The Major Litanies in the Ambrosian Rite

The Rogations traditionally held on April 25th are known as the “Major Litanies” or “Greater Rogations”, even though they were instituted later than the Minor Litanies, and are held on only one day, as opposed to three. This is because they are specifically Roman in origin, established by Pope St Gregory the Great in 590, at the very beginning of his papacy, while the Lesser Rogations were instituted in Gaul around 470, but came to Rome only in the Carolingian period. In the Roman Rite, they consist of the Litany of the Saints, which is sung during the procession, and a Mass, which is the same as that said on the Minor Litanies.

Even though the Ambrosian liturgy adopted this tradition from Rome, its liturgical texts for these days are rather more developed. Each of the four Rogation days has its own version of the Litany of the Saints; each of the three days of the Lesser Rogations has its own Mass, but on April 25th, the votive Mass “for penance” is said. I shall here give the liturgical texts for the Major Litanies, along with the rubrics for their public celebration, from an edition published by the archdiocese of Milan in 1733.

After the celebration of the Mass of St Mark, the clergy and people gather at the cathedral, and proceed from there to the basilica of St Nabor, which by the 18th century was in the care of the Franciscans, and rededicated to their patron Saint. The archbishop, wearing violet vestments, stands before the altar, and begins the rite with “Dominus vobiscum”, after which the archdeacon intones the following antiphon, which is continued by the choir.

Domine Deus virtutum, Deus Is- rael, qui eduxisti populum tuum de terra Aegypti, et fecisti tibi nomen gloriae, peccavimus, im- pie egimus, iniquitatem fecimus; miserere nobis, Salvator mundi.

O Lord God of hosts, God of Isra- el, who led Thy people out of the land of Egypt, and made for Thy- self a glorious name; we have sinned, we have done wickedly; we have wrought iniquity; have mercy on us, o Savior of the world.

The procession then makes its way to the basilica of St Victor, accompanied by the following processional antiphons. These are sung in alternation by the college of lectors, and the “mazzeconici”, as they were called, an Italian/Milanese corruption of “magister canonicus – master canon”. These were a group of cantors assigned to the two chapters of the cathedral specifically to maintain a high level of liturgical chant. (Our dear departed friend Mons. Angelo Amodeo came into the chapter of the Duomo as a “mazzeconico.”) The second of these is the same text that forms the Introit of Ash Wednesday in the Roman Rite.

An Ambrosian mazzeconico

Peccavimus ante te, Deus, ne des nos in opprobrium, propter nomen tuum, quia tu es Domi- nus, Deus noster, quem propiti- um exspectamus.	We have sinned before Thee, o God, give us not unto reproach, for Thy name’s sake, for Thou are the Lord, our God, whom we await to show us mercy.
Misereris omnium Domine, et nihil odisti eorum quae fecisti, dissimulans peccata hominum propter paenitentiam, et parcens illis: quia tu es Dóminus, Deus noster.	Thou hast mercy on all, O Lord, and hate none of the things which Thou hast made, overlooking the sins of men for the sake of repentance, and sparing them: because Thou art the Lord our God.
Qui fecisti magnalia in Aegyp- to, mirabilia in terra Cham, ter- ribilia in Mari Rubro, non tra- das nos in manus gentium, nec dominentur nobis, qui oderunt nos.	Thou who didst great things in Egypt, wondrous deeds in the land of Cham, terrible things at the Red Sea, deliver us not into the hands of the nations, nor let them rule over us that hate us.
Circumdederunt nos mala, quo- rum non est numerus; da nobis auxilium de tribulatione; opera manuum tuarum ne despicias, Domine.	Evils have surrounded us, that have no number; grant us help in our tribu- lation; despise not the works of Thy hands, o Lord.
Si fecissemus praecepta tua, Do- mine, habitassemus cum securi- tate et pace omni tempore vitae nostrae; nunc quoniam peccavi- mus, supervenerunt in nos om- nes tribulationes; pius es, Domi- ne, miserere nobis, et dona re- medium populo tuo, Deus Israel.	If we had followed Thy precepts, o Lord, we would have dwelt in secur- ity and peace all the time of our life; now, because we have sinned, every tribulation has come upon us; holy art Thou, o Lord, have mercy on us, and give remedy, to Thy people, o God of Israel.
Iniquitates nostras agnoscimus, Domine; petimus deprecantes te, remitte nobis, Domine, peccata nostra.	We recognize our iniquities, o Lord, we ask Thee beseechingly; forgive us our sins, o Lord.
Vide, Domine, afflictionem po- puli tui, quoniam amara est ni- mis; humiliati enim sumus pro peccatis nostris; exaudi nos, qui es in caelis, quoniam non est alius praeter te, Domine.	See the affliction of Thy people, o Lord, for it is exceedingly bitter, for we are laid low for our sins; hear us, Who art in heaven, for there is no other beside Thee, o Lord.
Liberator noster de gentibus ira- cundis, ab insurgentibus in nos libera nos, Domine.	Our deliverer from the wrathful nations, from them that rise up against us, deliver us, o Lord.

At the church of St Victor, the mazzeconici sing “Kyrie eleison” three times in a lower voice; this is repeated by the “vecchioni - old men (or) elders”, a group of laymen who participated in a formal way in many services in the Ambrosian liturgy. The readers with the head of their college then sing “Kyrie eleison” three times in a higher voice, which is also repeated by the vecchioni.

A “vecchione” in the white garment which the members of the college wore during Pontifical Mass in the Duomo. At the Offertory, they presented offerings of bread and wine, seen here in his hands, which were used at a later Mass.

The cantors begin the litany of the Saints, which in the Ambrosian Rite is introduced by three repetitions of “Domine, miserere – Lord, have mercy”, three of “Christe, libera nos – Christ, deliver us”, and three of “Salvator, libera nos – o Savior, deliver us.” The names of the Saints are then sung by the cantors, to which all others answer, repeating the names and adding “intercede pro nobis.” (“Sancta Maria. – Sancta Maria, intercede pro nobis.”) In the Roman Rite, the list of the Saints is always the same, although local Saints may be added by immemorial custom; in the Ambrosian Rite, the Saints named in the litany change from one occasion to another.

On this day, after the Virgin Mary, the three Archangels are named, followed by the Apostles Peter, Paul, Andrew, and Mark, whose feast day it is; the martyrs Stephen, Felix, Fortunatus and Victor; then Pope Urban I, Tiburtius, Valerian and Cecilia. (The martyrdom of Cecilia, her betrothed Tiburtius, and his brother Valerian took place in the days of Pope Urban, 222-230; the brothers’ feast is on April 14.) There follows a group of bishops, including St Gregory, who instituted the Greater Rogations, St Satyrus, the brother of St Ambrose, then Galdinus, Charles Borromeo, and Ambrose, who always conclude the litanies in the Ambrosian Rite. The litany ends with three repetitions of “Exaudi, Christe. R. Voces nostras. Exaudi, Deus. R. Et miserere nobis.”, (Hear, o Christ, our voices. Hear o God, and have mercy on us.), and three Kyrie eleisons.

At the conclusion of the Litany, the archbishop sings the following Collect. “Omnipotens sempiterne Deus, cui sine fine potestas est miserendi, preces humilitatis nostrae placatus intende: ut quod delictorum nostrorum catena constringit, a tua nobis misericordia relaxetur. Per. – Almighty and everlasting God, that hast power without end to show mercy, be appeased and harken to the prayers of our low estate: so that what the chain of our sins bindeth may be loosed for us by Thy mercy.”

The deacon hebdomadary, the canon assigned to serve as deacon at the capitular services that week, then intones a responsory. (The Ambrosian Rite very frequently assigns specific chants to specific persons or groups within the chapter.)

R. Te deprecamur, Domine, * qui es misericors et pius, esto nobis propitius. V. Domine, exaudi orationem nostram, et clamor noster ad te perveniat. Qui es... – R. We beseech Thee, o Lord, * who art merciful and holy, be merciful unto us. V. O Lord, hear our prayer, and let our cry come unto Thee. Who art...

