St Petronius of Bologna

Long before St Francis of Assisi was canonized in 1228, the city of Bologna kept the day which is now his feast on the general calendar, October 4, as the feast of St Petronius. He was born in the later part of the 4th century into a noble Roman family, and his father had held important offices in the imperial government. In about 432, he was elected the 8th bishop of Bologna, and died around 18 years later; very little else is known of him. A medieval hagiographical life, composed on the occasion of the finding of his relics in 1141, supplies a great many legendary stories about him of the sort that have given something of a bad odor to the word “legendary.” Several of these stories are concerned with his role in obtaining various privileges for Bologna from his “relative”, the Emperor Theodosius II, among them, the establishment of the university which boasts of being the oldest in Europe. (More accurate history would place the foundation over six centuries later.)

This statue of St Petronius on the Palazzo Comunale (city hall) in Piazza Maggiore was originally of Pope Gregory XIII (1571-85), after whom the Gregorian Calendar is named. A native of Bologna, he had studied law, both canon and civil (the famous “laurea utriusque”) at the university, which came into existence originally in the later 11th century specifically as a studium of canon law. During the Napoleonic invasion of Italy, the French government ordered the destruction of all public statues of the Popes; the Bolognesi hastily erected the inscription over the statue “St Petronius, Protector and Father” to save it, and wound up never changing it back.

A statue of St Petronius at an intersection fairly close to the Piazza Maggiore, between the famous towers (the Garisenda on the left, and the Asinelli on the right), which are the two best-known landmarks and symbols of the city. They are the most prominent of the 24 medieval towers that survive in Bologna, which saw the construction of over a hundred of them in the 12th and 13th centuries. The Garisenda was already leaning heavily by 1351, when it was cut down from almost 197 feet to 157½, but still declines 4 degrees off the perpendicular, slightly more than the more famous leaning tower of Pisa.

In the mid 13th-century, the city began to honor him as its principal patron, and in 1390, an enormous basilica titled to him was begun in the central piazza of the city. It is now the 6th largest church in Europe, far larger even than Bologna’s own cathedral. There are several famous churches in Italy which went for long periods with an unfinished façade, most notably among them, the cathedrals of Florence and Milan; St Petronius’ remains incomplete to this very day. (When I was last in Bologna and took these pictures, there was a lot of scaffolding on the façade, so I nicked this photo of an old postcard from Wikimedia instead.)

Each the church’s six bays is about 62 feet long, for a total length of 433 feet; the building is about 197 feet wide, and over 145 high at the vault of the central nave, making it the largest brick Gothic church in the world.

The baldachin was constructed in the mid-16th century by Jacopo Vignola, who succeeded Michelangelo as the chief architect of St Peter’s Basilica in Rome in 1564.

The organ on the right side of the sanctuary (still commonly referred to as the organ “in cornu epistolae”) was built from 1471-75, and is the oldest functioning pipe organ in Italy.

Continue Reading this Article. . .

Before the Gospel

Lost in Translation #106

Before the priest proclaims the Gospel reading of the day, he says several prayers. The first is:

Munda cor meum ac labia mea, omnípotens Deus, qui labia Isaíæ Prophétæ cálculo mundasti igníto: ita me tua grata miseratióne dignáre mundáre, ut sanctum Evangelium tuum digne váleam nuntiáre. Per Christum, Dóminum nostrum. Amen.

Which I translate as:

Cleanse my heart and my lips, O almighty God, Who didst cleanse the lips of the prophet Isaiah with a burning coal: Deign to cleanse me by Thy pleasing mercy in such a way that I may worthily be able to proclaim Thy holy Gospel. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.

The prayer is an allusion to Isaiah 6, 6-7, when an angel takes a live coal from the altar and touches it to the lips of Isaiah in order to cleanse him from his sins. The prayer uses the same word for “live coal” as the Vulgate, calculus. It is an odd choice, for a calculus in Latin was never used for a coal, let alone a live one. (The prayer at least adds ignito to designate the coal as burning; the Vulgate simply has calculus with no adjective.) In Latin, a calculus is a small stone that had several different uses. Demosthenes put calculi in his mouth to learn to articulate better; calculi were used to cast votes (white for Aye and black for Nay); and the Thracians used white calculi to commemorate happy days and black calculi to mark misfortunes. And of course calculi were used on counting-boards, which is why we now have the word calculator. [1] During the four other times that the Vulgate uses calculus, it is with these more conventional meanings in mind. [2]

Finally, it is difficult to translate the word play between “deign” (dignare) and “worthily” (digne). If God deigns to purify the priest, the priest will be dignified.

Jube Domine Benedicere

When the priest is celebrating a Low Mass or Missa cantata, he prays: Jube, Dómine, benedícere or “Pray, Lord, give a blessing.” But at a Solemn High Mass, the deacon—who is about to chant the Gospel—says to the priest: Jube, Domne, benedicere or “Pray, sir, give a blessing.”

The priest blesses the deacon at a Solemn High Mass

There is literally one iota’s difference between the two prayers. When the prayer is addressed to Christ, Dominus is used; when it is addressed to the priest, Domnus is used. Dominus, which is derived from a root that indicates for conquering or subduing, often had negative, despotic connotations in Republican Rome, but it was one of the titles of the Emperor beginning with Augustus Caesar. For the Gospels to call Jesus Christ Dominus or Lord was thus seen as a rebellious act.

Domnus, on the other hand, was a Christian invention (it appears on ancient Roman inscriptions, but only as a syncopation of Dominus). It was precisely because Jesus is Lord that it felt strange calling anyone else by that title. Greek Christians thus abbreviated Kyrios to Kyros and Latin Christians abbreviated Dominus to Domnus, with the latter reserved to persons of authority. Thus, in the Litany of the Saints, the Pope is called the Apostolic Master, Domnus Apostolicus. The custom went on to give rise to other titles such as Dom or Don. [3]

The use of jube fits this noble or regal atmosphere nicely, for jubeo/jubere can to mean to order or command, to decree or enact, although here it is more supplicatory, meaning to bid or pray.

Dominus Sit in Corde Meo

Dóminus sit in corde meo et in labiis meis: ut digne et competenter annuntiem Evangelium suum. Amen.

