, but not black, which would clash too strongly with the color scheme of the whole.

Twelfth scene: on the left, the famous (and apocryphal) story that Augustine, after finishing his book on the Trinity, went walking on the seashore, where he saw a boy trying to pour the ocean into a hole in the sand. When he told the boy that this was impossible, the boy replied that it was also impossible to fully explain the Trinity, and disappeared. In the background is represented a medieval tradition of Italian Augustinians that he once visited a group of hermits on Mt Pisano, about 40 miles to the north-west of San Gimignano. (The absence of any reference to a visit to Tuscany in his own writings was ingeniously explained as a lapse of memory, brought on by grief over the death of his mother, St Monica.) On the right, St Augustine is shown as a friar among friars, giving them the Augustinian Rule.

Thirteenth scene: the death of St Monica. This event, which is described in one of the most moving passages of the Confessions (book 9, 11-12), took place in the Roman port city of Ostia, well before Augustine returned to Africa and began to live in a monastic community. His departure is shown through the colonnade on the right. The Augustinian friar who commissioned these paintings, Fr Domenico Strambi, stands at the foot of the bed with an inscription underneath him to indicate who he is. St Monica was buried in Ostia, and her relics were kept there in the church of St Aurea until 1430, when they were transferred to the Roman basilica named for her son.

Fourteenth scene: St Augustine (barely visible on the right where the plaster has been damaged) blesses the people of Hippo after becoming their bishop.

Fifteenth scene: St Augustine converts a priest of the Manichean sect named Fortunatus. Note that he continues to wear his Augustinian habit under his cope.

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The Final Days of the Blessed Ildephonse Schuster

We never let August 30th pass without remembering the Blessed Cardinal Alfredo Ildefonso Schuster, who went to his eternal reward on this day in 1954, after serving as Archbishop of Milan for just over a quarter of a century. We have written about him many times on NLM, partly in connection with our interest in the Ambrosian liturgy, of which he was a great promoter, but also as one of the most important scholars of the original Liturgical Movement.

In 2018, we published a brief meditation of his on the value of praying the Office, which, to judge from viewing numbers and several requests for permission to reprint, was very much appreciated. This was taken from the account of Schuster’s final days included in the book Novissima Verba by Abp Giovanni Colombo, the cardinal’s successor-but-one in the see of St Ambrose. At the time of Schuster’s death, the latter was a simple priest, serving as both rector and professor of Italian literature at Venegono, the archdiocesan seminary which the cardinal had founded; it was he who who administered the last rites to Schuster. My translation of this incredibly moving piece certainly does not do justice to Abp Colombo’s magnificent Italian. Thanks to Nicola de’ Grandi for some of the pictures.

Had it been possible to foresee that these were his last words, that each one was almost like a will, they would certainly have been noted down one by one with diligence, to be kept in a notebook with the veneration due to a father. But there was no way any one could have seen ahead of time how close and how swift his final departure would be, not even the doctors who hoped to get him back his strength with a few weeks’ rest and care. So now, after five years, the heart alone remains, with no written aid, to remember his final holy words, and record them faithfully as it finds them in memory.

The call by which his secretary, Mons. Ecclesio Terraneo, informed us that His Eminence would come to Venegono for a period of rest was received in the seminary with a sense of joy, and also amazement. Joy, because it hardly seemed real that we could have time to enjoy the presence of the archbishop, whose visits were frequent, to be sure, but always accompanied by his eagerness to run off to other places and persons; amazement, and almost dismay, because the suspicion had arisen in us all that only a serious illness could have brought such a tireless shepherd to yield at last to the idea of taking a vacation, the first in 25 years of his episcopacy, and as it would prove, the last. …

… although nature and vocation had made him for the peace of prayer and study, more than for the turmoil of action, he never deceived himself (as to his duty), not even when old age and poor health would have urged greater moderation (in his activities). He had no wish to spare his energies, even when he was close to the end. He used to say “To be archbishop of Milan is a difficult job, and the archbishop of Milan absolutely cannot allow himself the luxury of being ill. If he becomes ill, it is better that he go at once to Paradise, or renounce his see.”

Cardinal Schuster’s episcopal consecration, celebrated in the Sistine Chapel by Pope Pius XI, himself previously archbishop of Milan, on July 21, 1929.

The archbishop’s car stopped outside the entrance to the seminary around 6 p.m. on August 14, 1954. It was no longer raining, but a low cloud cover filled the sky, … Exhausted, wan, in pain, walking towards the elevator with difficulty, he said, “I would like to read some of the recent publications on archeology, liturgy, church history while I am here.” He had always taught that studies are an essential component of the priest’s spiritual life; all his life had borne witness to this teaching, and he remained faithful to it even in the face of a deadly illness.

