Two days ago, on the feast of St Philip Neri, I posted photos of the church of the London Oratory, and mentioned that a particular artistic feature of it deserves its own separate post. This feature is a group of statues of the Twelve Apostles by the Baroque sculptor Giuseppe Mazzuoli (1644-1725), a native of the Tuscan city of Volterra who worked for most of his life in Rome. When he was young, the artistic climate of Rome was very much dominated by Gian Lorenzo Bernini, whose influence on him was very notable. In 1681, Mazzuoli was hired to make these statues for the cathedral of Siena, a very prestigious commission, inasmuch as his work would be displayed in a place that houses pieces by several of the most important names in Italian sculpture (Bernini himself, Michelangelo, and Donatello, just to name three), along with countless other artistic treasures.
By the later part of the 19th century, however, the Baroque was very much out of fashion in many quarters, and in the year 1895, the cathedral of Siena sold the statues to the Oratory. Here are my pictures of ten of them, starting with St Bartholomew, whose feast was the day I visited the church, hence the candles lit underneath it.
Over the years, we have published many photos of liturgies at the London Oratory, but we have never done an article on the church per se. In honor of the feast of St Philip Neri, here are some pictures which I took when I was in London last year on pilgrimage with the Schola St Cécile. (We had the good fortune to stay in a place which is just a few blocks away, and therefore also close to the Victoria and Albert Museum, which is next door to the Oratory.) I will have a separate post on a particular artistic feature of the Oratory which deserves special attention.
The church is officially dedicated to the Immaculate Heart of Mary. At the time of its construction, which began in June of 1880 with the laying of the cornerstone, the neo-Gothic style was very much associated with the Anglo-Catholic and ritualist movements within Anglicanism. The Oratory was therefore deliberately built in the Italian Renaissance style, with elements of the Baroque, partly to emphasize its Roman Catholic affiliation, and partly in honor of the origins of the Congregation of the Oratory. (Westminster Cathedral was built in the Romanesque style for much the same reason.) The façade will immediately remind anyone is who is familiar with Rome of both Sant’Agostino, one of the Eternal City’s most important Renaissance churches, but also of the Roman Oratory, Santa Maria in Vallicelli (still known to this day, more than four and half centuries after its foundation, as “Chiesa Nuova – New Church.”)
Likewise, the architecture of the interior is clearly inspired by any number of Roman churches of the Counter-Reformation; the gigantic order of the columns in the nave, which pass through one cornice to reach up to the second one under the clerestory, the side-chapels engaged deep within the side-aisles, and above all the dome, elevated and pierced with windows, are all very much reminiscent of St Peter’s Basilica, and the churches subsequently inspired by it.
The main sanctuary.
The chapel of the Seven Sorrows, a devotion which was particularly dear to Fr Faber, one of the founders of the Oratory. It has traditionally been used as a funerary chapel, and as the focus of the activities of the Confraternity of the Precious Blood, a devotion which was very important in pre-Reformation England.
A bronze statue of St Peter, copied from the famous one by Arnolfo di Cambio in St Peter’s in Rome.
One Sunday evening in 2008, after two nights in a row of binge drinking — part of a pattern of compulsive misbehavior that shamed him when he was sober — Sohrab Ahmari was pacing around the block near Penn Station in New York City, killing time waiting for a train back to Boston. After several turns past a building that had what he described as a “nondescript brick façade” with “a relief above the entrance of an almost alien Jesus,” he went in and found a passage into a church where Mass was about to begin.
The Capuchn church of St John the Bapist in New York City, with the “alien Jesus”.
Sohrab Ahmari’s First Mass
Ahmari had never attended a Mass before. “The first thing I noticed on entering the vestibule was the serenity of the place, which struck me as almost impossible. Miraculous even, amid the pandemonium of midtown.”
A young guitarist with a man-bun played and led the congregation in singing hymns. While the congregation around him stood, kneeled, sat, prayed, and sang, Ahmari stayed seated in the back and wrestled with his ambivalence about religious belief. He paid little attention to what the friar was doing at the altar.
