How Medieval Christians Celebrated the Rogation Days (with a Dragon)

The following description of the Rogation Processions comes from a canon of the cathedral of Siena named Oderico, who in the year 1213 wrote a detailed account of the liturgical texts and ceremonies used in his church.

“Mindful of that promise of the Gospel, ‘Ask, and ye shall receive,’ (John 16, 24; from the Gospel of the Sunday which precedes the Lesser Litanies) St Mamertus, bishop of Vienne, in this week instituted the three days of the Litanies, because of an urgent necessity … days which are greatly celebrated by every church with fasts and prayers. The Greek word ‘litany’ means ‘supplication,’ because in the Litanies we beseech the Lord that he may defend us from every adversity, and sudden death; and we pray the Saints that they may intercede for us before the Lord. … The Church celebrates the Litanies with devotion in these three days, with (processional) crosses, banners, and relics She goes from church to church, humbly praying the Saints that they may intercede with God for our excesses, ‘that we may obtain by their intercession what we cannot obtain by our own merits.’ (citing a commonly used votive Collect of all the Saints.) ...

It is the custom of certain churches also to carry a dragon on the first two days before the Cross and banner, with a long, inflated tail, but on the third day, (it goes) behind the Cross and banners, with its tail down. This is the devil, who in three periods, before the Law, under the Law, and under grace, deceives us, or wishes to do so. In the first two (periods) he was, as it were, the lord of the world; therefore, he is called the Prince or God of this world, and for this reason, in the first day, he goes with his tail inflated. In the time of grace, however, he was conquered by Christ, nor dares he to reign openly, but seduces men in a hidden way; this is the reason why on the last day he follows with his tail down.” (Ordo Officiorum Ecclesiae Senensis, 222)

Oderico does not describe the dragon, but given that Siena is in Tuscany, still a major center of leather-working to this day, we may imagine that the dragon itself was a large wooden image mounted on wheels or a cart, and the inflatable tail something like a leather bellows. It should be noted that in addition to the processional cross, Oderico mentions both banners and relics as part of the processional apparatus. In the medieval period, it was considered particularly important to carry relics in procession; so much so that, for example, a rubric of the Sarum Missal prescribes that a bier with relics in it be carried even in the Palm Sunday procession. A typical bier for these processions is shown in the lower right corner of this page of the famous Book of Hours known as the Très Riches Heures du duc de Berry. made by the Limbourg brothers between 1411 and 1416.

The Legend of St James the Greater

In the Synoptic Gospels, St James the Greater appears as a particularly prominent figure among the Twelve Apostles. When the names of the Twelve are given as a group, he always appears in the first set of four, along with the brothers Peter and Andrew, and his own brother John. After his calling, which is described at the beginning of Our Lord’s public ministry in all three Synoptics, he appears with Peter and John as a witness of several notable events: the healing of Jairus’ daughter, the Transfiguration, when Christ first revealed His divinity to his Apostles, and the Agony in the Garden. The Gospel of St Mark (3, 13-19) tells us that Christ gave to James and John the nickname “Boanerges, that is, Sons of Thunder”; this transcription of the Hebrew “b’nê regesh” may be intended to suggest something like “boan ergon” in Greek, “the work of shouting.” St Luke writes (9, 53-56) that when the Samaritans did not receive Christ, “James and John … said: ‘Lord, wilt thou that we command fire to come down from heaven, and consume them?’ And turning, He rebuked them, saying, ‘You know not of what spirit you are. The Son of man came not to destroy souls, but to save.’ ” (The words in italics are missing in many ancient manuscripts.)

The Transfiguration, by Duccio di Buoninsegna, one of the panels of the dismembered altarpiece of Siena Cathedral known as the Maestà, 1311; this one is now located in the National Gallery in London. (Public domain image from Wikipedia.)

In the Gospel of St Matthew 20, 20-23, it is recounted that their mother, Salome, came to the Lord, “adoring and asking something of him. Who said to her: ‘What wilt thou?’ She saith to him: ‘Say that these my two sons may sit, the one on thy right hand, and the other on thy left, in thy kingdom.’ And Jesus answering, said, ‘You know not what you ask. Can you drink the chalice that I shall drink?’ They say to him. ‘We can.’ He saith to them, ‘My chalice indeed you shall drink; but to sit on my right or left hand, is not mine to give to you, but to them for whom it is prepared by my Father.’ ” This is the Gospel of St James’ feast, and also that of his brother John’s feast “at the Latin Gate”, which commemorates his martyrdom, in fulfillment of the Lord’s prophecy that “My chalice indeed you (plural) shall drink.”

In the Acts, James is named once again with the other Apostles right after the Ascension (1, 13), but then only once more, at the beginning of chapter 12. “And at the same time, Herod the king stretched forth his hands, to afflict some of the church. And he killed James, the brother of John, with the sword. And seeing that it pleased the Jews, he proceeded to take up Peter also.” Concerning his martyrdom, the first among the Twelve, Eusebius of Caesarea records that “Clement (of Alexandria), in the seventh book of his Hypotyposes (a work which is now lost), relates a story which is worthy of mention; telling it as he received it from those who had lived before him. He says that the one who led James to the judgment-seat, when he saw him bearing his testimony, was moved, and confessed that he was himself also a Christian. They were both therefore, he says, led away together; and on the way, he begged James to forgive him. And he, after considering a little, said ‘Peace be with you,’ and kissed him. And thus they were both beheaded at the same time.” (Church History 2, 9)

A 15th century reliquary of St James the Apostle in the cathedral of Pistoia, Italy, which also contains relics of his mother, Maria Salome, as well as St Martin of Tours, and two early local martyrs, priests named Rufinus and Felix.

The tradition that St James went to Spain and began the work of evangelizing that country is a fairly late one; it was unknown to writers of the early centuries, and even explicitly denied by St Julian, the archbishop of Toledo and Primate of Spain in the later 7th century. The Golden Legend of Bl. James of Voragine devotes very little space to it, saying merely that “he went to Spain, to sow the word of God there. But when he saw that he was making no progress there, and had made only nine disciples, he left two of them there to preach, and taking the other seven with him, returned to Judaea.” These are traditionally known as the “Seven Apostolic Men”, Saints Torquatus, Ctesiphon, Secundus, Indaletius, Caecilius, Hesychius and Euphrasius; the Tridentine Martyrology has an entry for them on May 15th, which states that the Apostles ordained them as bishops and sent them back to Spain, where they preached the Gospel in various places. The Golden Legend goes on to give a lengthy account of St James’ martyrdom, which includes the conversion of a magician named Hermogenes; at the end, a story is told of how his relics were translated to Spain, one which does much to enhance the author’s reputation for excessive credulity.

Lest it seem that too much credulity is given here to the hagiographical skeptics, even the pre-Tridentine Roman Breviary shows great reserve about these traditions, giving no space to any part of the legend of St James, not even the very ancient story recorded in Eusebius. All nine of the Matins lessons for the feast are taken from a homily of St John Chrysostom on the day’s Gospel, in which he says much in praise of Salome as one who followed Christ, and was principally concerned with the eternal salvation of her sons. In the Tridentine Breviary, a new set of readings was composed for the second nocturne, which sum up the traditional story as described above. It also notes that James’ death took place around the time of the Jewish Passover, but that his feast day is kept on the day of the translation of his relics to the famous cathedral at Compostela.

