Although the Ambrosian Divine Office shares many features with that of the Roman Rite, its structure is different in almost every respect. Vespers begins not with psalmody, but with a Lucernarium, a responsory originally sung while the lamps of the church were being lit. This is often (but not always) followed by an antiphon called “in choro”, because it was originally sung by the cantors standing around the throne of the celebrant. At Second Vespers of the Epiphany, this antiphon is repeated four times; traditionally, the first repetition was followed by three Kyrie eleisons, the second by Gloria Patri, the third by Sicut erat, and the fourth by three more Kyrie eleisons.
The following recording of the antiphon in choro for Epiphany was taken on Tuesday at the church of Santa Maria della Consolazione in Milan, during the solemn celebration of Second Vespers. (The video track freezes early on.) The printed music and text are given below. Many chants of the Ambrosian Office are sung multiple times by different persons or groups within the choir, a custom which was followed by the cantors at this ceremony.
Nicola de’ Grandi took an old photo of the choir of the Duomo of Milan during the chanting of this antiphon, and colorized it; the result is very nice.
In his Canticle of the Sun, Saint Francis of Assisi has this to say about fire:
Laudato si, mi Signore, per frate Focu,
per lo quale ennallumini la nocte:
ed ello è bello et iucundo et robustoso et forte.
Which I translate as:
Praised be You, my Lord, through Brother Fire,
through whom you light the night and he is beautiful
and playful and robust and strong.
In the natural world, fire can be a destructive force, obliterating neighborhoods and forests. In the Catholic imagination, fire often represents bad things, such as the vices that burn within our souls. And of course, both eternal punishment and temporal punishment in the afterlife are described in terms of fire: the everlasting inferno of Hell and the refiner’s fire that is Purgatory.
On the other hand, the same Catholic imagination sees fire in a positive light. The Holy Spirit appeared as tongues of flame at the first Pentecost, setting the hearts of the disciples on fire with a love of God. There is an old blessing of fire that praises it for piercing the gloom of darkness. And the blessing of fire on Holy Saturday is an important prelude to the blessing of the Paschal Candle. It is also interesting that the Church insists that fire be present at every sacrifice of the Mass (in the form of lit candles) no matter how brightly lit the altar is.
Elijah calls down fire from Heaven
On a natural level, the management of fire is said to be one of the key elements in the development of our species, separating us decisively from the rest of the animal kingdom. That is certainly the point of the legend about Prometheus, who stole fire from the gods and gave it to man. Fire exponentially increases our (delicious) food options, keeps us warm, and brings us light.
Saint Francis chooses to look at the bright side of fire when he talks about his brother, describing him as beautiful and playful and robust and strong.
Fire can certainly be beautiful. Henry David Thoreau (1817-62) thought we were fools to move one of the most beautiful sights in the world—a living fire—from the fireplace to a furnace in the basement. And fire is also playful: after all, it dances. Finally, fire is robust and strong, especially with the right fuel like a nice, dry, crackling log.
There is a charming story regarding Saint Francis of Assisi and fire. Saint Clare had asked to dine with Saint Francis, and after saying no several times, he finally agreed at the urging of his disciples. Francis had the table set on the bare ground, which was his custom. The two saints sat down along with several of their companions. As the first course was being served, Francis began speaking of God so sweetly and profoundly that the entire group went into a rapture. Meanwhile, it appeared to the residents of Assisi that Francis’ church (St. Mary of the Angels) and the entire forest around it were on fire. Grabbing their extinguishers and what not, they raced to where the group was dining, only to find them safe and sound, rapt in contemplation. According to the collection of stories known as the Little Flowers: “Then they knew for sure that it had been a heavenly and not a material fire that God had miraculously shown them to symbolize the fire of divine love which was burning in the souls of those holy friars and nuns.” Happy and relieved, they withdrew.
The ecstasy of Francis and his companions lasted a long time, and when it was over, all were so refreshed by spiritual food that none of them had a bite of their actual meal.
This article originally appeared in the Messenger of St. Anthony 127:9, international edition (September 2025), p. 15. Many thanks to its editors for allowing its publication here.
Catholics in the Nashville area: a Gregorian chant workshop not to be missed! Starts January 17, runs most Saturdays from 8-9:30am. Full details in the brochure pictured below.
I have had occasion in the past to highlight the treasures to be found in the writings of Mother Mectilde de Bar (1614-98), whose works, though well known in their original French and in Italian translation, have only recently begun to be published on a large scale in English.
Chapter 10 of The True Spirit takes the form of an extended meditation on the nativity of Christ, which, as we are still in the larger Christmas season, seems fitting to share for the edification of our readers. I find striking the naturalness with which she draws on language from the Roman Canon, combining it with verses from both testaments, combining Scripture and Tradition in one mighty flood of fervor.
* * *
I cannot enter into the solemnity of this holy day without inviting you to come to adore greatness humbled, power become weakness, infinite majesty reduced to nothing, eternal Wisdom become a babe, immensity in miniature, and the Holy of Holies, the one whom the seraphim extol as thrice holy, reduced to the likeness of a sinner, and as St. Paul says, made sin, in order to become the victim for sinners. Here, come to earth, is the pure victim, the holy victim, the spotless victim....