Which I translate as:

May the Lord be in my heart and on my lips, that I may worthily and competently proclaim His holy Gospel. Amen.

At a Solemn Mass the wording is changed so that the priest may bless the deacon: “The Lord be in thy heart on thy lips...”

The blessing has the same main petition as the Munda cor meum (cleansing and worthiness), but it shifts the imagery of lips from cleansing to competence. The prayer asks for God on the heart so that the deacon or priest may be (morally) worthy of the honor of proclaiming the Gospel, and it asks for God on the lips so that the deacon or priest may be technically competent to do so, reading the right words, hitting the right notes, and so forth. Both dimensions are important in order to fulfill one’s ecclesiastical office, and indeed, something similar can be said for other walks of life as well. Moral rectitude and professional mastery are good things to have.

The priest then dialogues with the faithful.

℣. Dóminus vobiscum.

℟. Et cum spíritu tuo.

P. Sequentia (vel Initium) sancti Evangelii secundum N.

℟. Gloria tibi, Dómine.

Which is typically translated as:

℣. The Lord be with you.

℟. And with thy spirit.

P. The continuation (or beginning) of the holy Gospel according to N.

℟. Glory be to Thee, O Lord.

For the “Epistle” reading, whether it is from the Old Testament or the New, the lector calls the passage he is about to read as a Lectio (a reading), but the deacon or priest who proclaims the Gospel describes the passage he is about to read or chant by whether it is at the beginning of one of the four canonical Gospels or somewhere thereafter--the one exception being during Holy Week, when the word Passio is used instead of Sequentia for the Passion narratives of the four Evangelists.

The subdeacon reading the Epistle

The reason for the use of Lectio at the Epistle, Saint Isidore of Seville explains, is that the reading was originally recited while the Gospel was always chanted. [4] Even in the 1962 Missal the “chant” that accompanies the Epistle is halfway between speaking and singing, a kind of recto tono; and the priest at a Missa cantata has the option of reading rather than chanting the Epistle. The Gospel, on the other hand, has a more elaborate chant, a testimony to its greater importance.

Finally, the congregation responds with Gloria tibi, Domine. At other times, when the priest addresses the people, the people address the priest, as with Dominus vobiscum, Et cum spiritu tuo. Here, however, the faithful are so grateful for and gleeful about the annunciation of the Gospel that, forgetful of their manners, they glorify God rather than thank the priest or wish him well. As Sicard, Bishop of Cremona (1155–1215) writes:

God’s glory and ours are treated in the Gospel, namely, that He has conquered the devil and the Victor ascended unto the glory of God the Father; which redeems us and promises us greater things. Therefore, hearing the mention of the Gospel, we turn to the East and we exclaim in praise of the Creator: Glory be to Thee, O Lord! It is as if we were saying: “What is preached in the Gospel, let us also believe in and hope in. May it benefit us, may it come forth to us, may it remain with us forever! Furthermore, not to us, O Lord, not to us, but to Thy name belongs, and will belong, glory, and so the people glorify God who has sent us the word of salvation and wrought redemption for His people, according to what it says in the Acts of the Apostles, “And they have glorified God.” (11,18) [5]

Notes

[1] See “calcŭlus, i,” Lewis and Short Latin Dictionary (Clarendon Press, 1879), 268.

[2] See 2 Kings 17,13; Prov. 20,17; Ecclus. 18,18; Rev. 2,17.

[3] See Rev. Nicholas Gihr, The Holy Sacrifice of the Mass: Dogmatically, Liturgically and Ascetically Explained (Herder, 1902), 473, n. 1.

[4] Lectio dicitur quia non cantatur ut psalmus vel hymnus, sed legitur tantum. Illic enim modulatio, hic sola pronuntiatio quaeritur (Etymologies 1.6.19.9).

[5] Respondet populus: Gloria tibi, Domine. In Evangelio agitur de gloria Dei et nostra, scil. quod diabolum vicit et victor ad gloriam Dei Patris ascendit; quod nos redemit et nobis majora promisit. Audientes igitur Evangelii mentionem, nos ad Orientem vertimus et exclamamus in laudem Creatoris: Gloria tibi, Domine quasi dicamus: Quod in Evangelio praedicatur, et nos credimus et speramus, nobis proficiat, nobis eveniat, sine fine permaneat. Et exinde: Non nobis, Domine, non nobis, sed nomini tuo inest et inerit gloria, et ita populus glorificat Deum qui misit nobis verbum salutis et fecit redemptionem plebis suae, juxta quod in Act. Apost. (11, 18) dicitur: Et glorificaverunt Deum (Sicardus Cremonensis, Mitrale sive de officiis ecclesiasticis Summa, 1.3.4; quoted in Gihr, 475, n. 1).

Update for RSS Feed Users

Some readers who follow NLM through its RSS feed have been reporting a lack of article updates since September 22, so here is a technical update for them.

On that day, Google disabled its old “feedburner” services, one of which was that RSS feed.  But the feed is still also available under this link: https://www.newliturgicalmovement.org/feeds/posts/default, so if you use that URL instead, you should be able to get the latest articles as usual.

Users who are already on this newer RSS link probably did not have any interruption in service, and don’t need to make any changes.

I’m adding an RSS icon with the same link in the right-hand column:  

Music from a Mass of St Hildegard

Our friend Mr James Griffin of The Durandus Institute for Sacred Liturgy and Music is preparing a full write-up the Institute’s most recent event, a Mass celebrated on the feast of St Hildegard of Bingen this past September 17. In the meantime, we are happy to share these four videos of the Mass, which highlight the splendor of the music.

The Introit, Kyrie and Gloria.

Offertory and Motet

Communio, Interlude and Motets

Salve Regina, Recessional and Postlude

St Robert Bellarmine’s Hymn for the Guardian Angels

St Robert Bellarmine was born in 1542, and in his youth, received a classical education typical of his era, showing himself to be a particular bright pupil at a very early age. It was an essential part of education in those days that people were trained not only to read and comment intelligently upon the Latin classics, but also to write their own Latin in both prose and verse, and Robert was already skilled at this as a boy. In his early years in the Society of Jesus, which he entered at age 18, he taught the classics in the order’s school in Florence. When he was transferred to Mondovi in Piedmont, he discovered that he was supposed to teach Cicero and Demosthenes, although he knew hardly any Greek at all; he therefore taught himself in one night the grammar lesson he was supposed to deliver the next day. In the midst of his vast output of theological writings, for which he was named a Doctor of the Church in 1931, and his many other scholarly achievements, he also continued to write poetry in both Latin and Italian throughout his life.

