Superb Recordings of the Hymns of Passiontide

As we are about to enter Holy Week, here are two genuinely outstanding recordings of the hymns for Passiontide Vexilla Regis and Pange lingua. These come from an album released by the choir of Westminster Cathedral in October of 2023, titled Vexilla Regis: A sequence of music from Palm Sunday to Holy Saturday; the 21 tracks are also available on a YouTube playlist. Both of these hymns were were written by St Venantius Fortunatus, bishop of Poitiers in France, in the later sixth century, to celebrate the arrival there of a relic of the True Cross which was given by the Byzantine Emperor Justin II to Venantius’ dear friend St Radegund, Queen of the Franks. In the Divine Office, Pange lingua is divided into two parts, the first of which (five stanzas plus a doxology) is sung at Matins, and the second (five more stanzas plus the same doxology) at Lauds, while Vexilla Regis is sung at Vespers. They are also both used at the Mass of the Presanctified on Good Friday, the former during the adoration of the Cross, and the later while the Blessed Sacrament is brought back from the altar of repose to the main altar.

What I particularly like about both of these recordings is how they alternate the stanzas between the boys’ and men’s choirs, which then merge at the last stanza to powerful effect, while the organ accompaniment remains very light.

Pange lingua

Vexilla Regis

The Anti-Iconoclast Mass of Passion Thursday

Today’s Divine Office contains an unusual feature: the antiphons of the Benedictus and Magnificat are not taken from the Gospel of the Mass (Luke 7, 36-50), as they are on nearly every other day of Lent. Instead, the former is taken from the Passion of St Matthew (26, 18), “The master saith, ‘My time is near at hand, with thee I keep the Pasch with my disciples.’ ”, and the latter from the Passion of St Luke (22, 15), “With desire I have desired to eat this Pasch with you, before I suffer.”

A page of the winter volume of the Codex Hartker, written at the monastery of St Gallen in Switzerland at the end of the 10th century, with the antiphons ‘Magister dicit’ and ‘Desiderio desideravi’ assigned to Passion Thursday at the bottom. (Stiftsbibliothek, Cod. Sang. 390, p. 169 – Antiphonarium officii, https://www.e-codices.unifr.ch/en/list/one/csg/0390; CC BY-NC 4.0)

The only two other days on which this happens are the Saturdays after Ash Wednesday and Passion Sunday, both of which were originally aliturgical days in the Roman Rite, on which no Mass was celebrated. This was also originally the custom on the Thursdays of Lent, which was changed by Pope St Gregory II (715-31), for reasons I have explained elsewhere. This is why in the Missal of St Pius V, the Masses of these Thursdays have no proper chant parts, borrowing their introits, graduals, offertories and communions from other Masses; the respect for the tradition codified by St Gregory the Great was such that it was deemed better not to add new pieces to the established repertoire. The two formerly aliturgical Saturdays, on the other hand, simply repeat the Gregorian propers from the previous day, indicating that their Masses were added by a different Pope.

The Mass of Passion Thursday, however, does have its own proper gradual, while the introit, offertory and communion all come from the same Mass, that of the 20th Sunday after Pentecost. This anomaly, coupled with the anomalous choice of antiphons noted above, suggests that the Mass of Passion Thursday was also added by a different Pope than Gregory II.

A further proof of this may be the choice of station for this day, at the church of St Apollinaris, close to the modern Piazza Navona. The first mention of this church is in the Liber Pontificalis’ account of the reign of Pope St Hadrian I (772-95), and several authorities believe that he was the one who built it, although the Liber Pontificalis does not say so explicitly; nor is there any indication that there was ever any other station for this day. If this is in fact the case, obviously, it cannot have been Gregory II who instituted the station.

The high altar and choir of the church of St Apollinaris in Rome; the church was completely rebuilt by the architect Fernando Fuga at the behest of Pope Benedict XIV, who consecrated it on April 21, 1748. Image from Wikimedia Commons by Pufui PcPifpef (no, I did not make that up), CC BY-SA 4.0.

Some of the same authorities (most important among them Mariano Armellini [1]) also claim that Pope Hadrian either built the church for a community of Eastern monks who had fled to Italy to escape the persecution of the iconoclast emperors of Byzantium, or installed such a community in the church shortly after building it. If this is also the case, it might well explain why the propers for the Mass were taken from the 20th Sunday after Pentecost.

The Introit is a broad but unmistakable citation from the long deuterocanonical section of Daniel 3 known as the Prayer of Azariah, which he delivers as the leader of the three Israelite boys thrown into the furnace by the Emperor Nebuchadnezzar for refusing to worship his statue.

“Omnia, quae fecisti nobis, Dómine, in vero judicio fecisti: quia peccávimus tibi, et mandátis tuis non oboedívimus: sed da gloriam nómini tuo, et fac nobiscum secundum multitúdinem misericordiae tuae.

All that Thou hast done to us, o Lord, thou hast done in true judgment; because we have sinned against Thee, and have not obeyed Thy commandments: but give glory to Thy name, and deal with us according to the multitude of Thy mercy.”

This episode takes place during the exile of the Jews in Babylon, which is mentioned also in the Offertory, Ps 136, 1.

“Super flúmina Babylónis illic sédimus et flévimus, dum recordarémur tui, Sion.

By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat and wept when we remembered thee, o Zion.”

A very nice polyphonic setting by Palestrina.

The choice of these texts may well reflect the exile of the iconodule Eastern monks who served in the church, as also the Epistle, which continues from the same Prayer of Azariah (vss. 34-45).

“In those days: Azariah prayed to the Lord, saying: ‘O Lord, our God, deliver us not up for ever, we beseech thee, for thy name’s sake, and abolish not thy covenant. And take not away thy mercy from us for the sake of Abraham thy beloved, and Isaac thy servant, and Israel thy holy one, to whom thou hast spoken, promising that thou wouldst multiply their seed as the stars of heaven, and as the sand that is on the seashore. For we, O Lord, are diminished more than any nation, and are brought low in all the earth this day for our sins. ... And now we follow thee with all our heart, and we fear thee, and seek thy face. Put us not to confusion, but deal with us according to thy meekness, and according to the multitude of thy mercies. And deliver us according to thy wonderful works, and give glory to thy name, O Lord: and let all them be confounded that show evils to thy servants, let them be confounded in all thy might, and let their strength be broken. And let them know that thou art the Lord, the only God, and glorious over all the world, o Lord, our God.’ ”

In such a context, the words “we… are diminished more than any nation” may refer to the vast territorial losses suffered by the Byzantine Empire at the hands of the Arabs while it was promoting its previous major official heresy, Monothelitism, when the ancient patriarchates of Alexandria, Antioch and Jerusalem all fell under Muslim dominion. The words “And now we... seek thy face” would refer to the theology of the iconodules, much of which turned around the question of whether the humanity of Christ could be depicted in art, and “let all them be confounded that show evils to thy servants” to the persecution which they underwent for opposing the then-current official heresy, during which the empire was continually besieged and suffered further, though less dramatic, losses. This heresy was officially condemned during the reign of Pope Hadrian at the Second Council of Nicea in 787, but not fully defeated; it was restored in the reigns of four emperors, beginning in 814, and only repudiated definitively in 847.

A further indication of this may also be found in the Gospel, Luke 7, 36-50, the famous episode in the house of Simon the Pharisee, in which the sinful woman, later traditionally identified as St Mary Magdalene, anoints Christ’s feet. When the Lord reproves Simon for thinking that if He were indeed a prophet, He would not allow the woman to touch Him, He says, “Osculum mihi non dedisti – Thou gavest me no kiss.” [2] The Greek word “proskuneo” and the Latin “adorare” both derive from words meaning “to kiss,” and much of the debate over iconoclasm centered on the contention that it was not right to offer “proskunesis – adoration” to the holy images. Therefore, Simon the Pharisee represents the iconoclasts who did not give the Lord proper adoration.