On the feast of the Assumption, the radio broadcast the noon Angelus recited by Pope Pius XII. Standing in the room where he took his meals privately, because he did not have the strength to reach the common dining room, while awaiting the Pope’s prayer, the archbishop heard along with us the joyful tolling of the bells of St Peter’s. At the sound, he looked at us with eyes full of emotion, and repeated twice, “The bells of my town, the bells of my town!” His voice was trembling; was it the sweet nostalgia of other occasions that called back to him to the long-ago solemnities of his childhood, or was it rather the sad understanding that he would never hear them again?

On the afternoon of August 18th, the high school seminarians and those of the theologate, who had come back to the seminary the day before… gathered on the tree-lined slope under the window of his apartment to see and greet the archbishop. Called by their youthful song, he appeared smiling on the balcony, and spoke to them with these words. “Here I am among you, on a forced rest; because I did not wish to pay the interest year by year, now I am forced to pay both interest and capital at once. You have asked for a memento from me. I have no memento (to give you), other than an invitation to holiness. It seems that people do not any longer let themselves be convinced by our preaching, but in the presence of holiness, they still believe, they still kneel and pray. It seems that people live in ignorance of supernatural realities, indifferent to the problems of salvation, but if a true Saint, living or dead, passes by, everyone runs to see him. Do you remember the crowds around the caskets of Don Orione or of Don Calabria? Do not forget that the devil has no fear of our playing fields and our movie theatres [1], but he does fear our holiness.” …

His days, which should have been passed in complete rest, were full of prayer, reading, decisions on the affairs of the diocese, and discussions. Someone said to him, “Your Eminence allows himself no rest. Do you want to die on your feet like St Benedict?” Smiling, he answered, “Yes.” This was truly his wish, but this was a matter of Grace, and thus it was God’s to grant.

It was only a few days before the 25th anniversary of his entry into the diocese. In the quiet sunsets of Venegono, he was beset by memories. How many labors and events, some of them tragic, did he have to confront after that serene morning of September 7th (1929), when, on the journey from Vigevano to Rho, he stopped the car half-way over the bridge on the Ticino river, got out, and kissed the land of St Ambrose on its threshold? That land had become his portion of the Church, the sacred vineyard of his prayerful vigils, of his austere penances, of his labor and his love, of his griefs both hidden and known, of all his life, and now of his death. From the end of the road he had traveled, looking back, he saw that he had passed through dangers of every sort, but felt that the hand of God had drawn him safely through fire and storm; above all, he was comforted by the thought that he had always had the affection and loyalty of his people. …

(Unedited footage of Cardinal Schuster’s installation as archbishop in Milan cathedral, unfortunately without soundtrack. Particularly noteworthy is the Latin plaque shown at the beginning, which set over the door of the cathedral, and starts with the words “Enter (‘Ingredere’, in the imperative,) Alfred Ildephonse Schuster.” Starting at 1:20, one sees the extraordinarily large crowd in the famous Piazza del Duomo, far too large for them all to enter the cathedral for the ceremony itself, many of whom have climbed up onto the large equestrian statue of King Victor Emmanuel II. From the YouTube archive of the Italian film company Istituto Luce.)

The archbishop spoke of the recent canonization of St Pius X, saying among other things, “Not every act of his governance proved to be completely opportune and fruitful. The outcome of one’s rule in the Church, as a fact of history, is one thing, whether for good or ill; the holiness that drives it is another. And it is certain that every act of St Pius X’s pontificate was driven solely by a great and pure love of God. In the end, what counts for the true greatness of the Church and Her sons is love.”

He spoke of St Pius X, but he was certainly thinking also of himself, in answer to his own private questions. Looking back upon his long episcopacy, the results could perhaps have made him doubt the correctness of some of his decisions, or the justice of some of his measures; he might perhaps have thought that he had put his trust in both institutions and men that later revealed themselves unworthy of it. But on one point, his conscience had no doubts: in every thought and deed, he had always sought the Lord alone, had always taken His rights with the utmost seriousness, and preferred them above everything and every man, and even above himself. As his spiritual father, Bl. Placido Riccardi, had taught him when he was a young monk, the Saint is set apart from other men because he takes seriously the duties which fall to him in regard to God. …

One morning, the door of his room was left half-opened; from without, one could see the cardinal sitting at the table in the middle of the room in the full light of the window. His joined hands rested on the edge of the desk, with the breviary open before them; his face, lit by the sun, was turned towards heaven, his eyes closed, and his lips trembled as he murmured in prayer. A Saint was seen, speaking with the invisible presence of God; one could not look at him without a shiver of awe. I remembered then what he had confided to me some time before concerning his personal recitation of the Breviary, in the days when he found himself so worn out that he had no strength to follow the sense of the individual prayers.