The church of Rome was always very slow to accept new liturgical texts; one often finds that a Saint who was hugely popular in the Middle Ages had a proper Office elsewhere, but was celebrated in the Roman Use with a Common Office. Such is the case with St James. At Compostela itself, an Office was sung with a completely proper set of antiphons, responsories and hymns, which refer to the tradition of his coming to Spain, the presence of his relics, and his frequent aid to the Spanish kings in liberating the peninsula from the Moors during the Reconquista. One of the best of these antiphons was then received by the Dominicans for the Magnificat at First Vespers of his feast, although they did not take on any of the rest of the propers from Compostela.

O lux et decus Hispaniae, sanctissime Jacobe, qui inter Apostolos primatum tenes, primus eorum martyrio laureatus! O singulare praesidium, qui meruisti videre Redemptorem nostrum adhuc mortalem in Deitate transformatum! Exaudi preces servorum tuorum, et intercede pro nostra salute omniumque populorum.

A superb motet by the Spanish composer Ambrosio Cotes (1550-1603), with the first words of the antiphon given above.

O light and glory of Spain, most holy James, who among the Apostles holdest the primacy, the first of them crowned with martyrdom! Our special defense, who merited to see our Redeemer transformed in the Godhead while yet a mortal! Hear the prayers of thy servants, and intercede for our salvation, and of all peoples!

St James is traditionally depicted in the garb of a pilgrim, with a broad hat and a staff, even though he is the destination, and not the traveler. This is not done with other Saints whose tombs or relics were popular pilgrimage centers, indicating perhaps that to the medieval mind, a trip to Compostela was thought of as the pilgrimage par excellence. This may have something to do with its location at almost the westernmost point in continental Europe. Compostela is about 48 miles from a town on the Atlantic called “Fisterra”, which literally means “the end of the land”; pilgrims would often take an extra couple of days to go as far as the ocean itself, beyond which it was believed that there was nothing but more water to the other side of the globe. (Technically, Cabo da Roca in Portugal is 15 minutes of longitude further to the west.)

St James the Greater dressed as a pilgrim, by Ferrer and Arnau Bassa, ca. 1347; from the Diocesan Museum of Barcelona (Courtesy of the Schola Sainte Cécile).

The third element which identifies St James in art is a scallop shell, a custom which ultimately derives from the medieval laws collectively known as the Peace of God. These laws prohibited armed men from bothering various classes of people, including all women and children, clerics and monks, pilgrims, merchants and Jews. Women and children are obviously such, clerics and monks were identified by their tonsure; the other groups habitually wore something to identify them as members of one of the classes entitled to the protection of the Peace of God. For pilgrims, the hat and staff were not at first sufficiently distinct to serve that purpose, and so they would wear something else to indicate their destination. The scallop shell showed that one was traveling as a pilgrim to or from the shrine of St James, along the Galician coast where scallops grow in abundance. This became so well know that even today, the German word for “scallop” is either “Jakobsmuschel – James’ mussel” or “Pilgermuschel – a pilgrim mussel.”

“The Old Leaven” of Catholic Truth, Part 2: Eucharist as Sacrifice in the Language of Medieval England

In the first part of this article, I discussed the relationship between eucharistic belief and eucharistic language, taking modern Catholicism and Reformation England as examples of belief and language deteriorating together. The counterexample I provided was medieval England, where devotion to the Real Presence was robust and had been nourished for centuries not only by the strong, poetic Latin of the liturgy but also by various English expressions that helped the faithful to understand and love the Blessed Sacrament.

As I mentioned in Part One, the term “eucharist” was not a part of English-language vocabulary until the fourteenth century. In the second part of this article, we’ll consider the words and phrases that Englishmen of the early and high Middle Ages used when they were speaking, writing, and thinking about the Holy Eucharist.[1]

The Mass of Saint Gregory, a woodcut by Albrecht Dürer (d. 1528) depicting a eucharistic miracle whose legendary account was popular among English Catholics in the late Middle Ages.

“Unhousel’d, disappointed, unanel’d”

The most standard item of eucharistic vocabulary in Old and Middle English is also one of the most unfamiliar in modern English: housel (pronounced “HOW-zuhl” and also spelled husel, housul, howsell, etc.). This word was used as a noun meaning primarily “the Eucharist” and as a verb meaning “to administer the Eucharist to.”

Actually, countless speakers and students of modern English have seen this word, but they may not have noticed it or understood its meaning. It appears in Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 5, when the ghost of Prince Hamlet’s father describes his murder at the hands of “that adulterate beast” Claudius. The ghost laments that he was

Of life, of crown, of queen at once dispatch’d;
Cut off even in the blossoms of my sin,
Unhousel’d, disappointed, unanel’d;
No reckoning made, but sent to my account
With all my imperfections on my head.
O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible!

King Hamlet relates, with admirable horror, that the murder deprived him of a good Christian death, since he died “unhousel’d, disappointed, unanel’d,” that is, without receiving the Eucharist, unprepared (without confessing his sins), and unanointed (without receiving extreme unction).

Hamlet (with companions) and the Ghost, by Henry Fuseli (d. 1825).

The deeper psychological and emotional effects of a word are greatly influenced by the word’s etymology and its range of meanings. In the case of “housel,” the term’s origin and multiple meanings convey powerful truths about the nature of the Blessed Sacrament. It is related to Germanic words meaning “sacrifice” or “offering,” and in Old English it was used, though perhaps infrequently, to mean “sacrifice” in a non-eucharistic sense. Over time, “housel” became more closely associated with the Holy Eucharist, but not in a restrictive way: in addition to denoting the sacred species, it referred to receiving Communion and celebrating the eucharistic sacrifice.

Thus, the notion of sacrifice is encoded within the very word “housel,” which binds the Eucharist as spiritual nourishment to religious sacrifice in general and, more specifically, to the sacred liturgical sacrifice through which this nourishment is produced. A term that memorably conveys this association would be beneficial in any age and in our own would perhaps have an especially salutary effect.

The Body of God

There is a striking tendency in medieval English to use “God,” without any qualifying words, as a name for Christ. Here are a few examples:

“The old fiend led them astray with lying wiles, ... so that they crucified God himself” (Cynewulf, Elene; ninth century)

“Therein was closed a nail great / That was driven through God’s feet” (Short English Metrical Chronicle; fourteenth century)

“Here must God take out Adam” (stage direction, referring to Christ, in a cycle play for the Harrowing of Hell; late fourteenth century)

This usage is now officially deemed “obsolete,” and indeed, it clashes quite strongly with the speech patterns of modern English, despite being theologically sound. I find its forceful simplicity refreshing, and one could hardly find a more concise way to affirm the hypostatic union.