The Feast in the House of Simon the Pharisee, 1570, by Paolo Veronese; originally painted for the refectory of the Servite church in Venice, gifted by the Venetian Republic to King Louis XIV of France in 1664, and since then, kept in the Chateau of Versailles. (Public domain image from Wikimedia Commons; click to enlarge.)

This is confirmed by some early lectionaries that have a different Epistle on this day, Jeremiah 7, 1-7, which in the Missal of St Pius V is read on Thursday of the third week of Lent.

“In those days: The word of the Lord came to me, saying: Stand in the gate of the house of the Lord, and proclaim there this word, and say, ‘Hear ye the word of the Lord, all ye men of Juda, that enter in at these gates, to adore the Lord. … Trust not in lying words, saying, ‘The temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord, it is the temple of the Lord.’ … If you … shed not innocent blood in this place, … I will dwell with you in this place, in the land, which I gave to your fathers from the beginning and for evermore.”

The very first public episode of iconoclasm in Constantinople was the attempted removal of an image of Christ from above the gate of the imperial palace. The iconoclasts also came to reject the intercession of the Saints and the veneration of their relics; in this context, the “lying” words “The temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord, it is the temple of the Lord” would therefore refer to the contention that these ancient practices detracted from the adoration due to God alone, and to the iconoclast habit of decorating their churches with plain crosses as the only acceptable religious symbol, a symbol “of the Lord.” “The temple of the Lord” becomes a “lying word” because the iconoclasts take it to mean “of the Lord, but NOT of the Saints.” “The shedding of innocent blood” would then here mean the many episodes of persecution by the iconoclast emperors, particularly Constantine V (741-75) [3], the emperor when St Hadrian was elected, whose reign rivals those of Henry VIII and Elizabeth I of England for shame and horror.

A mosaic with a bare cross, a motif admitted by the first iconoclasts, in the church of Holy Peace (Hagia Irene) in Constantinople, ca. 750. (Image from Wikimedia Commons by Nina Aldin Thune, CC BY-SA 3.0)

[1] Le Chiese di Roma, ed. 1891, p. 345

[2] In the Gospel, the word St Luke uses for “kiss” is “philēma”, which comes from a completely different root, but this distinction may well not have been though relevant to the context.

[3] He is traditionally given the epithet “Copronymus – dung-named” in Greek, in reference to a diaper accident that occurred at his baptism; this was taken by those who honored the sacred images as a presage of his impiety.

Daniel and Habacuc in Passiontide: Postwar Casualties

The Epistle at the traditional Latin Mass for the Tuesday of Passion week is the wonderful scene of Daniel thrown into the lion’s den by his enemies and expected to be scarfed down like cat food, but liberated after a quiet week inside the zoo, and a nourishing meal courtesy of his co-prophet Habakkuk (with rapid-flight angelic service long anticipating the current craze for home delivery).

In those days, the Babylonians went to the king and demanded: Hand over to us Daniel, who has destroyed Bel and killed the dragon, or we will kill you and your family. When he saw himself threatened with violence, the king was forced to hand Daniel over to them.
       They threw Daniel into a lions’ den, where he remained six days. In the den were seven lions, and two carcasses and two sheep had been given to them daily. But now they were given nothing, so that they would devour Daniel.
       In Judea there was a prophet, Habacuc; he mixed some bread in a bowl with the stew he had boiled, and was going to bring it to the reapers in the field, when an Angel of the Lord told him, Take the lunch you have to Daniel in the lions’ den at Babylon. But Habacuc answered, Babylon, sir, I have never seen, and I do not know the den! The Angel of the Lord seized him by the crown of his head and carried him by the hair; with the speed of the wind, he set him down in Babylon above the den. Daniel, servant of God, cried Habacuc, take the lunch God has sent you. You have remembered me, O God, said Daniel; You have not forsaken those who love You. While Daniel began to eat, the Angel of the Lord at once brought Habacuc back to his own place.
       On the seventh day the king came to mourn for Daniel. As he came to the den and looked in, there was Daniel, sitting in the midst of the lions! The king cried aloud, You are great, O Lord, thou God of Daniel! Daniel he took out of the lions’ den, but those who had tried to destroy him he threw into the den, and they were devoured in a moment before his eyes. Then the king said: Let all the inhabitants of the whole earth fear the God of Daniel; for He is the Saviour, working signs and wonders in the earth, Who has delivered Daniel out of the lions’ den.

Daniel in the lion’s den—the chapter 14 version of it (a different telling is found in chapter 6) [*Note]—has been read in Passiontide since the earliest times, for Daniel is a type of Christ, thrown to His enemies and expected to be destroyed; in His agony He was visited by an angel, and after three days in the cave, He was raised up to glorious life.

So ancient is this association of Daniel in the lion’s den with Christ in the Passion that we find it in some of the earliest Christian art we still possess, like this fresco of the 3rd century in the Catacomb of Ss Peter and Marcellinus:

Why am I somehow not surprised that this passage from Daniel 14 was REMOVED from Passiontide in the fat new lectionary? And why might they have stricken this age-old Passiontide reading? Let's think of some possible reasons.

1. They did not believe that the book of Daniel is “relevant” to modern people, especially at this most solemn season. Its content (violence, aggression, Rated-R stuff) might be puzzling, uncomfortable, or prejudicial to ecumenical, interreligious, interractial, and international relations.

2. They had a great discomfort with miracles and tried to minimize their presence whenever possible. And when it comes to angels—the strategy is containment and minimization, like when they reduced the three archangelic feasts to one.

3. The old commentaries and the old liturgy see the enemies of Daniel as types of the pagans who opposed the early Christians (scenes from the book of Daniel are frequently found in Paleochristian liturgy and art). After the Council, however, it is not polite to talk about enemies of Christ or of the Cross, in spite of the prominence of that theme in the New Testament.

So, the next time you hear anyone try to defend the liturgical reform as “returning to the way the early Christians prayed,” tell them... — well, you must be polite. Rattle off ten truly ancient aspects of Christian worship that the liturgical reform abolished or curtailed:

1. the ancient cycle of readings
2. the use of all 150 psalms in their integrity
3. the use of the Roman Canon for all Western rites
4. days of fasting and abstinence throughout the year
5. Ember Days and Rogation Days
6. the octave and season of Pentecost
7. proper vigil Masses before all great feasts.
8. the use of an elevated linguistic register
9. the focus on sacrifice, altar, and the East
10. all-male liturgical ministry divided into many orders, major and minor

It would be pretty easy to go on with the list, but the point is this: the classical Roman rite is thoroughly and consistently ancient (and more besides), while the Novus Ordo is a modern potpourri of inconsistently selected bits and pieces of tradition mixed with novelties, like a badly decorated house.

May the story of Daniel, the servant of the living God, and his miraculous rescue from his enemies plunge us deeper into the mysteries of the Triduum — and may the Lord someday deliver the captive Roman liturgy from its modern oppressors.

*NOTE: There are two tellings of the Daniel and the Lion’s Den in the book of Daniel: one in chapter 6, the other in chapter 14. The chapter 14 one is read in the TLM on Tuesday of Passion Week; the chapter 6 one is read in the Novus Ordo on Thursday of Week 34 of Ordinary Time. It’s interesting to compare the two versions; the miracle of the angel-driven delivery of food is not found in the former.

