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.
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.”
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.
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.
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.)
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.
[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)
In 1463, the Florentine painter Benozzo Gozzoli (1421-97) left his native city, then suffering from an outbreak of plague, and settled in the little town of San Gimignano about 30 miles to the south and west. During his stay, which lasted for four years, he was commissioned to decorate the choir of the local Augustinian church with a fresco cycle of the life of St Augustine, whose feast is today. Gozzoli had been a student of Fra Angelico, but unites to the typically Florentine style of his teacher, which tends towards the use of relatively simple backgrounds, the richly decorative style known as the International Gothic. The result is justly considered one of the best narrative cycles in fresco of its era. We begin with some overview photos, and then closer images of each individual panel of the narration. There are also several portraits of Saints on the pillars of the chancel arch, with Christ and the Twelve Apostles, and Ss John the Baptist and Elijah on the arch itself. (All public domain images from the Wikimedia Commons page about this chapel.)
A frontal view of the chapel; Augustinian religious communities tended to be quite small, as we can see from the size of the choir.
The left wall; the stories run around the chapel from left to right, first through the whole bottom band, then the middle, then the top.
The middle and top bands on the back wall.
This photograph gives a more complete view of the back wall, although it does no justice to Benozzo’s brilliant colors. I include it because it shows the whole arrangement more clearly, and includes the panel under the window, of which no other image seems to be available, St Augustine’s voyage from Carthage to Rome.
The right wall.
The vault, with the Four Evangelists (clockwise from the top, Luke, Mark, John and Matthew), and Christ and the Twelve Apostles in medallions on the chancel arch.
First scene: Augustine’s parents, Patricius and St Monica, bring him to his first day of school in his native town of Tagaste in north Africa. The kindness of his teacher is emphasized by the way he pats the boy’s cheek; note that Monica is dressed as a wealthy matron in a beautiful white dress, where below, after she is widowed, she appears more like a nun. On the right side, Augustine studies his letters, while another boy is beaten; the Latin inscription at the bottom notes that he quickly made remarkable progress in his studies. (Tagaste is now a town called Souk Ahras in eastern Algeria, about 55 miles from the Mediterranean coast. It has been a see in partibus since the later 15th century, and is currently held by the recently-retired nuncio to Portugal.)
The Catholic Art Institute is pleased to present its 6th Annual Conference, with the theme “Reviving Faith & Hope Through Sacred Art,” scheduled for September 19 & 20, 2025 at the Catholic University of America. This gathering will feature six distinguished speakers from across the artistic disciplines, bringing their insight, experience, and expertise to bear on the pressing questions about the role of beauty in our liturgy and culture. The conference is geared towards artists, art lovers and patrons alike, and provides a unique opportunity to network with creative and entrepreneurial Catholics from around the world.
Featured Speakers
James C. McCrery, II, AIA, NCARB, classical architecture practitioner, founder of McCrery Architects and Director of Classical Architecture & Urbanism at Catholic University, McCrery brings a wealth of experience in ecclesiastical and civic buildings informed by profound symbolic meaning. Most recently, he was commissioned to design the new White House Ballroom by President Trump.
Fr. Patrick van der Vorst, Precentor at Westminster Cathedral, former art-world leader and founder of Christian.art. Recently ordained to the priesthood (June 2023), Fr. van der Vorst brings a remarkable background—25 years as a Director of Sotheby’s Europe including auctioning collections of the Duke & Duchess of Windsor and Elton John. Fr Patrick is the Cathedral Precentor and Prefect of the Sacristy. He oversees the liturgy and coordinates special services, liaising with the Music Department. As founder of the Christian.art website, he offers daily meditations of gospel readings accompanied by sacred art, as well as video presentations on sacred art.
Duncan G. Stroik, architect, scholar, and advocate for sacred architecture. As a Professor of Architecture at Notre Dame and founding editor of Sacred Architecture Journal, Stroik is celebrated for designing liturgical masterpieces like Our Lady of the Most Holy Trinity Chapel in California. His writings, including The Church Building as a Sacred Place, offer guidance on how beauty can elevate worship.