The high altar of the church of St Victor. (Image from Wikipedia by Carlo dell’Orto; CC BY-SA 3.0)

The procession then goes from the altar of St Victor to that of St Gregory, as the lector and mazzeconici sing another group of penitential antiphons. The first of these has the same text as the famous antiphon for the Nunc dimittis in the Dominican Office which always moved St Thomas to tears.

Media vita in morte sumus; quem quærimus adjutórem, nisi te, Domine? qui pro peccatis nostris juste irásceris. Sancte Deus, Sancte fortis, Sancte misericors Salvator, amarae morti ne tradas nos.	In the midst of life, we are in death; whom shall we seek to help us, if not Thee, o Lord, who art justly wroth for our sins. Holy God, holy mighty one, holy immortal one, hand us not over to bitter death.
Domine, inclina aurem tuam et audi; respice de caelo, et vide gemitum nostrum, et de manu mortis libera nos.	O Lord, incline Thy ear, and hear; look down from heaven, and see our groaning, and deliver us from the hand of death.
Exsurge, libera, Deus, de manu mortis, et ne infernus rapiat nos, ut leo, animas nostras.	Arise, deliver our souls, God, from the hand of death, lest hell take us, like a lion.
Cor nostrum conturbatum est, Domine, et formido mortis céci- dit super nos; ad tuam pietatem concurrimus: ne perdas pecca- tores, misericors.	Our heart is troubled, o Lord, and the fear of death hath fallen upon us; we run to Thy mercy, destroy not the sinners, merciful one.
Domine Deus, miserere, quia anni nostri in gemitibus consumati sunt, et mors furibunda succedit; Domine, libera nos.	Lord God, have mercy, for our years are consumed in groaning, and furi- ous death cometh after; o Lord, de- liver us.

At the altar of St Gregory, twelve Kyries are sung as above, followed by a second Litany of the Saints, shorter than the first one. The Saints named are the Virgin Mary, the Archangels, John the Baptist, the same Apostles as above, the martyrs Stephen, Saturninus, Savinus, Protus, Januarius, the bishops Martin and Gregory, Galdinus, Charles and Ambrose. This also concludes with a Collect, which specifically refers to St Gregory. “Infirmitatem nostram respice, omnipotens Deus, et quia pondus propriae actionis gravat, beati Gregorii Pontificis tui intercessio gloriosa nos protegat. Per. – Look upon our infirmity, almighty God, and since the weight of our actions beareth heavy upon us, may the glorious intercession of Thy bishop Gregory protect us.”

The deacon hebdomadary then intones another responsory.

R. Rogamus te, Domine Deus, quia peccavimus tibi; veniam petimus, quam non meremur; * manum tuam porrige lapsis, qui latroni confitenti paradisi januas aperuisti. V. Vita nostra in dolore suspirat, et in opere non emendat, si exspectas, non corripimur, et si vindicas, non duramus. Manum tuam... – R. We beseech Thee, o Lord God, because we have sinned against Thee; we ask for forgiveness, which we do not deserve. * Stretch forth Thy hand to the fallen, Thou who didst open the doors of paradise to the thief that confessed. V. Our life suspireth in sorrow, and emendeth not in works; if Thou await us, we are not reproved, and if Thou take vengeance, we cannot endure it. Stretch forth...

Twelve Kyries are sung once again, followed by the Agnus Dei, alternated between the readers and the mazzeconici.

V. Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis.
R. Gloria Patri. Sicut erat.
V. Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis.
R. Sucipe deprecationem nostram, qui sedes ad dexteram Patris.
V. Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi, miserere nobis.

R. Kyrie, eleison. Kyrie, eleison. Kyrie, eleison.

The standard conclusion of most Ambrosian ceremonies is said, after which the canon observer (“observator”), who will serve as hebdom the following week, says the Votive Mass for penance, at which the archbishop preaches.

St Charles Borromeo leading a procession with the relic of the Holy Nail during the great plague which struck Milan in 1576-7. St Gregory the Great originally introduced the Greater Rogations at Rome to beg God’s mercy and the end to a plague. (Painting by Giovan Mauro della Rovere, also known as ;“il Fiamminghino - the little Fleming”, since his father was born in Antwerp.)

The Eastertide Hymns of the Apostles

In the Roman Breviary, the feasts of the Apostles and Martyrs share a special proper Office which is used only in Eastertide, with different antiphons, responsories, chapters and versicles from those said during the rest of the year. This tradition is common to all Uses of the Roman Rite, although many medieval breviaries (e.g. that of the Premonstratensians) develop it further, and extend at least some of these features to other categories of Saints. The Apostles, however, are the only ones whose Office also has proper hymns for Eastertide. This applies to the feasts of St Mark the Evangelist, whose First Vespers are celebrated this evening, of Ss Philip and James on May 1st, and the feast of St John at the Latin Gate on the 6th. It also applies to the feast of St Barnabas on June 11, but only in the extremely rare years when Easter falls on its latest possible date, April 25. (This has happened only 4 times since the Gregorian calendar was promulgated in 1582, and will happen only ten times in this millennium.)

Properly speaking, the Vespers hymn Tristes erant Apostoli, (which is repeated at Matins), and the Lauds hymn Claro paschali gaudio are both parts of the hymn Aurora lucis rutilat, which is sung at Lauds of the Sundays and ferias of the Easter season. This hymn is undoubtedly very ancient, and was often attributed to St Ambrose, but this attribution is now regarded as incorrect, and it is not used at all in the Ambrosian Office. In the Mozarabic Rite, which has a strong tendency toward the prolix in its use of hymns, all twelve stanzas are sung daily at Prime in Eastertide. Here we see it in the edition published in 1775.

Pope Urban VIII’s classicizing revision of both parts is one of the least successful aspects of that reform, and fully justifies the famous bon mot often said against it, “Accessit latinitas, recessit pietas – Latinity came in, and piety went out.” Fortunately, the mighty Tomás Luis de Victoria composed this splendid version in alternating chant and polyphony before the reformed versions became standard. (The version in the post-Conciliar Liturgy of the Hours is much closer to the original. See the Latin original and an English translation by John Mason Neale at this link:
https://www.preces-latinae.org/thesaurus/Hymni/AuroraLucis.html)

Another version, also in alternating chant and polyphony, by Victoria’s fellow Spaniard, priest and composer Francisco Guerrero (1528-99).

The Lauds section in chant.

Francis X. Weiser, SJ, the Domestic Heortologist, Part One: Biography

Francis X. Weiser, S.J. (1901-86) is better known today among homeschooling Catholic families than liturgical scholars, but his works on the Church calendar were once held in high regard for their erudition and clarity. Weiser’s popular books on Christian festivities and customs played a role in the American Liturgical Movement of the 1950s, and they still serve as a model for balancing scholarly rigor and pastoral sensitivity. In this article, we examine Father Weiser’s life and writings: in the next, his liturgiology.

Early Life

Franz Xavier Weiser was born in Vienna, Austria on March 21, 1901 to Franz S. Weiser and Maria (née Schipp) Weiser. At the time, Vienna was still, as Weiser would later describe it, “the gay capital of a famous empire” and “the great metropolis of music and song.” The pre-war culture of the Imperial City would have a significant impact on Weiser and his authorial ambitions:

You might say that we grew up to the tunes of Haydn, Beethoven, Mozart, Schubert, and Strauss. I have a vague feeling that this atmosphere of culture, music, and art, had much to do with my desire to write. At the age of eight or nine, while still a little boy in grammar school, I used to ask God daily in my evening prayer to “let me write books.”

Another formative influence on Weiser was domestic devotional practices. Joseph Ratzinger, who lived only a few miles from the Austrian border in a similar Catholic milieu, writes in his autobiography: “The Church year gave the time its rhythm, and I experienced that with great gratitude and joy already as a child, indeed, above all as a child.” As a boy Ratzinger was particularly fond of the liturgies and Bavarian customs of the Christmas and Easter seasons. “Every new step into the liturgy was a great event for me,” he recalls. “It was a riveting adventure.”