Passion Sunday 2025

The Vespers hymn for Passiontide Vexilla Regis, in alternating Gregorian chant, according to a different melody than the classic Roman one, and polyphony by Tomás Luis de Victoria.

Sitientes Saturday, The Last Day of Lent

In the liturgical books of the traditional Roman Rite, today is the last day of “Quadragesima”, the Latin word for Lent; since the mid-ninth century, tomorrow has been called “Dominica de Passione”, usually translated in English as “Passion Sunday.” The last two weeks of the season are collectively known as “Tempus Passionis – Passiontide”; the custom of joining them as a liturgical period distinct from the rest of Lent is unique to the Roman Rite. However, the specific liturgical character of this period is older than its formal nomenclature, and the traditional Mass for today marks the transition in several ways.

The Introit, Isaiah 55, 1, is a rare example of one taken from a prophetic book, rather than the Psalms; the text is slightly different from that of the Vulgate. “Sitientes, veníte ad aquas, dicit Dóminus: et qui non habétis pretium, veníte et bíbite cum laetitia. – Ye that thirst, come to the waters, saith the Lord; and ye that have not the price, come and drink with rejoicing.” On the Easter vigil, these words are read as part of the fifth prophecy, Isaiah 54, 17, and 55, 1-11, in reference to the waters of baptism. At the beginning of Lent, on Tuesday of the first week, a shorter version of the same passage is read, starting at verse 6, “Seek ye the Lord, while He may be found; call upon Him, while He is near.” The fuller reading indicates that those who began to seek the Lord by enrolling themselves in the catechumenate, having completed their initiation into the Faith over the course of Lent, will indeed find Him when they come to the waters.

The Epistle is taken from a different chapter of Isaiah, 49, 8-15, and is deliberately chosen to mark the closure of the first part of Lent. On the First Sunday of Lent, the Epistle, 2 Corinthians 6, 1-10, begins with a citation of this passage: “We exhort you, that you receive not the grace of God in vain; for he saith, ‘In an accepted time have I heard thee; and in the day of salvation have I helped thee.’ (Isaiah 49, 8) Behold, now is the acceptable time; behold, now is the day of salvation.” Before Ash Wednesday was instituted in the 7th century, this passage of St Paul was the very first Scriptural reading of Lent. These two readings form the bookends of the first four weeks, which emphasize catechumenal lessons and the discipline of fasting, before the shift in tone towards meditation on the Lord’s Passion that marks the last two weeks much more notably.

Today, the passage from Isaiah continues: “I have preserved thee, and given thee to be a covenant of the people, that thou might raise up the earth, and possess the inheritances that were destroyed: that thou might say to them that are bound, ‘Come forth!’, and to them that are in darkness, ‘Show yourselves. … For he that is merciful to them, shall be their shepherd, and at the fountains of waters he shall give them drink.” The “inheritances that were destroyed” are the various nations of men, lost in the darkness of sin. Three days earlier, the catechumens heard the story of the man born blind (John 9, 1-38), whom the Church Fathers understood to represent the condition of Man before the coming of Christ. As St Augustine writes “… the whole world is blind. Therefore Christ came to illuminate, since the devil had blinded us. He who deceived the first man caused all men to be born blind.” (Sermon 135 against the Arians) In baptism, at “the fountains of waters”, Christ calls them out of darkness, as He did the man born blind.

Christ Healing the Blind Man, from the church of Sant’Angelo in Formis, Capua, Italy, ca. 1080.

The words that follow, “Behold these shall come from afar, and behold these from the north and from the sea, and these from the south country,” (verse 12) would certainly have been read in Rome, “the head of the world”, as a reference to the many nations of the Empire present in its capital. From the very beginning, the Church had always been concerned to assert that Christ came to the Jewish people, to whom the promises of mankind’s redemption were made, but came as the Savior and Redeemer of all nations.

The Gradual is taken from Psalm 9: “To thee, o Lord, is the poor man left: thou wilt be a helper to the orphan. V. Why, O Lord, hast thou retired afar off? why dost thou slight us in our wants, in the time of trouble? While the wicked man is proud, the poor is set on fire.” This text refers to the original Roman station of this day, which was kept at the church of St Lawrence Outside-the-Walls, where the great martyr is buried. He was very famously one of the deacons to whom the care of the poor was left in the Lord’s name; the words “the poor man is set on fire” refer to the manner of his martyrdom, which took place after he had given away all of the Church’s charitable funds.

The Martyrdom of Saint Lawrence, by Titian, 1567; from the Spanish Royal Monastery of the Escorial.

The station was later transferred to the church of St Nicolas ‘in Carcere’, i.e., in the prison, where, according to a late and unreliable tradition, the Saint was imprisoned by the Emperor Constantius for refusing to accept the Arian heresy. The Bl. Ildephonse Schuster posits in his book The Sacramentary that this change was made in part because the procession to the former station had become inconvenient “in the showery weather of March.” This seems to me a very improbable explanation, since the two stations are almost exactly the same distance from the medieval residence of the Popes at St John in the Lateran, and the weather cannot have been radically different on one route as opposed to the other.

On the preceding Thursday, the station is held at the church jointly dedicated to Ss Silvester and Martin, who were among the first Confessors to be venerated as Saints, and certainly the most popular. On Friday, it is held at the church of St Eusebius, a Roman priest who was also a Confessor, but in the original sense of the term, one who suffered for the Faith, but was not violently put to death. With the addition of this new station, the season of Quadragesima closes with a celebration of the newer Saints, those who came after the age of the Apostles and Martyrs.

The Gospel of the day, John 8, 12-20, begins with another reference to the upcoming ceremonies of baptism, referring back to the words of the Epistle about calling the nations out of darkness. “I am the light of the world: he that followeth Me, walketh not in darkness, but shall have the light of life.” But it is the closing words which shift the liturgy’s thought forward to the Lord’s Passion. “These words Jesus spoke in the treasury, teaching in the temple: and no man laid hands on Him, because His hour was not yet come.” Very shortly, however, when hands are laid on Him to bring Him to trial, He will say, “When I was daily with you in the temple, you did not stretch forth your hands against Me; but this is your hour, and the power of darkness.” The Gospels read after this day, in Passion week and Holy Week, will all speak far more clearly than those of the first four weeks about Christ’s impending arrest, trial, condemnation and passion, and frequently in reference to the temple. “They took up stones therefore to cast at him. But Jesus hid himself, and went out of the temple.” (Passion Sunday, John 8, 59) “then He also went up to the feast, not openly, but, as it were, in secret. … And there was much murmuring among the multitude concerning Him, for some said, ‘He is a good man,’ and others said, ‘No, but he seduceth the people.’ ” (John 7, 10 and 12, Passion Tuesday)

The Communion antiphon forms part of a series which begins on Ash Wednesday with Psalm 1, and continues through the Psalms in numerical order until the Friday of Passion week. (The series is interrupted several times for various reasons, and does not include Holy Week.) On this day, it is the beginning of Psalm 22, “The Lord ruleth me: and I shall want nothing. He hath set me in a place of pasture. He hath brought me up, on the water of refreshment.” “Pasture” refers back once again to the Epistle from Isaiah 49, specifically the verses “They shall feed in the ways, and their pastures shall be in every plain.”, while the final words speak yet again of Baptism.