Dr. Barbara Nicolosi, screenwriter, producer, and cultural prophet. With 23 years in Hollywood and membership in the Writers Guild of America-West, Nicolosi blends faith and mainstream storytelling. Her credits include Fatima (2020) and The Last Supper (2025) and theological consultant to Mel Gibson for The Passion of the Christ (2004).
Dr. Mark Nowakowski, composer bridging tradition and innovation. As composer-in-residence for His Majesty’s Men and composer for the Mass of the Ages trilogy, Nowakowski’s music has been released on the Naxos and DUX labels. He will speak about the unique dignity of the vocation of the arts of the beautiful.
David Riccio, conservator and plaster-gilding specialist. As a principal at Canning Liturgical Arts, Riccio is a leading expert in historical plaster, decorative painting, and gilding, having directed restoration on landmarks including the Shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe in Wisconsin and The Basilica of the Sacred Heart of Jesus in Pennsylvania.
Event Highlights
Opening Mass (September 19) – A Votive Mass of Bl. Fra Angelico at the Dominican House of Studies Chapel, accompanied by choral selections of Palestrina and Guillaume Du Fay.
Friday & Saturday, Presentations & Receptions – Each followed by moderated Q&As, with a VIP Reception on Friday for VIP ticket holders to engage with the speakers and a general reception on Saturday for all conference attendees.
Exhibitors – Canning Liturgical Arts, Albl Oberammergau, Conrad Schmitt Studios, Evergreen Architectural Arts, Exquisite Art, King Richard's Liturgical Design, Harrison Design Architecture, St. Augustine Academy Press, and Willet Studios will be exhibiting and meeting with conference attendees.
Additional Sponsors: The Non Profit Solution, New Jerusalem Studios, Atelier Sirio. Liturgical Arts Journal.
Tickets & Participation
Member rate: $300; Non-member: $350; VIP: $400 (includes reserved front seating and access to VIP reception).
Registration closes September 16, 2025. No walk-ins.
Saint Augustine of Hippo, whose feast we celebrate tmorrow, left an indelible mark on the theology of Western Christianity, as well as on the priesthood and religious life. Augustine was one of the earliest bishops to establish what were later called Canons Regular, originally, priests that live with their bishop and share a common life, and his Rule led to the formation of several religious orders. The largest and most familiar of these is the Order of Saint Augustine (OSA), founded in 1244 and originally known as the Hermits of Saint Augustine (OESA). Our current Pontiff, Pope Leo XIV, is the only member of this order to have assumed the throne of Peter.
Before Vatican II, the old Augustinians kept several feasts of their own, including a vigil on August 27 in preparation for St. Augustine’s feast day (August 28) and an octave in his honor that ended on September 4. Here are the Orations and Preface for the festal Mass on August 28.
The Collect is:
Deus, qui abditiora sapientiae tuae arcana beato Patri Augustino revelando, et divinae caritatis flammas in ejus corde excitando, miraculum columnae nubis et ignis in Ecclesia tua renovasti; concede: ut ejus ductu mundi vortices feliciter transeamus, et ad aeternam promissionis patriam pervenire mereamur. Per Dominum.
Which I translate as:
O God, who by revealing the more hidden secrets of Your wisdom to blessed Father Augustine and who by fanning in his heart the flames of divine charity, You renewed in Your Church the miracle of the pillar of cloud and fire: grant that by his leadership we may happily pass through the world’s eddies and be worthy of reaching the eternal and promised homeland. Through our Lord.
There is a clever parallelism between Augustine’s clarifying wisdom (dispelling, we imagine, the fog of ignorance) and his ardent heart on one hand and the biblical pillar of cloud and fire on the other. That pillar led the Hebrews in the wilderness, and this Collect asks God to make Augustine our leader (ejus ductu can also mean “by his generalship”) as we pass through the eddies of life (the Red Sea?) to reach the Promised Land. Augustine is thus both a new pillar and a new Moses.