Oh holy day! Oh glorious day! Oh sacred moment, in which Jesus becomes a babe and in which the august Trinity receives from Him an infinite glory and delight. Oh day of love! Oh day of joy! Gaudium magnum. Oh day of blessing and glory. Gloria in excelsis Deo. Oh day so ardently desired, which restores the reign and kingdom of God over all mankind. Day beyond description because of its excellence, but which we should bless and love with all our hearts, since it re-establishes us in peace: Et in terra pax hominibus bonae voluntatis.
The causes of our jubilation are the humiliations, poverty, contempt, sufferings, annihilations, and death of a God. Jesus comes into the world, in our flesh, to be the victim of the divine justice and holiness. He comes to be sacrificed and to lose His life, and this is our joy. Oh depth! Oh abyss full of mysteries! The miseries, the pains, the poverty, the humiliations of a God, all this causes our felicity. Yes, this is the happiness and hope of our eternal destiny; for it is by being born, suffering, and dying that He begins to reconcile us with His Father.
Since we receive such great benefits from the Child-God, let us go to pay Him homage; let us go to gaze upon Him in the stable, on the straw where He makes His first sacrifice in the capacity of victim. Oh Jesus, Child-God! As soon as You appear on earth, You are destined to die, You breathe only sacrifice; and the love that drew You from the bosom of Your Father brings You to the Cross and to death. This was the first act You made on coming into the world, immolating Yourself to give an infinite glory and honor to Your Father, and to make reparation for the insults He received through the sins of men. Oh Jesus! From this moment we should regard You as a host. You came to die, and by dying You give us life.
Grant us the grace that the moment of Your birth may be the moment of our death; that Your life alone may be our life. We ask You, Lord, to annihilate our life, so that we may have no other life than Yours. That is what He desires of us, my Sisters. Therefore, let us cease to live [a natural life].
But how? Let us stop pursuing our own interests, following our humors, loving vanity and creatures. Let us stop being submerged in our senses, acting as if we were self-sufficient. God becomes a child for us to teach us littleness, simplicity, docility, surrender, abandonment, poverty, and so on. Let us bring to Him our poverty, our weaknesses, our darkness, our infirmities, our ignorance, our afflictions, our temptations, our sufferings, our abjection. All of this will be leasing to Him; a child receives everything given to him. He does not expect heavenly gifts from us. He knows that we are in the world of sinners, which only brings forth thorns and thistles. It is pride for us to want to give Him what we do not have. He came to clothe Himself in our miseries and to bear our sorrows, as it says in the Prophet; since He came to take these on Himself, can we give Him anything else?
Let us stay at His feet, adoring Him along with His most holy Mother, and offer Him our poverty; provided we give it to Him gladly, He will be content. In exchange, He will give us the graces, virtues, and mercies contained in His littleness. Let us not leave Him, let us gaze at Him ceaselessly; and if we have no other way to honor Him than to behold Him, He will be very pleased with that, and our souls will be strengthened from it. (pp. 67-69)
Let us speak of Your poverty, oh my Savior! Alas! Who can comprehend it? A life poor, unknown, and suffering. A life of unfathomable privation: poor in the womb of His glorious Mother, poor in the manger, poor on the flight into Egypt, poor in the house of St. Joseph, poor in the desert of His penitence, poor in His public life, poor on the Cross, poor in His death, and prodigiously poor in His divine Eucharist! This extraordinary poverty gives an infinite glory to God His Father and makes Him reign fully. This same kingdom of God is ours, but only the one who is perfectly poor understands it. Those who do not have a pure heart will never possess it; it is shown only to the poor and the little, who are no longer anything in themselves, to those who are buried in littleness and nothingness. When everything in the soul is consumed in this way, then Jesus rises like a glorious sun in the sky of the soul (which is the deepest part of its mind and of its substance), and He sheds His divine rays, which fill the soul’s interior completely, with glory, joy, love, and blessing beyond description. (p. 94)
The composer’s challenge of writing a Mass setting in the sixteenth century presented itself on a more local level - a setting to be sung in a certain place and time, mindful of the wishes of a patron, and perhaps with a mind towards publication and use elsewhere. Received in an environment integrally linked to liturgical practice, a Mass did not have to make a case for its existence. Even in the nineteenth century, the liturgical practice yet served as a justification for the text which might now be set for a concert setting, aimed at dramatic effect, particularly in the Requiem.
What can be said today? Mass settings are heard in the liturgical context only by a small subset of people. The average Catholics who regularly attend Mass rarely hear something approaching the artistic integrity of a Mass by Palestrina or Rheinberger. The average concert-goer, too, rarely hears a Mass and then usually only the occasional Requiem which, for them, has lost its cultural cachet as something used in religious practice. The Mass presents in our time as an artifact of some long-lost culture, perhaps interesting as a museum piece or an homage to a bygone era. Catholic practice for the average parish, too, is often yet bereft of the hearing of artistically substantial works, presenting a challenge for the intrepid music director to help Catholics feel at home in beautiful works which might seem to them as “a concert at Mass.” There are many miles to be traversed to plant the seeds of a rich culture for reception of the Mass, and certainly readers of the NLM know and are engaged in this project of the re-Christianization of culture and the re-sacralization of liturgical practice.