“I close my eyes, and while my lips murmur the words of the Breviary which I know by heart, I leave behind their literal meaning, and feel that I am in that endless land where the Church, militant and pilgrim, passes, walking towards the promised fatherland. I breathe with the Church in the same light by day, the same darkness by night; I see on every side of me the forces of evil that beset and assail Her; I find myself in the midst of Her battles and victories, Her prayers of anguish and Her songs of triumph, in the midst of the oppression of prisoners, the groans of the dying, the rejoicing of the armies and captains victorious. I find myself in their midst, but not as a passive spectator; nay rather, as one whose vigilance and skill, whose strength and courage can bear a decisive weight on the outcome of the struggle between good and evil, and upon the eternal destinies of individual men and of the multitude.” …

He had decided to end his stay and continue on his way. In vain did the doctors and all his close friends ask him to stay longer – he was set to depart from Venegono on August 30. “Neither rest nor the treatments have helped me: I might as well return to Milan. If death comes, it will find me on my feet, at my place and working.” And he would indeed depart that Monday, but on a different voyage.

Giovanni Cardinal Colombo, 1902-92; archbishop of Milan 1963-79.

In the middle of the night, shortly after 1 o’clock in the morning of the 30th, the brother in charge of the infirmary called me to his sickbed. I found him alone, sitting on the bed, with his hands joined, in deep recollection. Just a moment before he had received the Holy Eucharist from his secretary, Mons. Terraneo.

“I wish for Extreme Unction. At once, at once.”

“Yes, Your Eminence; the doctor will be here in a few moments, and if necessary, I will give you Extreme Unction.”

With a voice full of anguish, he replied, “To die, I do not need the doctor, I need Extreme Unction. … be quick, death does not wait.”

Meanwhile, Agostino Castiglioni, the seminary doctor, had arrived, and after seeing his illustrious patient, told us that his condition was very serious, but did not seem to be such that we should fear his imminent death.

Assisted by Mons. Luigi Oldani, by Fr Giuseppe Mauri, and Mons. Ecclesio Terraneo, I began the sad, holy rite. He spoke first, with a clear and strong voice: “In nomine Patris et Filii et Spiritus Sancti. Amen. Confiteor Deo omnipotenti...”

He followed every word with great devotion, answering every prayer clearly; at the right moment, he closed his eyes, and without being asked, offered the back of his hands for the holy oils.

When the sacrament has been given, sitting on the bed, he said with great simplicity, “I bless the whole diocese. I ask pardon for what I have done and what I have not done. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” He traced a wide Sign of the Cross before himself; then he lay down on the bed. The doctor at the moment realized that his heart was giving out.

“I am dying. Help me to die well.”

The signs of his impending death became more evident.

He groaned: “I cannot go on. I am dying.” …

He was told that in every chapel of the seminary, the various groups, the students of the theologate, the high school, the adult vocations, the oblate brothers, the sisters, were gathered in prayer and celebrating Masses for him. “Thank you! Thank you!”

He looked steadily upon each person who entered the room, as if he were trying to recognize someone for whom he was waiting. With his innate gentility, which did not fail even in his final agony, he invited those present to sit. “Please, have a seat!”

Again and again he repeated the prayers suggested to him, but at a certain point he said, “Now I can’t any more. Pray for me.” …

At 4:35, he let his head fall on the pillow, and groaned. His face became very red, then slowly lost its color. From the other side of the bed, the expression of the doctor, who was holding his wrist, told us that he no longer lived upon the earth. The heart of a Saint had ceased to beat. …

None of those present felt that they had attended three hours of agony, but rather, at a liturgy of three hours’ length. Three hours of darkness, but a darkness filled with the hope of the dawn that would rise in the eternal East. Three hours of suffering, but a suffering permeated by waves of infinite joy coming rapidly on. He spoke no uncontrolled words; his suffering, which was great, (he said “I cannot go on! I cannot go on!” several times), was indicated by quiet laments, as if in dying he were not living through the sufferings of his own flesh and spirit, but rather reading those of the Servant of the Lord in the rites of Holy Week. [2] He made no uncontrolled movements; his translucent hands, his arms, his head, all his slender body, held to the hieratic gestures of a pontifical service.