I also note that here in the Collect as well as in the Secret and Postcommunion, all the second-person-singular verbs in the perfect past tense (which, addressing God, describe what He has done) are syncopated. [1] In Latin, a syncopated verb is when a ‘v’ is dropped and a vowel contracted. Although it can be compared to an English contraction such as “can’t,” there is no whiff of informality as there is in English. And although syncopated verbs are not unheard of in the ancient Roman Orations, they are not as concentrated as they are here. I suspect this concentration betrays the influence of the times, after the reintroduction of classical Latin during the Renaissance.
The Secret is:
Omnipotens sempiterne Deus, qui praeclaro sapientiae lumine, beati Patris nostri Augustini mentem illustrasti, et sancti amoris jaculo ejusdem cor transverberasti: da nobis famulis tuis; ut illius doctrinae et caritatis participes effici mereamur. Per Dominum.
Which I translate as:
Almighty, everlasting God, who illuminated the mind our blessed Father Augustine with the splendid light of wisdom and transfixed his heart with the dart of holy love: grant to us Your servants that we may be worthy of being made partakers of his teaching and charity. Through our Lord.
The Secret retains the theme of Augustine’s brilliant intellect and his charitable heart. Christian art often portrays Augustine holding his heart pierced by a dart or arrow.
Symbol of the Order of Saint Augustine, which His Holiness Pope Leo XIV incorporated into his coat of arms.
The Mass also has its own Preface:
Vere dignum et justum est, aequum et salutare, nos tibi semper et ubique gratias agere, Domine sancte, Pater omnipotens, aeterne Deus: Quia vas electionis tuae et lux Doctorum mellifluus Augustinus, toto terrarum orbe radio mirae claritatis infulsit: et Ecclesiam sanctam fidei orthodoxae vere Augustinus illustravit: destruxit haereses; errores repulit: haereticosque prostravit: ac status fidelium universae christianae vitae, Augustinus moribus decoravit. Clericos docuit; laicos monuit; devios in viam veritatis reduxit; cunctorumque conditionibus salubriter providendo, tuam in hoc mari naviculam Augustinus provide gubernavit. Et ideo cum Angelis et Archangelis, cum Thronis et Dominationibus, cumque omni militia caelestis exercitus, hymnum gloriae tuae canimus, sine fine dicentes:
Which I translate as:
It is truly meet and just, right and salutary, that we should at all times and in all places, give thanks to You, O holy Lord, Father almighty, everlasting God; because the vessel of Your Election and the light of the Doctors, the mellifluous Augustine, enlightened the entire world with a ray of marvelous brilliance. And Augustine illuminated the Holy Church with a truly orthodox Faith; he destroyed heresies; he refuted errors; he brought low the heretics; and the status of all the faithful of a Christian life, Augustine decorated with his deeds. He taught the clergy; he admonished the laity; the returned the wayward to the Way of truth; and by salubriously providing in all conditions, Augustine providently piloted Your ship in this sea. And therefore, with the Angels and Archangels…
With its numerous short sentences and almost random placements of Augustine’s name, this Preface is far from being a model of the genius of the Roman Rite. But it does provide a fairly accurate (albeit meandering) biography of the Saint, who famously battled several heresies as well as the Donatist schism. The one glaring omission is mention of Augustine’s notorious past as a sinner. Perhaps it is indecorous when speaking of our Blessed Father to bring up his wild youth.
The Postcommunion is:
Fove, Domine, familiam tuam muneribus sacris, quam caelesti libamine recreasti: et, ut solemnia sancti Patris nostri Augustini devote concelebret; infunde lumen supernae cognitionis et flammam aeternae caritatis. Per Dominum.
Which I translate as:
Foster, O Lord, Your family, which You have revived with [these] sacred offerings and heavenly libation; and, so that it may celebrate devoutly the Feast of our holy Father Saint Augustine, pour onto it the light of supernal thinking and the flame of eternal charity. Through our Lord.
