Theological Censorship in the 1969 Lectionary (Part 2): Guest Article by Dr. Agnieszka Fromme

This is the second part of an article by Dr Agnieszka Fromme about the theological censorship of certain ideas in the lectionary of the post-Conciliar rite; the first part was published yesterday. Our thanks once again to Dr Fromme for sharing her interesting work with NLM.

4. Comparing the Lectionaries

The following analysis is part of a broader project in which I examine the differences between the traditional Latin Mass and the new form of the Eucharistic celebration. Here, the focus is on the theological implications of the new lectionary, which often subtly alters or shifts Catholic doctrine.

My lectionary analysis begins with the Missal of 1962 (which also serves as the basis for the following table) and compares it with the new lectionary to determine what happened to the originally included pericopes. The differences often concern the Epistle, which is especially theologically rich. Narrative texts from the Old Testament or Gospels, as well as parables of Jesus that do not pose potential theological tension, are usually omitted – unless particular verses were conspicuously redacted. My aim is not to produce a comprehensive comparison of the two lectionary systems, but to highlight theologically significant differences.

The readings in the Advent and Christmas seasons are largely similar or parallel, with some shifts. One example is the Epistle Titus 2:11–15, which is read in the old Missal on January 1, but appears in the new lectionary only in Year A on the Second Sunday of Advent. Therefore, the following table begins with the period that contains the most striking differences:

TABLE 1

Occasion	Missal 1962	New (1969) Lectionary	Comment
Septuagesima	Mt 20:1-16	Mt 20:1-16a (25th Sunday in Ordinary Time)	1. Verse 16 is shortened here by omitting the second half: “For many are called, but few are chosen” is missing.
Ash Wednesday	Mt 6:16-21	Mt 6:16-18	The Gospel was shortened. The emphasis on prayer and fasting in secret – which is often used as an argument against public worship – remains. However, the call to actively store up treasures in heaven has been omitted.
Second Sunday of Lent	1 Thess 4:1-7	omitted (included in the new lectionary, but only on a weekday)	A particularly striking omission from the Sunday readings—Paul clearly emphasizes in this pericope the Catholic teaching that sanctification is a lifelong process and requires striving for ever greater perfection, and that even Christians are at risk of succumbing to sinful desires. Overall, this presents a very strong counterpoint to the Protestant doctrines of “sola fide” and “once saved, always saved.”
S. Joseph Sponsi B.M.V.	Sir 45:1-6 Mt 1:18-21	2 Sam 7:4-5a.12-14a.16 Rom 4:13.16-18.22 Mt 1:16.18 – 21.24a	The new readings emphasize different aspects of the life of St. Joseph, yet the pericopes are noticeably censored: In 2 Samuel, God’s chastisement as a Father has been removed; in Romans, Abraham’s old age is omitted, reflecting modernist skepticism toward miracles.[Note 8]
Third Sunday of Lent	Eph 5:1-9; Lk 11:14-28	omitted, instead (depending on year): 1 Cor 10:1-6.10-12 or: Rom 5:1-2.5-8 (19. Sunday of Ordinary Time); Lk 11:14-23	The omitted verses from 1 Corinthians speak of fornication and its punishment, once again highlighting the danger that even those who have become Christians can fall back into sin. The older pericope from Ephesians 5 emphasizes this danger and the necessity of a holy way of life. The missing verses from Romans 5 underline that hope is not the finished product of a once-accomplished work of salvation, but is attained through tribulation, perseverance, and proven character. In Luke 11, verses 24-28 – which contain a warning about the renewed danger of unclean spirits – have been removed.
Fifth Sunday of Lent	Hebr 9:11-15	Appears as the second reading on Corpus Christi; replaced here by: Rom 8:8–11; Heb 5:7–9 or Phil 3:8–14	In the pericope from Hebrews 5, verse 10 is omitted – this verse speaks of Jesus as a priest according to the order of Melchizedek, which points to the sacrificial character of the Holy Mass. In Philippians 3, the statement against the law requires a distinction between ritual regulations and the Decalogue. It is worth noting positively that verse 12 is retained, in which Paul speaks of the perfection he still strives to attain.
Palm Sunday	Phil 2:5-11	Phil 2:6-11 (on 26. Sunday in Ordinary Time, vv1-11 are read)	On Palm Sunday verse 5 has been omitted: “Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus.” What remains is only the description of Christ’s kenosis, without the exhortation to imitate it.
Chrism Mass	Ja 5:13-16; Mk 6:7-13	Moved to 24. Sunday year B; here instead: Isa 61:1-3a.6a.8b-9 Rev 1:5-8 Lk 4:16-21	James here speaks of the Anointing of the Sick, while Isaiah focuses solely on Christ’s messianic mission. The pericope from Revelation emphasizes the universal priesthood. In Mark 6, we find the sending of the Twelve with the authority of Jesus (apostolic authority, ministerial priesthood), whereas Luke 4 essentially repeats the content from Isaiah. This very noticeable shift from the sacraments to the universal priesthood in the Chrism Mass is also reflected in the oration of that Mass. [Note 9]
Mass of the Lord’s Supper	1 Cor 11:20-32	Ex 12:1-8.11-14; 1 Cor 11:23-26	Another very striking and deeply troubling omission: In the pericope from 1 Corinthians, verses 27-32 – with its explicit warning against receiving the Eucharist unworthily – have been removed. This warning is not found anywhere in the entire new lectionary, not even on Corpus Christi.
Easter Sunday	1 Cor 5:7-8	Acts 10:34a-37-43; Col 3:1-4	The new readings contain only the joyful message of the Resurrection, whereas 1 Corinthians additionally emphasizes the necessity of a way of life that corresponds to this message.
Low Sunday	1 Jn 5:4-10	1 Jn 5:1-6; Rev 1:9-11a.12-13.17.19	In the pericope from Revelation, the two-edged sword was censored.
3rd Sunday after Easter [Note 10]	1 Pet 2:11-19	1 Pet 2:20b-25; Rev 7:9.14b-17	The omitted part of 1 Peter 2:20a refers to suffering that is self-inflicted and therefore not meritorious. In the pericope from Revelation, the description of the heavenly liturgy is missing.
4th Sunday after Easter	Ja 1:17-21; John 16:5-14	Rev 21:1-5a Ja 1:19-20.23-26 on 22. Sunday B Partially on Pentecost Monday	A repeated emphasis on the universal priesthood. James 1:21–22 has been omitted: “But be doers of the word, and not hearers only, deceiving yourselves…” Verses 8–11 are absent from the new lectionary; they speak of the Holy Spirit convicting the world of sin, righteousness, and judgment.
Sunday after the Ascension		Rev 22:12-14.16-17.20	The missing verses warn that sorcerers, fornicators, and others will not enter the heavenly Jerusalem, and that those who distort the word of God will be punished accordingly.
Corpus Christi	1 Cor 11:23-29		The institution narrative from 1 Corinthians 11 is completely missing from the new lectionary on Corpus Christi, and it is censored on Holy Thursday – the warning against unworthy reception (see above) is omitted.
2nd Sunday after Pentecost	1 Jn 3:13-18	omitted	The omission of verse 18 – “Let us not love in word or speech but in deed and in truth”- from the new lectionary is particularly troubling. Especially in the Protestant context, where speaking in tongues is often seen as a sign of spiritual perfection, 1 John 3:18 almost serves as a counter-program.
3rd Sunday after Pentecost	1 Pet 5:6-11	omitted	The warning about the devil as a roaring and prowling lion is missing from the new lectionary.
5th Sunday after Pentecost	1 Pet 3:8-15	omitted	The exhortation that Christians should avoid evil and be zealous for what is good is missing.
11th Sunday after Pentecost	1 Cor 15:1-10	partially on Easter Monday	On Easter Monday, this pericope does appear, but without verses 9–10. These verses emphasize that God's grace can remain ineffective without our effort.
21st Sunday after Pentecost	Eph 6:10-17	omitted	The spiritual battle and the “armor of God” are absent.

The following section highlights some pericopes that were added to the new lectionary in comparison to the old Missal, yet appear in a censored version:

TABLE 2

Occasion	Pericope	Comment
2nd Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)	1 Cor 6:13c-15a.17-20	The warning against sexual sin as a metaphor for spiritual adultery has been omitted.
22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time (B)	Mc 7:1-8.14-15.21-23	Some clarifying verses are missing, which make it clear that Jesus is drawing a distinct line between the commandments of God and human laws or ritual regulations – a very important distinction for properly understanding Pauline theology of law and grace in a Catholic sense.
22nd Sunday in Ordinary Time (C)	Sir 3:17-18.20.28-29	The omitted verses warn against false curiosity and the pursuit of hidden secrets – a valuable reminder in times of obsession with private revelations.
25th Sunday in Ordinary Time (A)	Phil 1:20c-24.27a	The first part of verse 20 is omitted. It contains the reminder that even a believer – Paul himself included – can be put to shame, and that there is a risk of failing to glorify Christ in every aspect of his life.