Medieval eucharistic terminology displaying this same tendency includes God’s flesh, the flesh and blood of God’s body, and Godes lichama, this last meaning in modern English “God’s body” or, perhaps more accurately, “God’s living body.” These titles are surely due for a revival. I for one would benefit from more frequently contemplating the Blessed Sacrament not only as corpus Christi but as corpus Dei, that is, as the sacrificial flesh of my dear Savior but also as the eternal and glorious Body of God—uncreated Light, infinite Love, and the very Principle of all that exists.

Detail of The Last Supper, by Giorgio Vasari (d. 1574).

Journey Bread

The idea of Holy Communion as preparation for death was far more pronounced in medieval England than it is today:

The reception of communion was not the primary mode of lay encounter with the Host. Everyone received at Easter, and one’s final communion, the viaticum or “journey money” given on the deathbed, was crucially important to medieval people.... For most people, most of the time the Host was something to be seen, not to be consumed.[2]

Infrequent Communion was the norm in this society, even for some religious. The clergy who attended the eleventh-century Council of Aenham expected the laity to receive three times per year, and the Laws of Cnut, issued around the same time and drafted by Archbishop Wulfstan, likewise mentioned thrice-yearly Communion. The thirteenth-century document Ancrene Wisse (i.e., Anchoresses’ Guide) states that anchoresses, like lay brothers, should receive only fifteen times per year, since “me let leasse of þe þing þet me haueð ofte” (“one values less the thing which one has often”).[3]

A page from the law code of King Cnut. Cotton MS Nero A I, f. 16r, courtesy of the British Library. I find this script captivating.

For ordinary Catholics of medieval England, the Eucharist was not consumed as a daily (or weekly, or maybe even monthly) Bread, and it naturally acquired greater prominence as viaticum—sanctifying Bread for that final and supremely important voyage toward the setting sun of earthly life. Thus, one of the Old English titles for the Blessed Sacrament was wegneste, meaning “provision for the journey” or, more literally, “way food.”

Fear, Love, and Adoration

The collection of terms given above is not exhaustive. Indeed, no exhaustive list could be compiled, for Old English manuscripts are few, and the eucharistic devotion of the Anglo-Saxons, a fervent and poetic people, was vast. I’ll conclude with the words of Thomas Bridgett, an English scholar and priest of the nineteenth century who converted to Catholicism after refusing to take the oath of royal supremacy:

For more than a thousand years the races that successively peopled [Great Britain] regarded the celebration of this Sacrament as the central rite of their religion, the principal means of divine worship, the principal channel of divine grace. The Holy Eucharist was the great mystery of faith, the object not only of fear and of love, but also of supreme adoration.[4]

NOTES

1. Much of the information in this article is built upon the doctoral research, completed in 1932, of Sister Mary Joseph Cravens.

2. Eamon Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars: Traditional Religion in England, 1400–1580, p. 95.

3. The author also stipulates the days on which the anchoresses will communicate: “(i) Mid-winter Dei, (ii) Tweofte Dei [Twelfth Day, i.e., Epiphany], (iii) Condelmeasse Dei, (iiii) a Sunnedei mid-weibitweonen [midway between] thet ant Easter, other Ure Leafdi Dei [or Our Lady’s Day, i.e., the Annunciation], yef he is neh the Sunnedei, forthe hehnesse, (v) Easter Dei, (vi) the thridde Sunnedei th’refter [the third Sunday after Easter], (vii) Hali Thursdei, (viii) Witsunne Dei, (ix) Midsumer Dei, (x) Seinte Marie Dei Magdaleine, (xi) the Assumptiun, (xii) the Nativite, (xiii) Seinte Mihales Dei, (xiii) Alle Halhene Dei [All Saints’ Day], (xv), Seint Andrews Dei.” See Ancrene Wisse: Part Eight, edited by Robert Hasenfratz.

4. Thomas Bridgett, History of the Holy Eucharist in Great Britain, Volume 1, p. 1.

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“The Old Leaven” of Catholic Truth, Part 1: Eucharistic Language and Eucharistic Faith in Medieval England

Aristotle believed not only that “words mean something”—an increasingly bold assertion in the twenty-first century—but also that carefully chosen words have a special power to “create knowledge in us.” He singles out metaphor, that central pillar of rhetorical and poetic language, as a mode of communication that “most brings about learning” and “creates understanding” (On Rhetoric, III.10.2). Liturgical, doctrinal, or devotional aggiornamento allows us to see Aristotle’s views in action, as we observe how knowledge and understanding are modified—or simply lost—when language changes from Latin to vernacular, or from poetic to prosaic, or from mystical to mundane.

Detail of Allegory of the Holy Eucharist, by Miguel Cabrera (d. 1768).

Belief in the Holy Eucharist has deteriorated in alarming fashion. If the statistics can be trusted, the situation is dire. The reasons for this are many, but some are of greater import than others, and language is surely among the more urgent factors. Modernized, banalized, and in some cases simply erroneous discourse has for decades obscured the truths of the Eucharist and the eucharistic liturgy. Perhaps the primary effect of all this is simply confusion, but confusion leads to misbelief, and misbelief to irreverence, and irreverence to further degeneration of language. And thus the cycle—a vicious one indeed—continues.

Illumination on parchment, fourteenth century.

The severity of this state of affairs is unprecedented, but the problem itself is not new. It is striking to read, for example, a description of eucharistic malpractice that sounds all too familiar, despite being eight hundred years old: the author of Vices and Virtues, a homiletic prose dialogue written in the Middle English of the early thirteenth century, laments the “misbileaue” (misbelief) and “unwurscipe” (irreverence) of those who received the body of the Lord “al swa unwurðliche swa me nimð ðat bread of ðæ borde — as unworthily as one takes the bread of the table.” The metaphorical reflections in this text show us the strong, evocative, and deeply Catholic language that abounds in the literature of medieval England:

Take what you see, bread and wine in appearance; and in your thoughts believe what you see not: that is, Christ’s flesh and His blood. And know in truth, as truly as bread and wine feed the body, while in this life it dwells, so this holy corpus Domini truly feeds both soul and body unto eternal life. And as truly as the tree of Paradise was called “knowing both good and evil,” so truly bears this same tree the fruit that turns many to life, and also some to death, for [their] misbelief and [their] irreverence.

The term “eucharist,” a borrowing from Greek via Latin and French, does not appear in Vices and Virtues, and in fact, it does not appear as an English-language word in any document from the conversion of the Anglo-Saxons until sometime in the fourteenth century. English Catholics of the early and high Middle Ages had various other titles for the Blessed Sacrament, and these titles give us an opportunity to consider how their eucharistic language formed their eucharistic faith—and a formidable faith it was, despite the unedifying individuals mentioned in Vices and Virtues, who were surely the exception. On the eve of the Reformation, the sacramental body of Christ was still “the focus of all the hopes and aspirations” of the English people:

As kneeling congregations raised their eyes to see the Host held high above the priest’s head at the sacring, they were transported to Calvary itself, and gathered not only into the passion and resurrection of Christ, but into the full sweep of salvation history.[1]

Part of a very long Corpus Christi procession winding through a town in eighteenth-century Bavaria. I can imagine something similar occurring in pre-Reformation England.