Again we see the double theme of Augustine’s intellect and will, both of which his spiritual children wish to emulate. “Light of supernal thinking” is an awkward translation of lumen supernae cognitionis; I chose “supernal” because it simply means “from above” rather than something more theologically specific, such as “supernatural” or “infused.” Augustine saw the world through the eyes of God, from a divine viewpoint, and we wish to do so as well. I also chose “thinking” rather than “thought” because I assume it is better to have a habit of thinking and of discovery that makes one a better knower rather than a series of thoughts that are injected into the mind.
But since the greatest thinkers are nothing without charity, we also ask for Augustine’s impassioned love of God and neighbor. Augustine’s first biographer Possidius wrote that as impressive as Augustine’s writings were, they pale in comparison to his daily deeds:
From his writing assuredly it is manifest that this priest, beloved and acceptable to God, lived uprightly and soberly in the faith, hope and love of the Catholic Church in so far as he was permitted to see it by the light of truth, and those who read his works on divine subjects profit thereby. But I believe that they were able to derive greater good from him who heard and saw him as he spoke in person in the church, and especially those who knew well his manner of life among men. For not only was he a “scribe instructed unto the kingdom of heaven, which bringeth forth out of his treasure things new and old,” and one of those merchants who "when he had found the pearl of great price, sold all that he had and bought it," but he was also one of those of whom it is written : “So speak ye and so do,” and of whom the Saviour said: “Whosoever shall so do and teach men, the same shall be called great in the kingdom of heaven.” [2]
Notes
[1] The verbs are renovasti in the Collect, illustrasti and transverberasti in the Secret, and recreasti in the Postcommunion.
[2] Possidius, Sancti Augustini vita, trans. Herbert Theberath Weiskotten, (Princeton University Press, 1919), 143-44.
I’ve come across a discussion circulating on Brazilian liturgical Instagram pages dismissing a particular gesture—hands joined with fingers extended and touching, instead of folded—as something invented, lacking any historical grounding.
I’ve seen photos, like those of Cardinal Dante using this posture, and I’m convinced it’s rooted in liturgical tradition, not just modern preference. However, I’ve struggled to find solid written sources or rubrical references that explicitly mention or explain this gesture.
Do readers happen to know of any official rubrics, commentaries, or scholarly works that support the legitimacy or origin of this specific form of joined hands? My best guess is that it’s a kind of “courtly” gesture, not something formally documented, but passed down organically through tradition. But I would like to be proved incorrect!
UPDATE: A resourceful seminarian reader, whose comment on Stercky I shared below after the article, sent me two interesting old images in which one can see the old-style surplice that would have required holding hands together to keep it aloft:
Unlock the timeless beauty of Gregorian chant through the key of modality, with the Catholic Institute of Sacred Music’s 9-part online workshop series, starting Monday, September 15, at 5:30 p.m. PT (8:30 p.m. ET).
Whether you’re a choir member or director, this engaging Zoom-based series is designed to deepen your musical understanding and mastery of the Gregorian repertory.
I’ll begin the series with a clear, theoretical introduction to Gregorian modality, laying a strong foundation for singing the psalm tones and understanding the unique characteristics of the Gregorian repertory in each mode. Through carefully guided solfège exercises, you’ll build confidence in sight-singing, and sharpen your ear to navigate modal changes across the repertory with ease. Even if you’re new to chant notation, ease in reading will be gained through this immersion in the pitch content of the chant.
Beyond these fundamentals, you’ll also learn to design targeted warm-ups that align with the modes and musical highlights of the particular chants you’ll cover in a rehearsal, helping you make rehearsals more efficient so that the Gregorian repertory can play a greater role in the liturgies of your parish. Additionally, we’ll develop analytical skills to interpret the musical grammar and structure of the chant repertory in light of the modes, empowering you to sing and direct chants with artistry and insight, making intelligent decisions about phrasing and breath.
This workshop is ideal for anyone passionate about growing as a musician within the Church’s treasury of sacred music.