It is worth noting positively that some passages containing important Catholic teachings have been retained in the new lectionary – such as Galatians 5:16-6:10 (warning against temptations) – or even added, such as 2 Maccabees 12:43-45 (sacrifice for the dead), 1 John 5:2 and 1 John 2:3 (love expressed through keeping the commandments). Others have been moved e.g. from Ember Friday in Lent to a Sunday, Ezekiel 18:20–28 (rejection of “once saved, always saved”).

Summary

Numerous biblical texts have been altered in the new lectionary, revealing a clear trend toward a theology more aligned with Protestant and modernist interpretations. Particularly striking is the omission or shortening of many passages that emphasize key Catholic doctrines. A prime example is the removal of verses highlighting the necessity of active participation in sanctification and moral responsibility.

Important passages such as the warning against unworthy reception of the Eucharist or the teaching that sanctification is a lifelong process have either been entirely omitted or significantly weakened. Instead of emphasizing the sacrificial character of the Eucharist and the role of the sacraments, the focus is increasingly placed on a general priesthood—reflecting Protestant perspectives.

These changes in the new lectionary represent a shift toward a theology that emphasizes personal, subjective experience and a “simplified” understanding of grace, while the traditional Catholic teaching on the interplay of faith, works, and the sacramental order is increasingly diluted.

NOTES (numeration continued from part 1) 

[8] St. Pius X, Pascendi Dominici gregis: The Philosophy of the Modernists; Acta Apostolicae Sedis 1907, 59.

[9] 1962 Collect: “Lord God, who in the regenerating of Thy peoples makest use of the ministry of priests, grant us to serve with perseverance in Thy will, that by the gift of Thy grace, the people made holy unto Thee may be increased in our days both in merit and in number. Through (our) Lord (etc.)”; 1969 Collect: “O God, who anointed your Only Begotten Son with the Holy Spirit and appointed him Christ the Lord, graciously grant that, made partakers in his anointing, we may be found witnesses of redemption in the world. Through our Lord…”

[10] The alignment of the old Sundays after Easter or after Pentecost with the new Sundays in Ordinary Time varies from year to year depending on the date of Easter. The assignments in this table correspond to the calendar of 2025.

Theological Censorship in the 1969 Lectionary (Part 1): Guest Article by Dr. Agnieszka Fromme

Our thanks to Dr Agnieszka Fromme for sharing with us this interesting article about theological censorship in the post-Conciliar lectionary. It will be presented in two parts. 

Jefferson Bible (photo from Smithsonian)

Was a “Richer Table of the Word” Truly Set for Us in 1969?

A Comparison of the Tridentine Lectionary and the Ordo Lectionum Missae

Dr. Agnieszka Fromme

One of the aims of the liturgical reform following the Second Vatican Council was to “open up the treasures of the Bible more lavishly, so that a richer share in God’s word may be provided for the faithful” (Sacrosanctum Concilium 51). The introduction of the new Ordo Lectionum Missae in 1969 promised precisely that: a “richer table of the Word” – as the programmatic phrase in the official preface to the new Lectionary put it.

A three-year Sunday cycle and an expanded set of readings were meant to offer greater biblical variety, whereas the traditional Tridentine lectionary emphasized theologically dense repetition. But was this goal truly achieved?

Anyone who has ever held the modern Lectionary in hand will have stumbled upon its cryptic Scripture references – such as 1 Cor 6:13c-15a; 17-20 or Rev 1:9-11a, 12-13, 17, 19. Those who do not settle for vague piety but have the courage to look closely at these liturgical fragmentations are soon confronted with an uncomfortable question: Which parts of Holy Scripture have been deliberately omitted – and why? When verses appear to be systematically fragmented or trimmed in multiple places, it raises the suspicion that this may not simply be a matter of length or practicality – but at times a form of ideological filtering. Which leads to the underlying question: Was a truly “richer table of the Word” prepared for us in 1969 – or merely a pre-sorted, pre-portioned plate? This study thus approaches the question not only quantitatively, but above all qualitatively.

1. The History of the Lectionary

In the liturgy of the Catholic Church, the proclamation of Holy Scripture plays a central role. From the earliest centuries, biblical texts were read aloud during Christian assemblies – initially from the Apostolic letters, later including the Gospels. These readings were first selected relatively freely; over time, fixed orders developed, known as lectionaries.

By the 4th century, various regions – such as Rome, Jerusalem, and North Africa – had established lectionaries: collections of reading texts assigned to specific days and feasts. These orders varied regionally but generally followed the liturgical year with its major feasts like Easter, Pentecost, and Christmas. In Rome, a fixed set gradually emerged, providing for each day of the year a reading from the Epistles or Old Testament and a Gospel – often supplemented by a Gradual (intermediate chant).

Although the entire Catholic Church can be styled “Roman” in the sense that it is under the Pope in Rome, there obviously exists significant liturgical diversity within this one Church. This was evident, for example, during the recent papal election through the varied liturgical attire of cardinals from different traditions. The term “Roman” typically refers to the Roman Rite, the predominant liturgical form in the Western Church. However, it is only one of 24 rites within the Catholic Church. The following discussion pertains exclusively to the Roman Rite.

The Roman Mass, often referred to as “Tridentine,” does not, in its substance, originate from the Council of Trent itself. Instead, it has deep roots in the early Church. From this tradition, the Roman liturgy developed in the West, receiving its first comprehensive organization and stabilization under Pope Gregory the Great († 604). In subsequent centuries, the “Mass of the Roman Curia” became the predominant form in the papal environment. This local role might have continued till today – had the Reformation not intervened.

In response to the significant attacks on the Catholic understanding of the Eucharist, priesthood, and sacraments, the Council of Trent (1545-63) sought to clearly define Catholic doctrine and establish liturgical unity to protect the faithful. Pope St Pius V, therefore, published the Missale Romanum in 1570, standardizing the form of the Roman Curia Mass for the entire Church – except where another liturgical rite existed that was demonstrably older than 200 years, a regulation aimed to exclude all Protestant-influenced innovations. The Roman liturgy then remained largely unchanged for 400 years, shaping Catholic worship well into the 20th century.

With the promulgation of the Missale Romanum in 1570, the lectionary for the entire Roman Rite was also established. It followed a one-year cycle, as do all traditional rites. The so-called Tridentine lectionary is based on a much older liturgical tradition and contains, for each Sunday and feast day, an Epistle (usually from the Pauline letters) and a Gospel, carefully paired over centuries. Weekdays generally did not have their own pericopes but repeated readings from Sundays or saints’ feasts.

Although the volume of biblical text was quantitatively limited, the recurring readings fostered a mystagogical anchoring in the believers’ faith life. Regular Mass attendees encountered the same central Gospel passages repeatedly – leading to a deep familiarity with the mystery of salvation. The liturgy “imprints” rather than merely “informs” – serving as a spiritual practice. The combination of Epistle and Gospel was not merely thematic or chronological but theologically deliberate. Often, the Epistle elucidates the spiritual significance of the Gospel event. Many of these pericopes are strongly sacramental, ecclesial, and dogmatic – addressing grace, sin, redemption, and the holiness of the Church. The selection focused on particularly poignant and dense Scripture passages, resulting in a clear catechetical and apologetic effect. In confronting heresies or ideological challenges, the Tridentine lectionary was often perceived as theologically refined and incisive.

2. The Reform of 1969: Ordo Lectionum Missae

The Second Vatican Council (1962-65) called for a more intensive inclusion of Sacred Scripture in the liturgy. The result was the new Ordo Lectionum Missae (OLM) – the Order of Readings for the Mass – introduced in 1969 and slightly revised in 1981. This new lectionary brought about profound structural changes, both in its layout and in the amount of Scripture read:

Key features of the new order:

• Introduction of a three-year cycle for Sundays and feast days:
• Year A: Focus on the Gospel of Matthew
• Year B: Mark
• Year C: Luke
• The Gospel of John is included during Lent, Eastertide, and on solemnities
• Introduction of a two-year weekday cycle (Year I and Year II)
• Introduction of three readings on Sundays:
1. First Reading: usually from the Old Testament
2. Second Reading: usually from the Apostolic Letters
3. Gospel

The goal of this reform was to allow a much larger portion of the Bible to be heard over three years – approximately 70% of the New Testament and 13% of the Old Testament.