Skepticism had been ingrained in him in Iran from his bohemian family, and it had been reinforced by his experiences after he came to live in the United States with his mother at the age of 13. He had deep spiritual longings, but he didn’t want to be counted among the gullible by his intellectual peers. He thought he was too smart to be a believer. “But all of a sudden, the singing and the strumming dissolved into that all-encompassing serenity, and something extraordinary happened.”
During the consecration, he began to cry, not tears of sorrow or of joy, but of peace. The Mass appealed to two deeply-rooted parts of his personal make-up that he described in the first chapters of the book: he had always admired heroic self-less sacrifice, and he longed for cosmic and moral absolutes. The words of the consecration struck him because they made present at the Mass the redeeming death of the blameless Victim, who humbled Himself to become human and died on the Cross that all may live. On his way out after Mass, he saw a photo of Pope Benedict XVI in the vestibule, and that set off a new bout of tears—because he intensely craved loving, paternal, moral authority and the continuity that the papacy stands for.
He attended another Mass, and, from then on, he found that he could no longer honestly say he was an atheist. As he said in a Fox News interview, although he felt the faith was true on the level of his imagination and emotions, “it took, still, a long time to finally assent to faith.”
Wrong Worship (without the Mass)
Seven years later, Ahmari was married and working in London as an editorial writer for the Wall Street Journal’s European edition. He had come to believe in Christianity and — with the encouragement of a zealous friend — he occasionally worshipped at evangelical services. He lived near an evangelical Anglican church called Holy Trinity Brompton (HTB), and he began to occasionally attend services there. “[T]he Regency church with its elaborate stained-glass windows and vaulting arches, played host to charismatic worship that included JumboTrons, rock bands, and funky lighting.”
The Latin OF Mass at the Brompton Oratory
On the way home after one such charismatic service at HTB at 8:30 on a Sunday morning, Ahmari noticed a sign at the nearby Catholic Brompton Oratory (Church of the Immaculate Heart of Mary) advertising a Solemn High Latin Mass, starting at 11, and he went in.
It was Pentecost Sunday. The richness of the church decor with abundant marble and carvings, the way that the architecture beautifully leads every eye to the altar of sacrifice, and what he felt was the rightful inclusion of the carving of the Immaculate Heart of Mary under the baldacchino and in a painting above the main altar, all captivated him. “It was a holy place. It was a place of right worship.”
A world-renowned choir chants and sings traditional sacred music at the Brompton Oratory’s Solemn High Latin Masses. The priests celebrate ad orientem, facing towards Jesus, towards liturgical East. Instead of staying aloof as he had at that first Mass, Ahmari threw himself into following along with the other worshippers as best he could, standing, sitting, kneeling, and blessing himself (a few times with his left hand).
Ahmari was struck that “the metalwork and masonry and painting directed my imagination to spiritual realities,” and in contrast to what he had just experienced at the HTB service, “the Catholic Church didn’t need to bend herself to the vacuous fads of 2016.”
The very next day he sought out a priest at the Brompton Oratory’s offices and announced he wanted to become a Roman Catholic.
There is more of great interest in Ahmari’s story, much more; the rest of the fascinating story is told in From Fire by Water: My Journey to the Catholic Faith. Conservative journalist and media figure Sohrab Ahmari wrote it to show the influences and events of his life and the changes in his convictions that brought him — from the fire of misery and the captivity of sin, through the water of Baptism — and into the Catholic Church.
Ahmari Speaks About the Mass with Ignatius Press
As noted above, From Fire by Water was published by Ignatius Press. In the following video, one of a series of videos discussing Ahmari’s book as part of the Ignatius Press FORMED Book Club series, he talked about the differences between his experiences at the two Masses described above, and the form of the Mass he prefers, beginning at 4:40. The relevant portion of the interview is also trascribed below.