The current culture presents a particular challenge (and opportunity) for the modern composer: can one compose something that stands on its own as artistically significant in a concert setting so as to draw people into the mysteries bespoken, and yet can it be actually used in a liturgical setting, fulfilling the purposes and qualities of sacred music the Church requires? Or, perhaps the concert aspect is to be shriven altogether, focusing again on the local instantiation as in olden times, again focusing on a culture of lived liturgical practice.
Sir James MacMillan has been writing Masses for a long time in his illustrious career, and is uniquely skilled in our time at writing which makes a case for the Mass, preaching the mysteries of the Mass to the concert-going audience and yet writing for parish and cathedral choirs music the Church gladly receives as part of the treasury of sacred music.
MacMillan’s Missa Brevis, written when he was just 17 but not premiered until 30 years later, displays the remarkable skill of a young composer.
The Catholic Institute of Sacred Music is happy to invite you to the first event of its spring term of its fourth annual Public Lecture and Concert Series to explore this topic with Sir James. The lecture, available online for free or a suggested donation of $20, will feature some of Sir James’ movements from Masses and an opportunity for Q&A. The lecture will be held online via Zoom; an RSVP is required.
We continue Luisella Scrosati’s series on the orientation of Christian worship with her sixth part, “Perché guardare ad est“, originally published in Italian on the website of La Nuova Bussola Quotidiana on December 14, and reproduced here by permission of the editors. (Read Part 1; Part 2; Part 3; Part 4; Part 5)
Why did Christians insist so much on praying towards the east? Why did they do everything possible to build churches and altars oriented in that direction? Why so much attention and insistence?
Before investigating the rich meaning of the orientation of prayer, which we have already presented in part (see here), it is necessary to recall a fundamental principle that we have forgotten in the spiritualism that has invaded the Catholic world, a spiritualism that translates into an exclusivity of interiority to the detriment of exteriority. Damascene writes:
It is not without reason or by chance that we prostrate ourselves in adoration towards the east, but it is because we are constituted by visible and invisible nature, that is, intelligible and sensible, so that we perform a twofold adoration directed towards the Creator. (Exposition of the Faith, 85)
Our human nature has this twofold dimension; it is in its integrity that it is called to worship God. It is quite evident to contemporary man that a division that sacrifices the invisible and intelligible aspect of worship can lead to a purely formal, sterile, and empty worship; on the other hand, the opposite seems less felt and understood, namely, that the elimination of the visible and sensible dimension in worship creates no less of a problem. Whichever way you look at it, a “schizophrenia” in worship always entails a sickness of the religious man.
Faced with the complacency with which some today would dismiss the problem of the orientation of prayer – the kind of person who says “the important thing is to pray” (and nothing else) – the Christians of the centuries that preceded us, up to the dawn of modernity, knew very well that this physical orientation expresses and conditions the inner orientation of life.
In his Rationale Divinorum Officiorum, to which I already referred in the previous article of this series, William Durandus summarizes the stratification of meanings and mysteries that oriented prayer confesses, and recalls the power and simplicity of a bodily posture. We look to the east, primarily because our whole being is turned toward Christ, “the splendor of eternal light,” who visited us like the sun rising from on high to enlighten us, immersed in darkness and the shadow of death (cf. Luke 1, 78). Turning our bodies toward this earthly light, which since creation has been a sign of the light of Christ the Redeemer, we are also exhorted, Durandus explains, “to turn our minds to higher realities.” In this latter respect, looking toward the east has the same meaning as turning our gaze upward in prayer.
The third reason he offers is a curious one: “because those who want to praise God must not turn their backs on him.” Who knows what Durandus would say about our liturgical gatherings! In reality, it is the “negative” corollary of the first two and further emphasizes the importance of the bodily gesture. Paying attention to orienting one’s body in a certain direction, a gesture that reminds the soul that it too is called to orient itself, to tune in to God, means at the same time spurring it not to forget God by turning its back on him.
It is interesting to note that in the rite of Baptism, the catechumen was asked to confess his faith by turning to the east, while turning his back on the kingdom of darkness, symbolized by the west, which he was determined to renounce forever. This rite is like the photographic negative of what Durandus expresses and marks once again that Christian life is essentially a turning towards the light of Christ: “The night is far gone, the day is at hand. Let us then cast off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light” (Rom 13, 12).
Durandus, who is generally inspired by St. John Damascene on this theme, explicitly refers to it when he indicates the orientation of prayer as the search for our true homeland.
Scripture adds: “Then the Lord planted a garden in Eden, in the East, and placed there the man whom he had formed” (cf. Gen 2, 8) and who, having violated the divine command, was banished from the delights of the garden, evidently to the West. Seeking our original homeland and keeping our gaze fixed on it, we worship God. (Exposition of the Faith, 85)
Orientation is decisive in constantly reminding man that he is in search of another homeland, that his heart must not settle for the false delights of this world: his original condition is different, and so is the eternal destiny to which he is called. Every time we look to the east, we confess the infinite goodness of God who created us in integrity and grace, and we shed tears of nostalgia for our lost condition and of desire for the true homeland that is promised to us. Looking to the east therefore means rejecting any attempt at a worldly Christianity, a Christianity that presumes to build the city of man, forgetting the City of God, the “new heavens and a new earth, in which righteousness shall dwell” (2 Peter 3:13).