St Robert Bellarmine (Public domain image from Wikipedia.) 

Formal liturgical devotion to the Guardian Angels is found sporadically in the Middle Ages and Renaissance, but really began to establish itself in the Counter-Reformation period, of which St Robert was such an important protagonist. Pope Paul V (1605-21), who kept him as one of his most valued counselors, was also the first post-Tridentine Pope to formally approve a feast of the Guardian Angels, which he granted to the Holy Roman Empire at the request of Ferdinand II of Austria. When the feast was extended to the universal church by Pope Clement X in 1670, it was given a proper Office, which includes two hymns composed by St Robert: Custodes hominum, which is sung at Matins and both Vespers, and Aeterne rector siderum for Lauds.

Ancient Greek and Latin poetry was not based on rhyme, which was considered a blemish on verse in antiquity, but on alternations of long and short syllables, according to various established patterns. The oldest Christian hymns, such as those of St Ambrose or Venantius Fortunatus, were similarly constructed, although often rather more loosely than in the classical period. In the Middle Ages, when Latin vowel quantities were mostly not heard or pronounced, rhyme established itself as the norm for new liturgical composition, and even extended itself beyond the various types of hymns into non-metrical forms like responsories. The Renaissance, however, which sought to imitate the classical world in all the arts, rejected rhyme and returned to metrical composition based on vowel quantity; this classicizing spirit in the use of Latin lasted much longer than the Renaissance itself did, and is found in new liturgical compositions of every period, up to and including the most recent texts of the post-Conciliar rite. In the same spirit, Pope Urban VIII (1623-44) had the whole corpus of hymns in the Roman Breviary revised and classicized, giving rise to the famous remark “Accessit Latinitas, recessit pietas - Latinity came in, piety went out.”

To judge by St Robert’s compositions for the Guardian Angels, it is a pity that he did not live to contribute to Pope Urban’s project, which might have been more successful with his input. His vocabulary is almost entirely within the established usage of Christian Latinity. The metrical form is one used by Horace in his odes, called the Third Asclepiadean, but he mostly avoids the contorted word order which the classical poets and their later imitators often employed. Here is a splendid recording by the Ensemble Venance Fortunat, in alternating chant and polyphony; a pure Gregorian version sung by the Gloriae Dei Cantores, alternating women’s and men’s voices, is given below. The English translation is that of Alan Gordon McDougall (1896-1965).

Custodes hominum, psallimus Angelos, Naturae fragili quos Pater addi- dit, Caelestis comites, insidianti- bus, Ne succumberet hostibus.	Angel guardians of men, spirits and powers we sing, Whom our Father hath sent, aids to our weakly frame, Heavenly friends and guides, help from on high to bring, Lest we fail through the foeman’s wile.
Nam, quod corruerit proditor angelus, Concessis merito pulsus hono- ribus Ardens invidia pellere nititur Quos caelo Deus advocat.	He, the spoiler of souls, angel-traitor of old, Cast in merited wrath out of his honoured place, Burns with envy and hate, seeking their souls to gain Whom God’s mercy invites to heaven.
Huc, custos, igitur pervigil ad- vola, Avertens patria de tibi credita Tam morbis animi quam requi- scere Quidquid non sinit incolas.	Therefore come to our help, watchful ward of our lives: Turn aside from the land, God to thy care confides Sickness and woe of soul, yea, and what else of ill Peace of heart to its folk denies.
Sanctae sit Triadi laus pia jugi- ter Cujus perpetuo numine machi- na Triplex haec regitur, cujus in omnia Regnat gloria saecula. Amen.	Now to the Holy Three praise evermore resound: Under whose hand divine resteth the triple world Governed in wondrous wise: glory be theirs and might While the ages unending run.

A different and somewhat looser English version, by Fr Edward Caswall. (Fr Caswall, born in 1814, was an Anglican clergyman who converted to Catholicism in 1847. After the sudden death of his wife in 1849, he entered the Birmingham Oratory in 1850; he was ordained priest two years later, and died in 1878. He was a talented poet, and many of his English translations of the traditional Latin hymns were incorporated by John Crighton-Stuart, the Third Marquess of Bute, into his monumental English version of the Roman Breviary, including this one.)

Praise we those ministers celestial
Whom the dread Father chose
To be defenders of our nature frail,
Against our scheming foes.

For, since that from his glory in the skies
Th’ Apostate Angel fell,
Burning with envy, evermore he tries
To drown our souls in Hell.

Then hither, watchful Spirit, bend thy wing,
Our country’s Guardian blest!
Avert her threatening ills; expel each thing
That hindereth her rest.

Praise to the trinal Majesty, whose strength
This mighty fabric sways;
Whose glory reigns beyond the utmost length
Of everlasting days. Amen.

The Cathedral of St Bavo in Ghent

On the general calendar, today is the feast of St Remigius, the bishop of Reims who baptized the Frankish king Clovis in 508, a major event for the Christianization of the Franks and the establishment of the French nation. Since he died on January 13, the octave day of the Epiphany, his feast is kept on October 1st, the date of a translation of his relics which took place in 852 A.D. In the Middle Ages, many places kept this feast jointly with various other confessors, one of whom is St Bavo, the patron of the Belgian city of Ghent, where he died ca. 655. (He is also known as Allowin; the Dutch form of his name is Baaf.)

The Conversion of St Bavo, 1624, by Peter Paul Rubens.

Bavo was a nobleman and a soldier, a native of the eastern region of modern Belgium called Hesbaye in French, Haspengouw in Dutch, and Hasbania in Latin; the principality of Liège, formerly a very important ecclesiastical center and state, borders it to the east. He led a very irregular life, but after being left a widower while still young, he was converted by the preaching of a Saint called Amand, and after giving away all his money, entered a monastery. Amand was a great missionary, and Bavo accompanied him on several of his trips in Flanders and northern France, but after a time, his spiritual father let him go to live as a hermit. A well-known story is told that after his conversion, he met a man whom he had sold into serfdom, and did penance for this by having the man publicly lead him in chains to a prison. Eventually, he returned to the monastery at Ghent and ended his life there.