Father Joseph Fessio, S.J. (founder and editor of Ignatius Press): In your conversion story two liturgical events were critical. One was right around Penn Station . . . when you went into the Capuchin Church. The other was when you went into Brompton Oratory. Vivian, why don’t you make your point about the first experience?
Vivian Dudro: When you went to the chapel near Penn Station, . . . that Mass was a low Mass in English. At the consecration when you heard those words, “This is my Body,” you made the association that a sacrifice was occurring, and that was an “aha” moment for you. And then later you were at a Brompton Oratory Mass in Latin. I was wondering if your first experience of the Mass had been the one at the Brompton Oratory, do you think you would have understood that a sacrifice was being made if you hadn’t been able to understand the words of the consecration?
Sohrab Ahmari: I think it would have struck me more, but I would have understood less. That [Brompton] Mass is a richer presentation of both the symbolism and the supernatural action of the Mass, and it would have been an experience I would not soon have forgotten.
But I don’t think I would have put two and two together to understand that this is an altar like any altar of every civilization that has offered sacrifice—which all civilizations have—but in this case, it’s God Himself offering Himself up as the sacrificial Lamb. I don’t think I would have understood that as much, but at the level of mystery and emotion and imagination I have no doubt that the Brompton Mass would have made more of an impression on me.
But overall my state of mind in going to that mass was one of ‘I am lousy. I am abject. I need something to redeem me,’ and as it happened, I found the Mass but thereafter within twelve hours I had forgotten about it.
In either case it would probably have taken some time to get to the point of willingly seeking out the Roman Catholic Church.
Father Fessio: What’s your preference liturgically now?
Sohrab Ahmari: I have a son who I like to take to Mass. [Since the interview, he has also a baby daughter.] I’m registered at a church that has a Solemn High Latin Mass on Sundays. But my son can’t sit through all of it. I vary. Sometimes I need that beauty of the Latin Mass. . . . So that means I will go alone on some Sundays to have that. And then on other Sundays, when I want to take him and my wife, then we’ll go to a different church where the liturgy is fifty minutes, a reverent Novus Ordo Mass [in English]. I try to go to Mass daily; I don’t always succeed. My day is so packed that I’m grateful for the twenty-minute daily English Masses at St. Patrick’s Cathedral.
Father Fessio: I celebrate ordinarily the Novus Ordo mass, but in Latin, with English for the readings and prayers and the Preface and for everything that changes each day. I celebrate the rest that stays the same especially the Roman Canon, [Eucharistic Prayer I in the Ordinary Form] in Latin.
Sohrab Ahmari: I have to mention the Mass that is described in the book in the final chapter at the Brompton Oratory was not the Traditional Latin Mass. It too was a Novus Ordo Mass in Latin—also with the variable parts being done in English. I’m quite fond of that format.
Father Fessio: You’re young and energetic and a talented writer, so I hope to pass the torch onto to you from the Brompton Oratory and from me that in the future you can agitate for more widespread use of the Novus Ordo in Latin. I call it the Mass of Vatican II because it’s what the Vatican fathers were thinking about when they were talking about the reform of the liturgy.
As a follow-up to our recent All Saints and All Souls photoposts, and yesterday’s photos of Masses celebrated by military chaplains during World War I, here are a few late submissions.
On Tuesday, November 6, the Order of Malta in the Dallas area commemorated the centennial of the end of World War I with Solemn Vespers of the Dead at the University of Dallas’ Church of the Incarnation, celebrated by Fr Carlos Hamel of the Fraternity of St Joseph the Guardian (Diocese of Fréjus-Toulon, France). The Schola Cantorum Stellae Solae, directed by Brian Bentley, sang the Gregorian chant. The “Remembrance Day” Vespers drew well over a hundred participants from the university and local area, including clergy of the Dominican and Cistercian orders, as well as a dozen seminarians. (Photos by Anthony Mazur, reproduced by permission.)