Looking to the east, we also meet the gaze of Christ who, from the cross, “looked to the west,” toward that kingdom of darkness from which he was about to rescue us with the Cross. Meeting this gaze softens the hardness of the heart and causes new tears of gratitude and repentance to flow, while we await his return as judge with fear and hope. In fact, says Damascene,
Christ, rising up, ascended towards the East, and in this way the apostles worship him, and so he will come again in the way he was seen departing towards heaven…. Therefore, ready to welcome him from the East, we turn towards it and worship him. (Ibid.)
By this gesture we confess that history does not lead to absurdity, does not lead to the triumph of evil, despite appearances to the contrary; nor is it a circle closed in on itself and always the same. It goes towards the infallible and unappealable judgment of Christ, who will reveal the thoughts of every heart.
The orientation of prayer thus synthesizes the entire Christian revelation on the origin of man and his redemption, on his eternal destiny, on the direction of history, uniting it with the symbolic reality of creation.
Few other gestures can hold so many meanings and unleash their power. Every time the Christian people (and each individual) remembers to turn towards the east for prayer, they confess and reinvigorate the great hope of the Church, which awaits, renewed by tears, the arrival of her Bridegroom, who “comes forth from his bridal chamber” (Ps 19, 5), like the sun peering over the horizon in the east.
The hour is uncertain but the coming is certain – the moment when, suddenly, we will hear the voice that will shake us from our sleep: “Behold, the bridegroom! Go out to meet him!” (Mt 25, 6). And blessed are those who, with readiness, will turn toward the east to welcome the coming Christ.
The feast of the Epiphany is one of the richest of the Church’s liturgical year, commemorating several different events in the life of Our Lord. The Roman and other western rites have traditionally laid the strongest emphasis on the visit of the three Magi to the infant Jesus, which is recounted in the Gospel of the feast; the paintings and sarcophagi from the catacombs of Rome attest to the great antiquity of this tradition. In the Byzantine Rite, on the other hand, the visit to the Magi is read on Christmas Day, and the Epiphany is principally focused on the Baptism of the Lord, as may be seen in the icon of the feast. The Roman Rite traditionally assigns the celebration of this latter event to the octave day of the Epiphany, which was officially renamed “the Baptism of the Lord” in the 1961 rubrical reform; this change was carried over into the post-Conciliar liturgy. The Epiphany is also traditionally the day on which the date of Easter is announced to the faithful, and the feast and its vigil are the occasion of several blessings in the Rituale.
The Adoration of the Magi, depicted on a Christian sarcophagus of the 4th century, now in the Pio-Christian collection of the Vatican Museums.
At the first Mass of Christmas, the Church reads the revelation of the Incarnation to the people of the ancient covenant, represented by the shepherds; at the dawn Mass, these men of humble estate come to Bethlehem, and behold the Creator of the Universe as an infant sleeping in a manger. This private manifestation of God to the people of Israel on Christmas is complemented by a similarly private manifestation on Epiphany to the nations of the world, in the persons of the Magi. As St Fulgentius says in a sermon read during the octave of the Epiphany, “The shepherds were the first-fruits of the Jews; the Magi have become the first-fruits of the gentiles.” St Matthew does not say that the Wise Men found the Holy Family still at the stable in Bethlehem, where they had been found earlier by the shepherds, but the Church’s artistic tradition has depicted it thus, precisely to emphasize the connection between these two “epiphanies”.
The last antiphon of Christmas Matins is “God hath made known, alleluja, his salvation, alleluja,” words which are repeated at both Lauds and Vespers; the psalm from which they are taken, Psalm 97, has been associated with the Nativity of the Lord from very ancient times. A subsequent verse of the same psalm is sung as the communion antiphon of the third and most solemn of the three Christmas Masses, and is repeated several times during the octave: “All the ends of the earth have seen the salvation of our God.” These words are fulfilled in the Epiphany, when the representatives of the ends of the earth, the Magi, come to worship the Christ Child, God Incarnate for our salvation. Therefore, although the Gospel does not say how many they were, Christian art from the earliest times (and especially in Rome) has usually shown them as three, representing the three parts of the world known to ancient peoples, Asia, Africa and Europe, descendents of the three sons of Noah.
The Adoration of the Magi, by Flemish painter Gerard David, ca. 1490.
From the earliest times, the Roman Gospel of the third Mass of Christmas has been the Prologue of St John (1, 1-14); this is attested already in the middle of the seventh century in the very oldest lectionary of the Roman Rite, the Comes Romanus of Wurzburg. In the high Middle Ages, the custom emerged of reading this same text at the end of the Mass, as part of the celebrant’s thanksgiving. At the third Mass of Christmas, therefore, the Gospel of the Epiphany was read in its place, uniting the revelation of the Incarnate Word to Israel with His revelation to the nations. It is worth noting that the Gospels of both Christmas and Epiphany end with a genuflection, by which we imitate the Magi in kneeling before the Divine Infant, just as we honor the Incarnation every Sunday by genuflecting during the Creed at the words “Et incarnatus est.” (The 1961 rubrical reform of Pope St John XXIII prescribes that there be no last Gospel at this Mass.)