Ghent ca. 1540. The church in the middle is the abbey of St Bavo, which was destroyed by the Emperor Charles V. The tower of the other St Bavo, not yet a cathedral, is the one on the left among the three right behind it. 

Today, his name is certainly best known in reference to the cathedral of Ghent, which is titled to him, since that church is the home of one of the most famous pieces of art ever made, The Adoration of the Mystic Lamb, (1425 ca. -32) by Hubert and Jan van Eyck, often more simply called the Ghent Altarpiece. The current Gothic structure was begun in 1274, but not completed until the 1569; it was originally a secular canonical church, and only made a cathedral when Ghent became a diocese ten years before its completion. Part of the reason why the Ghent Altarpiece is The Ghent Altarpiece is that the church was raided in 1566 by Calvinists, who, acting as they believed, (which is to say, more like Mohammedans than Christians), smashed up many of its artworks. Of the works later commissioned to replace them, perhaps only the Rubens shown above is really noteworthy, and certainly the only one at all to the taste of our own times.

Ghent is a port city, even though it is 23 miles inland, since it sits at the confluence of two rivers. In 2015, a ship coming into the port collided with and killed a young finback whale nearly 40 feet long, which remained stuck on its bow. The body was brought to the University of Ghent for study, and afterwards, the skeleton was hung up in St Bavo within the ambulatory of the choir as a kind of ex voto, and a reminder of the story of the prophet Jonah; it has been given the name Leo.

A broad view of the nave. (It appears that the modern altar seen here has subsequently been replaced with something much nicer, as seen in the next photograph.) 

Continue Reading this Article. . .

Conference on Bl. Karl of Austria, & Premiere of Mass by Paul Jernberg - Washington DC, October 18 - 20

Here is a reminder and more information on what promises to be a fantastic occasion in DC later this month.

Paul Jernberg, who founded the Magnificat Institute, is the composer of the music for the Mass for Blessed Karl that will premiere at this conference. He told me: 

The idea for this new composition, and for this conference, began with my “coincidental” meeting with the great-grandson of Blessed Karl (aka Charles 1 of Austria - the last emperor of the Austro-Hungarian Empire) a couple of years ago. The more I read about him and his wife, Zita, the more I was inspired by their radiant model of great leadership - characterized not by the desire for power but by the pursuit of wisdom and a faithful, self-sacrificial love for his people.

For lots more information and registration, visit magnificatinstitute.org/dc-conference.

Defending So-Called Doublets by Understanding Parallelism

Symmetry like that of these towers in Paris is common to all works of art, musical, poetic, rhetorical, dance, etc. What is strange is not to have parallelism. Photo by Priscilla Fraire (source)

One of the pet peeves of the modern liturgists was what they liked to call “doublets,” namely, elements that seemed to them to be redundant or uselessly repetitious. Adhering to the odd belief of Romano Guardini that devotion is characterized by repetition but liturgy by linear singularity (see this lecture of mine for the relevant texts), they claimed after the Council that the Offertory rite needlessly and confusingly anticipated the Canon and therefore needed to be radically modified. As we all know, their solution was to jettison nearly all of the existing Offertory and replace it with a faux-Jewish workerist blessing of bread and wine.

It is hard to evade the impression that such reformers were like the Enlightenment and Victorian critics who complained of obscurities, infelicities, and improprieties in Shakespeare’s plays, and therefore felt themselves justified in diligently “correcting” them for modern readers. Looking back today, we can only marvel that otherwise literate and competent people should be so blind to the extraordinary perfection of the Bard’s works, as he achieved his goals with full mastery of materials.

In his superb book Forest of Symbols, Fr. Claude Barthe guides us to see the hardly accidental or incidental parallelism that exists between the Offertory of the Roman Rite and the Roman Canon. So far from this being an example of useless repetition or incoherent anticipation, it is a glowing example of how the liturgy proceeds by way of preparation, reinforcement, parallelism, building a system of cross-references that allow the fullest meaning to be grasped—much as men have two eyes and two ears in order to see and to hear a single reality better, or as a train rides on two parallel tracks in order to remain stable and not veer to the left or right. Indeed, just about every cognitive process involves multiple sources that are compared with and complete one another. What would be strange is reducing the approach to truth to a single line, unaccompanied and unrelational. Nor is it at all surprising that no divino-apostolic liturgical rite exhibits this rationalist flaw.

Let us consider the parallels in detail, quoting from Barthe, pp. 84–88.

Parallel #1

The Suscipe, sancte Pater,
hanc immaculatam hostiam…

(Receive, O holy Father, almighty, eternal God, this spotless host, which I, thine unworthy servant, do offer unto thee, my living and true God, for mine own countless sins, offences, and negligences, and for all here present; as also for all faithful Christians, living and dead, that it may avail for my own and for their salvation unto life eternal)

…corresponds to the Hanc igitur

(We therefore beseech thee, O Lord, to be appeased, and to receive this offering of our bounden duty, as also of thy whole household; order our days in thy peace; grant that we may be rescued from eternal damnation, and counted within the fold of thine elect) of the Canon and to the consecration of the Host (This is my Body). This Suscipe is particularly important for the development of the ultimate propitiatory purpose of the Mass: an oblation for the sins of the living and the dead with a view to their salvation.

Parallel #2

The Deus qui humanae and
the Offerimus, tibi, Domine, calicem salutaris…

(O God, who in creating human nature didst marvelously ennoble it, and hast still more marvelously reformed it; grant that, by the mystery of this water and wine, we may be made partakers of his divinity who vouchsafed to become partaker of our humanity, Jesus Christ, thy Son, our Lord… We offer unto thee, O Lord, the chalice of salvation, beseeching thy clemency, that it may rise up in the sight of thy divine majesty, as a savor of sweetness, for our salvation, and for that of the whole world)

…correspond to the consecration of the wine
(This is the chalice of my blood).