Though England’s ruling class succeeded in dismantling the vast and magnificent edifice of English Catholicism, the Anglican Church did not fully repudiate the real presence of Christ in the Holy Eucharist. The Articles of Religion published in 1571, during Queen Elizabeth’s reign, state that “the Bread which we break is a partaking of the Body of Christ, and likewise the Cup of Blessing is a partaking of the Blood of Christ.” However, eucharistic belief and practice were strategically diluted, and transubstantiation was condemned as “repugnant to the plain words of Scripture.” One senses that the elites carried out as much doctrinal vandalism as the common folk would tolerate. Gilbert Burnet, Anglican bishop of Salisbury from 1689 to 1715, admits as much in his Exposition of the Thirty-Nine Articles of the Church of England: an earlier version of the Articles spoke strongly against belief in the “Real and Bodily Presence ... of Christ’s Flesh and Blood in the Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper,” but this version was suppressed, because

the design of the Government was at that time much turned to the drawing over the Body of the Nation to the Reformation, in whom the old Leaven had gone deep; and no part of it deeper than the belief of the Corporeal Presence of Christ in the Sacrament; therefore it was thought not expedient to offend them by so particular a Definition in this matter; in which the very word Real Presence was rejected.

“The old Leaven had gone deep”: Yes indeed, Rev. Burnet! The Old Faith went deep and was still as alive and vigorous as golden, foaming, freshly poured English ale. The people of merrie olde Catholic England didn’t want your watered-down “Sacrament of the Lord’s Supper,” and that’s why your Protestant forebears had to foist it on them with their shifty language and Machiavellian tricks.[2]

At least the bishop was honest enough to acknowledge that, decades after Henry VIII exchanged Christendom for Anne Boleyn, the English people were still seriously committed to “the Corporeal Presence of Christ in the Sacrament”—so committed, in fact, that the lords of the realm deemed it “not expedient to offend them.” What a fine compliment the bishop here offers to the common folk of his once Catholic nation! Their hearty faith and respect for tradition forced the Innovators to preserve at least one crucial aspect of eucharistic Truth. As a result, the Anglican Church became an example of moderation amidst Nonconformists and continental zealots who, in their wanton assault on ancient sacramental belief, found a new way to profess that which is “repugnant to the plain words of Scripture,” wherein we read, “Whoso eateth my flesh, and drinketh my blood, hath eternal life.... For my flesh is meat indeed, and my blood is drink indeed.”

In Part Two of this article, I’ll discuss the eucharistic vocabulary of medieval England and consider how this vocabulary helped English Catholics to know, understand, and love the Blessed Sacrament.

NOTES

1. Eamon Duffy, The Stripping of the Altars: Traditional Religion in England, 1400–1580, p. 91.

2. In fairness to Machiavelli, he surpassed the Reformers in his understanding of tradition: “Princes should learn ... that they begin to lose their state the moment they begin to break the laws and to disregard the ancient traditions and customs under which men have long lived” (Discourses on Livy, III.5).

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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.

A Reader’s Guide to the Mystical Writings of Julian of Norwich

Julian of Norwich was a medieval anchoress who wrote two extraordinary books about sixteen visions of Christ granted to her when she was thirty years old, in 1373. Though she was never beatified or even widely venerated, she is informally honored on May 13th, the approximate date when she was healed from the grave illness that prompted her mystical experiences. It is characteristic of Julian’s humble soul, inquiring mind, and well-grounded spirituality that she only tentatively ascribed her remarkable recovery to miraculous intervention: “suddenly all my pain was away from me, and I was all whole.... I marveled of this change, for methought it was a mysterious working of God, and nought of nature.”

All the quotations in this article are my highly conservative translations of Julian’s Middle English text. My intent is to make her words comprehensible while retaining her style and word choice to the extent possible. To give you an idea of how readable—or unreadable, depending on your perspective—the original is, a Middle English version of the passage given above reads thus: “sodeynlye alle my paine was awaye fro me and I was alle hole.... I merveylede of this change, for methought it was a prive wyrkinge of God, and nought of kinde.” I draw attention to this linguistic dimension of Julian’s works because much of her unique value and appeal as a spiritual writer is interwoven with her use of language.

A statue of Julian, carved by local sculptor David Holgate (d. 2014), at Norwich Cathedral, East Anglia, England.

Julian’s English

Julian wrote in English at a time when the language still gave voice to the vigorous, elemental culture of the Anglo-Saxon lands. It was also a time when, in the West, most spiritual and theological works were written in Latin. Julian’s prose lacks the elegance, sophistication, and precision of Latin. It seems rather to have grown with the heather and ash groves from rich East Anglian soil: when reading it one senses the simple, endearing, forceful language of the hearth, the meadows, and the northern seas. And because she wrote in the vernacular, English speakers still have fairly direct access to her rich and fascinating interior life, which the old Catholic Encyclopedia described as “the most perfect fruit of later medieval mysticism in England.”

Whether we work through an annotated edition of Julian’s Middle English text or read a translation into modern English, we see with special clarity into a devout and brilliant medieval mind. Most of us simply cannot draw this close to the essence of the writer’s spiritual experience when we are reading something that has been translated from Latin.

“After this, Christ showed me a part of his passion near his dying. I saw that sweet face as it were dry and bloodless with pale dying; then more deathly pale, languishing; and then turned more deathly to the blue” (from Julian’s shorter account of her visions, Section 10).

Julian’s Works

Julian wrote two books about her visions, commonly called the Short Text and the Long Text. This terminology is misleading insofar as it implies that these are different “editions” of the same book, whereas they are better understood as two separate works. A more proper title for the Short Text, taken from the first sentence of the original manuscript, is A Vision Showed to a Devout Woman. The Long Text is sometimes entitled Revelations of Divine Love. Both are excellent, but part of my motivation in writing this article is to recommend the Short Text, which tends to be overshadowed by the Long Text.

“I said to me: ‘Look up to heaven to his father.’ Then saw I well, with the faith that I felt, that there was nothing between the cross and heaven that might have troubled me.... Thus chose I Jesu for my heaven.... I desired no other heaven than Jesu” (Short Text, Section 10–11).

The relationship between the Short Text and the Long Text is comparable to the relationship between a Shakespeare play in its original form and a Victorian novel based on a Shakespeare play. The Short Text is concise, vivid, deeply personal, and formed into a pleasing, orderly structure. The Long Text was written later in Julian’s life as an ambitious, exploratory expansion of the Short Text; it abounds in theological and allegorical richness but also in complexities and digressions that can become tiresome, especially for readers accustomed to modern English rather than medieval English.

“Then said our lord, asking: ‘Art thou well pleased that I suffered for thee?’ ‘Yea, good lord,’ quoth I, ‘I thank thee, good lord, blessed may thou be.’ ‘If thou be pleased,’ quoth our lord, ‘I am pleased. It is a joy and a bliss and an endless pleasure to me that ever I suffered passion for thee. For if I might suffer more, I would suffer.’ ... [Christ] is fully blissful in all the deeds that he has done concerning our salvation.... We are his bliss, we are his reward, we are his honor, we are his crown” (Short Text, Section 12).