In past blog posts, (for example here) I have described part of the story of how, nearly 30 years ago, when I was living in London, I met a man who showed me a series of spiritual exercises which would, he promised, enable me to discern my personal vocation, and then follow the path towards it. I followed his guidance, and it gave me exactly what he promised, along with many more unexpected benefits. Not only did I change my career path completely, so that I became an artist without having any formal qualification in this or any even remotely related field; I was also converted from a bitter and unhappy atheist into a believer whose life was (and still is), generally, happy. Furthermore, this set me on a path that led, about five years later, to my reception into the Catholic Church. I have now written a book (with a forward by Fr Marcelo Navarro, I.V.E.) that tells the story of how this happened and describes in detail how to do these exercises. It is called The Vision for You.
What is remarkable about my contact with him, it seems to me, is not only the process he showed me (which I describe in detail), but also the fact that he was able to entice someone as antagonistic, and indeed, hostile, to the idea of God and to Christianity as I was, into being prepared to commit to a process of deep reflection, prayer, and meditation in the Western tradition. I realize now that the way he presented it to me was a perfect model of evangelization, and so, with the thought that this might be of interest to others too, this is why I tell the whole story of my conversion.
The man who showed this to me was called David Birtwistle. He was in his mid-60s when I met him, and I was 26. I was introduced to him by a mutual friend, who was already being guided by him. David was a Catholic (and ultimately became my sponsor when I was received into the Church), but he didn’t talk of his Catholicism or of the Christian roots of the process. He just told me what to do in order to have a happy life. This was good judgment in my case; if he had pushed religion onto me at that stage I would not have been interested.
This program of spiritual exercises, while clearly coming from the Christian tradition, was as far as I can tell, unique to David both in the way he had put it together, and in the fact that it contained elements which he had developed himself. It is a program of activity that requires some time and work, rather like Ignatian exercises, but they are not the same as anything coming from St Ignatius that I have read. It involves first a structured daily routine of prayer and meditation, which establishes and maintains a connection with God; second, a period of deep reflection on one’s sins and our need for forgiveness; and finally, of listening to God’s call and following it.
When the time was right, he did show his hand in regard to his own faith. So, for example, I had known him for three years when I told him that I had decided I was Christian and was shopping around churches of different denominations to see where I fitted in. I was still unaware that he was Catholic. He didn’t even tell me at this point, but he did direct me to “a church in South Kensington” which he thought I might enjoy. “Make sure you go at eleven o’clock,” he had said to me firmly. What I didn’t know was that he was directing me to Solemn Mass at the London Oratory!
I was not the only one he helped. Aside from my friend, in the time I knew him he I saw him show this process to dozens of people upon whom it had the same impact. He died of a heart attack nine years after I met him, and over 600 people came to his funeral in West London, some of whom had flown in from thousands of miles away in order to be there. They were people from a whole range of social backgrounds, from investment bankers to construction workers.
I decided to write this book for a number of reasons. First is my belief that the combination of these exercises (which I still practice daily even now) and the sacramental life of the Church offer the greatest happiness that I can have in this life. I thought that some, both inside and currently outside the Church, might be interested in the gift I was given.
Furthermore, I thought that those who are in the Church and are happy, so that they do need feel any particular need to go through such a process, might nevertheless be interested in David’s method of evangelization so that they can use it themselves. The main weapon, so to speak, that David had was that he was so obviously at peace, and he also knew how to transmit this to others. I describe in some detail, as best as I can remember so many years later, the conversations we had and how he went about convincing me that he had something he could pass it on to me, without my ever feeling I was being manipulated or pushed into something I didn’t want to do.
Finally, the route to happiness that this program gave me was through the discernment of my personal vocation. My belief is that many people who are unhappy in life, whether Catholic or not, are unhappy because they are not doing what they are meant to do. This process, I believe, can offer a new direction that may bring the happiness you are looking for. When I met David, I was so unhappy that I was about to look for a therapist or psychiatrist who could offer counsel - or a prescription - that could change the way I felt. David suggested to me that I might like to wait and see how I felt after the process, because he thought it might solve my depression. I am glad that I followed his advice.