Deus, qui Humanae substantiae…is, as we have seen, an ancient prayer assigned by the sacramentaries to the feast of Christmas. It refers to the representation, by the admixture of the water to the wine, of the union of the faithful with Christ. It does no more than take up an allegory of the patristic period to which reference has already been made (“When the wine in the chalice is mixed with the water, the people is being united with Christ,” says St Cyprian), which in its turn depends for its authority at least on scriptural symbolism: “The waters that you saw. . . are peoples, and nations, and tongues” (Apoc. 17, 15). Attention is thus focused on the humanity of Christ and of the faithful united with him.

The text has not given an a posteriori allegorical explanation to the action, the admixture: on the contrary, it is a clear example of the allegorical meaning of the action explaining the choice of accompanying texts. In fact, the admixture is of immense theological importance. The decree of the Council of Florence (1438–1445) relating to the Armenians, who only acknowledged the one divine nature in Christ and who consecrated only wine, without the water that symbolizes Christ’s humanity, refers to the extreme appropriateness of the admixture, citing Apoc.17, 15.

To tell the truth, the allegory is double: in the Milanese and Carthusian rites the prayer also alludes to the water that issued from Christ’s side. In fact it is a triple allegory, if we take account of St Thomas Aquinas, who in addition to a historical reason gives three mystical reasons for the mixing of wine and water in the chalice, of which the first two have just been mentioned: as a representation of the Passion, with the water and the Blood flowing from Christ’s open side (in the Carthusian Offertory, the priest says, “From the side of Our Lord Jesus Christ flowed Blood and water for the redemption of the world”); as a symbol of the union of the people with Christ; but also, as a demonstration of the effect of the sacrament, namely entry into eternal life, represented by the water that quenches every thirst (John 4, 13-14).

Parallel #3

The prayer using the royal “we,” and the invocation, which derive from Gallican missals:

In spiritu humilitatis…
Veni, sanctificator…

(In a humble spirit, and a contrite heart, may we be received by thee, O Lord; and may our sacrifice so be offered up in thy sight this day that it may be pleasing to thee, O Lord God… Come, O thou who makest holy, almighty, eternal God and bless this sacrifice, prepared for thy holy name)

correspond to the epiklesis,
Supplices te rogamus…

(We most humbly beseech thee, Almighty God, to command that these things be borne by the hands of thy holy angel to thine altar on high, in the sight of thy divine majesty, that as many of us as, at this altar, shall partake of and receive the most holy Body and Blood of thy Son, may be filled with every heavenly blessing and grace)

For all that, it does not seem that the sanctificator invoked here is specifically intended as the Person of the Holy Spirit. Moreover, contrary to the usual opinion, the notion of an epiklesis (a request, accompanied by a deep bow, that the power of God may descend or that the sacrifice may be raised up to him) does not necessarily imply an entreaty to the Holy Spirit.

Parallel #4

Psalm 25, 6-12,

Lavabo inter innocentes manus meas…

(I wash my hands among the innocent . . . Destroy not my soul with the wicked, O God: nor my life with men of blood. In whose hands are iniquities: their right hand is filled with gifts. But I have walked in mine innocence . . . My foot hath stood in the straight way: in the churches I will bless thee, O Lord), which accompanies the washing of his hands by the celebrant, and has given its name to the action,

prepares us for the
Nobis quoque peccatoribus…

(To us sinners, also, thy servants, hoping in the multitude of thy mercies, vouchsafe to grant some part and fellowship with the holy apostles and martyrs…into whose company we pray thee admit us, not considering our merit, but of thine own free pardon).

“Wash yourselves, be clean,” says Isaiah (1, 16). According to liturgical historians, this washing of hands may have been mystical from the very beginning. If not, it could be more plausibly linked to the solemn censing than to the ancient oblation of the people: St Cyril of Jerusalem (c. 315–386) had already noted that those who had to wash their hands did not have a share in the receiving of the oblations.

This washing of the hands, it seems, was already present in the pontifical Mass of the fifth and sixth centuries, and was at the same point in the Mass as it is today. The priest who is going to offer the sacrifice washes his hands, symbolizing his deeds, to indicate that he must wash and purify his conscience of evil deeds with the tears of penitence and compunction, according to the verse, “Every night I will wash my bed: I will water my couch with my tears” (Ps. 6, 7).

Parallel #5

The last great prayer of the Offertory,

Suscipe, sancta Trinitas,…
ob memoriam passionis, resurrectionis, et ascensionis…

(Receive, O Holy Trinity, this offering, which we make to thee, in remembrance of the Passion, Resurrection, and Ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ, and in honor of blessed Mary ever virgin, of blessed John the Baptist, of the holy apostles Peter and Paul, of these and of all the saints: that it may avail to their honor and our salvation: and may they vouchsafe to intercede for us in heaven, whose memory we celebrate on earth)

highlights the finality of the sacrifice. It is an anamnesis (remembrance, recollection), like that in the Canon,

Unde et memores…

(Wherefore, O Lord, we thy servants, as also thy holy people, calling to mind the blessed passion of the same Christ thy Son our Lord, and also his rising up from hell, and his glorious ascension into heaven, do offer unto thy most excellent majesty, of thine own gifts bestowed upon us…).

But the prayer also recalls the

Communicantes
with its roll call of the saints

(Communicating, and reverencing the memory, first, of the glorious Mary, ever a Virgin, Mother of our Lord Jesus Christ; likewise of thy blessed apostles and martyrs, Peter and Paul, Andrew, James…and of all thy saints; by whose merits and prayers grant that in all things we may be guarded by thy protecting help).

It is a prayer addressed to the Holy Trinity, even though the Canon, like every Eucharistic prayer, is addressed to the Father. Latinists will note that in the oldest missals the more classical form in honore with the ablative was used (beatae Mariae semper Virginis et…) rather than in honorem with the accusative, an effect heightened by the fact that an ad honorem (ut illis proficiat ad honorem) follows. In honore is equivalent to in veneratione, in honore sanctorum, and makes us think of the “in honore deorum,” the feast day of the gods in old Latin. We may also note that the progression illis ad honorem…nobis ad salutem…; intercedere in caelis…quorum memoriam agimus in terris is an interesting imitation in the Latin of the High Middle Ages of the measured parallelisms of the Latin of Late Antiquity.