Weiser’s earliest recollections were of a similar kind. One of his first memories was that of his mother Maria making the sign of the cross on his forehead and wishing him good night. “This simple action,” he writes, “taught me more than any words the great truth that parents are God’s representatives.” He learned the same lesson from “an old and very wholesome practice [that] demanded that children, before going to Confession, should ask forgiveness from their parents for offenses and faults committed in the home.” Weiser’s mother was also adept at explaining the meaning of Christian practices to her son. He recalls:

It was the general custom among Catholics to greet priests on the street and in public in order to profess the Faith and show reverence for the holy priesthood. When I was a little boy, my mother told me, “You must always joyfully greet a priest, whether you know him or not. Your Guardian Angel, too, greets the priests with great love and reverence.” These simple words of my mother made a deep impression on me; I never forgot them.

Other memories of Weiser were tied to the liturgical year, such as his family’s observance of name days, the feast day of the saint after whom one is named. Weiser writes:

I remember how from early childhood I went to church with my father every year on the feast of St. Francis Xavier, attending the Holy Sacrifice and later receiving Communion, too. Returning home, I found the table cheerfully decorated with flowers and little presents. Mother, Father, brothers and sisters offered their congratulations. Then we sat down to a joyful breakfast, my proud little self sitting in the place of honor. And all this because centuries ago a wonderful young man in Spain loved God so much that he became a Saint. I cannot express the powerful conviction that filled me every year on this occasion, how great and important it is to become holy. This was one of the eloquent lessons which our religious customs taught me without words, but with an effect greater than many words could achieve. Judging from this aspect, we may truly say that such Catholic customs in the home educate the children more efficiently than the best Catholic teachers could ever do in school.

But perhaps his most important devotional memory is that of the annual visit of St. Nicholas:

I still vividly remember the annual visit of this friendly and saintly figure on the evening of December 5. With joy and happy excitement we awaited his coming. We were convinced, as little children easily are, that he really was our great Patron Saint who came from Heaven on his feast day to visit us children whom he loved so much. With utter sincerity we promised him to overcome our faults, to obey our parents and to prepare our hearts for Christmas. Gratefully we accepted his gifts and kissed the ring on his holy hand. Never again in all my life have I experienced the unspeakable thrill of a physical nearness to Heaven as I did on those evenings of my childhood when “St. Nicholas” came to us. When I later found out that it was not really the Saint but a man representing him, this caused me no shock or harm. The thrill I had felt remained in my memory and has remained to this day with all its beauty.

Both Ratzinger and Weiser’s childhood memories would presage their later interest in liturgical studies.

Early Writings

Weiser received the standard gymnasium education of his day: Latin at the age of eleven, Greek at fourteen, three years of Italian, and instruction in religion, literature, history, geography, mathematics, physics, chemistry, biology, drawing, music, art appreciation, and singing, all “topped by a two-year course in fundamental philosophy.” But instead of going on to university, he entered the Jesuit novitiate at the age of nineteen. In 1924, he began a seven-year period of matriculation at the University of Innsbruck, ending with doctorates in philosophy, theology, and education/psychology. Among his teachers at Innsbruck was a fellow Austrian Jesuit, the liturgical scholar Josef A. Jungmann. In a brief autobiographical essay Weiser calls these degrees the recorded “fruits” of his studies but adds: “The unrecorded fruit (which is more important), is supposed to have become a part of my personality, and is known only to God.”

Weiser was ordained a priest on July 26, 1930 at Holy Trinity Church in Innsbruck. The next year he began his tertianship, the third stage of probation and a special year of spiritual training for Jesuits before they take their final vows, at the novitiate of St. Andrew-on-Hudson in Hyde Park, New York. During his time in the United States, he took courses at nearby Marist College in Poughkeepsie and visited St. Louis University and the Missouri countryside.

Weiser’s superiors encouraged him to pursue his childhood interest in writing, and soon he was an accomplished author. He published eight books between 1927 and 1931: three biographies (of Jesuit missionaries Johann Grueber and Blessed Charles Spinola and the Jesuit martyr Miguel Pro), four novels, and a history of a German Catholic student association in Prague called Nordgau. His novels from this period include Der Sohn des weißen Häuptlings (The Son of the White Chief), Alfreds Geheimnis (Alfred’s Secret), Walter Klingers Weltfahrt (Walter Klinger’s World Tour), and Das Licht der Berge: Aus dem Leben eines jungen Menschen (The Light on the Mountains: From the Life of a Young Person). Das Licht remains Weiser’s most popular book: it went through thirty-eight editions in German between 1931 and 1998, sold over one million copies, and has been translated into thirty languages. The International Companion Encyclopedia of Children’s Literature (2004) designates the book as a Bildungsroman in which

Hein Moll, a boy from Tirol, is confronted in the capital Vienna with a number of fundamental issues. By trial and error he finds the strength to remain faithful to his Christian ideals. In this type of traditional novel a priest often acts as an adviser. In more recent juvenile fiction religion no longer forms the familiar setting in which the young characters grow up.

Vienna, 1932-38

In 1932 Weiser returned to Vienna, where he served as the national moderator of Austria’s Marian Congregations (a student sodality run by the Society of Jesus) and the editor of their monthly magazine Unsere Fahne (Our Flag). The two positions dovetailed nicely with his already-apparent interest in youth formation through juvenile fiction and inspirational biography. By the time he left Vienna in 1938, he had written another sixteen books: biographies, novels, plays, travelogues, and a scholarly monograph on a German dialect that is still being cited in linguistic studies.

Several of Weiser’s works during this time owe their inspiration to his stay in America. His 1933 Im Lande des Sternenbanners (In the Land of the Star-Spangled Banner) is a travelogue while his 1936 Amerikanisches Tagebuch (American Diary) draws from his trip to Missouri in order to reminisce “on the exploits of pioneer Jesuit missionaries such as Father De Smet and Father Franz Xaver Weninger.” Weiser also published separate biographies on DeSmet and Weninger along with a biography of Jesuit Father James Bouchard (a Delaware Indian originally named Watomika) and the Jesuit martyr Jean de Brebeuf.

The Anschluss, the War, and Its Aftermath

Most likely it was Weiser’s prior experience with and fondness of America that influenced his decision of where to go when Nazi Germany annexed his homeland on March 12, 1938. Although some members of the Austrian episcopate welcomed the “union of Greater Germany,” it was clear to Weiser that “Catholic youth work” would be “made well-nigh impossible” by Nazi occupation. By year’s end he moved to America. Drawing from an uncited source, the German-language edition of Wikipedia states that “Francis Weiser was sent by his order to the United States in 1938 to study the history of the Jesuit mission in North America” while the Jesuit Archives asserts that he “fled to the United States.” Weiser himself simply writes: “I ‘returned’ to the United States that same year and have remained here ever since.”

In 1938, Weiser was appointed associate pastor of St. Ann Church in Buffalo, New York. The following year, he was transferred to Boston to become the associate pastor of Holy Trinity Church, a parish of 490 families and two schools with 400 students that primarily served German Americans. When the pastor’s health began to decline in 1943, Weiser was made his successor and remained pastor of Holy Trinity until 1950.

Weiser thus had the unenviable position of shepherding a German parish in the United States during World War II, a time when anti-German sentiment ran high. But he made the best of these “bittersweet years.” A history of Holy Trinity published in 1994 describes him as “an intellectual of the first rank” who “was an extremely active pastor.” In 1944, the parish’s week-long celebration of their centennial included several Missae cantatae and a Solemn High Mass, visits from local dignitaries such as the mayor of Boston and archdiocesan administrator Richard J. Cushing (later cardinal), and a special concert featuring some personal friends of Weiser who had likewise fled the Anschluss and emigrated to New England: the Von Trapp Family Singers. (I have also heard from former Holy Trinity parishioners that the Trapps, who lived in Stowe, Vermont, would serve in the choir for a High Mass anytime Fr. Weiser needed them for a special occasion).