The order was promulgated by the Vatican’s Congregation for Divine Worship. The respective bishops’ conferences are responsible for translations and pastoral adaptations (e.g., to national feasts). The lectionary must be used for all public celebrations of Mass in the Pauline rite; exceptions are only permitted in certain pastoral contexts (e.g., children’s Masses, weddings, or funerals). [1]

In Roman Catholic liturgy, the Gospel is the preferred foundation for the homily, though all three readings may be incorporated. In contrast to the Protestant pericope system, the Catholic homily is not tied to a single fixed “preaching text”, allowing greater thematic freedom. This enables stronger connections between the Old and New Testaments – for example, typological interpretation (e.g., sacrifice – Eucharist – Paschal mystery).

Liturgically, this is properly referred to as the homily – an exposition of the day’s readings, especially the Gospel. It is an integral part of the Mass and obligatory on Sundays and holy days of obligation. The homily may only be given by a priest or deacon and aims to deepen faith through scriptural and mystagogical reflection.

The broader term sermon is also used outside the liturgy, often for Lenten preaching, catechesis, or missionary talks, which are not necessarily tied to the day’s readings and may be delivered by laypeople or religious.

3. Cornerstones of Catholic Dogmatics

In the following analysis, I highlight theological differences, omissions, and shifts in emphasis in the new lectionary (to be illustrated by tables in Part 2). These pertain to uncomfortable or “non-contemporary” topics – such as sin, judgment, and conversion – but also to a tendency toward Protestant theological perspectives, especially regarding grace, Scripture, and the Church.

To frame these observations theologically, this section outlines key cornerstones of Catholic dogma that define the Church’s understanding of grace, liturgy, Scripture, and ecclesiology. These serve as reference points for the comparative analysis that follows.

Faith and Works, Grace and Human Cooperation

The Catholic Church does not view grace as merely external divine favor but as an interior transformation and empowerment of the person to participate in the divine life. The human being is not passive but actively cooperates with grace once moved by it. This cooperation is itself a gift but an inseparable part of salvation. Correct interpretation of Paul’s rejection of “works of the law” (e.g., Rom. 3, 28; Gal. 2, 16) is essential. Paul refers here to ritual prescriptions such as circumcision or dietary laws – not works of love, moral commandments, or cooperation with grace. [2]

Sanctification as a Lifelong Process

God’s grace aims not just at legal acquittal but at the true transformation of the person. The Catholic Church stresses the need for continuous growth in holiness – through sacraments, works of love, prayer, and daily struggle against sin. The path to full communion with God is a lifelong process requiring fidelity, repentance, and perseverance to the end. This directly contradicts the notion of “once saved, always saved”. Catholic teaching opposes this idea, which appears in some Protestant traditions (especially Calvinist predestination), as it conflicts with the biblical exhortation to “work out your salvation with fear and trembling” (Phil 2, 12), and warnings against apostasy, lukewarmness, or moral laxity (cf. Heb 6, 4-6; Rev 3, 16). [3]

Unity of Scripture and Tradition

The Church teaches that divine revelation is transmitted not by Scripture alone, but by Sacred Scripture and Sacred Tradition together, both flowing from the same divine source. The interpretation of this revelation is entrusted to the Church’s Magisterium, guided by the Holy Spirit. [4]

The Church as Visible Sign of Salvation

The Church is not just a spiritual community but a visible and efficacious sacrament of salvation. Founded by Christ, she is both divine and human. Salvation is sacramentally mediated within her – especially through the Eucharist, which is the source and summit of ecclesial life. Liturgy is not merely religious expression but Christ’s action through his Church. In celebrating the seven sacraments, especially the Eucharist, the faithful truly participate in the mystery of redemption. [5]

The Sacramental Priesthood and the Sacrificial Nature of the Mass 

The Catholic Church affirms that the Eucharist is not merely a memorial meal but a true and proper sacrifice. In the Mass, Christ’s sacrifice on the Cross is made present in an unbloody, sacramental manner through the ministry of the ordained priest, who acts in persona Christi capitis – in the person of Christ the Head. The ministerial priesthood is essentially distinct from the common priesthood of all the faithful and is conferred by the sacrament of Holy Orders. The priest is not merely a presider but a sacramental instrument, through whom Christ himself offers the sacrifice. [6]

Real Presence and Transubstantiation

The Catholic Church teaches that Jesus Christ is truly, really, and substantially present in the Eucharist – body, blood, soul, and divinity. This presence comes about through the transformation of the substance of bread and wine into the substance of Christ’s body and blood: transubstantiation. The appearances (accidents) remain, but the inner reality is fully changed. A profound hint of this Eucharistic reality is found in the Lord’s Prayer: “τὸν ἄρτον ἡμῶν τὸν ἐπιούσιον (= supersubstantialem) δὸς ἡμῖν σήμερον” (Mt 6, 11) – “Give us this day our supersubstantial bread.” [7]

In Part 2, we will present a table in which many examples are given of how readings in the new lectionary deliberately sidestep, by means of excluded verses, the dogmatic principles listed above.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Dr. Agnieszka Fromme holds degrees in German Studies, Theology, and Information Technology. She earned her doctorate in theology in 2012 in Poland, with a dissertation in catechetics focused on the RCIA and a large-scale study of young people's faith life. After her marriage, she moved to Germany, where she currently works as a programmer. Theology remains her deep passion, now pursued mainly alongside her profession. Under the pen name Pia Lamm, she has published several books, some of which are available also in English (see here).

NOTES

[1] In the nuptial Mass of the traditional Roman Rite, the Gospel is always Matthew 19 – on the indissolubility of marriage. Today, this passage is just one of ten optional readings – just as the indissolubility of marriage itself seems to have become one option. In funeral liturgies, on the other side, the famous Dies irae sequence has disappeared. German Wikipedia puts it with remarkable candor: “The Dies irae is no longer used in the liturgy of the Ordinary Form of the Roman Rite according to the new Missal, due to the image of an angry God (‘Day of wrath…’) that the sequence conveys. It is, however, permitted at the grand Requiem on All Souls’ Day so that the treasure of Church music may be preserved.” In plain terms: it was removed because it no longer fits the times – but in order not to lose it musically, it may be performed once a year, on All Souls’ Day. That is, on a weekday when few people attend Mass, since most visits to the cemetery already take place on All Saints’ Day. But certainly not at ordinary funeral Masses – where there would be the risk of confronting lapsed or secular mourners with the idea of an “angry God.”

[2] References: Catechism of the Catholic Church (CCC) 1996–2001; Müller, G.L., Katholische Dogmatik: für Studium und Praxis der Theologie Herder 1995, pp. 800–805; Diekamp-Jüssen, Katholische Dogmatik, Alverna 2013, pp. 678–778; Denzinger, Kompendium der Glaubensbekenntnisse und kirchlichen Lehrentscheidungen, Herder 2017, nos. 1520–1534.

[3] References: CCC 2012–2016; Diekamp-Jüssen, pp. 784–799; DH 1535–1563.

[4] References: CCC 80–83, 95; Müller, pp. 53–94; Diekamp-Jüssen, pp. 42–85; DH 1501–1507, 4207–4214.

[5] References: CCC 748–780, 1113–1131; Müller, pp. 573–578; Diekamp-Jüssen, pp. 804–856, 1081–1084; DH 1601, 3011–3014, 4118.

[6] References: CCC 1362–1372, 1547; Müller, pp. 640, 705–706, 751–753; Diekamp-Jüssen, pp. 960–972, 1095; DH 1743–1750.

[7] References: CCC 1373–1381; Müller, pp. 710–711; Diekamp-Jüssen, pp. 912–948; DH 1636–1642.

The First Bible of Charles the Bald (9th-Century)

On Sunday, I illustrated an excerpt from Durandus with an image taken from a decorated Bible produced in the mid-ninth century, commonly known as the First Bible of Charles the Bald, who received it as a gift from one Vivien, count of Tours; it is also known as the Vivian Bible. (In French, ‘Vivien’, from Latin ‘Vivianus’ or ‘Bibianus’, is a man’s name, the female equivalent being ‘Vivienne.’ There is a Second Bible named for Charles, which has almost no decoration in it.)  It was produced in 845-46 in the scriptorium of the abbey of St Martin in Tours; Count Vivien was also the lay abbot of this famous institution, in keeping with an abuse which was very common in that era. The bible was presented to the Holy Roman Emperor Charles the Bald (born 823; reigned 843-77), partly as a way of thanking him for certain privileges which he conferred upon the abbey, as is mentioned in the last of the three dedication poems included within it. Here are pictures of all of the illustrated folios, and a sample of the other decorative elements, which are not very many. This is actually the very first item in the catalog of Latin manuscripts in the Bibliothèque nationale de France in Paris.