Choosing a Modern Edition

Nowadays, Julian’s books seem to generate more enthusiasm among academics than among Christians seeking spiritual nourishment. The academic interest is understandable: Julian is reputed to be the first female English-language author, and at times her thoughts are speculative or unconventional in a way that appeals to the ethos of modern scholarship. This doesn’t mean that she dabbled in heterodoxy. In the Short Text Julian clearly states that “in all things I believe as holy church teaches. For in all this blessed showing [i.e., vision] of our lord ... I understood never nothing therein that bewilders me nor keeps me from the true teaching of holy church.”

All this attention from the scholarly community has ensured that Julian’s works are readily available to the general public. For this we should be grateful. The list below is a brief guide to some of the recently published editions, which are subject to some textual confusion: the titles currently in use do not clearly distinguish between the Short Text and the Long Text, and the two most important manuscripts in which the Long Text survives, called the “Sloane 1” and “Paris” manuscripts, have significant differences.

The Showings of Julian of Norwich (Norton critical edition, edited by Denise Baker): This is an annotated, Middle English version of the Long Text. It is relatively affordable and includes a helpful introduction and glossary.

The Shewings of Julian of Norwich (Medieval Institute Publications, edited by Georgia Crampton): This is a free, online, annotated version of the Long Text in Middle English. It is based on Sloane 1, whereas Norton preferred the more modernized language of the Paris manuscript.

Revelations of Divine Love and The Motherhood of God (translated by Frances Beer): This book includes a modern English version of the Short Text.

The Writings of Julian of Norwich (edited by Nicholas Watson and Jacqueline Jenkins): This is an extensively annotated volume intended more for researchers. It has Middle English versions of the Short Text and the Long Text.

Revelations of Divine Love (Oxford World’s Classics, translated by Barry Windeatt): This includes modern English versions of the Short Text and the Long Text.

“He looked down on the right side, and brought to my mind where our lady stood in the time of his passion, and said: ‘Will thou see her?’ And I answered and said: ‘Yea good lord, I thank thee, if it be thy will.’ ... He showed her then high and noble and glorious and pleasant to him above all creatures.... And in that word that Jesu said—‘Will thou see her?’—methought I had the most pleasure that he could have given me” (Short Text, Section 13).

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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 Ascension of the Bleeding Christ in Medieval Popular Piety

The Christian liturgical tradition envisions the Ascension of Our Lord as a climactic event in which the risen Christ, magnificent with His glorified Body, makes a triumphant return to the heavenly kingdom. In the Roman rite, the hymn, antiphons, and responsories of Matins would have ensured that these themes and images were prominent from the earliest hours of the great feast day: “Alleluia. The Lord Christ hath ascended up into heaven. O come let us worship Him. Alleluia”; “Thy magnificence is elevated above the heavens, O God, alleluia”; “The Lord is in His holy Temple, the Lord’s throne is in heaven, alleluia”; “℣. God is ascended with jubilee, alleluia. ℟. And the Lord with the sound of trumpet, alleluia.” The iconographic tradition likewise emphasizes radiance, strength, and grandeur.

The Ascension, by Benjamin West (d. 1820); oil on canvas. The composition of this fine piece evokes Psalm 67: “Sing ye to God, sing psalms to his name, / make way for him that rideth on clouds.”

We find a profound counterpoint to these Ascension motifs in a collection of religious drama known as the Chester Cycle. The cycle plays of medieval England – in modern times often called “mystery” plays – were among the West’s most extraordinary manifestations of Christian folk culture. Produced on a local scale and performed mostly by amateurs, they brought craft guilds, poets, and civil authorities together in an attempt to dramatize salvation history and Christian doctrine. They were a living catechism written in charming, homely verse and illuminated with poignant vignettes and deeply human characters. As a supplement to sacred liturgy, they were an invaluable means of making the Faith enjoyable, inspiring, and memorable for ordinary people living in the world.

A depiction of a fifteenth-century Crucifixion play.

The Ascension play performed in Chester, a cathedral city in northwest England, included features that are unique among the surviving cycle-play texts. The stage directions indicate that Christ will ascend while singing (further specifying that “God singeth alone”), but He pauses in His ascent and stands “above the clouds,” and then His head, limbs, and clothes appear bloody as though He is in the midst of His Passion. An angel asks who it is that comes “bloody” within the bliss of heaven, and the dialogue continues as given below (I have modernized the language where possible and adapted the meter to modern pronunciation):

Jesus
I that did speak righteousness,
and have brought man out of distress,
redeemer called I am and was
of all mankind through grace.
My people, that were from me rafte [stolen],
through sin and through the devil’s craft,
to heaven I bring—good never one left—
all that were in hell.

Tertius Angelus
Why is thy clothing now so red,
thy body bloody and also head,
thy clothes also, all that are ledd [worn],
like unto pressers of wine?

Jesus
Because of the devil, and of his power,
that brought mankind to great danger,
through death on cross and blood so bright,
them I have made all mine.
These bloody drops that ye now see,
fresh they all reserved shall be,
until I come in my majesty,
to judge on the last day.
This blood I shed bears witness to me,
I died for man upon the Rood-tree,
and rose again within days three—
with such love always I loved thee.

This scene’s mysterious uniting of glory and anguish must have created an intense dramatic effect, especially if the play’s producers decided to reinforce the dialogue with stage blood, which at that time could have been real blood (from an animal). The text also offers some insight into popular devotion to Christ’s sacred Blood, which is presented as a precious substance that paid the debt of sin and allowed Our Lord to reclaim mankind as His own: “through death on cross and blood so bright, / them I have made all mine.” Furthermore, this Blood is not a historical artifact that was shed only once during an enclosed, finalized act of redemption. Rather, it must stay “fresh”: flowing and gleaming with Christ’s eternal love, bearing witness to His power, and sanctifying the human race until He comes in majesty “to judge on the last day.” This imagery resonates with the Precious Blood as medieval Catholics perceived and experienced it in the Holy Eucharist.

A nineteenth-century depiction of a fifteenth-century Passion play performed at Coventry, England.

More directly, however, the playwright was drawing from a long poem called the Stanzaic Life of Christ, which was composed at Chester in the fourteenth century, and which in turn was influenced by the Golden Legend of Bl. Jacobus de Voragine. William Caxton’s 1483 translation of the latter includes the following in the chapter on the Ascension:

Thus seemeth it that ... three questions were made to the angels [when] Jesus ascended. Who is this that cometh from Edom, his clothes dyed of Bosra? This word Edom is as much to say as full of blood, and this word Bosra is to say anguish and tribulation.... The second question is that which the first and sovereign angel made to Jesu Christ saying: Why is thy clothing red, and thy vestments as trodden or fulled in a press? Our Lord hath his clothing and his body red, all covered with blood, because that yet when he ascended he had his wounds in his body.

The Worship of the Five Wounds, by Simon Bening (d. 1561). Tempera, gold paint, and gold leaf on parchment.