The centennial would prompt Weiser to write his only book during the war, a history of Holy Trinity. In the preface he evinces, as he did in his autobiography, an appreciation of external accomplishments coupled with an awareness of the primacy of “unrecorded fruits” in the interior life:

The history of the parish possesses an (sic) unique interest. Naturally, its first and foremost achievement as a Catholic parish will always remain hidden within the sphere of personal religious life, but its external activities exhibit features which will engage the attention not only of its own parishioners but of all Catholics.

The Von Trapps

In this brief monograph Weiser also took advantage of his friendship with the von Trapps; the illustrations were drawn by their daughter Agathe. And after Captain Georg von Trapp passed away in 1947, Weiser dedicated his Christmas Book to him. In addition to his regular pastoral duties, Weiser helped found the Massachusetts branch of the National Catholic Women’s Union and soon became their National Spiritual Director (a position he would hold for twenty years) and the National Youth Director of both the National Catholic Women’s Union and the National Catholic Central Union of America. he also served as auxiliary chaplain to German POWs at Fort Devens from 1943 until 1945.

But it was after the war that his activities reached a new level. Stories began to reach the U.S. of nuns starving to death and of Soviet troops raping and plundering in Austria and Germany; Weiser’s beloved Vienna was designated by a United Press International report as the hungriest capital in Europe. Under Weiser’s leadership, Holy Trinity became the premier parish in the United States for European war relief. In May 1946, the archbishop of Boston, recognizing his efforts, named him the official representative of the archdiocese for relief work for the national Catholic Welfare Conference in Germany and Austria. Between 1946 and 1949, the Holy Trinity rectory was stacked high with packages of food and clothing to be shipped to Europe as Weiser answered 25,200 letters from Europe begging for assistance. During this period, Holy Trinity raised $85,000 ($1,126,075 in today’s money) for the purchase of food and medicine and shipped almost 500,000 pounds of clothing and shoes and almost 18,000 cans of food. In recognition of his relief work and his impact on German youth in the 1920s and 30s, Weiser was awarded the Order of Merit First Class by the Federal Republic of Germany in 1957.

Return to Academia

Weiser returned to juvenile fiction with his 1949 Rothäute und Bleichgesichter (Redskins and Palefaces). Over the next thirteen years he would produce a steady stream of publications similar in kind to his prewar output: biographies of Jesuit missionaries, Bildungsromane, etc. All of them were still in German, although one of them, his travelogue to the Holy Land, later appeared in English. During this same period Weiser also had a minor influence on film. His 1936 Het lied van de Donau (The Song of the Danube) was the inspiration for the 1947 Dutch movie Jeugdstorm (Youth Storm), and his children’s classic The Light of the Mountains was made into a German film in 1955 titled Het licht der bergen. According to the Internet Movie Database, Weiser is credited as a writer on a total of three movies. The final entry in his filmography, in which he is listed as the screenplay’s sole author, is a 1965 Yugoslavian television movie Sasvim Malo Skretanje (Quite a Little Turn).

Weiser continued his work in charitable services, administering the funds of the St. Joseph’s Mission Fund from 1950 to 1968. The 1950s would mark two major developments in his life. In 1950 he earned a second doctorate in theology from the Gregorian University in Rome. Upon his return to the U.S. (by now an American citizen), he held academic instead of parochial positions. From 1950 to 1961 he was a professor of Philosophy and German at Emmanuel College (a women’s college in Boston founded by the Sisters of Notre Dame de Namur), and around the same time he also taught at Weston College, a Jesuit institution in Weston, Massachusetts. After Weston was integrated into Boston College in 1959, Weiser became a Spiritual Counselor in the Boston College School of Education (which had an all-female student body) from 1961-70. At Boston College he also taught courses in ethics, philosophy, and theology. By 1957, he was referring to himself as “a college professor by duty and habit.”

Boston College Emeritus Professor Mary T. Kinnane describes Weiser as “somewhat larger than life” and an “excellent colleague and a good friend.” She adds:

He was a distinguished international scholar in Linguistic Philosophy with a doctoral degree from the University of Innsbruck, Austria, and the Gregorian in Rome. He had a diverse background in counseling as a Church pastor for eleven years and was a college professor for thirteen years. He had been Chaplain to the Von Trapp family, both in Austria and the United States.

Father Weiser was a proud man, with a marvelous humility in speech and mien. His books, The Christmas Book and Easter Book, are popular purchases at the Holy Seasons since they are especially rich in explaining the symbols of the seasons, their origins, and their spiritual importance. His account of the Holy Land is also impressive. As the speaker at School of Education Christmas Assemblies in Campion Hall, he explained the origins of the Christmas tree and its lighted decoration (“O Tannenbaum!”), and the angelic symbol of the pretzel! One short anecdote should be recalled since it represented Father’s attention to detail in the area of housekeeping. Twice a week, Father would suggest we have a simple lunch of soup and sandwich in his office, usually to discuss our programs for students, students with special needs, or our policy on student life and whatever agenda were pertinent. An early arrival to his office would find Father with large pieces of felt-like material attached to his shoes as he moved around rhythmically to polish his ever-shiny floor. How fortunate we all were and are to have been able to share the life of such fine and distinctive, marvelous Jesuits. How enriching for students and all!

Weiser influenced other students in the area as well. New Testament scholar Pheme Perkins (current Joseph Professor of Catholic Spirituality at Boston College) met him when she was just “a high school kid”:

He would come to give a talk at my best friend’s grandmother’s house in Wayland [Massachusetts] one evening a month to a group of conservative lay Catholics. We would get out of school to go out there, so we could ride her horses, go to the talk, spend the night, and get returned to the prep school the next day. Neither of us were Catholic.

After I became a Catholic my freshman year in college when I was seventeen, Fr. Weiser was my spiritual director, also aiding my German reading with a combination of the pious young adult novels he wrote (don’t remember a thing about them now) and his copies of Orientierung. He had been in the Jesuits with Hugo Rahner, so discussions of Karl Rahner were often filtered through Hugo who could actually write much better German! When I started a New Testament doctoral program after college, I was treated [by Fr. Weiser] to a slew of anti-Bultmann articles.

The Liturgical Turn

Kinnane’s allusion to The Christmas Book and The Easter Book brings us to the second major development in Weiser’s life at this time, his turn to heortology. He himself defines the field as “the historical science that explains the origin and meaning of feasts. The word ‘heortology’ is derived from the Greek heorte (feast) and logos (discourse).” And for him at least, that discourse includes not only “the origin, history, development, and observance” of Christian feasts but “their celebration in folklore” as well. It was Weiser’s experience of America that generated his interest in the topic. He writes:

I was deeply impressed by many aspects of American life. Among them was the charming sight of the popular Christmas celebration. This tradition had been molded into one unit out of the best national Christmas lore of various immigrant groups. It was only during the second half of the last century that our American Christmas observance came to be established.

Soon I discovered that most people have no clear notion of the origin, background, and true meaning of these customs which they observe in their homes. Since the great majority of our Christmas, Easter, Thanksgiving, and other observances actually go back to the inspiration of liturgical thought and symbolism, I judged it a worthwhile subject to explain. Also a priestly subject; for, given the fact that our popular customs contain the radiation of the liturgy, the understanding of this radiation would make the celebration of our Christian feasts within the family warmer, holier, and more truly joyful. At the same time, a better grasp of the religious meaning and message of our family customs would give parents valuable help for the religious training of their little ones.

Weiser used his spare time to research, and very often he felt like abandoning the project because of the difficulty in finding reliable source material. It took him six years, but in the end he had published five books: The Christmas Book in 1952, The Easter Book in 1954, The Holyday Book and Religious Customs in the Family in 1956, and The Handbook of Christian Feasts and Customs: The Year of the Lord in Liturgy and Folklore (a compendium of the first three).

Next week, we will examine the characteristics of Fr. Weiser’s liturgical theology.