My experience is that this process was able to take me from where I was to where I ought to be. The degree to which this will re-order you life depends, of course, on how far you are from the path that God intends for you. In my case, this was a profound dislocation that didn’t just change the direction of the path I was on, it helicoptered me onto a whole new path. And again, what is remarkable about this, is that once I discovered the degree where it was taking me, I was more than happy to go along with it.
I decided to write it now, so many years after David died, in part because I noticed that the blog posts I referred have had as positive response as any that I have written. Also, I have now had experience of taking several dozen people through this process myself and have seen it work for them too. All of them were given either a new or deeper faith in God, and several have even converted or returned to the Church. This has given me the confidence to believe that I have sufficient experience and understanding of the process to put it writing for, one hopes, the benefit of others.
Photographs taken yesterday at Solemn Mass of the Lord’s Supper at the London Oratory, including the Mandatum and Procession to the Altar of Repose. (Photos: Charles Cole)
The latestrelease from AimHigher Recordings, now in conjunction with Sony Classical, is a glorious encapsulation of the splendid
work of The London Oratory Schola Cantorum Boys Choir, under the direction of
the NLM’s own Charles Cole. It is superb in every respect, from the quality of
the mastering and engineering, to the selection of repertoire and the creative
artistic choices.
Typical of the label’s past releases, the story of
the Schola as an ensemble focused on the singing of the Church’s sacred music
in the context of the sacred liturgy, and an account of the boys’ lives, which
revolve around the demanding schedule and discipline required to execute such a
high purpose, come to the fore. The ensemble is no mere showpiece, though they
rightly belong to the uppermost tier of boy choirs in the world—they are
clearly dedicated to the opus Dei,
the offering of the most beautiful and most worthy efforts for the worship of
almighty God.
The English Tudor era repertoire on the disc mixes well-known and beloved pieces like the William Byrd (1540–1623) Ave verum corpus and Thomas Tallis (c. 1505–1585) O nata lux with lesser-known gems like the Missa Euge bone of Christopher Tye (c. 1505–1573). The opening track of the disc, Haec dies, captures the energetic and expansively glorious lines typical of John Sheppard's (c. 1515–1558) writing through its masterful balance between parts; both treble and lower voices are powerful without being overbearing. The Missa Euge bone is delightful in its charm—surprising textural and harmonic turns abound—and Cole's thoughtful approach to the architecture of each movement through contrast, good pacing, and a mindfulness of the trajectory of lines reflects an understanding of the integral connection between the movement of the sacred liturgy and its sacred music. The tenderness of Robert Parsons' (1535–1571) Ave Maria is captured through the delicate and insistent shaping of phrases. The choice of tempo for Byrd's Ave Verum demonstrates the flexibility of this masterpiece in its ability to inspire and bear varied artistic choices, and Cole's choice of a slower tempo clearly hearkens to the use of the text in elevation motets, capturing the adoration inherent in that liturgical moment, and allowing the striking cross relations to be clearly heard. The choice of the Peter Phillips (c. 1560–1628) Ascendit Deus for the final track of the disc provides a fitting conclusion, having traversed from Easter through different moments of salvation history to Our Lord's going up "in jubilation . . . with the sound of the trumpet." This sparkling setting embodies well what so many composers have found in this brilliance of the text, adding to it the soaring soprano lines emblematic of Phillips' writing. Visitors to the Brompton Oratory have long known of the musical treasure Catholics have in this institution. How wonderful it is that their work will be made known to a wide audience through the distribution of this disc. My hope is that it will also inspire musicians and pastors to pursue musical excellence in the context of the sacred liturgy, for the greater glory of God. Both this music and this institution demonstrate the great musical heights to which the sacred liturgy can soar when sacred music is treasured, encouraged, and supported as the Church urges in her documents on the sacred liturgy.