The archbishop’s death was in no way different from those of the ancient giants of holiness on whose writings he had long meditated, with such fervor as to become familiar with their very thoughts, their feelings and their deeds. A year before he died, describing their death in the Carmen Nuptiale [3], without knowing it, he prefigured his own death. “The death of the ancient Fathers was so dignified and serene! Many holy bishops of the Middle Ages wished to breathe their last in their cathedral, after the celebration of the Eucharist, and after exchanging the kiss of peace with the Christian community. Thus does St Gregory the Great describe the death of Cassius, bishop of Narni, of St Benedict, of St Equitius, etc. In the Ambrosian Missal, the death of St Martin is commemorated as follows: Whom the Lord and Master so loved, that he knew the hour in which he would leave the world. He gave the peace to all those present, and passed without fear to heavenly glory. [4] But what was it that made the death of these Saints so precious in the sight of God (Psalm 115, 6) and of the Church? In the fervor of their Faith, they rested solidly on the divine promise, and so set their feet on the threshold of eternity. ‘Rejoicing in the sure of the hope of divine reward….’ These are the words of St Benedict.” [5]

The Carmen Nuptiale was a truly prophetic swan song. Speaking of St Benedict, Schuster had written, “After the Holy Patriarch’s death, some of his disciples saw him ascend to the heavenly City by a way decorated with tapestries, and illuminated with candlesticks. This was the triumphal way by which the author of the Rule for Monks and the Ladder of Humility passed.”

The street which descends from the hill of the seminary, passing through Tradate, Lonate Ceppino, Fagnano Olona, Busto Arsizio, Saronno, and comes to Milan, was the triumphal way decorated with tapestries, illuminated by the blazing sun, on which not just a few disciples, but crowds without number, watched him pass, one who out of humility had refused all celebration of his 25th year of his episcopacy.

Who drove all those people, on that August 31st, to line the streets? Who drew the workers to come out of their factories, along the city walls? Who brought those men and women together, waiting for hours for the fleeting passage of his casket? Who drove the mothers to push their little ones towards that lifeless body? Why did they all make the Sign of the Cross, if his motionless hand could not lift itself to bless them? What did those countless lips murmur, what was it that they wished to confide to a dead man, or ask of him?

He himself gave the answer fifteen days before to the seminarians, speaking from the balcony of his rooms. “When a Saint passes by, everyone runs to see him.”

*   *   *

[1] “our playing fields and our movie theatres.” In the post-war period, Italian parishes built countless playing fields for various sports and movie theaters, to provide healthy activities for young people, while keeping them away from similar facilities run by the communists. This was especially common in the urban centers of the north, Milan most prominent among them, which were taking in large numbers of new residents from the poorer regions of the South.

[2] Isaiah 53, known as the Song of the Suffering Servant, is read at the Ambrosian Good Friday service ‘post Tertiam’, before the day’s principal account of the Lord’s Passion.

[3] “Carmen Nuptiale – Wedding Song” is the title of a poem on the monastic life written by the Bl. Schuster in the year before he died.

[4] The Transitorium (the equivalent of the Roman Communio) of the Ambrosian Mass of St Martin. “Quem sic amavit Magister et Dominus, ut horam sciret qua mundum relinqueret. Pacem dedit omnibus adstantibus: et securus pergit ad caelestem gloriam.”

[5] The Rule of St Benedict, chapter 7. “Securi de spe retributionis divinae... gaudentes.”

Arranging the Breviary for the Rest of the Liturgical Year

This is our annual posting on one of the discrepancies between the traditional arrangement of the Roman Breviary and the new rubrics of 1960; this year, the first such discrepancy appears at Vespers this evening. In some years, including this one, it also moves the September Ember Days one week forward from their traditional place.

One of the changes made to the Breviary in the revision of 1960 regards the arrangement of the months from August to November.

The first Sunday of each of these months is the day on which the Church begins to read a new set of Scriptural books at Matins, with their accompanying responsories, and Magnificat antiphons at Saturday Vespers. These readings are part of a system which goes back to the sixth century: in August, the books of Wisdom are read; in September, Job, Tobias, Judith and Esther; in October the books of the Maccabees; in November, Ezekiel, Daniel, and the twelve minor Prophets. (September is actually divided into two sets of readings, Job having a different set of responsories from the other three books.)