Parallel #6

Orate, fratres…

(Brethren, pray that my sacrifice and yours may be acceptable to God the Father Almighty. May the Lord receive the sacrifice at thy hands, to the praise and glory of his name, to our benefit, and to that of all his holy church)

…recalls the prayer
Quam oblationem of the Canon

(Which offering do thou, O God, vouchsafe in all things, to bless, consecrate, approve, make reasonable and acceptable)

Fiat acceptabile— facere acceptabilem, that the sacrifice that is offered may be judged acceptable by God himself so that he can receive it. The theology is admirable, and again reveals the rigorous precision of Rome’s lex orandi.

But this Orate, fratres is above all a greeting, like Dominus vobiscum: the priest kisses the altar and extends his hands as a sign of peace. It can thus be a sort of blessing by the priest who is going to offer the sacrifice: we will note, in fact, that the double idea of an acceptable sacrifice and of an offering by the celebrant on behalf of those in whose name he is making the offering reappears in Placeat tibi, sancta Trinitas… (May the homage of my service be pleasing to thee, O holy Trinity; and grant that the sacrifice which I, though unworthy, have offered in the sight of thy majesty, may be acceptable to thee: and through thy mercy win forgiveness for me and for all those for whom I have offered it), the other apologia that precedes the final blessing.

Now, for the Orate, fratres the celebrant turns round in a complete circle, in a movement that is identical to that of the final blessing. Finally, we must remember that at the end of the silent prayer of the Offertory (representing the silent prayer of Christ in the Garden of Gethsemane), the priest’s invitation to the ministers to pray before entering on the sacrifice echoes that of Christ to his disciples at Gethsemane: “Pray, lest ye enter into temptation” (Luke 22, 40).

*   *   *

Fr. Barthe proceeds to show that the many other “doublets” of the Roman Rite are equally carefully contrived to bring out the fullest depth of theological meaning, even as the equivalent doublets in the Byzantine rite are. Barthe helps us to see, from new perspectives, the profound analogies between East and West that the liturgical reform almost obliterated and that the Roman Rite in its classical integrity preserves as a witness to catholicity.

Did not all these rites take their cue from the very Word of God, in which repetition and parallelism are key features? Hebrew poetry cannot be understood at all unless one grasps its use of parallel phrases that echo one another in a sort of conceptual rhyme. And who could forget the thunderous verse of the prophet Jeremiah: “Trust not in lying words, saying: The temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord, it is the temple of the Lord” (Jer. 7, 4). It’s not enough to have a consecrated building; one must live as a consecrated people, receiving humbly and gratefully all that the Lord wishes to give. It’s not enough to have a “valid rite”; one must have the fullness of tradition, which is the fullness of validity: valid from and for a people the Lord has made His own, in a love announced, anticipated, achieved, fulfilled, and renewed.

Photo by Jan Canty (source)

Visit Dr. Kwasniewski’s Substack “Tradition & Sanity”; personal site; composer site; publishing house Os Justi Press and YouTube, SoundCloud, and Spotify pages.

Saint Michael, Sacred Liturgy, and the Restoration of Beauty

I have the good fortune of being obligated, for professional reasons, to regularly spend quality time with a wide variety of (digitized) medieval manuscripts. One result of this enlightening research is an appreciation for the diversity of artistic styles in pre-Renaissance Western culture. Sometimes we may find ourselves thinking in terms of an oversimplified dichotomy between highly iconographic modes in the East and a mildly symbolic proto-naturalism in the West. In reality, pre-modern religious paintings in East and West form a diverse continuum of artistic techniques, and a few outstanding artifacts can help us to reflect upon this.

One would be the Lindisfarne Gospels, with its enigmatic fusion of styles and astonishing decorations:

Another is the book of biblical scenes painted by William de Brailes, an English illuminator active during the thirteenth century. The example below, which depicts the Israelites worshipping the golden calf, has strongly iconographic features.

The Codex Calixtinus, dating to the mid-twelfth century and associated with both western France and northern Spain, is highly stylized and difficult to categorize:

Also from Spain, perhaps Segovia or Burgos, is the Hours of Infante Don Alfonso of Castile. The foliate ornamentation and grisaille-with-gold tonality in this book are deeply pleasing to me; there is an intriguing sense of mysticism in the serene faces and expressionistic scenes, along with a strong note of surreality in the surrounding details.

However, when it comes to reimagining artistic dichotomies, nothing quite compares to a twelfth-century masterpiece known as the Stammheim Missal. The illuminations in this manuscript—almost sui generis in style, and apparently the work of one extraordinarily talented monk—combine vibrant colors, curvilinear forms, strong geometries, simplified human figures, fascinating visual poetry, and profound visual theology into yet more compelling evidence that traditional Christian liturgy was the heart of Europe’s artistic genius.

The personification of Wisdom beneath God the Creator.

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The Stammheim Missal emerged from that fundamental engine of medieval learning and creativity: the Benedictine scriptorium. It was made in the twelfth century at Hildesheim Abbey, in north-central Germany, and eventually found its way to the Getty Museum in Los Angeles; reproductions can be found on the Getty’s website. Despite the fact that it was produced over eight hundred years ago, all the pages are intact, the colors haven’t faded, and the precious metals still shine. Rarely do I see such vivid proof that skilled craftsmen working with authentic, natural materials can produce artifacts of astounding quality and longevity, even in the total absence of advanced technology.

David with companion musicians.

The Michaeliskirche—the abbey church of Hildesheim—is a superb Romanesque structure. It was dedicated to St. Michael the Archangel on his feast day, September 29th, in the year 1022, and rededicated to him on the same day nine years later, when construction was complete. When I reflect on the life expectancy of modern buildings and institutions, the longevity is almost breathtaking. The church you see below was built one thousand years ago.

St. Michael’s Church in Hildesheim, Germany. Photo by Heinz-Josef Lücking.

In the culture that produced the monastery that produced the Stammheim Missal, the feast of St. Michael the Archangel was a high holy day and a rich folkloric celebration. It was also, of course, a very special day for the monks of Hildesheim, who were careful to colorfully accentuate the celebration of their patron in the missal’s September calendar page:

And the historiated initial that introduces St. Michael’s feast day is a captivating and mysterious interplay of stolid rectangles, absorbing curves, bold colors, mischievous beasts, and diversely occupied humans.