The Mass of Passion Friday

As I noted earlier this week, the fifth Sunday of Lent marks an important shift in emphasis in the Roman liturgy. The first part of the season is largely concerned with penance, and lessons for the catechumens as they prepare to be baptized at the Easter vigil. The liturgy of the fifth week focuses much more on the Lord’s Passion, which is why by the end of the ninth century, the term “Fifth Sunday of Lent” was abandoned in favor of “Passion Sunday.” This shift is particularly evident in the Mass chants, many of which speak in the person of the Lord in the midst of His sufferings, as for example the Introit of Monday, “Have mercy on me, O God, for man hath trodden me under foot; all the day long he hath afflicted me fighting against me. My enemies have trodden on me all the day long; for they are many that make war against me.” (Psalm 55, 2-3)

Folio 48r of the Echternach Sacramentary, 895AD, with the Mass “of the Sunday of the Lord’s Passion”; Bibliothèque nationale de France, Département des Manuscrits, Latin 9433

Today’s Mass marks another shift, and one which originally stood in especially high relief, since the days before and after were “aliturgical” days, on which no Mass was said; this was therefore the last Mass celebrated before Holy Week. Each of the Gospels of this week from Sunday to Wednesday (all from St John) refers in one way or another to the Passion, but they are read out of order, and in that sense, do not form a narrative. Today’s Gospel, on the other hand, John 11, 47-54, serves as a bridge between that of the previous Friday, on which raising of Lazarus is read (verses 1-45), and Holy Week, beginning the account of the Passion with the conspiracy of the priests and Pharisees against Christ. And indeed, this same reading also provides the text for one of the two chants which may sung between the Epistle and the Gospel at the blessing of the Palms.

The Epistle, Jeremiah 17, 13-18, also has a different tenor from those read earlier in the week. The Epistle of Passion Sunday, Hebrews 9, 11-15, speaks of the redemption wrought by the shedding of Christ’s blood. On Monday, the third chapter of Jonah is read as a final exhortation to penance; on Tuesday, Daniel appears in the lion’s den as a figure of Christ in His Passion and Resurrection; on Wednesday, a final catechumenal lesson is taken from Leviticus. Today’s Epistle, on the other hand, is the first of Passiontide in which words of a prophet are read which are spoken in the first person, as a representation of Christ in His sufferings.

“Heal me, O Lord, and I shall be healed: save me, and I shall be saved, for thou art my praise. … Let them be confounded that persecute me, and let not me be confounded: let them be afraid, and let not me be afraid: bring upon them the day of affliction, and with a double destruction, destroy them.”

The prophetic readings of the following day (Jer. 18, 18-23), those of Holy Monday (Isa. 50, 5-10) and Holy Tuesday (Jer. 11, 18-20), and the first of the two readings on Spy Wednesday (Isa. 62, 11; 63, 1-7), are similarly spoken in the first person.

The Prophets Isaiah and Jeremiah, depicted on the outsides of the two wings of a closable altarpiece of the Entombment of Christ, by the Dutch painter Maerten van Heemskerck (1498-1574), ca. 1560. Isaiah is holding a saw, in reference to the tradition that he was sawn in half by the wicked King Manasseh; Jeremiah has at his feet the rocks with which he was traditionally said to have been stoned to death.

In the Gospel, the high priest Caiphas proposes that Jesus should die lest all believe in Him, and the Romans “come and take away our place and nation.” This did of course eventually come to pass anyway, as Christ Himself predicted both before (Luke 19, 44) and during (Luke 23, 28-31) His Passion; Jerusalem was destroyed because it knew not the time of its visitation, fulfilling the prophecy of Jeremiah that those who persecuted Him would be confounded, and a day of affliction brought upon them. The emphasis on prophecy is also highlighted by the words of St John that Caiphas “spoke not of himself, but being the high priest of that year, he prophesied that Jesus should die for the nation; and not only for the nation, but to gather together in one the children of God that were dispersed.” (verses 51-52)

This same stress on the Passion is also found in the chants of this Mass, no less than in those sung earlier in the week: the Introit, “Have mercy on me, O Lord, for I am afflicted: free me, and deliver me out of the hands of my enemies; and from them that persecute me. O Lord, let me not be confounded, for I have called upon thee.” (Psalm 30); the Gradual, “Peaceably did my enemies speak to me” (i.e. feigning peaceful intentions; Psalm 34); and the Offertory, “and do not hand me over to the proud that calumniate me.” (Psalm 118)

The Communion is the final chant in a series taken from the Psalms in order, starting with Psalm 1 on Ash Wednesday, but interrupted several times. “Deliver me not, o Lord, over to the will of them that persecute me; for unjust witnesses have risen up against me, and iniquity hath lied to itself.” A shorter version of this text is sung one week later as the third antiphon of Matins of Good Friday, together with Psalm 26, from which it is taken.

The Roman station on the first Friday of Lent is kept at the church of Ss John and Paul, who were among the most popular of the early Roman martyrs. Today, the same church serves as the collect, where the people would gather over the course of the day, and from which they would process to the station, which is kept about a third of a mile away at the first Roman church to be dedicated to the first martyr, St Stephen. This is not just a matter of coincidence or convenience. John and Paul were the first martyrs to be buried within the walls of the city itself, rather than in a cemetery outside the city. This fact is noted as something unusual and significant in the very first surviving collection of Roman liturgical texts, the so-called Leonine Sacramentary. The church of St Stephen also has a burial which was, by the standards of ancient Roman custom, unusual and significant. In the reign of Pope St Theodore I (642-49), the relics of two martyrs named Primus and Felician, who were brothers like John and Paul, were translated from their original burial place at the 14th milestone of the Via Nomentana to this church; this is said to be the very first such translation of the relics of the Saints.

The apsidal mosaic of the chapel within the basilica of St Stephen where the relics of Ss Primus and Felician are kept. Although it has been frequently restored, a large part is the original material from the 7th century.

Thus, as the Church turns the focus of the liturgy even more intently to the events of Our Lord’s Passion, one week before His death on Good Friday, she celebrates the memorial of His death and resurrection at the church of the martyr who, as she sings in his Office, “first rendered back to the Savior that death which He deigned to suffer for our sake.” (8th responsory of Matins of St Stephen.)

Superb Recordings of the Hymns of Passiontide

In October of last year, the choir of Westminster Cathedral released an album titled Vexilla Regis: A sequence of music from Palm Sunday to Holy Saturday. Among the 21 tracks are these two genuinely outstanding recordings of the hymns for Passiontide Vexilla Regis and Pange lingua; the whole album has also recently been made available on a YouTube playlist. Both of these were were written by St Venantius Fortunatus, bishop of Poitiers in France, in the later sixth century, to celebrate the arrival there of a relic of the True Cross which was given by the Byzantine Emperor Justin II to Venantius’ dear friend St Radegund, Queen of the Franks. In the Divine Office, Pange lingua is divided into two parts, the first of which (five stanzas plus a doxology) is sung at Matins, and the second (five more stanzas plus the same doxology) at Lauds, while Vexilla Regis is sung at Vespers. They are also both used at the Mass of the Presanctified on Good Friday, the former during the adoration of the Cross, and the later while the Blessed Sacrament is brought back from the altar of repose to the main altar.

What I particularly like about both of these recordings is how they alternate the stanzas between the boys’ and men’s choirs, which then merge at the last stanza to powerful effect, while the organ accompaniment remains very light. A very fine achievement indeed - congratulations to all who were involved!