This folio decorated with gold letters on a purple background, which would have been incredibly expensive to produce, is the first dedicatory poem.

Only a handful of pages are illustrated like this one found near the beginning of the codex, in a style which is deliberately modeled after images found in ancient Roman manuscripts. The upper band shows St Jerome leaving Rome for the Holy Land on the left; on the right, he is sitting down with a rabbi whom he is paying to teach him Hebrew. In the middle band, Jerome works on his great project of translating the Hebrew Bible into Latin, in the company of his scribes; note the presence of several women on the left, among whom would be St Paula and her daughter Eustochium, friends from Rome who helped him a great deal. On the bottom, Jerome hands out copies of his translations.

Medieval Bibles normally include a fair amount of prefatory material of various kinds; here, two sheets are dedicated to one of Jerome’s letters, written to a priest friend named Paulinus, about his translation work.

The beginning of Jerome’s own preface to the book of Genesis, with the sun, the moon, and the signs of the zodiac worked into the large letter P.

The chapter and verse system which we currently use for Bibles was not invented until the 13th century; here we see a list of the chapters of Genesis according to a different system which has 82, rather than the modern 50. Genesis is the only book of the Old Testament for which the chapters are listed within an elaborate framework like this.

Continue Reading this Article. . .

“Expert Consensus” in the Post-Vatican II Liturgical Reforms: More Half-Truths and Dated Scholarship

When the Consilium ad exsequendam was engaged in its work of radical liturgical reform in the 1960s, it was the ‘expert consensus’ that the so-called Apostolic Tradition was written by Hippolytus of Rome, and provided a witness to the liturgy more ancient than the Roman Canon. Thus, we were given various “restorations” in the Roman Rite, such as Eucharistic Prayer II, popularly known as the ‘Canon of Hippolytus,’ as well as an epiclesis in every one of the new eucharistic prayers, since this was thought to be a primitive feature of all liturgies that mysteriously went missing from the Roman Canon. Indeed, one still hears these sorts of things from time to time, even from people who ought to know better!

Of course, the current scholarly consensus is that the Apostolic Tradition is neither the work of Hippolytus or any other individual. Rather, it is now considered to be a composite work redacted over several centuries, and not at all representative of the early Christian liturgical tradition in Rome (being West Syrian in origin). [1] Eucharistic Prayer II is thus the best-known example of previously ‘assured results’ of historical-critical scholarship making their way into the post-conciliar reforms without, as it turns out, much of an ‘assured’ basis at all—in spite of the admonition of Sacrosanctum Concilium 23 that “there must be no innovations unless the good of the Church genuinely and certainly requires them; and care must be taken that any new forms adopted should in some way grow organically from forms already existing.”

It should not be terribly surprising, then, that there are many other examples of dated scholarship influencing aspects of the work of the liturgical reformers, and I would like to highlight one that recently jumped out to me. Is the famous passage from Philippians 2, 6-11, used in the post-Vatican II Liturgy of the Hours as a canticle at I Vespers of Sundays every week, really an early ‘Christ-hymn' that was used in the primitive liturgy?’

“And being found in human form, he humbled himself by becoming obedient
to the point of death, even death on a cross.” (Phil. 2, 8)

Well, on a personal level, this is certainly what I was told by my biblical studies and theology lecturers back when I was at university. Many scholarly commentaries on Philippians claim that 2, 6-11 is an early Christian hymn. For example:

[T]his is a hymn devised for and taken from the context of public worship… [T]he unusual vocabulary of the hymn, with its many hapax legomena, the careful parallel construction, and the rhythm of the Greek original all suggest a pre-existing hymn. The passage is different in tone from what surrounds it, uses many non-Pauline terms and the sort of servant language that is largely absent from Paul’s other letters. On stylistic grounds it seems that Paul, like a good preacher, is using a pre-existing hymn illustratively in his exhortation to the Philippian congregation. Just as modern preachers may use a stanza or two of a well-known hymn to illustrate a point in a sermon precisely because the hymn is well known to the hearers, Paul is using a similar approach here. [Bonnie B. Thurston and Judith M. Ryan, Philippians and Philemon (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2009), pp. 85-86]

In what he says about Jesus Christ, the Apostle is not simply proposing him as a model for us to follow. Possibly transcribing an early liturgical hymn adding some touches of his own, he is—under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit—giving a very profound exposition of the nature of Christ and using the most sublime truths of faith to show the way Christian virtues should be practised. [The Navarre Bible: Saint Paul’s Captivity Letters (New York: Scepter Publishers, 2005), p. 102]

To give greater force to the plea which Paul has just addressed to his readers, he now introduces one of the earliest Christological hymns. This hymn embodies the essence of early Christian faith, the faith which acclaims the humiliation and exaltation of Christ… The stately and solemn ring of the words of this hymn are unmistakable even in English translation. The passage has a liturgical style, with its majestic rhythms, balanced clauses, and artful parallelisms. The hymn may be pre-Pauline, since it contains some uncommon words and ideas not found in other Pauline writings. [I-Jin Loh and Eugene A. Nida, A Handbook on Paul’s Letter to the Philippians (New York: United Bible Societies, 1995), p. 54]

The Catechism of the Catholic Church also makes the claim that Philippians 2, 6-11 is a hymn, on multiple occasions:

In a hymn cited by Saint Paul, the Church sings the mystery of the Incarnation: ‘Have this mind among yourselves, which is yours in Christ Jesus…’ (CCC 461)

Like the inspired writers of the New Testament, the first Christian communities read the Book of Psalms in a new way, singing in it the mystery of Christ. In the newness of the Spirit, they also composed hymns and canticles in the light of the unheard-of event that God accomplished in his Son: his Incarnation, his death which conquered death, his Resurrection, and Ascension to the right hand of the Father [footnote 125: Cf. Phil 2, 6-11; Col 1, 15–20; Eph 5, 14; 1 Tim 3, 16; 6, 15-16; 2 Tim 2, 11113]. (CCC 2641)

The most usual formulation, transmitted by the spiritual writers of the Sinai, Syria, and Mt. Athos, is the invocation, “Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on us sinners.” It combines the Christological hymn of Philippians 2, 6-11 with the cry of the publican and the blind men begging for light. (CCC 2667)

In terms of liturgical studies, no less a figure than Klaus Gamber, taking the form-critical work of numerous other scholars such as H. Lietzmann, R. Deichgraber and J. Jeremias as reliable, wrote in 1970 that “The basis thesis, that this passage is itself a pre-Pauline (liturgical) hymn, has become almost universal today.” [2] However, as Ralph P. Martin pointed out in the late-1960s, “It is a singular fact that it was not until the beginning of the twentieth century that the unusual literary character of Philippians ii. 5-11 was detected and classified.” [3] This ought to have been a red flag for exegetes and interpreters, yet, as so often in academic biblical studies, theory and reconstructions quite quickly overtook the actual evidence—which, as Markus Bockmuehl noted in his 1997 commentary on Philippians, has always been basically non-existent:

Everyone agrees on the fact that exalted, lyrical, quasi-credal language is employed in these verses. There is an undeniable rhythm here, combined with typically poetic tension, repetition and a Hebraic-sounding parallelism (e.g. v. 7b, 8b), although occasional proposals to identify a clear meter have been forced and implausible… Despite continuing assertions of this ‘hymn’ being sung in one setting or another, we have in fact no contextual evidence of such use; nor is the passage ever cited in this connection in Christian literature of the first or second century… Perhaps another telling argument against a ‘hymnic’ reading of this passage is the observation that scholars have advanced at least half a dozen mutually incompatible proposals of how the different stanzas are to be arranged and divided. Some of these in fact depend on surgery on the text as it stands, involving various omissions or rearrangements… This lack of agreement about the very form and outline of our passage suggests that, even though poetic style and credal language are undoubtedly present, it is unwarranted and potentially misleading to call it a ‘hymn’ in the absence of evidence for its liturgical usage. [4]

As with the so-called Apostolic Tradition, more recent scholarship has moved away from the idea that Philippians 2, 6-11 (as well as other New Testament passages) was ever a ‘hymn’ at all. For example: 

The reconstruction of ‘Christ hymns’ and other formulaic pieces considered to originate from early Christian liturgy seemed to allow a deeper insight into the worship of the first Christians. These optimistic attempts found their climax in the thesis that 1 Peter as a whole (except for the epistolary frame) contained a complete baptismal service held at Rome, including all the songs and even the sermon!