The Ascension of the bleeding Christ has no support in the New Testament accounts, and one wonders what the pre-Reformation ecclesiastical authorities thought about the Chester play’s embellished version of the Ascension narrative. (We need not wonder about the post-Reformation ecclesiastical authorities; they were displeased with all the mystery plays, which by the seventeenth century had been terminated.) However, since our dear Lord brought His five sacred wounds with Him to the courts of heaven, I see no harm in a poetic amplification that imagines Him ascending in twofold glory: that of His divine splendor, and that of His human blood, shed amidst love and agony for our salvation.

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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.

A Mystery Play of the Assumption

The Misterio de Elche (or “Misteri de Elx” in the Valencian dilect), is a mystery play that represents the Dormition, Assumption and Coronation of the Virgin Mary. Since at least the 14th century, possibly earlier, it has been performed each year in the Basilica of the Virgin Mary in Elche, Spain, in two parts, the first on the evening of August 14th at Vespers, and the second on the feast day itself. The article on Spanish Wikipedia (El Misterio de Elche) gives a pretty thorough account of it. (Google translate via Chrome works very well with Spanish.) Here are complete videos of the two parts of the play; there is a lot of very nice music, and it is staged with several impressive devices and stage machines, including a chandelier-like structure that is lowered from the church’s ceiling to bring the Virgin Mary up to heaven.

La Vespra

La Festa

The Legend of Saint Ursula

The annals of Catholic hagiography contain many legends which are recorded in documents written long after the lifetimes of various Saints, but which per se present no particular challenge to the credulity of anyone who believes in a personal God and the reality of miracles. Many Saints have lived in such a way that we would not expect to find material proof of their doings, any more than we would expect to find a first-century shop with a sign over the door reading “Joseph son of Jacob, Carpenter.” For such as these, we must trust to Providence, the good faith of their biographers, and the Church’s tradition.

There are others, however, which even a very basic knowledge of history demonstrates cannot be accepted as reliable; such a one is the legend of St Ursula and Companions, Virgins and Martyrs at Cologne in Germany. The vast collection of hagiographical learning known as the Acta Sanctorum devotes 230 pages of small type to parsing out how their legend developed from a single inscription in a church in that city into a famously extravagant story. Here we can give only a brief summary of the case; a fairly thorough account is given in the relevant article in the Catholic Encyclopedia.

The Martyrdom of St Ursula, by Caravaggio, 1610, generally believed to be his last work. The Saint is shown at the very moment she is struck in the breast by an arrow, an example of the vivid realism for which Caravaggio was praised by many as the greatest painter of his times.

The inscription in question, made in the later fourth or early fifth century, states that a man of senatorial rank named Clematius restored a basilica in Cologne “in the place where the holy virgins shed their blood,” with no further details. The fact that it was “restored” should be taken as an indication that a martyrdom of some Christian virgins did take place before that period. Five centuries later, an anonymous sermon says that nothing was known of them for certain, but gives the local tradition that they were a large company, and their leader’s name was “Pinnosa.” They are absent from many early liturgical manuscripts where one would reasonably expect to find record of a martyrdom as spectacular as the later legend tells it, but an early martyrology mentions Saints Martha, Saula and companions at Cologne on October 20th. Other documents give a variety of names and numbers, including “Ursula”; it is not known how she came to be thought of as the foremost among them, nor how the number 11,000 was eventually settled on as the size of the group. It is possible that an abbreviation such as “XI M.V.” for “undecim martyrum virginum – eleven virgin martyrs” was misunderstood as “undecim millia virginum – eleven-thousand virgins.”

The Clematius inscription, now in the Basilica of St Ursula in Cologne, built in the 12th century over the site where the putative relics of the Virgin Martyrs were discovered.

Their passion as told in the later tenth century is summarized as follows in the revised Butler’s Lives of the Saints. “Ursula, the daughter of a Christian king in Britain, was asked in marriage by the son of a pagan king. She, desiring to remain unwed, got a delay of three years, which time she spent on shipboard, sailing about the seas; she had ten noble ladies-in-waiting, each of whom, and Ursula, had a thousand companions, and they were accommodated in eleven vessels. At the end of the period of grace, contrary winds drove them into the mouth of the Rhine, they sailed up to Cologne and then on to Bâle (Basle in Switzerland), where they disembarked and then went over the Alps to visit the tombs of the apostles at Rome. They returned by the same way to Cologne, where they were set upon and massacred for their Christianity by the heathen Huns, Ursula having refused to marry their chief. The barbarians were dispersed by angels, the citizens buried the martyrs and a church was built in their honor by Clematius.”

The inherent logistic improbabilities of assembling and moving such a company are obvious, especially given the chaos of the mid-5th century, to which the medieval legend assigns their martyrdom at the hands of the Huns. In the year 1155, a large cemetery was discovered at Cologne, and the remains therein were accepted as the relics of the 11,000, notwithstanding the presence of many men and children among them. A later elaboration identified both the epitaph and relics of “Pope Cyriacus”, who, after receiving the future martyrs in Rome, abdicated the papacy in order to accompany them back north, where he shared in their martyrdom. This version goes on to say that the cardinals, displeased at the abdication, later expunged his name from the catalog of the Popes, bringing the story down to the grotesque level of the Pope Joan legend; but the story is even found in a breviary printed in 1529 for the use of the Franciscans.

Relics of the 11,000 displayed in the crypt of the Basilica of St Ursula at Cologne, known as the Golden Chamber.

Devotion to these Saints was very strong in the Middle Ages, despite the reservations of scholars who identified the incongruities and anachronisms in their legend. Among the Premonstratensians, who took their liturgical use from the area around Cologne, their feast was celebrated with an octave until the early 20th century. St Angela Merici gave the name “Ursulines” to the religious congregation she founded in 1535, the very first women’s teaching order, and before that, Christopher Columbus chose to honor them in the naming of the Virgin Islands. In the Tridentine liturgical books, however, they are treated with great reserve, kept only as a commemoration on October 21, the feast of the abbot St Hilarion; St Ursula is mentioned by name, but no number of her companions is given. It is supremely ironic that they should share their feast day with a Saint whose life is quite well documented, by no less a personage than St Jerome; however, neither feast was retained on the Calendar of the post-Conciliar reform.

St Ursula and Companions, depicted on the rood screen of the church of Ss Peter and Paul in Eye, Suffolk, England. Photo courtesy of Dr Simon Cotton. 

Numbering as they do in the thousands, their putative relics have been given to churches all over the world. In 1489, the Hospital of St John in the city of Bruges received a portion of them, and commissioned the painter Hans Memling to make a shrine in which to house them, one of his masterpieces. The Gothic shrine has six panels on the two sides showing the story of the Saints.

The Arrival of the 11,000 at Cologne (left), Basel (middle), and Rome (right), where they are greeted by Pope Cyriacus. (Click images to enlarge) In the background of the Cologne scene is depicted the cathedral with its unfinished bell-towers; work on the towers was broken off in 1473 and not resumed until 1842, and the bells installed in the 1870s. The crane on one of the towers remained a landmark of the city for hundreds of years.

The company departs from Basel (left); the group is martyred (center); the martyrdom of St Ursula (right).

Continue Reading this Article. . .