In the Middle Ages, another pair of Gospels was added to the liturgy to associate the feasts of Christmas and Epiphany. At Matins of Christmas, the Genealogy of Christ according to St Matthew (1, 1-16) was sung before the Te Deum and the Midnight Mass, at Epiphany Matins, the Genealogy according to St Luke (3, 21 – 4, 1). Both of these were normally sung with the same ceremonies that accompany the singing of the Gospel at Solemn Mass. Since these texts are fairly repetitive, musicians composed special and elaborate music for them; they were often set for two deacons or groups of deacons, who would alternate the verses.
St Matthew’ genealogy was clearly chosen for Christmas because it ends with St Joseph, “the husband of Mary, from whom was born Jesus, that is called Christ.” In German-speaking lands, it was usually follow by the antiphon “O mundi Domina”, a final O antiphon on the cusp between Advent and Christmas. That of St Luke was then assigned to Epiphany because it is preceded by an account of the Baptism of Christ (vs. 21-23), one of the principal events commemorated by the feast. This Gospel ends with Christ departing into the desert “lead by the Spirit”, a distant prelude to the coming Lenten fast. Commenting on the reason why these two Gospels are read on their respective feasts, Sicard of Cremona writes in about 1200, “Matthew reckons (the genealogy) by descending (from Abraham to Joseph), because he is describing the humanity of Christ, by which He descends to us. Luke recounts (the genealogy) ascending, since from the baptized One he ascends to God, showing the effects of baptism; because the baptized become sons of God.” (Mitrale, V, 6)
Folio 19r of the Schuttern Gospels, an early 9th century illuminated manuscript produced at the Abbey of Schuttern in Baden-Württemberg, Germany.
These texts occur in virtually every use of the Roman Rite except that of the Roman Curia itself, the ancestor of the Breviary of St. Pius V; they were retained after the Tridentine reform in the proper breviaries of certain religious orders, including the Premonstratensians, Dominicans, and Carmelites of the Ancient Observance.
An equally nice version of the Genealogy according to St Matthew from Christmas Matins, sung by the Schola Hungarica; brevitatis causa, the names between “the wife of Uriah” and Jacob, the father of St Joseph, are omitted in this recording. (There is small mistake at the very beginning; the word “autem” is incorrectly added after the name of Abraham.)
Also from the Schola Hungarica, the antiphon “O mundi Domina”; the music is very similar to that of the standard seven O antiphons of Advent.
Aña O mundi Domina, regio ex semine orta, ex tuo jam processit Christus alvo, tamquam sponsus de thalamo; hic jacet in praesepio, qui et sidera regit. ~ O Lady of the world, born of royal descent, Christ hath now come forth from Thy womb, as a bridegroom from his chamber; he lieth in a manger, that also ruleth the stars.
Writing the Light’s 2-year Certificate, Starts Fall 2026, Applications Open Now.
If we want to see a genuine and widespread flourishing of sacred art in our churches, artists must learn to paint church interiors.
To participate authentically in the sacred liturgy, the environment in which we worship must foster an encounter with Christ in the Eucharist. This requires beautifully celebrated liturgies, as well as music, art, and architecture that harmonise with the actions of the celebrants and the congregation.
The frescoes at St Francis of Assisi, Baddesley Clinton, England, painted by contemporary English Catholic artist Martin Earle. See here for more infomation.
If the sacred art is to play its part in this, we need artists who can paint well and on a large scale, directly onto the walls and ceilings of our places of worship, creating sacred spaces that draw us powerfully into the encounter with Christ.
The Writing the Light School of Byzantine artist practice, under the internationally known icon painter George Kordis, now offers a full 2-year Certificate program. I would encourage all Catholic students who want to learn wall painting to consider this, regardless of the style they eventually hope to paint in. They will come out of the program with a facility in drawing and painting that is so great that they will be able to adapt what they learn to their chosen style. George, who is Greek Orthodox, is exceptionally open and friendly to non-Orthodox students. I attended an icon painting class with him in Crete in the summer of 2025, and about a third of the students were Catholic.
Although preserved most clearly in the Christian East, the Byzantine visual system is not foreign to Roman Catholicism. In fact, it formed the common artistic DNA of the undivided Church, which extended well into the second millennium in the West. Romanesque frescoes, early Gothic cycles, illuminated manuscripts, and even elements of early Renaissance sacred art all share its underlying principles:
● Rhythmic structuring of form
● Archetypal proportions
● Ordered movement of line
● Hierarchical composition
● A focus on theological meaning over naturalistic imitation
For contemporary Catholic artists seeking to recover a unified, theologically grounded approach to sacred imagery, this system offers a way forward.
The Sacred Space program embraces this shared heritage, offering Catholics a way to reconnect with the structural principles that once shaped the visual identity of Western sacred art.