    From the middle of the 1960s to the early 1970s, several monographs summed up the discussion on the early Christian hymns that had meanwhile been discovered, so that a certain scholarly consensus was reached. Ever since, early Christian “hymns” or “songs” have been an integral part of introductions and handbooks to the New Testament…

    Phil. 2, 6-11 has turned out to be a ‘praise of Christ’ written by Paul himself and firmly interwoven with its immediate context (2, 1-11) as well as with the letter as a whole. Appropriate to the subject-matter, it is written in an elevated, one can even say “hymnic” style. But the passage is neither poetic (because of the lack of meter) nor is it a hymn (because of the lack of the typical three-part structure)…

    [It is] a ‘praise of Christ’ within the letter, but is neither a hymn nor pre-Pauline. Since this text is often introduced as the principal witness for ‘hymns’ in the New Testament, the result of my investigation raises reasonable doubt concerning the other comparable passages. [5]

The Consilium would go on to fall prey to the erroneous 1960s scholarly consensus regarding these so-called New Testament ‘hymns.’ In September 1966, Coetus III of the Consilium proposed that canticles from the New Testament [6] be introduced to Vespers in the reformed Divine Office. They admit this is an innovation, [7] but they give the following reasons for this, among which is a “resurgence of biblical studies on the New Testament”:

1. Tradition. Regarding this, [such canticles] are not present in the tradition of the Roman rite. But in the Mozarabic liturgy, there are some excerpts from the New Testament, which are called canticles: Matthew 22, 23-32; 1 Timothy 6, 12 and 4, 12-16; Revelation 15, 1-4; Revelation 19:, 5-8. (Cf. Porter, “Cantica mozarabica officii,” in Ephemerides liturgicae [49], 1935, [pp. 126-145].)

    2. Utility. The resurgence of biblical studies on the New Testament has highlighted sections where a hymnic literary genre is prominent. The clearest examples are the canticles from the Apocalypse. Their literary form is similar to that of laudatory psalms, which begin with an invitation and continue with reasons for praise, e.g., “Praise the Lord, all nations, for great is his steadfast love…” (Ps. 116 [117]). They are also similar to prefaces for the same reason. Therefore, such canticles can excellently foster the spirit of liturgical prayer.

    Additionally, the faithful and priests of our time have a certain difficulty in reciting the psalms because the psalms inherently carry the spirit of the Old Testament. However, since the [time of the] Fathers, they have been sung in a figurative sense about Christ and the Church. Therefore, it will be essential to teach everyone, especially priests, how to chant the psalms in the spirit of the New Testament. If, besides the psalms, everyone can sing something specifically Christian, it will greatly assist in a Christian understanding of the psalter.

    Moreover, the psalms speak of the mystery of Christ only prophetically and indirectly, whereas the canticles of the New Testament do so directly. Thus, whoever recites these canticles after the prophetic psalms experiences spiritual joy in meditating on the glory of Christ.

    3. Possibility. In Coetus IX, there was extensive discussion about the placement of new canticles in the Divine Office, and it seemed to us that canticles of this kind could most fittingly occupy the fifth place in Vespers. In this way, after the prophecy of the psalms, the hearts of those who recite [these canticles] will ascend to the truth of the mystery of Christ, perfectly prepared for the climax of the entire Hour, namely, the canticle from the Gospel, with exultation: Magnificat. [8]

So, we can see that Coetus III justified the general introduction of New Testament canticles into the Roman Office on several dubious grounds:

• first, though never part of the Roman tradition, we can freely import them from the Mozarabic liturgy—this seems highly questionable, and not consistent with what Vatican II says about “innovations” in the liturgy (SC, n. 23);
• second, as we now know certain passages of the New Testament, including some not used in the Mozarabic liturgy (such as Philippians 2, 6-11), were hymns composed and used by the ancient Church, we should use them in the same way today—except this seems to be a 20th century scholarly fiction, with no actual evidence to back it up—and even if there was evidence, this would be the sort of archaeologism and antiquarianism condemned by Pope Pius XII (Mediator Dei, nn. 61-64);
• third, that this innovation will alleviate the alleged ‘difficulties’ clergy and laity have with praying the psalms, and imbue the psalter with the ‘spirit of the New Testament’—yet if the Christological nature of the psalter had been lost by ‘modern man,’ such an innovation does not seem sufficient to rectify this—and in any case, the psalter in the Liturgy of the Hours still ended up censored because of “certain psychological difficulties” (General Instruction on the Liturgy of the Hours, n. 131)!

With regard to the so-called Apostolic Tradition, the liturgist John Baldovin wrote in 2003 that “[t]here is a very real possibility that the Apostolic Tradition describes liturgies that never existed.” [9] Likewise, there is a very real possibility that the ‘hymns’ of the New Testament used at Vespers in the reformed liturgy never existed as hymns. They are just yet another item on the long list of scholarly fictions, myths and “restorations” that the liturgical books of the Novus Ordo are currently saddled with. It is to be hoped that these historical falsehoods will be corrected by younger generations who do not treat the work of the Consilium as absolutely identical with the intentions of the Second Vatican Council.

NOTES

[1] Paul F. Bradshaw, Maxwell E. Johnson and L. Edward Phillips, The Apostolic Tradition: A Commentary (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2002), p. 14:

[W]e judge the work to be an aggregation of material from different sources, quite possibly arising from different geographical regions and probably from different historical periods, from perhaps as early as the mid–second century to as late as the mid–fourth, since none of the textual witnesses to it can be dated with any certainty before the last quarter of that century. We thus think it unlikely that it represents the practice of any single Christian community, and that it is best understood by attempting to discern the various individual elements and layers that constitute it.

See also Matthieu Smyth, “The Anaphora of the So-called Apostolic Tradition and the Roman Eucharistic Prayer”, Usus Antiquior 1.1 (2010), pp. 5-25, at p. 24:

The purpose was to enrich the patrimony of eucharistic prayers of the Church of Rome; that which was done was based on the belief of the Romanitas and of the supposed antiquity of this document [i.e. the Apostolic Tradition], which [Bernard] Botte had defended with so much ardour. What a paradox for a document that in reality never had a relationship with the city and which in many respects was less ancient than the Roman Canon, the authentic eucharistic prayer proper to the Church of Rome!

[2] Klaus Gamber, “Der Christus-Hymnus im Philipperbrief in liturgiegeschichtlicher Sicht”, Biblica 51.3 (1970), pp. 369-376, at p. 369: “Die Grundthese, daß es sich hierbei um einen vorpaulinischen (liturgischen) Hymnus handelt, hat sich heute fast allgemein durchgesetzt…”

[3] Ralph P. Martin, Carmen Christi: Philippians ii. 5-11 in Recent Interpretation and in the Setting of Early Christian Worship (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1967), p. 24. Of course, this is not a problem for Martin, who goes on in his monograph to treat the so-called “hymnic character” of Philippians 2, 6-11 as an important 20th-century form-critical discovery, hidden to all previous generations!

[4] Markus Bockmuehl, The Epistle to the Philippians (BNTC; London: Continuum, 1997), pp. 116-117. See also the comments of Michael Peppard, “‘Poetry’, ‘Hymns’ and ‘Traditional Material’ in New Testament Epistles or How to Do Things with Indentations”, Journal for the Study of the New Testament 30.3 (2008), pp. 319-342, at p. 322: “most of the major scholarship on this subject has not so much argued for the hymnic qualities of certain New Testament texts as much as it has assumed these qualities and then analyzed them.”

[5] Ralph Brucker, “‘Songs’, ‘Hymns’, and ‘Encomia’ in the New Testament?”, in Clemens Leonhard and Hermut Löhr (eds.), Literature or Liturgy? Early Christian Hymns and Prayers in their Literary and Liturgical Context in Antiquity (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2014), pp. 1-14, at pp. 2 and 7-8. See also Benjamin Edsall and Jennifer R. Strawbridge, “The Songs we Used to Sing? Hymn ‘Traditions’ and Reception in Pauline Letters”, Journal for the Study of the New Testament 37.3 (2015), pp. 290-311; Paul A. Holloway, Philippians: A Commentary (Minneapolis, MN: Fortress Press, 2017), p. 116; Gordon D. Fee, “Philippians 2:5-11: Hymn or Exalted Pauline Prose?”, Bulletin for Biblical Research 2 (1992), pp. 29-46.

[6] The list of “canticles” given in Schema 185 (De Breviario, 40), Adnexa, 19 September 1966, p. 1, is as follows:

• 1 Corinthians 13, 1-7
• Ephesians 1, 3-10
• Colossians 1, 12-20
• Philippians 2, 6-11
• Revelation 4, 11 + 5, 9-10, 12
• Revelation 11, 17-18 + 12, 10b-12a
• Revelation 15:, 3-4
• Revelation 19, 1b-2a + 4b + 5b + 6b-8a

[7] As does the liturgist Rubén M. Leikam, “The Liturgy of the Hours in the Roman Rite,” in Anscar Chupungco (ed.), Handbook for Liturgical Studies, V: Liturgical Time and Space (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 2000), pp. 59-98, at p. 83: “It must be noted that, historically, the introduction of a canticle from the New Testament into the psalmody of the Vesper hour was an innovation.”