As Gregory DiPippo explained in an NLM article published on this same day two years ago, this feast is of venerable antiquity and is not restricted exclusively to St. Michael:

The traditional title of today’s feast is “The Dedication of St Michael the Archangel,” a term already found ca. 650 A.D. in the lectionary of Wurzburg, the oldest of the Roman Rite that survives, and in the ancient sacramentaries....
Despite the fact that the feast’s title refers specifically only to St Michael, September 29th is really the feast of all the Angels, as stated repeatedly in the texts of both the Office and Mass.

That Michael shares his feast with other angels subtracts nothing from the honor that we give to him on this day. Rather, it reinforces his exalted role in salvation history and Christian spirituality, for his celestial renown was gained not as a champion in single combat but as the victorious commander of the angelic host. And indeed, this is precisely how the Stammheim illuminator portrayed him in the portrait that precedes the prayers for his feast:

You can further explore the historical context and theological resonance of this remarkable image in an article that I co-authored with my Substack colleague Amelia Sims McKee. It includes vibrant, wonderfully detailed images of the painting, and I hope that it might serve as an enjoyable and profitable meditation for this great feast, nowadays sadly understated, of the prince of the heavenly armies.

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Dr. Ena Giurescu Heller, former professor of art history and specialist in medieval art, makes a crucial observation about artwork produced in the Middle Ages. She suggests that the modern “understanding of and response to medieval religious art is completely different (antithetical, really) to the response of its contemporaries.” Medieval Christians were surrounded by church buildings, stained-glass narratives, frescoes, statues, vessels, vestments, and illuminations that, despite their aesthetic magnificence,

were neither objects of any veneration (least of all aesthetic), nor ends unto themselves. They were tools—tools for the liturgy, and ... tools for transporting their beholders to the divine realm they symbolize and serve.

Furthermore, these tools for the liturgy were also inspired by the liturgy, which preceded them and which even in the absence of sumptuous visual or musical artwork was artistic in the most fundamental and transcendent sense of the word.

I say again: traditional Christian liturgy was the heart of Europe’s artistic genius. The artistic consciousness of Western civilization has suffered from long, dismal years of cardiac arrest. And yet, as the psalmist says, in the sight of God all these years are “as yesterday when it is past, and as a watch in the night.” For three days and three nights the heart of Our Lord was still. The resurrection will come, and in the meantime, let us pray that St. Michael press onward in his campaign against the Church’s ancient Enemy. We know, as Milton did, who the victor will be:

Now Night her course began and over Heaven
Inducing darkness grateful truce imposed
And silence on the odious din of war.
Under her cloudy covert both retired,
Victor and vanquished: On the foughten field
Michaël and his angels prevalent
Encamping, placed in guard their watches round,
Cherubic waving fires. On th’ other part,
Satan with his rebellious disappeared.

Another Sarum Vespers Described, by James Griffin

Better very late than never, we thank our friend Mr James Griffin of The Durandus Institute for Sacred Liturgy and Music for sharing with us these pictures of a Vesper ceremony in the Sarum Rite celebrated back in March, and for providing the written description of the ceremony.

Faithful readers of this site may recall my photo-essay from February 2020, following the Sarum Vespers for Candlemas Eve in Philadelphia, which was attended by 700 or more persons. For many of the faithful in this part of the country, that event is etched in their memories as a last hurrah before the Covid-related shutdowns brought an end to public worship.

It took four years for the right circumstances to allow my associates and me to put together a second celebration of the Sarum Use, which finally took place on Friday, March 1 at the chapel of Princeton University, New Jersey. Some estimates have the headcount at 800 this time! An excellent reflection was written shortly after the event by NLM contributor David Clayton, who also gave an academic presentation before the Vespers began. But I hadn’t found the time, or the right inspiration, to put my own words to paper until now. As with the essay in 2020, photos here are thanks to the efforts of Allison Girone and her associates. A digital version of the congregational booklet may be downloaded here, and below is a professional video recording.

The clergy and servers are led to the chancel by the verger (as the Sarum Customary puts it, “the sacristan with the rod”). At the beginning of Vespers, the candle-bearers enter in surplices, which are exchanged for full albs partway into the ceremony.

We welcomed many priests from far and wide to attend in-choir. Many wore the black cappa, as did the canons of Salisbury Cathedral, a practical measure for any cavernous stone church in a northern climate. The officiant was Fr. Armando G. Alejandro, Jr., a priest of the Ordinariate of the Chair of St. Peter, and chaplain for the Durandus Institute.

Just before the officiating priest, the rectores chori — rulers of the choir — make their entrance. Each ruler carries a stave, sometimes called a baculus cantoralis, as a sign of his office. It should be said that the practice of cantors with staves is hardly unique to the Sarum Use, having been practiced in various monastic houses and cathedrals in Europe, and even in some places in Latin America until the 20th century.

Continue Reading this Article. . .

The Epistle Settings

Lost in Translation #105

A standard feature of all Apostolic liturgies is the use of Scriptural readings to illuminate the liturgical occasion, rather than to deepen Biblical literacy per se. Readings from the Old and New Testament were generally chosen because of their thematic relevance to the season or day. Occasionally, readings were composed of specific verses selected from a Biblical passage for appropriateness to the liturgical day, with other less appropriate verses omitted, in order to further hone the message. There also exist readings of a type called a “cento”, from a Latin word meaning “patchwork”, which are assembled from verses of different books of the Bible. (These are extremely rare in the Roman and Ambrosian Rites, but common in the Byzantine.) To paraphrase Fr. Joseph Jungmann, the Church did not hesitate to break the bread of God’s word in order to prepare the faithful for a particular Eucharist breaking of the bread. [1]

One curious component of this verbal bread-breaking is the addition of settings to the sacred texts. Before reading a passage from the Bible, the reader (a lector, subdeacon, or priest) announces the name of the book from which it is taken and then adds an introductory word of address or explanation. Words of address typically go with New Testament readings while words of explanation typically go with Old Testament readings. When an Old Testament reading is used, for example, it is common to see it prefaced with “In diebus illis – In those days”, or “Haec dicit Dominus – Thus saith the Lord”. Both introductions are designed to heighten the audience’s attention.