Pange lingua

Vexilla Regis

Passiontide in Other Western Rites

Two years ago, I wrote an article about the Saturday of the Fourth Week of Lent, the last day before Passiontide begins, in which I noted that the custom of joining the last two weeks of Lent as a liturgical period distinct from the rest of the season is unique to the Roman Rite, and that “the specific … character of this period is older than its formal nomenclature.” Even though Passion Sunday is called “the Fifth Sunday of Lent” in the very oldest Roman liturgical books, there is a nevertheless a significant shift in the tenor of the liturgy that begins on that day, and it was this shift in tenor that led to the change of name before the end of the 9th century. Where the Scriptural lessons at Mass during the first four weeks focus very much on Lenten penance and preparation for baptism at the Easter vigil, those of the last two weeks are centered much more on the Lord’s Passion. The very first reading of Passiontide, Hebrews 9, 11-15, speaks of the blood of Christ that “cleanse(s our) conscience from dead works to serve the living God.” The Gradual that follows it is one of many texts that speak in the person of the Lord in the midst of His sufferings, “Deliver me, o Lord, from my enemies.”

In the Divine Office, the hymns of the Passion, Vexilla Regis at Vespers and Pange lingua in two parts, one at Matins and one at Lauds, are said until the Triduum, in which no hymns are used. In the first part of Lent, the Scriptural readings of Matins continue from the Pentateuch, which had begun on Septuagesima, and the responsories of that period are taken from the same books. On Passion Sunday, they switch to the prophet Jeremiah, whose tribulations are taken as a prefiguration of the Lord’s. The responsories of Passiontide, however, are mostly taken from the Psalms, and also speak in the person of the suffering Lord.

There is one very notable exception to this, the very first responsory in the series, which is based on Leviticus 23, 5-6.

R. Isti sunt dies, quos observáre debétis tempóribus suis: * Quartadécima die ad vésperum Pascha Dómini est: et in quintadécima solemnitátem celebrábitis altíssimo Dómino. V. Locútus est Dóminus ad Móysen, dicens: Lóquere filiis Israël, et dices ad eos. Quartadécima die…

R. These are the days which ye must observe in their seasons: * on the fourteenth day at evening is the Passover of the Lord, and on the fifteenth day ye shall celebrate a solemnity unto the Lord Most High. V. The Lord spoke to Moses, saying, ‘Speak to the children of Israel, and thou shalt say to them. On the fourteenth day…

Normally, the responsories of Sunday are repeated in order during the week, but this one is, for obvious reasons related to the text, said only on Passion Sunday itself.

As I have noted elsewhere, the Mass of the Easter vigil is NOT a first Mass of the solemnity of Easter, but rather a keeping watch for the Resurrection, which is marked by its incomplete character; it has no Introit, no Offertory, no Agnus Dei, the Creed is not said, and the Peace is not given. This is the rite of the “fourteenth day at evening”, the proper time for the Easter vigil, the beginning, but not the fulfillment, of “the Passover of the Lord.” It is on the fifteenth day, Easter Sunday, that the Resurrection is celebrated with the fullness of “a solemnity.”

This same division between Lent and Passiontide is also found in the Ambrosian Rite, and although it is in some respects less pronounced, it is nevertheless very real. The Ambrosian Rite never adopted the term “Passiontide”, and continued to call this Sunday “the Fifth Sunday of Lent.” In the Divine Office, the Lenten hymns Audi, benigne Conditor and Ex more docti mystico are sung at Lauds and Vespers respectively during the week. (The hymn of Matins is invariable.)

However, the very long Offertory chant on Sunday, which is also used in a shorter form on the following four days, contains the same text from Leviticus 23 as the Roman responsory cited above.

Offertorium Haec dicit Dóminus: Erit vobis sábbatum venerábile, et vocábitur sanctum; et offerétis ad vésperum holocaustómata vestra: quia in die illa propitiábitur vobis Salvátor vester.

V. I Locútus est Móyses filiis Israel, dicens: Quartodécimo die ad vésperum Pascha Dómini est, et in quintodécimo sollemnitátem celebrábitis altíssimo Deo: quia in die illa propitiábitur vobis Salvator vester.

V. II In die octávo ventúro súmite vobis ramos palmárum, et secundum legem, quam praecépi vobis, sollemnitátem celebrábitis altíssimo Deo: quia in die illa propitiábitur vobis Salvator vester.

Offertory Thus saith the Lord, “The Sabbath shall be venerable unto you, and will be called holy, and ye shall offer in the evening your holocausts: for on that day your Savior shall be merciful to you.”

V. I Moses spoke to the children of Israel, saying, “On the fourteenth day at evening is the Passover of the Lord, and on the fifteenth day ye shall celebrate a solemnity unto God Most High. For on that day your Savior shall be merciful to you.

V. II “On the eighth day to come, take ye up branches of palms, and according to the law which I have commanded you, ye shall celebrate a solemnity unto God Most High. For on that day your Savior shall be merciful to you.”

The words “the Sabbath shall be venerable unto you” refer to a very ancient custom which has been preserved in the Ambrosian Rite to this very day. As my colleague Nicola de’ Grandi has explained, the Saturdays of Lent are all dedicated to the rites by which the catechumens are prepared to receive Baptism at the Easter vigil. The last of these, the day before Palm Sunday, is called “in traditione symboli – at the handing-over of the Creed”, when the catechumens were taught the Creed which they would have to recite at the Easter vigil. The words of the second verse (paraphrased from select verses of the same chapter of Leviticus), refer of course to Palm Sunday, and are omitted during the week.

At the ferial Masses of the first four weeks of Lent, the Ambrosian Rite reads the Sermon on the Mount, chapters 5-7 of the Gospel of St Matthew, as instruction to the catechumens. On the ferias after the fifth Sunday, however, the focus of the Gospel readings shifts just as it does in the Roman Rite, and looks forward to the Passion.

Monday: Mark 8, 27-33: “And he began to teach them, that the Son of man must suffer many things, and be rejected by the ancients and by the high priests, and the scribes, and be killed: and after three days rise again.”

Tuesday: John 6, 64-72: “Have not I chosen you twelve; and one of you is a devil? Now he meant Judas Iscariot, the son of Simon: for this same was about to betray him.”

Wednesday: Luc. 18, 31-34: “all things shall be accomplished which were written by the prophets concerning the Son of man. For he shall be delivered to the gentiles, and shall be mocked, and scourged, and spit upon: And … they will put him to death; and the third day he shall rise again.”

Thursday: John 7, 43-53: “There arose a dissension among the people because of Jesus. And some of them would have apprehended him: but no man laid hands on him.” (The Fridays of Lent are aliturgical in the Ambrosian Rite, and therefore have no Gospels.)

These readings belong to the very oldest layer of the Ambrosian tradition, before the extensive Romanization of the rite which took place in the Carolingian era. We may therefore fairly say that the Ambrosian “Passiontide” is just as ancient as the Roman one, despite the lack of a formal terminology marking it as such.

The same custom is also found in the Mozarabic Rite; on the Fifth Sunday of Lent, the Sacrificium (the equivalent of the Roman Offertory) is in part very similar to the Roman responsory cited above, and in part to the Ambrosian Offertory.

Sacrificium Isti sunt dies, quos debétis custodíre tempóribus suis: * Quartadécima die ad vésperum Pascha Dómini est: et in quintadécima solemnitátem celebrábitis altíssimo Deo vestro. V. Locútus est Móyses filiis Israel, dicens: In die octávo ventúro súmite vobis ramos palmárum, et exsultáte in conspectu Dómini, et secundum legem, quod (sic) vobis praecépi, sollemnitátem celebrábitis altíssimo altíssimo Deo vestro.

Sacrificium These are the days which ye must keep in their seasons: * on the fourteenth day at evening is the Passover of the Lord, and on the fifteenth day ye shall celebrate a solemnity unto your God, the Most High. V. Moses spoke to the children of Israel, saying, “On the eighth day to come, take ye up branches of palms, exult in the sight of the Lord, and according to the law which I have commanded you, ye shall celebrate a solemnity unto unto your God, the Most High.”