Folio 98v of the antiphonary of Compiègne, 860-77 AD. At the top of the page are three antiphons taken from the book of Job for Saturday Vespers, the first and second of which (Cum audisset Job and In omnibus his) are found in the Breviary of St Pius V and subsequent revisions thereof. These are followed by responsories and antiphons from the book of Tobias, and responsories from the book of Judith. (Bibliothèque nationale de France. Département des Manuscrits. Latin 17436)

The “first Sunday” of each of these months is traditionally that which occurs closest to the first calendar day of the month, even if that day occurs within the end of the previous month. This year, for example, the first Sunday “of September” is actually tomorrow, August 31st, the Sunday closest to the first day of September.

In the 1960 revision, however, the first Sunday of the months from August to November is always that which occurs first within the calendar month. According to this system, the first Sunday of September is the 7th this year.

The Ember days of September, (which are older than this system), are celebrated within the third week of that month. In the traditional arrangement, this means that they always begin with the Wednesday after the Exaltation of the Cross. However, in the 1960 rubrics, the third week of September is determined differently, and they can be therefore be pushed forward a week, as they are this year. So in the traditional arrangement, they are on Sept. 17, 19 and 20; according to the 1960 rubrics, on Sept. 24, 26 and 27.

This change also accounts for one of the many peculiarities of the 1960 Breviary, the fact that November has four weeks, which are called the First, Third, Fourth and Fifth. According to the older calculation, November has five weeks when the 5th of the month is a Sunday. (This is also the arrangement that has the shortest possible Advent of three weeks and one day.) According to the newer calculation, November may have three or four weeks, but never five. In order to accommodate the new system, one of the weeks had to be removed; the second week of November was chosen, to maintain the tradition that at least a bit of each of the Prophets would continue to be read in the Breviary. However, in some years, November only has three weeks, and the first one is also omitted, but this is not the case this year.

One further note regarding a major discrepancy which occurs this year between the Roman Rite and the post-Conciliar Rite. In the Roman Rite, the Commemoration of All the Faithful Departed, commonly known as All Souls’ Day, cannot be celebrated on a Sunday, since it is regarded an inappropriate to dedicate the day of the Resurrection primarily to praying for the dead. Therefore, if November 2nd occurs on a Sunday, as it does this year, All Souls is moved to Monday.

As a principle, this is still very much part of the post-Conciliar Rite, which heavily restricts which Masses for the Dead can be celebrated on Sundays. (They are permitted only on Sundays per annum, not on those of Advent, Lent or Eastertide, and only for proper funeral Masses, i.e., with the body of the deceased present.) However, it would obviously be far too much to ask Modern Man™ to attend Mass two days in a row; therefore, when November 2 falls on a Sunday, the Mass of All Souls is celebrated in place of that of the Sunday. (It may be noted in passing that the post-Conciliar Rite’s opening prayer for the first Mass of All Souls’ Day is easily one of its very worst innovations, wholly divorced from the entire Church’s tradition, not just that of the Roman Rite, since it does not actually pray for the dead.)  

 

The Sundays of the rest of the liturgical year, according to the traditional system:

August 31 – the 1st Sunday of September (XII Sunday after Pentecost)
September 7 – the 2nd Sunday of September (XIII after Pentecost)
September 14 – the 3rd Sunday of September (XIV after Pentecost, commemorated on the Exaltation of the Cross); Ember week
September 21 – the 4th Sunday of September (XV after Pentecost, commemorated on the feast of St Matthew the Evangelist)

September 28 – the 1st Sunday of October (XVI after Pentecost)
October 5 – the 2nd Sunday of October (XVII after Pentecost)
October 12 – the 3rd Sunday of October (XVIII after Pentecost)
October 19 – the 4th Sunday of October (XIX after Pentecost)
October 26 – the 5th Sunday of October (XX after Pentecost, commemorated on the feast of Christ the King)

November 2 – the 1st Sunday of November (XXI after Pentecost)
November 9 – the 3rd Sunday of November (XXII after Pentecost, commemorated on the feast of the Dedication of St John in the Lateran)
November 16 – the 4th Sunday of November (XXIII after Pentecost)
November 23 – the 5th Sunday of November (XXIV and last after Pentecost)

The Sundays of the rest of the liturgical year, according to the 1960 system:

August 31 – the 5th Sunday of August (XII Sunday after Pentecost)

September 7 – the 1st Sunday of September (XIII after Pentecost)
September 14 – the 2nd Sunday of September (XIV after Pentecost, omitted on the Exaltation of the Cross)
September 21 – the 3rd Sunday of September (XV after Pentecost); Ember week
September 28 – the 4th Sunday of September (XVI after Pentecost)

October 5 – the 1st Sunday of October (XVII after Pentecost)
October 12 – the 2nd Sunday of October (XVIII after Pentecost)
October 19 – the 3rd Sunday of October (XIX after Pentecost)

October 26 – the 4th Sunday of October (XX after Pentecost, omitted on the feast of Christ the King)

November 2 – the 1st Sunday of November (XXI after Pentecost)
November 9 – the 3rd Sunday of November (XXII after Pentecost, omitted on the feast of the Dedication of St John in the Lateran)
November 16 – the 4th Sunday of November (XXIII after Pentecost)
November 23 – the 5th Sunday of November (XXIV and last after Pentecost)

The calculation of the Sundays after Pentecost also calls for a note here. (The discrepancies between the Missals of St Pius V and St John XXIII are very slight in this regard.)