A version of this article (with full annotation) appeared as “The Domestic Heortologist: An Introduction to Francis X. Weiser, S.J.” in Antiphon: A Journal of Liturgical Renewal 29:2 (2025), pp. 144-171. Many thanks to its editors for allowing its publication here.

A Resource for Those Learning the Pre-55 Breviary

Thanks once again to our friend Mr Sean Pilcher, this time for sharing with us this a review of a resource newly reprinted by Church Latin Publications for those who want to learn to say the pre-55 Breviary, a book will be especially useful for those who have been used to the edition of 1960. Mr Pilcher is the director of Sacra: Relics of the Saints (sacrarelics.org), an apostolate that promotes education about relics, and works to repair, research, and document relics for religious houses and dioceses.

The transition from the breviary in force in 1962 to the more traditional breviary before 1955 can be disorienting, even for priests, religious, and interested layfolk who are familiar with the traditional Roman rite. The 1962 breviary is vastly simplified and pared down, so that is, in some ways easier to use. Setting aside the question of whether this outweighs the drastic reduction in patristic readings and hagiographies, as well as a neutered calendar, we can feel puzzled by the additional commemorations, lessons, and ranking of feasts when beginning to pray the older Office.

A very useful resource, especially for those looking for an intuitive transition from the reduced ’62 breviary, but really anyone interested in the Office, is Learning the Breviary by Fr Bernard A. Hausmann, S.J. The book, which was written in 1932, has been recently reprinted by Church Latin Publishing. The book begins with a touching exhortation to fidelity to the breviary written by His Excellency William Hayden, bishop of Wilcannia-Forbes, Australia, which he originally penned to his priests: “The priest who says his Office every day, digne, attente ac devote, is traveling on very safe lines. I do not mean to say that the reciting of the Office alone is all that is required of him. What I mean is, that the priest who is faithful to this duty will also be faithful to the many other obligations which are inseparably linked with the sacerdotal state.” The author also frankly acknowledges that the complex structure and the language can be real obstacles to appreciating the rich treasure of the Roman Breviary.

The text is directed toward those approaching Orders (and therefore obligation to the Divine Office) and those who have already spent much time reciting the breviary but with less profit than they wish. The introduction is especially stirring for clerics, but can be helpful for anyone who wishes to pray with the liturgy of the Church. He addresses the difficulty of the psalter: ‘Who could say when asked on the spot the meaning of words such as absistat et vecordia; or Virginis proles opifexque matris?’, and the value of the cursus of Scripture, saints’ lives, and patristic commentaries in the lessons of matins. The introduction also stresses the hidden beauty of the hymns, however altered, and ends by giving real paternal advice to priests in prioritizing the hours and staying faithful to them: “My dear Fathers, I know that many of you have to live in lonely places, without many home comforts and without the companionship of your fellow-priests. Hence I would advise you to make the Breviary your special friend and companion.” The bishop stresses that for him, not even a busy schedule, travel, or primitive accommodations should be real obstacles to faithful prayer of the breviary.

The Dictionary of Terms, or glossary, that follows is invaluable. The author defines all of the unique terms associated with the canonical hours (antiphon, versicle, ferial office) in clear, unambiguous language to assist beginners. Beyond this, however, he explains many terms which those coming from the ‘62 breviary may find puzzling, and which are in many texts taken for granted. Anyone who has ever had a second thought about ‘double,’ ‘semidouble’ or ‘duplex majus’ feasts will benefit. Finally, certain shorthands and rubrical notes (‘m.t.v.,’ ‘vesperae de sequenti’) used as technical terms are explained. ~ Besides its spiritual words of encouragement at the outset, the book is deeply practical. What follows is an individual treatment of each hour, an explanation of each of its parts and how they can vary, and an anticipation of many of the most common misunderstandings and errors in recitation of the office in question. The explanation even prints out many abbreviated texts in full, so that beginners can understand the sometimes confusing way the breviary prints the prayers for our ease and to economize space.

After the individual treatment of matins, lauds, prime, terce, sext, none, vespers, and compline individually on their own terms, the author dedicates a section to summarizing the structure of the Divine Office as a whole. Once the reader has a grasp of each of the hours, this helpful summary can solidify the general pattern of the Office as a unity throughout the year as seasons, feasts, and fasts come by. Two short sections follow explaining the Office of Our Lady on Saturdays, and the Office of the Dead, with special direction on how to pray the latter on particular days of commemoration (the day of death or burial, and on anniversaries), and how to pray them in conjunction with the regular offices for the day. The next section presents general changes throughout the seasons, such as on Sundays, during Lent and Holy Week, and for Paschaltide. There is also a small set of notes to aid beginners in reading an ordo.

Finally, the author presents sample offices and a series of charts to compare the various possible forms each one can take. The book ends with a very useful index of the explanations given.

Church Latin Publishing also reprints a similar resource for the 1962 Office, which could be of use to those learning the traditional breviary coming from no prior experience or from the Liturgy of the Hours.

An Icon of St George

Today is the feast of the martyr St George, who is honored with particular solemnity among the Greeks. This very nice icon of stories of his life was painted by an anonymous artist of the Cretan school sometime in the first half of the 18th century; it is now at the Musée des Beaux-Arts in Paris. The central panel shows the classic story from St George’s legend of him slaying the dragon; the twelve panels around it depict various episodes of his martyrdom.

In the central panel, George kills the dragon which had long terrorized a town in Libya called Sylene (or “Silena” in the Golden Legend). In the background on the right, the king and citizens watch from the battlements of a fortress; on the opposite side, the king’s daughter (dressed in red), who had been scheduled to be fed to the dragon, is seen running from the scene.

Perched on the horse behind St George is a young man called Amiras, who is holding a wine jug. According to a much later legend, he was a boy captured by Saracens from the city of Mytilene on the island of Lesbos, and brought to Crete as to serve as a cupbearer of the Muslim princes who ruled over the island. Amiras prayed to George to deliver him from his captivity, and one day, as he was in the middle of serving at table, the Saint appeared to him, picked him up and set him on his horse, then rode over the sea to bring him back home to his mother.

On the top section are the first three episodes of the Saint’s passion: he is brought before the emperors Diocletian and Maximian, the agitators of the last great Roman persecution, in their capital of Nicomedia; he is led away to his punishment by two soldiers; a stone slab is laid on top of him to crush him to death. As is so often the case in the stories of the martyrs, the world refuses to cooperate with the persecutors, and everything they do that doesn’t involve them personally attacking the Saint (drowning, burning, throwing them off a cliff) fails. The wicked are in this way forced to assume responsibility for their actions.

The narration then goes back and forth from one side of the central panel to the other. The next image is composited out of these two sections.

At the upper left, St George is tormented on the wheel; upper right, he is comforted by an angel. Center left, he appears again before Diocletian; center right, he is submerged in quicklime, which again, does not work. Lower left, he is beaten with rods; lower right, he revives the dead ox of a farmer... 

and then in the first panel of the lower section, he revives a dead man. In the central panel, George refuses to adore an idol which is perched on top of a column, (and not easy to see); at last, he is slain by the sword.

The Solemnity of St Joseph, Patron of the Universal Church 2026

From the decree of the Sacred Congregation for Rites Inclytus Patriarcha Joseph, dated Sept. 10, 1847, extending the feast of the Patronage of St Joseph to the general calendar. The translation is my own.

The glorious Patriarch Joseph, whom the Almighty Father enriched with singular graces, and abundantly filled with heavenly gifts, so that he might serve as the reputed Father of His only-begotten Son, and the true Spouse of the Queen of Angels and mistress of the world, fulfilled the duties and offices of this high calling so perfectly that he merited to receive the praise and rewards of a good and faithful servant.

The Coronation of St Joseph, by Juan de Valdés Leal (1622-90), ca. 1665. (Public domain image from Wikimedia Commons.)