Moses with the Tablets of the Law, ca. 1408-10, by the Florentine painter Lorenzo Monaco (1370-1425 ca.). Public domain image from Wikimedia Commons.

This is followed by a prayer called a Missa, which explains the symbolism of this chant very beautifully.

“Deus, qui mýstico olim praesagio fámulo tuo Móysi, inter alias praeceptórum tuórum ceremonias, etiam horum diérum solemnia in monte Sinai propitius ostendisti, ut octávo die ventúro súmerent diversárum árborum fructus, ramos quoque palmárum, et exultárent in conspectu Dómini Dei sui cum hymnis: concéde nobis fámulis tuis, ut innocentiae et fídei veritáte sincéri, tuis semper coram altáribus assistámus, sicque tibi parsimoniam córporum offerámus, ut actuum plenitúdinem perfectis apud nos móribus retentémus. – O God, who of old, by a mystical prophecy, didst upon Mount Sinai mercifully show to Thy servant Moses, amid the other ceremonies of Thy precepts, also the solemnities of these days, that they (i.e. Israelites) might on the eighth day take up the fruit of various trees, and branches of palms, and rejoice in the sight of the Lord, their God, with hymns: grant to us Thy servants, that with purity in the truth of innocence and faith, we may also stand before Thine altars, and so offer to Thee our bodily fasting, that we may retain the fullness of these deeds with perfect conduct.”

Finally, we may note that according in older lectionaries of the Mozarabic Rite, the same passage that provides this chants is also the first reading of the Mass (Leviticus 23, 5-8; 23-28; 39-41), but this custom is no longer followed.

A Musical Monument of Lenten Piety: Dietrich Buxtehude’s “Membra Jesu Nostri”

Our thanks to Julian Kwasniewski for sharing with us this lovely explanation of some devotional music for Passiontide. Mr Kwasniewski is a musician specializing in Renaissance lute and vocal music, an artist and graphic designer, as well as marketing consultant for several Catholic companies. His writings have appeared in this publication, National Catholic Register, OnePeterFive, Crisis, Latin Mass Magazine, and The European Conservative. You can find some of his artwork on Etsy, and his music on YouTube.

Photo by Fr Lawrence Lew O.P. 

One of the great monuments of devotional music from the Baroque period is Dieterich Buxtehude’s cycle of seven sacred cantatas Membra Jesu Nostri, which sets Biblical and medieval Latin poetry in honor of the wounds of Christ. Buxtehude (1637-1707) was a Dutch organist and composer who had significant influence on other later Baroque composers such as Handel and Bach. Regarded primarily as a keyboard composer until the early 20th century, over 100 vocal compositions of his survive. A number of his vocal pieces have been lost, including oratorios—mini-opera’s focusing on religious themes.

Although he—like Bach—composed for Lutheran congregations, it was not unusual for Buxtehude to use devotional or Biblical texts in Latin stemming from the Catholic tradition. Such is Membra Jesu Nostri, whose main text is drawn from a medieval poem Salve mundi salutare in honor of the crucified Christ, often attributed to St Bernard. This work is extant in a number of variant forms; in Buxtehude’s cantata, it is paired with various scriptural texts.

Membra Jesu Nostri is scored for five voices: two sopranos, alto, tenor, and bass, along with a small ensemble of instruments: two violins, cello, and “basso continuo.” This last is a type of accompaniment, based on harmonic indications paired with a bass line, and in some ways reminiscent of modern guitar chord symbols, because it gave performers indications rather than exact notes to play, leaving room for improvisation and decoration. This “basso continuo” could be played by multiple instruments, often organ or harpsichord, lute, harp, and a bowed instrument like a cello or the viola da gamba, an instrument similar to the cello, but with more strings.

One of the best performances of Membra Jesu Nostri was directed by René Jacobs, and includes two of my favorite singers. One is Maria Cristina Kiehr, an Argentinian soprano whose voice avoids the operatic vibrato that often makes classically-trained singers off-putting. The second singer is Andreas Scholl, one of the world’s leading countertenors, meaning that he sings in an alto range using his falsetto. Scholl avoids the squeaky or thin sound that sometimes is associated with the male falsetto, instead giving us a rich and warm sound perfectly controlled and ornamented. This performance is well filmed, giving a good glimpse of the various historical instruments being used. The basso continuo is played on an organ, lute, and “violone”, a type of Renaissance-era double bass.

Turning to the libretto, each cantata addresses a part of Jesus’ crucified body: feet, knees, hands, side, breast, heart, and face. Buxtehude alternates between “concerto” sections using the full choir and all the instruments, with arias of one, two, or three voices and simple accompaniment. A full translation can be found on Wikipedia.

Ad Pedes—“to the feet”. The piece opens with an instrumental “sinfonia”, or short prelude, which itself opens with a static C minor chord before plunging into a stirring counterpoint. The primary sentiment of this section is encapsulated by the final bass aria:

“Sweet Jesus, merciful God
I cry to You, in my guilt
Show me Your grace,
Turn me not unworthy away
From Your sacred feet.”

If you want to try a slightly slower take on the piece, you might try listening to this performance.

Ad Genua—“to the knees”. This movement opens with slow sonata “in tremulo”, where the bowed instruments create a wavering, pulsing effect by their bowing technique. The Concerto text is taken from Isaiah, where the prophet speaks of Jerusalem as a mother, but here applied to the crucified Christ: “You will be brought to nurse and dandled on the knees”. Again, a different and slower take on this movement may be found here:

Ad Manus—“to the hands”. This sinfonia opens with violent phrases which climax in a E flat dissonance against a D on the word “wounds” two measures after the choir comes in. As in the previous movement, the final aria is a trio.

Ad Latus—“to the side”. This fourth movement opens in a 6:4 time-signature, maintaining a triple meter until the arias. This gives it a dance-like quality that perfectly matches the text taken from the Song of Songs, calling the beloved to rise up: “Arise, my love, my beautiful one, and come, my dove in the clefts of the rock, in the hollow of the cliff.” Mystical writers have long associated the dove with the soul and the cleft of the rock as the wound in Christ’s side. Between the arias in four-four time, the sinfonias revert to triple time.

Ad Pectus—“to the breast”. For this movement, Buxtehude reduces the five voices of the concerto to three, just alto, tenor, and bass. The opening text from St Paul on “rational infants drinking the rational milk” is applied to drinking from the wound in Christ’s side, a theme found in such writers as St Bernard. René Jacobs interpretation of the whole piece is considerably faster than others: listen here to see the sort of difference between a more resonant space, slower tempo, and having two singers per line. Note that here there is no plucked instrument in the basso continuo.

Ad Cor—“to the heart”. In this penultimate section, Buxtehude changes the ensemble’s instrumentation, substituting five viola da gambas for the two violins and cello. This creates a very rich and somber tonal landscape. Another effect Buxtehude utilizes is a regular change of time-signature. This gives me the impression of a racing heart alternating with deep sorrow when one is in the grip of a strong emotion. The vocal forces are reduced to two sopranos and bass. The lyrical bass solo which forms the centerpiece of this sixth movement interweaves with the viol consort, melding into a trio where dissonances in all parts build tension and emotion on the words from the Song of Songs “vulnerasti cor meum”, “you have wounded my heart”. Another beautiful take on this movement (although only the first part) is by Ensemble ZENE.

Ad Faciem—“to the face”. In the final movement, we are back at the original scoring of five voices and violins. In a rhythmic concerto section, a text from the Psalms is sung: Let Your face shine upon Your servant, save me in Your mercy.” An unusual 6:4 trio aria emphasizes the stanza of the Latin poem which speaks of the crowning with thorns. Rather than repeating the concerto as the other movements have done, this final one ends with a contrapuntal Amen reminiscent of some Bach cantatas.