The Legend of St James the Greater

In the Synoptic Gospels, St James the Greater appears as a particularly prominent figure among the Twelve Apostles. When the names of the Twelve are given as a group, he always appears in the first set of four, along with the brothers Peter and Andrew, and his own brother John. After his calling, which is described at the beginning of Our Lord’s public ministry in all three Synoptics, he appears with Peter and John as a witness of several notable events: the healing of Jairus’ daughter, the Transfiguration, when Christ first revealed His divinity to his Apostles, and the Agony in the Garden. The Gospel of St Mark (3, 13-19) tells us that Christ gave to James and John the nickname “Boanerges, that is, Sons of Thunder”; this transcription of the Hebrew “b’nê regesh” may be intended to suggest something like “boan ergon” in Greek, “the work of shouting.” St Luke writes (9, 53-56) that when the Samaritans did not receive Christ, “James and John … said: ‘Lord, wilt thou that we command fire to come down from heaven, and consume them?’ And turning, He rebuked them, saying, ‘You know not of what spirit you are. The Son of man came not to destroy souls, but to save.’ ” (The words in italics are missing in many ancient manuscripts.)

The Transfiguration, by Duccio di Buoninsegna, one of the panels of the dismembered altarpiece of Siena Cathedral known as the Maestà, 1311; this one is now located in the National Gallery in London. (Public domain image from Wikipedia.)

In the Gospel of St Matthew 20, 20-23, it is recounted that their mother, Salome, came to the Lord, “adoring and asking something of him. Who said to her: ‘What wilt thou?’ She saith to him: ‘Say that these my two sons may sit, the one on thy right hand, and the other on thy left, in thy kingdom.’ And Jesus answering, said, ‘You know not what you ask. Can you drink the chalice that I shall drink?’ They say to him. ‘We can.’ He saith to them, ‘My chalice indeed you shall drink; but to sit on my right or left hand, is not mine to give to you, but to them for whom it is prepared by my Father.’ ” This is the Gospel of St James’ feast, and also that of his brother John’s feast “at the Latin Gate”, which commemorates his martyrdom, in fulfillment of the Lord’s prophecy that “My chalice indeed you (plural) shall drink.”

In the Acts, James is named once again with the other Apostles right after the Ascension (1, 13), but then only once more, at the beginning of chapter 12. “And at the same time, Herod the king stretched forth his hands, to afflict some of the church. And he killed James, the brother of John, with the sword. And seeing that it pleased the Jews, he proceeded to take up Peter also.” Concerning his martyrdom, the first among the Twelve, Eusebius of Caesarea records that “Clement (of Alexandria), in the seventh book of his Hypotyposes (a work which is now lost), relates a story which is worthy of mention; telling it as he received it from those who had lived before him. He says that the one who led James to the judgment-seat, when he saw him bearing his testimony, was moved, and confessed that he was himself also a Christian. They were both therefore, he says, led away together; and on the way, he begged James to forgive him. And he, after considering a little, said ‘Peace be with you,’ and kissed him. And thus they were both beheaded at the same time.” (Church History 2, 9)

A 15th century reliquary of St James the Apostle in the cathedral of Pistoia, Italy, which also contains relics of his mother, Maria Salome, as well as St Martin of Tours, and two early local martyrs, priests named Rufinus and Felix.

The tradition that St James went to Spain and began the work of evangelizing that country is a fairly late one; it was unknown to writers of the early centuries, and even explicitly denied by St Julian, the archbishop of Toledo and Primate of Spain in the later 7th century. The Golden Legend of Bl. James of Voragine devotes very little space to it, saying merely that “he went to Spain, to sow the word of God there. But when he saw that he was making no progress there, and had made only nine disciples, he left two of them there to preach, and taking the other seven with him, returned to Judaea.” These are traditionally known as the “Seven Apostolic Men”, Saints Torquatus, Ctesiphon, Secundus, Indaletius, Caecilius, Hesychius and Euphrasius; the Tridentine Martyrology has an entry for them on May 15th, which states that the Apostles ordained them as bishops and sent them back to Spain, where they preached the Gospel in various places. The Golden Legend goes on to give a lengthy account of St James’ martyrdom, which includes the conversion of a magician named Hermogenes; at the end, a story is told of how his relics were translated to Spain, one which does much to enhance the author’s reputation for excessive credulity.

Lest it seem that too much credulity is given here to the hagiographical skeptics, even the pre-Tridentine Roman Breviary shows great reserve about these traditions, giving no space to any part of the legend of St James, not even the very ancient story recorded in Eusebius. All nine of the Matins lessons for the feast are taken from a homily of St John Chrysostom on the day’s Gospel, in which he says much in praise of Salome as one who followed Christ, and was principally concerned with the eternal salvation of her sons. In the Tridentine Breviary, a new set of readings was composed for the second nocturne, which sum up the traditional story as described above. It also notes that James’ death took place around the time of the Jewish Passover, but that his feast day is kept on the day of the translation of his relics to the famous cathedral at Compostela.

The church of Rome was always very slow to accept new liturgical texts; one often finds that a Saint who was hugely popular in the Middle Ages had a proper Office elsewhere, but was celebrated in the Roman Use with a Common Office. Such is the case with St James. At Compostela itself, an Office was sung with a completely proper set of antiphons, responsories and hymns, which refer to the tradition of his coming to Spain, the presence of his relics, and his frequent aid to the Spanish kings in liberating the peninsula from the Moors during the Reconquista. One of the best of these antiphons was then received by the Dominicans for the Magnificat at First Vespers of his feast, although they did not take on any of the rest of the propers from Compostela.

O lux et decus Hispaniae, sanctissime Jacobe, qui inter Apostolos primatum tenes, primus eorum martyrio laureatus! O singulare praesidium, qui meruisti videre Redemptorem nostrum adhuc mortalem in Deitate transformatum! Exaudi preces servorum tuorum, et intercede pro nostra salute omniumque populorum.

A superb motet by the Spanish composer Ambrosio Cotes (1550-1603), with the first words of the antiphon given above.

O light and glory of Spain, most holy James, who among the Apostles holdest the primacy, the first of them crowned with martyrdom! Our special defense, who merited to see our Redeemer transformed in the Godhead while yet a mortal! Hear the prayers of thy servants, and intercede for our salvation, and of all peoples!

St James is traditionally depicted in the garb of a pilgrim, with a broad hat and a staff, even though he is the destination, and not the traveler. This is not done with other Saints whose tombs or relics were popular pilgrimage centers, indicating perhaps that to the medieval mind, a trip to Compostela was thought of as the pilgrimage par excellence. This may have something to do with its location at almost the westernmost point in continental Europe. Compostela is about 48 miles from a town on the Atlantic called “Fisterra”, which literally means “the end of the land”; pilgrims would often take an extra couple of days to go as far as the ocean itself, beyond which it was believed that there was nothing but more water to the other side of the globe. (Technically, Cabo da Roca in Portugal is 15 minutes of longitude further to the west.)

St James the Greater dressed as a pilgrim, by Ferrer et Arnau Bassa, ca. 1347; from the Diocesan Museum of Barcelona (Courtesy of the Schola Sainte Cécile).