Dr. George Kordis, who heads the program, is regarded as one of the top contemporary master iconographers working in this specialized field today, and it is at the interest and urging of many students around the world that Writing the Light has formed a separate 2-year program for those students who wish to include a special focus on church wall painting in their training. With exposure to a deeper understanding of the role of church painting and the elements of design on a larger scale, students will enter into a two-year program that encompasses theory, methodology, materials, professional best practices, and firsthand apprenticeship experience working with Dr. Kordis, select expert faculty, and learning in real time alongside Kordis’s church-painting team. The select group of students in this limited cohort will engage in the practice of techniques both online and in in-person residencies, culminating in an opportunity to paint a chapel in Greece alongside Dr. Kordis, as well as options for various internship and work/study opportunities.
St Edward the Confessor, the last Anglo-Saxon king of England, died on January 5th of the year 1066. His body was buried the following day in the church of a Benedictine abbey which he himself had built, in a tomb right in front of the altar. When he was canonized 95 years later by Pope Alexander III, a shrine was built for his relics, but this no longer exists, since the whole abbey, originally titled to St Peter, but known simply known as Westminster Abbey, was completely rebuilt in subsequent centuries. His feast day, October 13, is the date of this translation, which took place in 1163, under St Thomas Becket, who would also be canonized by the same Pope.
The shrine of St Edward is one of two such shrines in all of England which were not destroyed by the impiety of Henry VIII and his successors. (The other is of a Saint called Wite of whom nothing is known.) A few days ago, I stumbled across this very interesting video about it on the YouTube channel of a man named Allan Barton, which gives a nice summary of the history of his cultus, and of shrine chapel as it now stands in the abbey, and the relics which it preserves. The second video talks about the tombs of the Plantagenet monarchs which were later added to the chapel.
It is a well-known fact that there are several different themes to be found in the Mass and Office of January 1st, which is simultaneously the feast of the Circumcision, the octave of Christmas, and a celebration of the divine maternity of the Virgin Mary. Another element is one of protest against the excesses of the pagan celebration of the New Year; anciently, this was expressed in the Roman Rite by a special Mass “ad prohibendum ab idolis – to prohibit from idols”, also to be sung on that day.
The flight of the Holy Family into Egypt, with an idol falling from its pillar in the background, a traditional representation inspired by the words of Isaiah 19, 1, “Behold the Lord will ascend upon a swift cloud, and will enter into Egypt, and the idols of Egypt shall be moved at his presence.” (From the Hours of Chrétienne de France, 1470-75; Bibliothèque de l'Arsenal, Ms-562 réserve)
As I noted in an article last week, liturgical scholars in the pre-Conciliar period mistakenly believed that the commemoration of the Circumcision was adopted into the Roman Rite from the Gallican. This leaves the question of how the Roman Rite celebrated January 1st before this took place. In 1933, Dom Bernard Botte OSB proposed, on the evidence of some ancient antiphonaries, that in the first half of the 7th century, the day was celebrated in Rome as a feast of the Virgin Mary. According to his theory, it was then transformed a few decades later into the “octave of the Lord”, the title which it has in the oldest manuscripts, and still later, renamed as the Circumcision. Although his deduction was not universally accepted at the time, it was of course the theory behind the invention of the Solemnity of Mary, which replaced the ancient celebration in the post-Conciliar reform.
In a 1994 article in the journal Ecclesia Orans, which is published by the Pontifical Liturgical Institute of St Anselm in Rome, Dom Jacques-Marie Guilmard OSB, a monk of Solesmes Abbey, demonstrated that in point of fact, the exact opposite is the truth. (Une antique fête mariale au 1 janvier dans la ville de Rome? Ecclesia Orans 1-1, 1994) “For Rome at the beginning of the 7th century, January 1st is not a religious festival, nor a Mass for the entire city, nor truly a Marian celebration, nor a preparation for the great Marian feasts. … The laudable novelty which consists of celebrating Our Lady eight days after Christmas was inspired by a liturgical mistake. The initiative came from Gaul at the end of the 8th century.”
In a Gelasian Sacramentary of the early 8th century (ms. Vatican Reginensis 316), the Mass of the “Octave of the Lord” is that described in my previous article on this subject; the only references to the Virgin Mary are those contained in the preface. Immediately after it is the Mass “ad prohibendum ab idolis.” In the Gellone Sacramentary, another of the Gelasian type written within the last two decades of the same century, the same two Masses appear, with all the same prayers; however, “another Mass of the Octave of the Lord”, as it is labelled, has been inserted between them. The Collect of this latter, Deus qui salutis, is that said on the Circumcision in the Missal of St Pius V: “O God, Who by the fruitful virginity of blessed Mary, have bestowed upon the human race the rewards of eternal salvation: grant, we beseech Thee, that we may experience Her intercession for us, through whom we have been made worthy to receive author of life.”
Folio 9r of the Gellone Sacramentary, with the second Mass for the Octave of the Lord, beginning with the prayer Deus qui salutis. The Mass “ad prohibendum ab idolis” begins next to the fellow with the handlebar mustache; there is very often no discernible connection between the liturgical text and the marginal illustration, as is the case here.