If the hour for live instruction doesn’t work for you, or you’d like to be able to review each class, an optional add-on is available for archived access in perpetuity. Instruction is $60 for the 9 live sessions, and $10 extra ($70 total) for live instruction plus archived access.
Call for Artists - An Image of Mary Needed to Portray an Ancient Symbol of the Theotokos!
St. Romanos the Melodist, who died in 556 AD, is credited with writing many of the hymns of the Byzantine liturgy. One of the most famous hymns associated with him (although we don’t know for certain that he wrote it) is the Akathist Hymn, which praises the Mother of God, the Theotokos; it is one of the most beloved services in the Byzantine Church. It was composed in Constantinople, “the city of the Virgin,” and consists of 8 strophes, known as ‘Odes’, each of which contains allegorical references to Our Lady in beautiful poetic language and imagery. Typically, the starting point for this imagery is a symbolic reference to Christ, for example, the grapes, an image which alludes to the wine in the Eucharist. Then Mary is described through an extension of this imagery to something closely associated with it. I described this way of generating symbolism for Mary in a post earlier this year about the symbolism of Mary in images of the hospitality of Abraham.
If I were an artist seeking a source for new images of Mary that sit within the tradition, this would be the first place I would look. There is so much symbolism contained within it the Akathist that, to my knowledge, much of it has never been represented visually. I do not know if Romanos was composing this imagery, or reflecting in his poetry that which was already part of the tradition. Perhaps it was a bit of both. However, to the degree that he is the original source, his composition has become hugely influential, as so much of what it contains appears across the tradition of liturgical hymns to the Blessed Mother in both East and West.
For example, taking that example given above in which Mary is the vine. This appears in the Akathist hymn.
Ode VII: O Most holy Theotokos, save us!
We praise you and cry out to you: Hail, mystical chariot of the living Sun! True vine who has given forth a full-grown Cluster, dripping with spiritual wine to fill with joy those who faithfully sing your praise!
I am not aware of paintings that make this connection explicitly (readers may have some thoughts here), but I do immediately think of the mosaic in San Clemente in Rome, dating from the 12th century. I do not know if this trailing vine that becomes the tree of the cross, so to speak, and which bears the Fruit of the Tree of Life, Christ, has been associated with Our Lady. But it could be, it seems to me.
It also seems natural, as a corollary to this, to have imagery of Mary as the source that nurtures the grain that becomes the bread, and subsequently the Body of Christ in the Eucharist. This imagery also appears in the Akathist Hymn:
Ode III: O Most holy Theotokos, save us!
Hail, mystical earth, who, without ploughing, has given forth a Wheat divine! Hail, living table that supports the Bread of life! Hail, O Lady, unfailing fountain of the living Water!
However, although I am aware that bread often appears in sacred art, clearly, and even grain, but not a field, the reference to the field as ‘untilled’ is clearly an allusion to Mary’s Perpetual Virginity.
John Constable’s Cornfield, shown below, was not intended as an allusion to Mary. Still, it can now serve as an inspiration for us to see Her in the ordinary images of everyday life. The lost sheep, and you and I-as observers of the painting—numbered among them—are finding their way to Christ, who is the Wheat in the field. It seems that Kansas could be considered an image of Mary in this way—the Corn Belt is Mary Land! How great is that!
Here is my first artist contribution to the new prototype. It is not liturgical art, but an ex post facto attribution to a painting of a field created a couple of years ago. I can now tell people who visit our house that this represents Mary, and the shaft of sunlight is the Holy Spirit; this then becomes an allegory of the Annunciation!
This last suggestion is somewhat tongue-in-cheek, but it makes a point that I do think is important. The re-establishment of tradition is not restricted to rediscovering the past. Rather, it is one in which we re-establish the principles that underlie it. Once this is done, our fresh reading of the Book of Creation in the light of tradition can give rise not just to new paintings but to an expanding and vibrant symbolism that speaks to the modern era, enlivening the Faith and stimulating greater awe and wonder at Creation itself.
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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