For, ever mindful of the preeminent dignity and holiness of the noble offices entrusted to him by the Divine Wisdom, he never ceased to obey the counsels and will of God  in all matters with inexpressible joy; and by pleasing God, was made beloved, until, being crowned with glory and honor in heaven, he received a new office, namely, that by his many merits, and the support of his prayers, he might come to the aid of man’s most wretched condition, and by his most powerful intercession, obtain for the world what the efforts of man cannot. For this reason, he is venerated as a merciful advocate and a powerful patron, and the feast of his patronage is kept in a great many places with a proper Mass and Office on the third Sunday occurring after the joys of Easter.

However, one thing was still left to be desired, namely, that the office of the Patronage of St Joseph should be extended to the whole Church. This did the Very Eminent and Rev. Cardinal Costantino Patrizi earnestly beseech from the Holy Father Pius IX, with most humble supplication offerred in his own name and that of the Cardinals of Holy Roman Church, and of a very great number of the faithful from home and abroad. The Holy Father, receiving these supplications, so conformable to his own devotion to St Joseph, with Apostolic kindness … gave his formal consent to the petition, and ordered that henceforth, the Mass of the Patronage of St Joseph should be celebrated by the clergy of Rome and of the whole church on the Third Sunday after Easter.

When the custom of fixing feasts to particular Sundays was abolished as part of the Breviary reform of Pope St Pius X, the feast of the Patronage of St Joseph was anticipated to the previous Wednesday, the day of the week traditionally dedicated to Patron Saints. It was removed from the general Calendar in 1955 and replaced by the feast of St Joseph the Worker; the new feast itself was then downgraded from the highest of three grades (first class) in the 1962 Missal to the lowest of four (optional memorial) in 1970.

Against Concelebration: The Remarkable Intervention of Archbishop Paul-Pierre Philippe OP at Vatican II

Bishops Yves Ramousse and Paul Tep Im concelebrate at Kep Benedictine Monastery in the 1970s (source)

Bishop Athanasius Schneider is to be thanked for recovering and publicizing, in his fine book The Catholic Mass: Steps to Restore the Centrality of God in the Liturgy, a particularly well-argued speech against concelebration that was given by Dominican archbishop during the Second Vatican Council’s debate on the liturgy.

Paul-Pierre Philippe was, it should be noted, no minor figure; later he was created a cardinal and made prefect of the Congregation for Oriental Churches.

I agree that the faculty of sacramental concelebration should be extended in the Latin Church to the Chrism Mass, on Thursday of the Lord’s Supper, as well as, for example, to the Mass celebrated by the bishop during the diocesan synod or on the occasion of a pastoral visit or spiritual exercises of diocesan priests, because in this way the union of the priests with the bishop in the one priesthood of Christ is manifested.
       This reason, however, is not valid for extending concelebration to the daily Conventual Mass of religious, which some Fathers have called for. For the union of many concelebrating priests comes about only as a consequence of the union of each priest with Christ the Priest, whose sacred person he represents at Mass. For the priest, as Pope Pius XII says in the encyclical Mediator Dei, “by reason of the sacerdotal consecration which he has received, is made like to the High Priest and possesses the power of performing actions in virtue of Christ’s very person. Wherefore in his priestly activity he in a certain manner ‘lends his tongue and gives his hand’ to Christ” (AAS 1947:518). In fact, the action of Christ who sacrifices and offers himself through the sacramental action is manifested more expressively in the Mass celebrated by one priest than in a concelebrated Mass, and is better perceived both by the celebrant himself and by the faithful who see in this one priest “the image of Christ” the Priest (cf. ST III, Q. 83, art. 1, ad 3).
       Priestly spirituality is principally based on this doctrine and through it the Eucharistic devotion of priests is nourished. Now, however, if many priests habitually concelebrate, it is to be feared that they will gradually feel less like an “alterChristus” and that their Eucharistic piety will diminish. Religious who concelebrate daily may run into this danger in a particular way.
       Certainly, it has been said that the freedom of individual celebration must be safeguarded, but in reality, the insistence of superiors and confreres as well as external difficulties and the force of custom will impede that freedom. Moreover, too frequent or daily concelebration can lead to a certain contempt for the so-called “private” Mass. For every Mass, according to the doctrine of the Council of Trent, is truly public, since it is celebrated by the public minister of the Church for all the faithful belonging to the Body of Christ.
       Finally, the doctrine of Pius XII on the fruits of the Mass must be recalled (cf. AAS 1954:669). In this matter one must consider not only the fruit produced by a devout and fraternal celebration, but first and foremost the nature of the action taking place, that is, the sacramental sacrifice of Christ. Indeed, the objective fruit of the Mass, that is, the fruit of propitiation and impetration for the living and the dead, is the principal fruit. And because this fruit is not the same in a concelebrated Mass and in many Masses celebrated by many priests, if the use of frequent concelebration becomes widespread it is to be feared that right doctrine will be obscured and the faithful will no longer take care that many Masses be celebrated for the living and the dead.
       Therefore, practical convenience is not acceptable as a reason or criterion in favor of extending concelebration, but only the sometimes appropriate manifestation of the unity of the priesthood through concelebration with the bishop or religious superior. [1]

It cannot be said that the good archbishop was in any way mistaken, either in his theological synopsis or in his prognostication of the spiritual and liturgical effects of routine concelebration.

It is appropriate to add to this conciliar speech a more recent (1994) critique of concelebration mounted by Fr. Enrico Zoffoli—also conveniently included in Bishop Schneider’s The Catholic Mass. Schneider rightly praises Zoffoli’s “keen observations on the doctrinal, pastoral, and spiritual disadvantages of this modern celebratory practice”:

Habitual concelebration of the Mass facilitates a shift toward the heretical conception of the Mass as a banquet, and leads to losing sight of the Mass as a sacrifice; thus the altar yields to the table; the single minister who operates in persona Christi is replaced by the many diners; the substantial reality of Christ the Victim is dissolved into consecrated bread that is reduced to a mere symbol of His presence among the guests, and to His spiritual union with all.
       Concelebration fatally leads to a reduction in the number of individual Masses with seriously negative consequences.
       First, the Church is less frequently united with her Head in the “sacrifice of praise, thanksgiving, propitiation, and expiation” that constitutes every Eucharistic celebration, thus failing in the fundamental duty of worship owed to God through Christ; and, consequently, she suffers a halt in her process of development.
       Second, if concelebration reveals the unity of the Catholic priesthood in the many ministers of worship (as in some circumstances is appropriate), nevertheless, the fact of being together and the need for each one to conform to the others in gestures, formulas, tone of voice, etc., over time reduces the intensity of a priest’s personal, unique, and irreplaceable union with God in Christ, to the detriment of his interior life. . . .
       Against this, many justify concelebration by claiming that it does not reduce the number of Masses, which they say would be equal to the number of concelebrating priests. But this is false, (1) first because every Mass consists essentially in the consecration, whose formula is one and indivisible, even if it is recited by many. (2) Second, several instrumental causes cannot multiply the work of the Principal Cause. That is to say, in each Mass Christ sacramentally immolates himself only once. St. Paul’s “quotiescumque” cannot have any other meaning. . . . Third, it is not the number of priests with their personal intentions that essentially conditions the sacrificial rite, but the consecration, which, if it is one, constitutes a Mass. Now, as noted above, the consecration of several concelebrants is one. Therefore, the Mass concelebrated by them is also one. In reality, the Mass, by the very fact that it is concelebrated, can only be (sacramentally) one. If several priests come together to celebrate, it is only because they intend to perform a single liturgical action, otherwise each would celebrate on his own. For this reason, everyone knows that many diners do not multiply a meal, and — again by analogy — many singers make up a single choir, etc.
       On March 7, 1965, with the decree Ecclesiae semper, the Holy See dispelled all doubts, declaring that when a Mass is concelebrated, the many priests, in virtue of the same priesthood and in the person of the High Priest, act at the same time with one will and one voice, and offer a single sacrifice at the same time by a single sacramental act. [2]

Bishop Schneider then comments: “The truth that the Mass is the source of salvation is demonstrated in a more expressive manner by the practice of its frequent celebration,” and quotes Zoffoli again:

It is right to insist on an ever more conscious, well-considered, and intense participation in the Mass. Who could ever doubt it? But this duty — a serious one for priest and faithful — has nothing to do with the infinite objective value of every Mass; which, being celebrated by Christ, the Priest who offers, is in itself the supreme act of worship of the Mystical Body and an inexhaustible source of grace for all, even when the minister is unworthy, and when the faithful are ignorant, distracted, or completely absent. [3]

Journet asserts: “If Christ in each Mass accomplishes the work of redemption, it is easy to see the need to multiply Masses.” [4]

As an aside, it seems to me that the doctrine of the infinite value of Christ’s sacrifice as present in the Mass can lead logically in only two directions: either you need to say that there is no need to repeat Mass at all, since even one celebration of it would be of infinite value—indeed, the Protestant will go further and say that no Mass is necessary because of the one supreme sacrifice of Calvary itself, all-sufficient and “once for all” (as Catholics, we understand the flaw in that view, which does not see how the Mass is a re-presentation, a making-present-anew, of the one selfsame sacrifice of the Cross)—or you need to say that Mass should be repeated as many times as it is fitting to do so, which the Church has deemed to be once a day for each priest, apart from well-defined pastoral exceptions. To do less than this is precisely not to acknowledge the intrinsic value of the Mass as a sacrificial offering.

Thus, Bishop Schneider continues with a quotation from Fr. Zoffoli that develops this line of reasoning:

The numerical reduction of Masses (one would like to arrive at a single Sunday Mass) has its understandable justification only in the context of the Protestant liturgy; which, having denied the sacrifice, transubstantiation and the real presence, only knows a “banquet,” which is obviously celebrated by several diners independently of the exercise of a “ministerial priesthood”; hence it is taught — even in some Catholic circles — that the true “celebrant” is not the “priest,” but the “community of the faithful” and indeed each believer.

While the error he mentions is not as frequently met with today as it used to be in the ferment of the immediate post-council period, nevertheless one may truly say that the appreciation of the priest’s offering of the Mass as such, independently of the presence of a community or of communicants, is something that is found only in the ambit of traditional liturgy—in which I include younger clergy shaped by the theology of Joseph Ratzinger (inter alia) and the presence of the old rite in lands graced by Summorum Pontificum.

NOTES

[1] Source: Concilii Vaticani II Synopsis, 1053, in Schneider, The Catholic Mass, 224–26.

[2] Questa è la Messa. Non altro!, Udine: Segno, 1994, 90–92, cited in Schneider, The Catholic Mass, 229–30. Zoffoli cites the text of the decree: “In hac ratione Missam celebrandi plures sacerdotes, in virtute eiusdem sacerdotii et in persona Summi Sacerdotis, simul una voluntate et una voce agunt, atque unicum sacrificium unico actu sacramentali simul conficiunt, idemque simul participant” (AAS 57 [1965]: 411).

[3] Zoffoli, Questa è la Messa, 93, in Schneider, The Catholic Mass, 231.

[4] Charles Journet, Oeuvres complètes XIV (1955–1957), Annexe I, sec. III, in Schneider, The Catholic Mass, 231.

Art, Beauty, Creativity and Inspiration #4: What Use is Beauty?...Beauty and Utility

Is Beauty an Extravagance When There is Still Poverty In the World?

This is the fourth and final post in a series exploring a Christian philosophy of art and beauty. In the first post, I examined what art is and what makes it good and Christian. In the second, I looked at how art is made and what beauty does to the human soul. Last week, I asked how we can know what is beautiful, arguing that tradition is our surest collective guide. This week, I turn to two very practical objections that any advocate of beauty must be prepared to answer. The first is the claim that beauty and utility are in tension — that a truly functional building or object has no room for aesthetic considerations. I will argue, on the contrary, that beauty and utility are not rivals but are in fact inseparable: that when something is made well for a genuinely good purpose, beauty follows necessarily. The second objection is the most pointed of all: in a world of poverty and need, can we justify spending money on beautiful churches, art, and sacred objects? I will argue, drawing on the example of the Franciscans and the economic thinking of Benedict XVI, that this is not only justified but is, rightly understood, one of the most effective things we can do for the poor.

20th century utilitarian architecture: The convent of Sainte Marie de La Tourette, France, designed by Le Corbusier, completed in 1960. I’ve seen more pleasing prisons!

Above is a convent that looks like a prison, and here is a Victorian prison, Lincoln Castle Prison, now a listed building, which looks like a palace. The nuns’ cells seem less appealing than those of the prisoners!

Beauty and Utility

It is common for people with traditional tastes to criticize modern architecture as ugly. Its ugliness arises, they say very often, because it is designed on utilitarian principles in accord with the common slogan, ‘form follows function’. The architectural style that developed from this idea in the 20th century is known as functionalism, and it is the movement from which modern architecture emerged. Its most famous proponent was the Franco-Swiss architect Le Corbusier.

The problem with this approach, so the common criticism goes, is that the architect has not considered how to make his design beautiful, as he is only interested in creating a building that serves its function.

For example, imagine a newly built library in a contemporary utilitarian style. Many people with more traditional tastes will likely think it is ugly. The reason for that ugliness, they would say, is that the architect considered only how it could house and provide people with access to books - its ‘utility’ - and made no effort to incorporate a beautiful design. Such critics typically argue that the architect ought to have made it both beautiful and useful.

Vybord Library, Russian, 1927, an example of functionalism

I would very likely dislike the appearance of such a building too, but would argue the case slightly differently. I would say that when any human artefact with a good purpose is made well, it is necessarily beautiful. Beauty is not an add-on to usefulness. Rather, when the library is designed for optimal utility, it is inevitable that it will be beautiful. Beauty, as I see it, is intimately bound up with utility (properly understood), because when it has integrity, everything about it is in conformity to its purpose.

The problem with our imagined ugly library is not that the architect was a strict utilitarian who considered only how the building would be used. Rather, the problem is that he had a diminished understanding of the true utility of a library. Because he only considered the narrow material needs of those who might read its books, he did not understand the full purpose of a library. If people are to be at ease and able to read in peace and tranquility, the building must be a beautiful environment for reading.

These additional functions of a beautiful library relate to our spiritual needs, which, for the Christian, unlike our hypothetical atheist, materialist architect, are even more important than our material needs. Any information that we read and which is grasped by the intellect will impact our spiritual lives, too. It is important that the environment predisposes us to be open to both spiritual and intellectual formation through what we read.

The Radcliffe Camera library in Oxford, designed by James Gibbs in the Baroque style, and completed in 1739.

We can look to church architecture for inspiration here. Traditional church architecture fosters contemplation of God. The main focus of the design of churches is as a place of worship, and the activity of worship properly includes the engagement of the intellect through the reception of information that is imparted to us via both the written and spoken word. It is appropriate, therefore, that the design of a library should draw on that of a church so that we learn what we read in such a way that it raises our hearts to God even in the library, just as it does in the church. Traditionally, this is precisely what we observe. It is no accident that the libraries of the Oxford and Cambridge colleges are adaptations of church architecture, built, for example, in the Gothic style, which originated as a style for churches. The design of a college library is not identical to that of the college chapel, as it is appropriate to the function of a library, but it is closely related to it.

This does not suggest that every human activity has a spiritual component. Rather, it is saying that, since the human person is a unity of body and soul, even activities directed primarily towards the good of the body must also affect the soul.

Take, for example, the most mundane activities, say, cleaning our teeth. I brush my teeth daily because I want to be healthy, and I don’t want my breath to smell bad. I cannot, for the life of me, see how I can brush my teeth spiritually. I doubt that a Christian mystic and an atheist materialist Communist will brush their teeth any differently. However, physical health contributes to my well-being and, in an indirect way, to my spiritual health, thereby enhancing my capacity to undertake the work of the Lord. While it is possible to overcome ill health and remain of sound mind and spirit through grace, it is nevertheless an aid to my spiritual health to be physically sound as well. As something that is God-given, I should do all that I can to maintain bodily health. So even something as mundane as a toothbrush suited to its purpose will, therefore, have a beauty that speaks of this greater picture of the benefits of cleaning our teeth. Its beauty will work in harmony with its primary purpose and will incline us to use it for the good of our health. This is the utility of beauty in a toothbrush! Therefore, it would be reasonable to incorporate traditional proportions, rooted in the beauty of the cosmos, into toothbrush design.