The number of Sundays “after Pentecost” assigned to the Missal is 24, but the actual number varies between 23 and 28. The “24th” is always celebrated on the last Sunday before Advent. If there are more than 24, the gap between the 23rd and 24th is filled with the Sundays after Epiphany that had no place at the beginning of the year. The prayers and readings of those Sundays are inserted into the Mass of the 23rd Sunday (i.e., the set of Gregorian propers.) The Breviary homily on the Sunday Gospel and the concomitant antiphons of the Benedictus and Magnificat also carry over in the Office. This year, however, there are exactly 24 Sundays after Pentecost, and therefore, none of the Sundays after Epiphany are resumed at the end of the year.

If this all seems a little complicated, bear in mind that the oldest arrangement of the Mass lectionary that we know of was even more so. The oldest lectionary of the Roman Rite, a manuscript now in Wurzburg, Germany, dates to ca. 700, and represents the system used at Rome about 50 years earlier. It has a very disorganized and incomplete set of readings for the period after Pentecost; the Sundays are counted as 2 after Pentecost, 7 after Ss Peter and Paul, 5 after St Lawrence, and 6 after St Cyprian, a total of only 20. There are also ten Sundays after Epiphany, even though Septuagesima is also noted in the manuscript, and the largest number of Sundays that can occur between Epiphany and Septuagesima is only six.

First English Translation of Guéranger’s Liturgical Institutions Now Available

The publication of the first English translation of Dom Prosper Guéranger’s Liturgical Institutions – in the abridged form prepared by Jean Vaquié in 1977, and now translated by Dr. David Foley and Gerhard Eger for Os Justi Press – is a moment of major importance for the Church’s liturgical and spiritual life.

For too long, Guéranger’s magnum opus, running to nearly two thousand pages and available only in French, has been a treasure beyond the reach of many English-speaking scholars and faithful. This edition brings to light a work of singular importance, serving both as a detailed history and a vehement defense of the Roman Rite in the face of corrosive innovation.

Dom Guéranger was no antiquarian. He was the founder of the modern liturgical movement, a man driven by the conviction that the liturgy is the living expression of the Church’s faith and the bulwark against the inroads of error. His prose – elevated, precise, yet burning with zeal – enfolds medieval liturgical devotion within the incisive reasoning of a modern historian. The translation by Foley and Eger preserves this spirit, restoring omitted passages and providing useful annotations and translations of Latin sources, making Guéranger’s thought accessible without diluting its force.

The Liturgical Institutions unfolds as a comprehensive narrative of the Church’s liturgical heritage, from apostolic beginnings through centuries of growth, local diversity, and, critically, the disastrous neo-Gallican reforms of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. These reforms were not benign liturgical experiments, but an assault on the Roman Rite’s unity, doctrinal integrity, and sacred symbolism – an assault tainted with rationalism, Jansenism, and Gallicanism, the spirit of French ecclesiastical autonomy, (living apart, if not formally divorced from, the universal Church) that Guéranger rightly identified as a poison within the Church’s bosom.

This historical analysis resonates powerfully with contemporary concerns. The liturgical upheaval of the twentieth century, particularly the post-Conciliar reforms, continue the pattern of distortion and disintegration that Guéranger identified as the “anti-liturgical heresy”, warning that it “seeks to silence this voice [of the Church] and tear up the pages that contain the faith of ages past.” This has become all the more relevant to an age which has witnessed the desacralization of the altar, the abandonment of sacred language, and the reduction of the Mass to a commonplace vernacular service – all characteristic moves of heretics, according to the plain-spoken French abbot.

To engage with Guéranger is to join a tradition of guardianship over the sacred rites that embody the Catholic faith. For those who seek a deeper understanding of the liturgical crisis and the means to restore authentic worship, this edition is an invaluable resource.

The Liturgical Institutions is available in hardback, paperback, and e-book directly from Os Justi Press, or from any Amazon site.