[8] Schema 185, pp. 1-2:

1. De Traditione. C[ir]ca talia non adsunt in ritu romano cum traditione sua. Sed in Liturgia mozarabica inveniuntur nonnulla excerpta e N.T., quae ut cantica dicuntur: Mt 22, 23-32; 1 Tim 6, 12 et 4, 12-16; Apc 15, 1-4; Apc 19, 5-8. (Cf Porter Cantica mozarabi officii in EL 1935.)

    2. De utilitate. Renascentia studiorum biblicorum de N.T. in lucem posuit sectiones in quibus viget genus litterarium hymnicum. Exempla clarissima sunt cantica apocalypseos. Forma litteraria similes sunt psalmis laudatoriis, qui incipiunt cum invitatione et prosequuntur cum motivis, e. gr. “Laudate Dominum omnes gentes, quoniam confirmata est ---” (Ps 116). Similes sunt etiam praefationibus ex eadem ratione. Quapro[p]ter talia cantica optime fovere possunt spiritum orationis liturgicae.

    Accedit, quod fideles et sacerdotes nostrae aetatis quandam difficultatem habent in recitatione psalmorum, quia psalmi ex se habent spiritum Veteris Testamenti. Sed iam a Patribus in figura cantantur de Christo et Ecclesia. Quare valde laborandum erit, ut discant omnes, maxime sacerdotes, modum talem psallendi in spiritu Novi Testamenti. Si vero praeter psalmos omnes possunt aliqua saltem specifice christiana cantare, valde iuvabuntur adintelligentiam christianam psalterii.

    Insuper psalmi de mysterio Christi loquuntur prophetice tantum et indirecte, cantica autem N.T. directe. Ita qui post psalmos propheticos haec cantica dicit, spirituali laetitia gaudet in meditatione gloriae Christi.

    3. De possibilitate. In coetu IX multum disceptatum est de loco novorum canticorum in officio divino et visum est nobis cantica huius generis optime locum habere posse quinto loco Vesperarum. Ita post prophetiam psalmorum corda recitantium ascendunt ad veritatem mysterii Christi optime praeparata ad culmen totius Horae, canticum nempe de evangelio, cum exultatione: “Magnificat”.

[9] John F. Baldovin, S.J., “Hippolytus and the Apostolic Tradition: Recent Research and Commentary”, Theological Studies 64.3 (2003), pp. 520-542, at p. 542.

The Prophet Elijah, Epic Hero of the Old Testament, Part Two

In Part One of this article, I outlined the historical literary genre known as the epic, and I suggested that we cannot “fully appreciate and honor the Prophet Elijah without consciously reading his life story as that of an epic hero.” (I also included a technical explanation for the different versions of his English name, if that sort of thing interests you. If it doesn’t, here’s the synopsis: The Hebrew name אֵלִיָּה would have sounded like “eleeyah,” the spelling “Elijah” has been around a long time but no longer encourages Hebraic pronunciation, and the spelling “Elias” came to English from Greek via Latin.)

Now it’s time to look at how we can understand and honor the Holy and Glorious Prophet Elijah, whose feast is July 20th in the Byzantine rite, through the lens of epic heroism.

“Into the Midst of Things”

One of the most well-known features of epic literature is the convention of beginning in medias res, which literally means “into the midst of things” and is used in literary theory for works that dive right into the primary narrative. The epic poet is expected to quickly capture the reader’s attention by dispensing with any sort of preamble and, at least initially, with events that led to the main action of the poem. The Aeneid gives us a fine example:

I sing of arms, and of the man who first
Came from the coasts of Troy to Italy
And the Lavinian shores, exiled by fate.
Much was he tossed about upon the lands
And on the ocean by supernal powers,
Because of cruel Juno's sleepless wrath.

These are the first lines of the poem, and Virgil’s song is already recounting Aeneas’ tempestuous voyage away from Troy. The narrative does not begin with the Trojan War or even the fall of Troy; we will, however, hear about some of that action later, in a flashback. (By the way, I’m using Christopher Pearse Cranch’s 1872 translation here; I’ve sampled many Aeneid translations, and this is my favorite. It’s truly excellent, and not well known.)

The opening lines of the Iliad have an even stronger in medias res feeling, and they also give you an idea of the stylistic differences between Virgil and Homer. (In fairness, though, this is from the Robert Fagles translation, which is superb but probably amplifies those differences.)

Rage – Goddess, sing the rage of Peleus’ son Achilles,
murderous, doomed, that cost the Achaeans countless losses,
hurling down to the House of Death so many sturdy souls,
great fighters’ souls, but made their bodies carrion,
feasts for the dogs and birds,
and the will of Zeus was moving toward its end.

This is how the story of the Prophet Elijah begins:

And Elijah the Tishbite, who was of the sojourners of Gilead, said unto Ahab,
As the Lord, the God of Israel, liveth, before whom I stand,
there shall not be dew nor rain these years,
but according to my word. (1 Kings 17, 1)

No prelude, no family history, no tales of his previous life, not even the typical prophet-introducing phrase “The word of the Lord came to...” (this comes after his introduction, in the next verse). Elijah simply bursts onto the scene, and before the end of the first verse in which he is mentioned, he is already defying the wicked King Ahab. Biblical scholars puzzle over this abrupt entrance. They observe that we never learn his parentage or tribe, and the epithet “Tishbite” deepens, rather than clarifies, the mystery of his origin.

From a literary standpoint, though, this technique makes sense, as the German commentators Keil and Delitzsch at least partially recognized: “This abrupt appearance of Elijah ... is rather a part of the character of this mightiest of all the prophets.” It is an appearance in medias res, eminently appropriate for an epic hero.

Sacred Digressions

Epic poems are carefully enriched by digressions from the main storyline. This occurs as a story-within-a-story that narrates prior events, as prophecies uttered by a seer, or as episodes that are connected rather loosely to the principal action.

Elijah is fundamentally a prophet, so that connection already exists, and furthermore, his life is episodic, consisting of sudden, brief appearances within the larger frame of a grand mission to defend the cause of God when Israel was drowning in its own iniquity. We feel this especially in the homely stories of the ravens and the widow of Zarephath, which directly follow an introduction that portrays his prophetic mission as intense and momentous.

And the ravens brought him bread and flesh in the morning,
and bread and flesh in the evening;
and he drank of the brook.
And it came to pass after a while, that the brook dried up,
because there was no rain in the land. (1 Kings 17, 6–7)

So he arose and went to Zarephath;
and when he came to the gate of the city,
behold, a widow woman was there gathering sticks:
and he called to her, and said,
Fetch me, I pray thee, a little water in a vessel, that I may drink. (1 Kings 17, 10)

Digressions bring variety and interest to a narrative, and more importantly, they allow an author to communicate themes and character traits that might be lost amidst the primary action of the epic story. Elijah is not only the bold, fiery prophet of Mount Carmel; he is also a humble, compassionate Israelite who promised the widow that her cruse of oil would not fail, and raised her son from the dead. And that brings us to our next epic moment in the prophet’s life.

The Underworld

The katabasis, from the Greek word for “descent,” is a distinctive feature of epic literature. It refers specifically to a descent into the underworld—that is, the world of the dead. The paradigmatic example occurs in Book 6 of the Aeneid, but not until Dante’s Inferno would epic katabasis reach its poetic and theological summit.

Elijah never descends to the underworld, but we hear echoes of katabasis in the story of the widow’s son, when Elijah confronts death and overcomes it. There are only three instances of someone being raised from the dead in the Old Testament, which suggests that great significance is involved in such events. The detail of Elijah stretching himself upon the dead child three times emphasizes his participation in the death, as though he mystically entered the realm of the dead in order to draw the child out of it.

And he stretched himself upon the child three times,
and cried unto the Lord, and said,
O Lord my God, I pray thee, let this child’s soul come into him again.
And the Lord hearkened unto the voice of Elijah;
and the soul of the child came into him again,
and he revived. (1 Kings 17, 21–22)

The Heroism of Faith

The last epic moment that I’ll mention requires little comment. It radiates the heroic energy that we naturally sense in the feats and conquests of ancient heroes, while also utterly surpassing them—for this is a feat of the spirit, not of the body. This is not a conquest of valor and strength and martial skill, however good and noble those things may be, but a conquest of one who prays, and who trusts—against overwhelming odds—that his prayer will be heard.