When, unlike a toothbrush, the object we are considering does have a direct impact on the spiritual life, such as on how we pray, as is the case with a church building, then it is all the more obvious that its beauty, which directs us to God, has a direct impact on our ability to carry out that activity well. The beauty of sacred art that hangs inside the church also plays a direct role in raising our hearts to heaven. This means that while ugly toothbrushes are unlikely to lead us to hell, the environment’s impact on worshippers’ souls should be considered of paramount importance. Therefore, everything associated with the liturgy, for example, the art, music, architecture, and vestments, must be appropriately beautiful to serve its purpose well.

A toothbrush made in 1872!

Is Beauty Worth It? Doesn’t It Cost Too Much to Make Beautiful Objects?

First, as a general principle, it is not a given that it is more expensive to make something beautiful than it is to make something ugly. Overall, the beauty of artefacts is a function of design. Mass production and industrialization, which lead to lower production costs, are not, contrary to what is commonly asserted, necessarily processes that automatically produce aesthetically undesirable products. It is as easy to mass-produce something beautiful as it is something ugly. The ugliness of today’s culture is driven as much by poor design principles as it is by economic considerations.

A large basilica built in modern design is typically even more expensive than one built in, say, a traditional Romanesque design, as evidenced by the recent building of the neo-Romanesque church of St Mary in Kansas, which comes in at significantly less cost than the ugly modernist Los Angeles Catholic Cathedral despite being on a similar scale.

The Immaculata Church, St Mary’s Church, Kansas, completed in 2023

While this is not automatically the case, as stated, sometimes creating something beautiful can cost more than its ugly equivalent. Even when the cost is higher, it is an investment that yields economic returns. For example, houses built to traditional proportions typically command higher prices on the open market, which more than offsets any additional construction costs. These buildings cost more, incidentally, not because designing beautifully is intrinsically more costly, but because the current templates of mass production of house parts, for example, window dimensions, do not reflect traditional harmony and proportion. As a result, window frames have to be made individually. If they were mass-produced, the costs of building houses in traditional, harmonious proportions would come down.

I would argue that if we wish to consider the souls of those who use what we create, then we must endeavor to make beautiful objects and do so in a cost-effective manner. An ‘investment’ in the souls of men will pay off.

When faced with the dilemma of whether to spend money on beautiful churches and sacred art, a common objection is that it would be better to give it to the poor. This is an old but false argument (one that goes back to Judas!) that I would counter as follows:

Consider the gospel account of Martha, Mary, and Judas (Luke 10:38-42). Many will be aware of this story of the two women acting as hostesses, in which Mary washed Jesus’s feet with expensive nard while Martha attended to the other guests’ needs and complained to Jesus that she was doing all the work. Judas, the keeper of the apostles’ funds, also complained that the money spent on expensive nard would be better spent on the poor. It is common to interpret this story by focusing on the contrast between Martha and Mary’s attitudes. However, we can also contrast Mary’s attitude with that of Judas. Here is a lesson about the allocation of resources:

Mary made the right choice, we were told, in choosing Christ even before giving to the poor. There is an equivalent choice facing us today whenever we have to decide whether to have beautiful churches and art, intricate vestments, ornate, jewel-studded chalices, and so on. Is it right to direct money to these things when there is poverty? The answer is yes, when these things, through the liturgy, elevate the souls of the faithful to Christ. Directing wealth toward the creation of beautiful churches and church artefacts is a more noble use of resources than giving it directly to the poor, which, in fact, will result in greater benefits for them. Why would we say this?

Interior of St Cyprian’s Church, Clarence Gate, Marylebone, London. Designed by Ninian Compton and completed in 1903. The Anglican Church in England, under the inspiration of ‘slum priest’ Charles Gutch, built its most ornate churches deliberately to serve the poor.

First, all of us, rich or poor, can go to church, and we all need our souls saved. So, in church, the poor benefit spiritually as much as the rich do. Beauty is a common good equally available and equally beneficial to all who encounter it, rich and poor alike.

Second, the poor will benefit materially as well. Faith inspires charity and will directly inspire the rich to give to the poor. Furthermore, it will enable greater wealth creation for the benefit of the poor, thereby elevating their dignity. This is a result of the principle of superabundance at work. Superabundance is the creation of something out of nothing, or of more from less. The Christian life lived according to the principle of love is always fruitful in so many ways—and when it is, God works through us, and it invokes the principle of superabundance.

Benedict XVI addresses the principle of superabundance through charity in the economic sphere in his encyclical Caritas in Veritate (CV). He argues that love may be present even in the ordinary economic transaction. When it is, it not only creates wealth, as all voluntary economic transactions do, but also builds the dignity of all concerned, for even economic transactions suffused with love are raised to a level beyond the material. This interaction contributes to the creation of a community that, through every interaction, including economic ones, builds the dignity of those involved and, in turn, generates greater material wealth by encouraging more economic activity, because a culture of trust and love encourages people to trade with one another.

Benedict explains it as follows:

“Because it is a gift received by everyone, charity in truth is a force that builds community; it brings all people together without imposing barriers or limits. The human community that we build by ourselves can never, purely by its own strength, be a fully fraternal community, nor can it overcome every division and become a truly universal community. The unity of the human race, a fraternal communion transcending every barrier, is called into being by the word of God-who-is-Love. In addressing this key question, we must make it clear, on the one hand, that the logic of gift does not exclude justice, nor does it merely sit alongside it as a second element added from without; on the other hand, economic, social and political development, if it is to be authentically human, needs to make room for the principle of gratuitousness as an expression of fraternity.

“In a climate of mutual trust, the market is the economic institution that permits encounter between persons, inasmuch as they are economic subjects who make use of contracts to regulate their relations as they exchange goods and services of equivalent value between them, in order to satisfy their needs and desires. The market is subject to the principles of so-called commutative justice, which regulates the relations of giving and receiving between parties to a transaction. But the social doctrine of the Church has unceasingly highlighted the importance of distributive justice and social justice for the market economy, not only because it belongs within a broader social and political context, but also because of the wider network of relations within which it operates. In fact, if the market is governed solely by the principle of the equivalence in value of exchanged goods, it cannot produce the social cohesion that it requires in order to function well.” (CV, 34-35)

A Church whose liturgy inspires holiness will foster the atmosphere of mutual trust that Benedict speaks of, thereby generating increasingly productive economic activity.

During his papacy, Pope Francis made headlines with regular calls for charity toward the poor, citing St. Francis of Assisi as a model. To this day, the Franciscan order is characterized by a mission of charity for the poor. But it should not be forgotten that God commissioned St Francis to rebuild Christ’s Church, and the Franciscan order responded by ministering to the poor and by building grand and beautiful churches. Consistent with the principle that Benedict later cites, the Franciscan order did not regard investment in beautiful churches as contrary to its mission to help the poor. They became the great patrons of the art of their age, and many of the great artists from the time of St Francis were third-order Franciscans or were commissioned by Franciscans to work on their churches - Giotto, Cimabue, Simone Martini, Raphael, and Michelangelo. There is no austerity in the Franciscan churches of the past—the Basilica at Assisi is richly decorated from floor to ceiling.

If we are to help the poor in America, we begin, as the Franciscans did in medieval Italy, by striving to transform the Church through beautiful liturgy, art, and architecture. This will, in turn, evangelize the culture and change all men’s hearts, making them more inclined to help the poor in their own community. It will also create a national culture that fosters mutual trust, by which, as a by-product, the economy will grow, so that many will have jobs and greater dignity to support their material needs and aid them in their pursuit of holiness.

The interior of the Basilica of St Francis of Assisi, Umbria, Italy.