Those who would like to view the table of contents, foreword, and preface will find it here or here.

(In a future post I will discuss another new book just out, Lumen Christi: Defending the Use of the Pre-1955 Roman Rite, but for now I will only mention that the code RITESTUFF will unlock at 10% discount on both.)

The Quam oblationem

Lost in Translation #139

After praying the Hanc igitur, the priest prays the Quam oblationem:

Quam oblatiónem tu, Deus, in ómnibus, quǽsumus, benedictam, adscriptam, ratam, rationábilem, acceptabilemque fácere dignéris ut nobis Corpus et Sanguis fiat dilectíssimi Filii tui, Dómini nostri Jesu Christi.

Which the 2011 ICEL edition translates as:

Be pleased, O God, we pray, to bless, acknowledge, and approve this offering in every respect; make it spiritual and acceptable, so that it may become for us the Body and Blood of your most beloved Son, our Lord Jesus Christ. [1]

And which I translate as:

May You, O God, in all ways, we beseech, deign to make blessed, enrolled, ratified, rational, and acceptable this offering, that it may be made for us the Body and Blood of Your most beloved Son Jesus Christ our Lord.

Josef Jungmann eloquently describes the function of this prayer:

The last prayer before the account of the institution forms with it a grammatical unit. It is like an up-beat before the full measure, a final swell in human words before the introduction of the imposing phrases of the sacred account, which are attached by means of a simple relative pronoun. [2]

ICEL understandably simplifies the main verbs facere digneris as to “be pleased,” since the more literal “may You deign to make” involves the antiquated verb “deign.” Still, the original language draws attention to a significant three-legged stool in the Mass, a relationship between worth (dignus), dignity (dignitas), and deigning (dignari). Here, we unworthy servants ask God to dignify our offering, to elevate it with five qualities so that it may become His Son’s Body and Blood.

Similarly, ICEL opts for the simpler construction of three infinitives in the active voice (“to bless, acknowledge, and approve”) whereas all five qualities are iterated as perfect past passive participles (“make blessed, make acknowledged,” etc.). There is something circuitous about the phrasing of the original prayer, an echo of how one would address royalty. For to a king, a servant does not say, “Yo, king, it’s lunch—get it while it’s hot” but rather “May it please Your Royal Highness to know that lunch is ready.”

The tu in the prayer is difficult to translate as well. In Latin, personal pronouns are unnecessary for the subject of a verb, and so when they are included, it is for the sake of emphasis, which I have tried to capture by placing “You” in italics. Another option would be “You Yourself.” In omnibus likewise poses problems. The simplest translation is “in all things,” the rendering of choice for some pre-Vatican II hand Missals. But ICEL is correct in translating the expression as “in every respect” (or, more literally, “in all ways”), since the prayer is asking for thoroughness. [3]

Christine Mohrmann describes the fivefold enumeration benedictam, adscriptam, ratam, rationabilem, acceptabilemque as a

rhythmically balanced flow of words, which shows an almost juridical precision… We have already come across this same sacral style in the primitive pagan prayers of the Roman national religion. This monumental verbosity coupled with juridical precision, which is so well suited to the gravitas Romana but which also betrays a certain scrupulosity with regard to the higher powers, was the typical form of expression of the old Roman prayer. [4]

Christine Mohrmann

The juridical precision is evidenced in the ascending flow of past participles, almost all of which defy translation.

Benedictam means to “make it blessed,” which is fair enough, except for the fact that this oblation has already been blessed several times during the Offertory Rite. Chalk it up to the “liturgical stammer” that is a feature of the Roman liturgical tradition.

Adscriptam. To be ascribed is to be added to a list as a citizen or a soldier, to be enrolled into a dignified elite. [5] The priest is also asking that this sacrifice be registered in our log, that we “get credit for it.”[6]

The Book of Life

Ratam. To be ratified, or as the Lewis and Short Latin Dictionary puts it, is to be “fixed, settled, established, firm, unalterable, sure, certain, valid, etc.” [7] Here, the priest asks God the Father to validate his Eucharistic oblation by turning it into the Eucharistic sacrifice.

Rationabilem. The most intriguing word in the Canon and perhaps the entire Ordo of the Mass is this one, for it goes against the grain of our sensibilities. Even though we Catholic Christians maintain that faith and reason are compatible, we tend to put them in two different containers, at least where worship and study are concerned. We act as if the rational were for the classroom, whereas worship is more for the heart. And yet here in the midst of our most sacred part of our worship is a plea for our oblation to be rational or reasonable.