So too are the words of address that preface a New Testament reading. Most of the readings from the Acts of the Apostles begin with In diebus illis, and the same is true of Revelation, for even though much of this apocalyptic book is a vision of the future, the revelations were given to St. John “in those days.” We will say more about In diebus illis when we discuss the Gospel setting In illo tempore in the next essay.

As for the Epistles: “Fratres – Brethren”) begins readings from St. Paul’s congregational letters [2], “Carissime – Dearly beloved” (singular) begins those from his pastoral letters [3], and “Carissimi –Dearly beloved” (plural) begins the so-called Catholic Epistles. [4] And because the Roman Missal ascribes the Epistle to the Hebrews to Saint Paul and treats it as a congregational letter, passages from Hebrews begin with Fratres as well.

St. Paul does not begin his own epistles with these greetings, although at some point he does address the churches in most of his congregational letters with Fratres. In his pastoral letters, Paul refers to Timothy and to Titus as his beloved son (dilectus filius), and once he refers to Timothy as his dearly beloved son (carissimus filius – Titus 1, 2) As for the Catholic Epistles, Saints Peter, John, and Jude all address their audiences with Carissimi (1 Pet. 2, 11; 1 John 2,7; Jude 3) while Saint James does not.

The greetings therefore serve as rough but reliable signposts, reminding the listener of the passage’s literary or ecclesiastical context. And thanks to their ordering in the Missal, they form illuminating clusters on the calendar.

The beginning of the Epistle to the Galatians in a medieval Bible.

Fratres, used for Paul’s congregational epistles, is the most common address and can be found throughout the year in both the Temporal and Sanctoral Cycles.

The single-number Carissime, used for Paul’s epistles to Timothy and Titus, appears in the Temporal Cycle only during Christmastide: the Midnight Mass, the Christmas Dawn Mass, on days within the Octave of the Nativity, on the Christmas Octave, and on the Saturday Mass for the Blessed Virgin Mary from Christmas to Candlemas. It is more common in the Sanctoral Cycle, where it is used on a variety of Saints’ feast days. The use of Carissime during the Christmas season is apt, a warm reminder of how God so loved the world that He gave us His only Son.

The plural-number Carissimi, used for the Catholic epistles, appears in the Temporal Cycle only during Eastertide and the initial Sundays after Pentecost: Easter Friday, Easter Saturday, all the Sundays after Easter, the Lesser Rogation Days, the Sunday after the Ascension, the First through Third Sundays after Pentecost, and the Fifth Sunday after Pentecost. It appears less often in the Sanctoral Cycle. The use of Carissimi during the Easter season is apt, a warm reminder of how God has exalted His Son who was obedient unto death on a cross, and made us heirs of His grace. And insofar as more people are greater (in number) than one person, it is fitting that the plural Carissimi be used for the greatest season of the liturgy year.

Liturgical settings appear in the 1970 Roman Missal and are faithfully reproduced in the lectionaries of several modern languages. For reasons unknown to me, however, they do not appear in any of the official English translations. This omission, in my opinion, is especially regrettable with the Gospel settings, to which we shall turn in the next essay.

From the 2015 Lectionary of Spain

Notes

[1] Joseph A. Jungmann, The Mass of the Roman Rite (Christian Classics, 1974), 265.

[2] Romans, 1 Corinthians, 2 Corinthians, Galatians, Ephesians, Philippians, Colossians, 1 Thessalonians, and 2 Thessalonians.

[3] 1 Timothy, 2 Timothy, Titus.

[4] James, 1 Peter, 2 Peter, 1 John, 2 John, 3 John, and Jude.

“Key to the Missal: Finding Your Way in the Traditional Mass” - Reprinted by Arouca Press

We are pleased to share this item from Arouca Press about their new reprint of a classic resource for learning about the traditional Latin Mass, Key to the Missal, by Cornelius A. Bouman and Mary Perkins Ryan, originally published in 1960.

Few books do so much in so little as this one. In sixteen short chapters the authors manage not only to present a key to the Traditional Missal, but also a key to the entire Church Year, as well as a key to the Sacred Liturgy. In addition to the chapters on the seasons of the Church Year, the book gives in two initial chapters of authentic information on the history of the Missal and its use, concluding with three chapters on the feasts of Our Lord, of the Mother of God, and of the Saints. May this book give the reader a greater appreciation for such a treasure as the Traditional Roman Missal!

“Key to the Missal is a concise but richly informative commentary on the Roman Missal, the liturgical book containing the liturgy of the Mass of the Roman Rite for every day in the year. In plain and simple language, its coauthors—Cornelius Adrianus Bouman (1911-88), a Dutch liturgical historian and Byzantine Rite deacon, and Mary Perkins Ryan (1912-93), an American religious educator—open to readers the riches of the Mass, and they do so within the broader framework of the Church’s calendar. After two introductory chapters on the history and use of the Missal, the rest of this little volume takes us through the Liturgical Year, highlighting key insights drawn from the texts of the Mass. With the Missal as our optic on the Church’s cycle of seasons and feasts, we can be certain that we are thinking as the Church thinks about the mysteries of salvation: lex orandi, lex credendi...” — from the Foreword of the new edition, by Fr Thomas Kocik

“Long out of print, Cornelius A. Bouman and Mary Perkins Ryan’s 1960 Key to the Missal has been resurrected from the ash heap of oblivion to provide a new generation of traditional worshippers guidance in how to get the most out of the traditional Latin Mass. Key to the Missal artfully combines scholarly erudition with practical advice, much of which I had not heard before but which, once presented, makes perfect sense. This is a delightful and digestible book.” — Dr. Michael P. Foley, author of Lost in Translation: Meditating on the Orations of the Traditional Roman Rite and Dining with the Saints

“People who attend the traditional Latin Mass often wonder how they can better understand and relate to the liturgy. Key to the Missal answers this very practical question by offering an accessible, insightful guide to making the best use of one's daily missal. It offers points of meditation for each season of the liturgical year and for various classes of feasts, drawing the reader's attention to themes, texts, and connections. It's like a hand-missal masterclass. The strength of its content permits one to forgive, as naive, certain vintage 1960 footnotes.“” — Dr. Peter Kwasniewski, author of The Once and Future Roman Rite