This second Mass has a second collect, two secrets (but no preface of its own), and a post-communion, none of which mention the Virgin Mary. It also has a prayer “ad populum”, like those said in the Roman Missal on the ferial days of Lent, which refers to “Simeon the Just”; this relates to the longer Gospel from Luke 2 (verses 21-40 or 21-33) attested in the ancient lectionaries for this day. The first Secret (Muneribus nostris) and the Postcommunion (Haec nos communio) of this Mass are also those found in the Missal of St Pius V, but without the words “intercedente beata Virgine Dei Genitrice Maria” in the latter, which are a later interpolation.
Most of the Gregorian Sacramentaries of the post-Carolingian period (mid-9th – 10th centuries) reproduce this same group of prayers, taken as a unit from the Gelasian. In all of them, however, the Mass is entitled “the Octave of the Lord,” and none of them uses the title found in those antiphonaries which give a Mass of the Virgin, known from its Introit as Vultum tuum. Those among them which retain the proper preface for the day also change its beginning, from “as we celebrate today the octave of His Birth” to “as we celebrate the day of His Circumcision, and the octave of His Birth.” In this period, we also find a solemn blessing added to Pontifical Mass after “Pax Domini sit semper vobiscum”; this is still noted in the last editions of the Sarum Missal, and was the inspiration for the optional solemn blessings in the post-conciliar reform. In the Sacramentary of Drogo, bishop of Metz (845-55), the three proper invocations of this blessing for January 1st all refer solely to the Circumcision, and not at all to the Virgin Mary.
Folios 32v and 33r of the Sacramentary of Drogo, Bishop of Metz, 845-55 (Bibliothèque nationale de France. Département des Manuscrits. Latin 9428) showing the first two pages (out of three) of the Mass of the Octave of the Lord: the Collect, Secret (called Super oblata), the Preface, and the solemn Pontifical blessing.
The later medieval Uses adapted these varying traditions of the early sacramentaries in many different ways. The Collect of January 1st may be either Deus, qui nobis nati from the older Mass of the octave, or the newer Marian Collect Deus qui salutis, with their accompanying Secrets and Post-Communions. However, there is almost absolute uniformity that the Gregorian chant parts are repeated from the third Mass of Christmas day (Puer natus est), with the exception of the proper Alleluia Multifarie. The words “intercedente beata Dei Genitrice Maria” are often found interpolated into the Secret and Post-Communion of the later set, but not always; as late as 1578, they are absent from the Premonstratensian Missal. These same prayers are almost invariably found in medieval Missals in the Votive Mass of the Virgin Mary for the season between Christmas and the Purification, very often with the Introit Vultum tuum, but also with Salve, Sancta Parens. (This latter is appointed for the Solemnity of Mary in the post-Conciliar Missal.)
In short, then, the Marian elements in the Mass of January 1st consist of a single Collect, one which was certainly very widely diffused through the many Uses of the Roman Rite, and a later, parenthetical interpolation in the accompanying Post-Communion, and occasionally also in the Secret.
The Virgin Mary is certainly more prominent in the texts of the Office than of the Mass, and this is often adduced as evidence of the day’s original Marian character. The Catholic Encyclopedia exaggerates when it says, in its article on the feast of the Circumcision, “in the Office, the responses and antiphons set forth her privileges and extol her wonderful prerogatives. The psalms for Vespers are those appointed for her feasts, and the antiphons and hymn of Lauds keep her constantly in view.” In the Roman Breviary, the antiphons of Matins all refer solely to Christ; it is tempting to speculate that the antiphon of Psalm 23, “Be lifted up, ye everlasting doors, and the King of glory shall come in” refers to the ancient custom by which the account of Christ’s Presentation was also read at the Mass. The first three responsories in the Roman Breviary also refer only to Christ, and five to both Him and His Mother, but in the Monastic Breviary, the proportion is 7 and 5. Among the antiphons for the Psalms of Lauds, the Virgin is mentioned in passing in the first two, and the subject of one clause in each of the last two; only the middle one, “Rubum quem viderat” is principally about Her. The hymns are simply repeated from Christmas. Of the three antiphons for the Gospel canticles, that of Second Vespers, Magnum hereditatis mysterium, mentions Her prominently, but the other two not at all.
As stated above, it is a common feature of the Western liturgies of January 1st to have some element by which the Church responds to the riotous pagan celebrations of the New Year. This theme is very prominent in the Ambrosian Rite; most of the antiphons of its Office for the day refer to it, and not to the Birth or Circumcision of Christ, nor to the Virgin Mary. Even here, however, the prayers of the Mass and Office are all taken from the old Gelasian Masses of the Octave of the Lord, and not from that “to prohibit from idols.” The only one that mentions the Virgin Mary is the Collect Deus qui salutis; in the rest of the Mass and Office, She hardly figures at all.
In the Roman Rite, there remains only one small reference to the ancient Mass against the idols. Although the Gregorian parts of the Circumcision are mostly repeated from the third Mass of Christmas, the Epistle, Titus 2, 11-15, is repeated from the first, because of the following words: “the grace of God our Saviour hath appeared to all men; Instructing us, that, denying ungodliness and worldly desires, we should live soberly, and justly, and godly in this world,”
The Oratory of Ss Cyril and Methodius, the ICRSP’s Apostolate in Bridgeport, Connecticut, will have the following special celebrations for the feast of the Epiphany tomorrow and on Tuesday. The church is located at 79 Church St. (See their Facebook page for the regularly scheduled Masses and other services.)