The passage is simply a masterpiece of epic literature. Saint Elijah the Prophet, defender of Israel against the impious tyrant Ahab, pray for us.

And he put the wood in order, and cut the bullock in pieces,
and laid it on the wood. And he said,
Fill four barrels with water, and pour it on the burnt offering, and on the wood.
And he said, Do it the second time; and they did it the second time.
And he said, Do it the third time; and they did it the third time.
And the water ran round about the altar; and he filled the trench also with water.
And it came to pass at the time of the offering of the evening oblation,
that Elijah the prophet came near, and said,
O Lord, the God of Abraham, of Isaac, and of Israel,
let it be known this day that thou art God in Israel,
and that I am thy servant,
and that I have done all these things at thy word.
Hear me, O Lord, hear me,
that this people may know that thou, Lord, art God,
and that thou hast turned their heart back again.

Then the fire of the Lord fell,
and consumed the burnt offering,
and the wood, and the stones, and the dust,
and licked up the water that was in the trench.
And when all the people saw it, they fell on their faces:
and they said, The Lord, he is God; the Lord, he is God. (1 Kings 18, 33–39)

---

For thrice-weekly discussions of art, history, language, literature, Christian spirituality, and traditional Western liturgy, all seen through the lens of medieval culture, you can subscribe (for free!) to my Substack publication: Via Mediaevalis.

The Prophet Elijah, Epic Hero of the Old Testament, Part One

July 20th in the Byzantine rite is the feast of the Holy and Glorious Prophet Elijah, a man whose singularly exalted status in salvation history suggests that his life deserves more attention than it receives. In my experience, eastern Christianity has been more faithful than western Christianity in celebrating the monumental figures of the Old Testament—men and women whose actions and interior lives emerge not from the records of mere mortals but from the Holy Bible, wellspring of divine Wisdom and the world’s greatest work of literature.

Elijah rebuked a king, brought down “the fire of the Lord” upon Mount Carmel with his prayers, vanquished four hundred and fifty pagan prophets, brought abundance to a desolate widow, raised the widow’s son from the dead, received nourishment from the hand of an angel, conversed with the Almighty on Mount Horeb, divided the Jordan River, and ascended to heaven in a flaming chariot. This is a life that has been studied and contemplated for millennia. This is a story that ignites and ennobles the imagination, and will until the end of time. This is a man who demonstrates to every nation and every age that Christianity is, or at least should be, a religion of heroes.

---

The interminable doctrinal disputes that began with the Protestant Reformation have turned our attention away from the literary qualities of the Bible. Indeed, one of the delights of being Catholic is the freedom to savor the Bible as a work of art, without fretting over how exactly its poetic, narrative, and epistolary texts should be translated into dogmas. Mother Church has done this work for us—if we humbly accept her magisterial teachings, we ipso facto accept that the Bible cannot contradict them, and then the many obscure passages of Scripture become as so many dark caves and shadowy woodlands where wonders await us if we are willing to explore, and contemplate, and pray.

Elijah and the widow’s son. Early sixteenth century.

Among the Bible’s forgotten literary qualities are genres and poetic forms that enrich the Truth-telling stories which the good God has written for us. John Milton, of Paradise Lost fame, believed that the Bible was superior to the classics as a work of literature. That’s a bold assessment coming from a Renaissance humanist, and also a compelling one given that Milton was a prodigiously intelligent scholar and classicist.

The epic, defined as “a long narrative poem of heroic action,” is arguably the most influential literary genre in history. The three most famous examples in Western culture are the Iliad, the Odyssey, and the Aeneid, but we could also mention the Divine Comedy, Beowulf, Hesiod’s Theogony, the Song of Roland, and even humanity’s oldest surviving work of written literature, the Epic of Gilgamesh. It is only natural that we would find epic in Holy Scripture as well. Milton interpreted the Book of Job, which was written almost entirely in verse, as an epic, and traces of epic are found, for example, in the poetical prose of Genesis, Exodus, and the Gospels.

Elijah awakened by an angel. Fifteenth century.

The epic mode of thought was more instinctual for inhabitants of the pre-modern world. Not only timeless masterpieces like the Aeneid but also countless oral poems, folk tales, and sagas formed minds and hearts in the poetics of heroism, mortality, prophecy, noble adventure, divine intervention, sacred tradition, majestic language, and communal identity. Modern readers such as ourselves have been raised in and influenced by a very different imaginative and artistic environment, and I don’t think we can fully appreciate and honor the Prophet Elijah without consciously reading his life story as that of an epic hero. I’ll provide some guidance on how to do that in Part Two of this essay.

Addendum: Elias vs. Elijah; or, The Prophet and His English Names

The prophet’s name is a source of much confusion in the English-language biblical tradition. To my great consternation, modern bibles prefer “Elijah,” which has normalized the pronunciation /ɪˈlaɪdʒə/, with the final consonant pronounced like the “j” in “jump” or the “s” in “pleasure.” There is no such sound in the Hebrew name אֵלִיָּה, which if we ignore the initial aleph would resemble “eleeyah.” The consonant in question here is Hebrew yod, which corresponds to English “y” in “you” (and also happens to be a name for the phonetic symbol ⟨j⟩).

During the surge of English-language bible translation in the sixteenth century, “i” and “j” were two different forms of the same letter. We see an example of this in the 1587 Geneva Bible, where the prophet’s name is spelled once as “Elijah” and once as “Eliiah” in the same verse. The more common spelling by far in the Geneva Bible is “Eliiah,” where the second “i” may have had a consonantal value similar to that of modern English “y.” The first edition of the King James Bible also used both “Eliiah” and “Elijah.”

Glenn Bauscher’s translation of the Syriac Bible has “Elyah,” which, though novel, is highly commendable. The most anomalous spelling appears in a nineteenth-century translation of the Septuagint carried out by Sir Lancelot Charles Lee Brenton: he predominantly used “Eliu,” because the Septuagint predominantly used the genitive form Ηλιου (“Eliou”) instead of the nominative form Ηλιας (“Elias”). I don’t like the sound of “Eliu,” but neither am I inclined to argue with anyone whose name includes “Sir Lancelot.”

The spelling “Elias” appears in the Coverdale Bible (1535), the Bishops’ Bible (1568), and the Douay-Rheims (1609). The prophet’s Hebrew name ends in the letter hei, equivalent to English “h”; the “-s” ending is a Greco-Roman phenomenon: Greek pronunciation didn’t allow for an “h” sound at the end of a word, and translators of the Septuagint replaced the “-ah” in names such as “Elijah,” “Isaiah,” and “Jeremiah” with “-as.” This was carried over into the Vulgate and thence to some English versions of the Bible.

To continue to Part Two, click here.

---

For thrice-weekly discussions of art, history, language, literature, Christian spirituality, and traditional Western liturgy, all seen through the lens of medieval culture, you can subscribe (for free!) to my Substack publication: Via Mediaevalis.

St Michael in the Apocrypha

The Archangel Michael is mentioned three times in the book of Daniel, once in the Apocalypse, and once in the Epistle of St Jude, and these are all of his Biblical appearances. Both New Testament authors introduce him quite abruptly, taking it for granted that their readers already know who he is. “And there was a great battle in heaven, Michael and his angels fought with the dragon…” (Apoc. 12, 7) This would certainly be due to his prominence in pre-Christian Jewish literature, works of the sort which we now call (rather inexactly) apocrypha. And indeed, the mention of him in the Epistle of St Jude is taken from such a work.

St Michael Defeating the Devil, by Guido Reni, 1635

“When Michael the Archangel, disputing with the devil, contended about the body of Moses, he durst not bring against him the judgment of railing speech, but said: The Lord command thee.” (verse 9) These words refer to an episode in a Jewish apocryphal work called The Assumption of Moses, which is only partially preserved; it is not in the part that survives, but ancient scholars such as Origen, who had the complete text to hand, say that it is in the work cited by St Jude. One explanation of the story is that the devil sought to claim possession of Moses’ body as that of a murderer, since he had killed the Egyptian, (Exod. 2, 11-12), and it was for this that St Michael said, “May God rebuke thee.” (In this context, it should be remembered that the Greek word “diabolos” means “slanderer.”) Another explanation is based on a tradition which goes all the way back to Tertullian, that idolatry was taught to mankind by the devil; therefore, in the story cited by St Jude, the devil’s purpose in trying to get the body of Moses would be to have the Jews worship it as an idol.