What constitutes the rationabilem can be discovered with a little effort. According to some scholars, the term was once synonymous with “spiritual” until its meaning migrated to “reasonable, conformed to the essence of a thing” and spiritalis took its place. [8] It may sound odd to think of “rational” and “spiritual” as synonymous until one considers Romans 12, 1: “I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercy of God, that you present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, pleasing unto God, your reasonable service.” The Greek logiké latreia (rationabile obsequium or “reasonable service”) captures the fact that Christian latreia or worship is logocentric or centered on the Word (Logos) that is Christ. As Pope Benedict XVI observes, “the celebration is not only a ritual, it is not only a liturgical game, but is intended to be ‘logiké latreia’, a transformation of my existence in the direction of the Logos.” [9]

Benedict also notes that rationabile appears in the Roman Canon, when the priest prays that God will, as one old translation has it, “bless, approve, ratify, make worthy (rationabile) and acceptable this offering.” As the Pope explains: 

The Church knows that in the Holy Eucharist Christ’s gift of Himself, His true sacrifice, becomes present. However, the Church prays that the community celebrating may truly be united with Christ and transformed; she prays that we may become what we cannot be with our own efforts: a “rational” offering that is acceptable to God. Thus the Eucharistic Prayer interprets St. Paul’s words correctly. [10]

Acceptabilem simply means, “to be made acceptable.” It too is part of a liturgical stammer in so far as it follows similar requests from the Offertory Rite (see here, here, here, and here), but all this fear and trembling is warranted for the simple reason that not every sacrifice is pleasing to God. The Lord God accepted Abel’s sacrifice and rejected Cain’s, (Gen. 4, 4-5) and He even rejected the very sacrifices that He Himself commanded to be made. (Ps. 39, 7; Jer. 6, 20) Without doubt God the Father accepts the sacrifice of His Son, but there is no guarantee that He will accept us as part of that saving sacrifice.

I have translated the last clause as “May it be made for us the Body and Blood of Your most beloved Son Jesus Christ our Lord” even though fiat can also be translated as “become.” I choose the less eloquent “may it be made” to show that this petition is part of an ongoing theme in the Mass between making, not-made, and remaking. The bread and wine were made, the Eternal Son was not made but begotten, and now the begotten and not-made Son who was made flesh is now being made present to us by bread and wine being remade into His Body and Blood.

Dilectissimi. There is nothing unusual in calling Jesus Christ the “most beloved” Son of His Father, but here it forms a pleasing emotional counterweight to the potentially arid legal terminology.

Finally, the prayer asks that the bread and wine become for us Christ’s Body and Blood. One could misunderstand this petition to mean that we want this bread and wine to function for us as Body and Blood rather than for it to become Body and Blood per se. But the prayer hearkens to a biblical manner of speaking which stresses that all that Christ is and does is for our sake, as when the Angels announce to the shepherds “This day is born to you a Saviour.” (Lk. 2, 11)

Notes

[1] 2011 Roman Missal, 638.

[2] Josef Jungmann, The Mass of the Roman Rite, vol. 2, 187.

[3] For Nicholas Gihr, in omnibus means “in every respect thoroughly and perfectly.” (The Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, 627)

[4] Christine Mohrmann, Liturgical Latin: Its Origins and Character (Catholic University of America Press, 1957), pp. 68-69; similarly, Jungmann speaks of “the guarded legal terminology of the Romans which is here in evidence” (vol. 2, 188).

[5] “A-scrībo,” II.A, Lewis and Short Latin Dictionary.

[6] Barthe, Forest of Symbols, 111.

[7] “Rĕor, rătus, 2,” II.β, Lewis and Short Latin Dictionary.

[8] Ellebracht, Vocabulary of the Ancient Orations, 18.

[9] Sandro Magister, “Homilies. The Liturgical Year Narrated by Joseph Ratzinger, Pope.”

[10] Pope Benedict XVI, “St. Paul: Wednesday General Audience,” January 7, 2009. Even though I agree with ICEL that “spiritual” is the best translation for rationabilis in this prayer, it is meet that we remember the word’s ties to reason. As Peter Kwasniewski writes:

Protestantism attacked Catholicism as a recrudescence of paganism or a Judaizing cult; modernity attacked Catholicism as irrational superstition and pre-scientific prejudice; postmodernity attacks Catholicism as an avaricious, chauvinistic, omniphobic, intolerant structure of self-serving power; but the Roman Canon serenely bears witness to the luminous rationality of the Faith, the majesty of its God, the excellence of its rites, the lofty aim of its rule of life. (Once and Future Roman Rite, 237)