Even if you are not a musician, and couldn’t care less what a sinfonia, viola da gamba, or a time signature is, I believe that Membra Jesu Nostri has the power that all beautiful works of art have: to speak to the soul, uplift it, and draw one out of oneself. As we continue in our Lent towards Holy Week, perhaps listening to these cantatas can be an opportunity for relaxation, artistic renewal, and spiritual revelation.

Durandus on Passiontide

The first of the following excerpts from William Durandus’ Rationale Divinorum Officiorum, 6.60.3-4 and 7-9, is based on St Augustine’s division of sacred history into four periods: before the giving of the law to Moses; under the law; under grace, i.e. from the Incarnation to the end of the world; and then finally, in peace, after the Lord’s Second Coming.

The reasons for which the Lord’s Passion is remembered for two weeks before Easter are these: first, because He himself suffered for two peoples, at the hands of two peoples; second, because through those two weeks, we express the two Testaments, the Old, which foretold that the Lord would suffer, and the New, which showed Him suffering; third, because in the two ages of this world, that is, before the Law and under the Law, that same passion was foretold; fourth, so that these two weeks may recall to our memory the murmuring of those who before the law and under the law were in hell (i.e., the Limbo of the Fathers, whose murmuring expresses their longing for Christ), until the time of grace, which is signified in the third week, that is the week of Easter. For from this day, on which “Glory be to the Father...” is omitted, there are two weeks until Easter. But then there is the third week, in which all the glorification that was omitted is restored, for in the third time, which is under grace, all the benefits which our fathers in the Church awaited are rendered to them.

The Harrowing of Hell, depicted in an early 16th-century illuminated manuscript of the history of the Passion in French, known as the Vaux Passional. Public domain image from Wikimedia Commons.  

Now for this reason, “Glory be to the Father...” is omitted, since that verse pertains to the praise of the Trinity, which was dishonored in the Lord’s Passion... for it is clear that Christ, who is the second person of the Trinity, was dishonored. But in the Resurrection, “Glory be to the Father...” is resumed, because through the Resurrection He was glorified with the glory of immortality. ...

(The partial omission of the doxology in Passiontide represents the events leading up to the Lord’s passion, principally, the plotting against Him, while the total omission represents the Passion itself.)

And we should note that it is not said in the introits and responsories, which are about the Passion, and in “Come, let us exult unto the Lord” (the invitatory psalm of the Divine Office), but not in the psalms or hymns, because the psalms symbolize working; but (thus far), they persecuted Him only in their tongues (i.e., in word, but not yet in deed), discussing His murder, and He himself did not cease to do good works. It is therefore not completely omitted... since it was not immediately after the council which they held concerning His murder that the Lamb was handed over to the hands of the wicked.

But in the three days before Easter, it is omitted completely, since then especially was the Trinity dishonored. ...

Now the Introit because from the Lord’s prayer in the Passion, “Judge me, o God, and discern my cause,” etc., For in this He instructs us in prayer. There follows, “Send forth Thy light” etc., for he that sees the rewards is made strong in the fight; “and Thy truth”, for he that sees good things, is easily led unto the eternal dwelling places. And it is of the fourth tone because of the form of the Cross, or because of the four things that are asked for, namely, judgement, discretion, liberation and strength.

Now the Epistle (Hebr. 9, 11-15), “Christ, being a high priest of the good things to come, by a greater and more perfect tabernacle” ...  shows the efficacy of Christ’s Passion. For through His passion, we are led unto the eternal dwelling places, of which we must be mindful.

... But the Postcommunion is “This is (My) Body” etc., and the priest intones it, to show that the Great Priest changed the old sacrifice into the new; and it is in the eighth tone, because that sacrifice is the true one which will be perfected in Paradise, when we will rise (i.e. on the eighth day) ...

“This is (My) Body, which shall be given up for you: this is the cup of the new covenant in My Blood, says the Lord; do this, as often as you receive it, in remembrance of Me.” (1 Cor. 11, 24-25)

The Mass of Passion Thursday - Continued

In yesterday’s article, I described the Roman station church of Passion Thursday as a place of exile for Eastern iconodule monks whom the persecution of the iconoclast Byzantine emperors had driven into Italy. This basilica is dedicated to St Apollinaris, the first bishop of Ravenna, who is traditionally said to have been a disciple of St Peter, sent there by him to evangelize the northern Italian region of the Romagna.

Episodes of the life of St Apollinaris, depicted in a stained-glass window in the cathedral of Chartres, 1205-15. Image from Wikimedia Commons by Rolf Kranz, CC BY-SA 4.0.

The Byzantine emperors had lost control of Italy, and hence of Rome itself, the place where their empire began, in the later fifth century, but regained it over the course of the sixth through a series of extremely costly wars. Once this was achieved, the official who governed it on their behalf both civilly and militarily, called the exarch, kept his capital at Ravenna. The exarchate was never a very strong power; it slowly lost one territory after another, especially to the Lombards, then began to collapse much more rapidly in the mid-8th century, just as Byzantium itself was embracing iconoclasm, until it was completely overrun, and Ravenna itself conquered in 751.

However, the Lombards were in turn soon driven out of the region by the Franks under Pepin the Short in 756, at which point, the Pope, already the ruler of Rome and environs, laid claim to the former territories of the exarchate. This claim was granted by Pepin, and confirmed by his son Charlemagne in 774. Thus, the see of St Apollinaris, Ravenna, became a subject of orthodox Rome, rather than of heterodox, iconoclast Byzantium.

In the Epistle of Passion Thursday, Azariah says that the exiled Israelites “are diminished more than any nation, and are brought low in all the earth this day for our sins.” Given the historical context described above, when this was read in the church that represents the former seat of Byzantine power in Italy, it must surely have been taken to signify also the destruction of that power so soon after it had turned to heresy, and as a punishment for doing so.

The episode of the Three Children in the Fiery Furnace, depicted by Franz Joseph Hermann (1738-1806) in the parish church of St Pancratius in Wiggensbach, Germany.

The prayers of this Mass do not refer to any of this, since indeed, they are all much older than it. The Collect, Secret and Post-Communion are all attested in the so-called Leonine Sacramentary, but each at a different Mass: the first on the vigil of Pentecost, the second at one of the Ember days of September (which one is not specified), and the third at the twentieth of thirty-one Masses in a section labeled “orationes et praeces diurnae – daily orations and prayers.” (This Mass also includes the worst preface ever written.) In the Old Gelasian Sacramentary, the first surviving example of its genre for the Roman Rite (ca. 750 AD), they are put together in a single Mass, that of the third Saturday of Lent, with the addition of an alternative Collect and a prayer “over the people.” In the Gregorian Sacramentary, the alternative Collect is removed, and the Mass transferred to Passion Thursday.

Collecta Praesta, quáesumus, omnípotens Deus: ut dígnitas condiciónis humánae, per immoderantiam sauciáta, medicinális parsimoniae studio reformétur.

Collect Grant, we beseech You, almighty God, that the dignity of human nature, wounded through self-indulgence, may be restored by the zealous practice of healing self-denial.

Secreta Dómine, Deus noster, qui in his potius creatúris, quas ad fragilitátis nostrae subsidium condidisti, tuo quoque nómini múnera jussisti dicanda constítui: tríbue, quáesumus; ut et vitae nobis praesentis auxilium et aeternitátis efficiant sacramentum.

Secret O Lord, our God, Who hast commanded that especially from these created things, which Thou didst fashion for the support of our weakness, offerings also be dedicated to Thy Name, grant we beseech Thee, that they may provide for us both help in the present life, and the sacrament of eternity.