The story has attracted almost no attention from artists, with one very prominent exception, a fresco of it in the Sistine Chapel. When the chapel was originally constructed, Pope Sixtus IV (1471-84) commissioned a group of some of the most prominent painters of the era (Sandro Botticelli, Domenico Ghirlandaio, and Perugino among them) to paint eight episodes each from the lives of Moses and Christ; they are paired to show how the Church understands the life of Moses, the lawgiver of the Old Testament, as a prophecy of the life of Christ, the lawgiver of the New Testament. The final two, however, The Dispute over the Body of Moses and The Resurrection of Christ, break the parallelism; Moses, the giver of the old Law, dies and stays dead, but Christ, the giver of the new Law, rises from the dead.

These last two are on the chapel’s back wall, which has a large door in the middle, under part of each of the paintings. On Christmas Day of 1522, the architrave over the door suddenly cracked and fell, just after Pope Hadrian VI had passed under it while processing into the chapel to say Mass. (Two of his guards were killed.) This break would eventually lead to the complete deterioration of the paintings; around 1575, Matteo da Lecce replaced the original Dispute over the Body of Moses with the same subject, but in a very different style, as Hendrick van den Broeck had done about 20 years earlier with the Resurrection.

St Michael also figures very prominently in another apocryphal work, The Testament of Abraham, which exists in two recensions; the longer of these mentions him 24 times, the shorter 44 times. The basic idea of both is that he is sent to Abraham, whose life is extended from the Biblical 175 years (Genesis 25, 7) to 995 in the long recension, to persuade him to accept that his time has come to die. When Abraham’s son Isaac comes to meet the Archangel, the latter says to him, “the Lord God will grant you his promise that he made to your father Abraham and to his seed.” (chapter 3) Later on, Abraham meets Death himself, who appears to him with the heads of various animals, including a “terrible lion.” (chapter 17) Finally, when Abraham dies, “the archangel Michael came with a multitude of angels and took up his precious soul in his hands … and they tended the body of the just Abraham …. but the angels received his precious soul.” (chapter 20) These passage were clearly the inspiration for the first part of the Offertory chant of the Requiem Mass.

“O Lord Jesus Christ, King of glory, deliver the souls of all the faithful departed from the pains of hell and from the bottomless pit; deliver them out of the lion’s mouth, lest hell should swallow them up, lest they fall into darkness; but let Thy standard-bearer, Saint Michael, bring them into Thy holy light, which Thou didst promise of old to Abraham and to his seed.”

Palestrina’s Canticle of Canticles

Before the Tridentine reform, very few feasts had Scriptural readings in the first nocturn of the Divine Office. On the feasts of the Saints, it was typical for readings of their lives to supply all the Matins lessons, while on those of Our Lord and Our Lady, the first two nocturns were usually a sermon about the feast, and those of the third a homily on the Gospel read at Mass. There were, however, certain exceptions to this, such as Christmas and Epiphany, which always had the same readings from Isaiah that they do today. Among the feasts of the Virgin Mary, only that of her Nativity had Scriptural readings; these were taken from the Song of Songs, or Canticle of Canticles, as it was traditionally known in the Latin West, from its title in the Vulgate, “Canticum Canticorum.”

Two pages of a breviary according to the Use of Prague, printed in 1502, with the Office of the Nativity of the Virgin Mary; the Canticle of Canticles is read in both the first and second nocturns. In many Bibles of this period, the Canticle also had notes added to the text to indicate who is speaking: “The voice of Christ, (speaking) to the Church”, “the Church (speaking) about its tribulations” etc. These were then often incorporated into breviaries, as seen here. (Click image to enlarge.) 

On the Assumption and through its octave, the readings of the first two nocturns were taken from a sermon known from its opening words as “Cogitis me.” This purports to be a letter of St Jerome, written to his great friend Paula and her daughter Eustochium (who are both also Saints), in which he expounds his belief in the Assumption of the Virgin, and exhorts them to imitate Her as a model of consecrated life. In reality, it was written by St Paschasius Radbertus, a monk of the ninth century, when “forgeries” of this sort were not looked upon as frauds or acts of deception. Patristic scholar Jaroslav Pelikan notes that Paschasius “under the name of Saint Jerome made a far more substantial contribution to the history of Marian spirituality and devotion than any of the genuine works of Jerome, or for that matter than (his own) other principal work … on the subject of the Blessed Virgin Mary.” (“The Odyssey of Dionysian Spirituality”, Pseudo-Dionysius: The Complete Works, Paulist Press, 1987.)

In the early 16th century, however, Erasmus had shown that “Cogitis me” was certainly not by St Jerome, although he did not know who the true author was. It was therefore removed from St Pius V’s breviary and replaced by writings of other Church Fathers. (Ironically, the readings from St Athanasius assigned to the feast in the first edition were also later determined to be not actually his, and were removed from the second edition published by Clement VIII in 1602.)

The upper half of a polyptych of the Assumption, with Ss Paul and Jerome, Catherine of Alexandria and Clare of Assisi, 1529-30, by Alessandro Bonvicino (1492/5 - 1554), known as “Moretto da Brescia.”

The Tridentine breviary also conformed all Matins of nine readings to the arrangement previously found only on major Sundays and a handful of feasts, with Scripture readings in the first nocturn. The Canticle of Canticles, previously assigned to the Virgin’s Nativity and its octave, was then transferred to the Assumption. (On the Nativity itself, they were retained for the feast and the octave day, but not the days between.) The working notes of the editors of this breviary have never been discovered, so we are often left to guess what motivated their changes. They may have thought it was better to emphasize the solemnity of the older and greater of the two feasts by giving it proper readings for every day. But this may also have been done because the readings of the Divine Office in August are, by a very ancient custom, given over to the Sapiential books. The Canticle is always treated as one of these, since it has the same putative author as the others, King Solomon; this is why when they are read at Mass, they all have the same title, “A reading from the book of Wisdom.”

The readings are arranged as follows:

August 15	chapter 1 (1-16)
August 16	chapter 2 (1-17)
August 18	chapter 4, 1-4 and 7-15
August 19	chapter 5, 8-12 chapter 6, 1-5 and 8-12
August 21	chapter 7 (1-13) chapter 8, 1-4
August 22	chapter 8, 5-14

Two days within the octave have no such readings: August 17th, the octave of St Lawrence, and the 20th, the feast of St Bernard. (The readings of the 16th, 19th and 21st were later removed as other Saints were added to the calendar on those days.)

Palestrina presents his first book of Masses to Pope Julius III; part of the frontispiece of the book itself, which was published in 1554. Julius (whose scandal-ridden papacy was a profound embarrassment to the rising reform movement within the Church; his papal name has never been used again), had been bishop of the very ancient suburbicarian see of Palestrina, about 24 miles to the east of Rome. It was he who called the great musician from his position as organist in the cathedral of his native town to work in the choir of St Peter’s basilica. (Public domain image from Wikimedia Commons.)

In 1584, when this custom was still less than 20 years old, the great Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina (1525 ca. – 1594) published a collection of 29 motets of texts from the Canticle. There seems to be no information available about their intended use, and particularly, whether they were deliberately conceived to be sung during Mass. Two of the wise men whom I consult on such matters had never heard anything on the subject. I therefore make bold to offer here an observation about them, and no more than that; if anyone who knows more chances to read this, I would be very interested to hear what you have to say, so please leave a comment in the combox, or send me an email at the address on the left sidebar. If it’s interesting enough, I might even make a post about it.

Of these 29 motets, the texts of all but one, the 18th, coincide with the readings for the Assumption and its octave, although they do not include all the verses that are in the breviary. (There are none from chapter 8, so the octave day is not included.) But more interestingly, the same verses that are omitted from the breviary are also not used by Palestrina. The motets taken from chapters 4 and 5 begin at the same verses as readings on August 18 and 19, and those from chapter 6 omit the same verses (8-9) which are omitted in the breviary. The two chapters which get the most thorough treatment, the first (motets 1-8) and second (motets 11-17), are also the ones used on other feast days of the Virgin, the former on Her Nativity, and the latter on the Visitation.

These motets are also quite short, averaging about 2 minutes and 45 seconds each. This would make them very appropriate for the sweltering Roman summer when these feasts are celebrated, a time of year in which we may reasonably guess that people would not want the liturgy to be excessively prolonged by lengthy musical pieces.

Palestrina came to Rome in 1551, and worked there for 43 years, at St Peter’s Basilica, St Mary Major and St John in the Lateran. Given the circles in which he moved, it seems quite possible that he knew the clerics who edited the Tridentine breviary. Taken all together, these things seem to make for at least the possibility that he deliberately selected his texts out of the breviary, and intended them to be used during the Masses of Our Lady’s major feasts in the summer.

Here is a very nice recording of the whole set by the Hilliard Ensemble.