The third element which identifies St James in art is a scallop shell, a custom which ultimately derives from the medieval laws collectively known as the Peace of God. These laws prohibited armed men from bothering various classes of people, including all women and children, clerics and monks, pilgrims, merchants and Jews. Women and children are obviously such, clerics and monks were identified by their tonsure; the other groups habitually wore something to identify them as members of one of the classes entitled to the protection of the Peace of God. For pilgrims, the hat and staff were not at first sufficiently distinct to serve that purpose, and so they would wear something else to indicate their destination. The scallop shell showed that one was traveling as a pilgrim to or from the shrine of St James, along the Galician coast where scallops grow in abundance. This became so well know that even today, the German word for “scallop” is either “Jakobsmuschel – James’ mussel” or “Pilgermuschel – a pilgrim mussel.”

Biblical Types or Anticipations of Traditional Catholic Worship

Photo by Ramses Sudiang on Unsplash

With unabashed admiration for medieval allegorical commentators on the Mass who did not stop at the level of practical or historical explanations but went for deeper significance, playing like children in the garden of spiritual meanings that spring forth from the original literal seeds, I share with readers today certain suggestive Scripture verses that support or at least add additional weight to practices familiar in the usus antiquior. I do not claim, of course, that the human authors of these verses had in mind a future Christian liturgy of Europe in its fully-developed medieval condition. But we know that the Primary Author of Scripture did have in mind the many ways in which He would inspire the Church to glorify Him worthily in her traditional rites.

Separation of Sanctuary from Nave

“And Aaron was separated to minister in the holy of holies, he and his sons for ever, and to burn incense before the Lord, according to his ceremonies, and to bless his name for ever.” (1 Chron. 23:13)

“The chambers of the north, and the chambers of the south, which are before the separate building: they are holy chambers, in which the priests shall eat, that approach to the Lord into the holy of holies: there they shall lay the most holy things, and the offering for sin, and for trespass: for it is a holy place. And when the priests shall have entered in, they shall not go out of the holy places into the outward court: but there they shall lay their vestments, wherein they minister, for they are holy: and they shall put on other garments, and so they shall go forth to the people.” (Ezek. 42:13–14)

“The priests, and Levites, the sons of Sadoc, who kept the ceremonies for my sanctuary, when the children of Israel went astray from me: they shall come near to me, to minister to me: and they shall stand before me, to offer me the fat, and the blood, saith the Lord God. They shall enter into my sanctuary, and they shall come near to my table, to minister unto me, and to keep my ceremonies.” (Ezek. 44:15–16)

“Christ, being come an high priest of the good things to come…by his own blood, entered once into the holies, having obtained eternal redemption…. For Jesus is not entered into the holies made with hands, the patterns of the true: but into heaven itself, that he may appear now in the presence of God for us. Nor yet that he should offer himself often, as the high priest entereth into the holies, every year with the blood of others: for then he ought to have suffered often from the beginning of the world: but now once at the end of ages, he hath appeared for the destruction of sin, by the sacrifice of himself.” (Hebr. 9:11–12, 24–26)

“And it came to pass, when he [Zachary] executed the priestly function in the order of his course before God, according to the custom of the priestly office, it was his lot to offer incense, going into the temple of the Lord. And all the multitude of the people was praying without, at the hour of incense.” (Luke 1:8–10)

Incensation of the Altar

“And I saw seven angels standing in the presence of God; and there were given to them seven trumpets. And another angel came, and stood before the altar, having a golden censer; and there was given to him much incense, that he should offer of the prayers of all saints upon the golden altar, which is before the throne of God. And the smoke of the incense of the prayers of the saints ascended up before God from the hand of the angel.” (Rev. 8:2–4)

“And Aaron was separated to minister in the holy of holies, he and his sons for ever, and to burn incense before the Lord, according to his ceremonies, and to bless his name for ever.” (1 Chron. 23:13)

“Who then can be able to build him a worthy house? if heaven, and the heavens of heavens cannot contain him: who am I that I should be able to build him a house? but to this end only, that incense may be burnt before him.” (2 Chron. 2:6)”

“Our fathers have sinned and done evil in the sight of the Lord God, forsaking him: they have turned away their faces from the tabernacle of the Lord, and turned their backs. They have shut up the doors that were in tile porch, and put out the lamps, and have not burnt incense, nor offered holocausts in the sanctuary of the God of Israel. Therefore the wrath of the Lord hath been stirred up against Juda and Jerusalem, and he hath delivered them to trouble, and to destruction, and to be hissed at, as you see with your eyes. Behold, our fathers are fallen by the sword, our sons, and our daughters, and wives are led away captives for this wickedness. Now therefore I have a mind that we make a covenant with the Lord the God of Israel, and he will turn away the wrath of his indignation from us. My sons, be not negligent: the Lord hath chosen you to stand before him, and to minister to him, and to worship him, and to burn incense to him.” (2 Chron 29:6–11)

“Let my prayer be directed as incense in thy sight; the lifting up of my hands, as evening sacrifice.” (Ps. 140:2)

Facing the Altar as Mediators, Not Towards the People

“And the priests went in, and stood before the face of the altar and the temple: and weeping, they said: Thou, O Lord, hast chosen this house for thy name to be called upon therein, that it might be a house of prayer and supplication for thy people.” (1 Macc. 7:36–37)

“And the priests prostrated themselves before the altar in their priests’ vestments, and called upon him from heaven…” (2 Macc. 3:15)

“And Solomon stood before the altar of the Lord in the sight of the assembly of Israel, and spread forth his hands towards heaven; and said: Lord God of Israel, there is no God like thee in heaven above, or on earth beneath: who keepest covenant and mercy with thy servants that have walked before thee with all their heart…. And it came to pass, when Solomon had made an end of praying all this prayer and supplication to the Lord, that he rose from before the altar of the Lord: for he had fixed both knees on the ground, and had spread his hands towards heaven.” (1 Kg. 8:22–23, 54)

“Our fathers have sinned and done evil in the sight of the Lord God, forsaking him: they have turned away their faces from the tabernacle of the Lord, and turned their backs.” (2 Chron. 29:6)

“And they have turned their backs to me, and not their faces: when I taught them early in the morning, and instructed them, and they would not hearken to receive instruction.” (Jer 32:33)

The Silences During Mass—especially in the Canon

“And when he had opened the seventh seal, there was silence in heaven, as it were for half an hour.” (Rev. 8:1)

“For thus saith the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel: If you return and be quiet, you shall be saved: in silence and in hope shall your strength be.” (Isa. 30:15)

“It is good to wait with silence for the salvation of God.” (Lam. 3:26)

“Hear in silence, and for thy reverence good grace shall come to thee…. In many things be as if thou wert ignorant, and hear in silence and withal seeking.” (Sir. 32:9, 12)

“For while all things were in quiet silence, and the night was in the midst of her course, Thy almighty Word leapt down from heaven from Thy royal throne.” (Wis. 18:14–15)

“But the Lord is in His holy temple: let all the earth keep silence before Him.” (Hab. 2:20)

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