Monday, January 5th, starting at 6pm, Solemn First Vespers of the Epiphany, followed by the blessing of Epiphany water.
Tuesday, January 6th, starting at 6pm, Solemn Mass, with Victoria’s Missa Trahe me post te, and the proclamation of the movable feasts, followed by the blessing of chalk, and of frankincense and myrrh, then a potluck reception in the church hall.
In nómine Jesu omne genu flectátur, caelestium, terrestrium et infernórum: et omnis lingua confiteátur, quia Dóminus Jesus Christus in gloria est Dei Patris. Ps. 8 Dómine, Dóminus noster, quam admirábile est nomen tuum in universa terra! Gloria Patri. In nomine Jesu... (The introit of the feast of the Holy Name of Jesus.)
The Triumph of the Holy Name of Jesus, from the ceiling of the church of the Gesù in Rome; by Giovanni Battista Gaulli, generally known as Baciccia; 1674. (Image from Wikipedia by LivioAndronico)
Introit At the Name of Jesus let every knee bend of those in heaven, on earth, and under the earth, and let every tongue confess that the Lord Jesus Christ is in the glory of God the Father. Ps. 8 O Lord, our Lord, how wonderous is Thy Name over all the earth. Glory be. At the Name of Jesus...
Our resident Ambrosian expert Nicola de’ Grandi recently visited the abbey of St Martin in the town of Disentis, which is located in the central Swiss canton of Grisons, about 35 miles to the southeast of Lucerne. In Romansch, a Romance language which is spoken principally in Grisons, the town is called “Mustér”, which is to say, monastery, after this foundation, which began in the late 7th or early 8th century. The monastery is also dedicated to the Virgin Mary, to St Peter, and to its founders, Placidus and Sigbert, but St Martin is the titular of the main church. Like so many ancient monasteries, it has been rebuilt many times; the current church dates to the late 17th and early 18th century.
The main sanctuary and choir.
The nave seen as one looks back from the crossing.
The altar to the left of the main choir is dedicated to St Benedict
On the opposite side, an altar dedicated to a Saint called Placid, not the disciple of St Benedict, but a local landowner who assisted St Sigbert in the foundation of the abbey, and was killed by the regional governor, a man named Victor.
After wishing that Brother Wind and the air praise God, Saint Francis turns to Sister Water:
Laudato si, mi Signore, per sor’Acqua,
la quale è multo utile et humile et pretiosa et casta.
Which I translate as:
Praised be You, my Lord, through Sister Water,
which is very useful and humble and precious and chaste.
Water, it would seem, captures the human imagination like no other earthly element. “Meditation and water are wedded for ever,” writes Herman Melville in Moby Dick. “Take almost any path you please, and ten to one it carries you down in a dale, and leaves you there by a pool in the stream. There is magic in it.” Norman Maclean concludes his beautiful novel A River Runs through It with this observation:
Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world’s great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.
I am haunted by waters.
And this magic stuff becomes even more magical, so to speak, when mixed with sanctifying grace. Our Lord knew what He was doing when He made water the matter for the sacrament of our initiation into eternal life. In the Old Testament, water is both life and death: life, for example, for the Hebrews crossing the Red Sea and death for the Egyptians who followed them. Water is also cleansing and healing, as in the case of the Naaman the Aramean who was cured of leprosy after bathing seven times in the River Jordan. The sacrament of baptism combines all these characteristics: being plunged in the waters of baptism brings death to self and life in Christ, and it washes us clean of all sin.
Saint Francis gives three descriptions for water. First, it is “very useful.” Water not only sustains our lives but the lives of every other creature on whom we depend for sustenance, every plant and animal. And there is no beverage we consume that does not contain H2O. Water is also essential to cleanliness and, despite its dangers, it is a lot of fun to boat on or to swim in or simply to gaze upon from the shore.
Second, water is precious. Thanks to our impressive modern water-treatment plants and an amazing network of indoor plumbing, it is easy to forget how difficult it was for many of our ancestors to have a reliable source of potable water, and how difficult it still is in some parts of the developing world. Francis was surely grateful for water. “To him,” writes Msgr. Arthur Tonne, “plain Sister Water tasted better than the richest wine.”
Third, the Saint calls water “chaste.” It is a curious choice. No doubt he is referring to water’s purity, but like English, the Italian language has its own word for purity. Chastity, on the other hand, is a special kind of purity, a purity regarding sexual desire and activity. The image that emerges is of Sister Water as a humble and dear maiden, not unlike the Blessed Virgin Mary. It is a surprising image but fitting, since Francis has personified water by calling it/her his sister.
And perhaps this image of chastity should make us more concerned about polluting or sullying Sister Water. The Great Pacific Garbage Patch is an island of microplastic debris in the Pacific Ocean three times the size of France; and 703,000,000 people today (one in ten) lack access to clean water. Let’s do a better job protecting our sister’s chastity.
The Great Pacific Garbage Patch
This article appeared as “Song of Water” in the Messenger of St. Anthony 127:7, international edition (July/August 2025), p. 33. Many thanks to its editors for allowing its publication here.