Postcommunio Quod ore súmpsimus, Dómine, pura mente capiámus: et de munere temporáli, fiat nobis remedium sempiternum.

Post-communion May we receive with pure mind, O Lord, what we have taken by mouth, and as a gift in time, may it become for us an everlasting remedy.

Super populum Esto, quáesumus, Dómine, propitius plebi tuae: ut, quae tibi non placent, respuentes, tuórum potius repleantur delectatiónibus mandatórum.

Over the people Be merciful to Thy people, we beseech You, o Lord, that as they reject whatever pleaseth Thee not, they may be filled all the more with the delights of Thy commandments.

Folios 35v and 36r of the Gellone Sacramentary, ca. 780 A.D., with the Masses of Thursday (from the middle of the Secret), Friday and Saturday of the third week of Lent, and most of that of Laetare Sunday. In the Mass of Saturday, which was later moved to Passion Thursday, the prayers given above are all the same except as those given above, for the Post-communion. (Bibliothèque nationale de France. Département des Manuscrits. Latin 12048)

Despite their extreme antiquity, and continual use since at least the mid-6th century, the Collect and Secret of this Mass were ejected from the post-Conciliar rite. Ideas such as “the dignity of human nature, wounded through self-indulgence”, “self-denial”, and “our weakness” cannot be presented to that most improbably chimeric of creatures, Modern Man™, simultaneously a mature adult who no longer needs to be coddled by his Holy Mother the Church, but too fragile to be confronted with “negative” thoughts, especially about himself. The Post-communion had long become part of the Ordo Missae, and is retained as such in the post-Conciliar rite, but not in its original role as a Post-communion, since Modern Man™, despite his assiduous attendance at the Lenten ferial Masses, will also immediately abandon the practice of the Faith if he hears the same prayer twice in a single day.

The prayer over the people appears in the Leonine and Gelasian Sacramentaries as a feature of many Masses (but not all), whereas in the Gregorian Sacramentary, the ancestor of the Missal of St Pius V, it is limited to the ferias of Lent. Flatly rejecting Sacrosanctum Concilium’s wish that “other elements which have suffered injury through accidents of history are now to be restored to the vigor which they had in the days of the holy Fathers”, the first creators of the post-Conciliar Missal simply suppressed it outright. Having realized the foolishness of this pointless impoverishment, the creators of the 2002 edition restored it ad libitum, and this specific example returned to its traditional place, though not without some typically cack-handed and unnecessary rewriting.

The Gospel, Luke 7, 36-50, tells of the anointing of Christ’s feet in the house of Simon the Pharisee by an unnamed woman, who later came to be identified as St Mary Magdalene, in part because she is mentioned immediately after this passage, in verse 8, 2. As noted yesterday, the antiphons of the Benedictus and Magnificat are not taken from the day’s Gospel, as they are on almost every other day of Lent. Instead, the former is taken from Matthew 26, 18, “The master saith, ‘My time is near at hand, with thee I keep the Pasch with my disciples.’ ”, and the latter from Luke 22, 15, “With desire I have desired to eat this Pasch with you, before I suffer.” This choice is not accidental. Both antiphons contain the word, “Pasch”, and cite words spoken by Christ Himself right before the Last Supper, one week before the day on which the Church commemorates it.

The Supper in the House of Simon the Pharisee, 1480-88, by a Spanish painter known as Maestro Bartolomé. (Public domain image from Wikimedia Commons.)

St Luke is the only one of the four Evangelists who does not record an anointing of the Lord’s feet by a woman right before His Passion; this episode occurs much earlier in his Gospel, when Jesus and His disciples are still in Galilee. (The versions of Matthew and Mark are included in their Passions, that of St John is read on Holy Monday.) The pairing of this Gospel with these antiphons brings into the context of the Passion Luke’s account, the only version in which Christ speaks to the woman herself, saying, “Thy sins are forgiven thee. … Thy faith hath saved thee, go in peace.” In the Passion itself, the same is said to all of mankind.

The historical events and cultural factors that originally determined the choice and arrangement of these texts have long since faded from common memory, but their final result still serves a beautiful purpose as Lent draws to a close. The Mass is permeated with the thought of the sinfulness of fallen Man, and his hope for redemption: in the Introit, “…we have sinned unto Thee… but… deal with us according to Thy great mercy”; in the Collect, “let the dignity of the human condition… be restored”; in the Epistle, “Confound us not, but deal with us according to Thy mildness”; in the Gospel, “Thy sins are forgiven thee.” In the Offertory, the Babylonian exile becomes a symbol of the worse exile of Man from Paradise, to which he longs to return; in the Communion, “…Thy word… in which Thou hast given me hope… hath consoled me in my low estate.”

Having made this last confession of sin, and profession of repentance and the hope for redemption, the Church turns its gaze to the Passion, in which the Lamb of God takes away the sins of the world.

The Anti-Iconoclast Mass of Passion Thursday

Today’s Divine Office contains an unusual feature: the antiphons of the Benedictus and Magnificat are not taken from the Gospel of the Mass (Luke 7, 36-50), as they are on nearly every other day of Lent. Instead, the former is taken from the Passion of St Matthew (26, 18), “The master saith, ‘My time is near at hand, with thee I keep the Pasch with my disciples.’ ”, and the latter from the Passion of St Luke (22, 15), “With desire I have desired to eat this Pasch with you, before I suffer.”

A page of the winter volume of the Codex Hartker, written at the monastery of St Gallen in Switzerland at the end of the 10th century, with the antiphons ‘Magister dicit’ and ‘Desiderio desideravi’ assigned to Passion Thursday at the bottom. (Stiftsbibliothek, Cod. Sang. 390, p. 169 – Antiphonarium officii, https://www.e-codices.unifr.ch/en/list/one/csg/0390; CC BY-NC 4.0)

The only two other days on which this happens are the Saturdays after Ash Wednesday and Passion Sunday, both of which were originally aliturgical days in the Roman Rite, on which no Mass was celebrated. This was also originally the custom on the Thursdays of Lent, which was changed by Pope St Gregory II (715-31), for reasons I have explained elsewhere. This is why in the Missal of St Pius V, the Masses of these Thursdays have no proper chant parts, borrowing their introits, graduals, offertories and communions from other Masses; the respect for the tradition codified by St Gregory the Great was such that it was deemed better not to add new pieces to the established repertoire. The two formerly aliturgical Saturdays, on the other hand, simply repeat the Gregorian propers from the previous day, indicating that their Masses were added by a different Pope.

The Mass of Passion Thursday, however, does have its own proper gradual, while the introit, offertory and communion all come from the same Mass, that of the 20th Sunday after Pentecost. This anomaly, coupled with the anomalous choice of antiphons noted above, suggests that the Mass of Passion Thursday was also added by a different Pope than Gregory II.

A further proof of this may be the choice of station for this day, at the church of St Apollinaris, close to the modern Piazza Navona. The first mention of this church is in the Liber Pontificalis’ account of the reign of Pope St Hadrian I (772-95), and several authorities believe that he was the one who built it, although the Liber Pontificalis does not say so explicitly; nor is there any indication that there was ever any other station for this day. If this is in fact the case, obviously, it cannot have been Gregory II who instituted the station.

The high altar and choir of the church of St Apollinaris in Rome; the church was completely rebuilt by the architect Fernando Fuga at the behest of Pope Benedict XIV, who consecrated it on April 21, 1748. Image from Wikimedia Commons by Pufui PcPifpef (no, I did not make that up), CC BY-SA 4.0.

Some of the same authorities (most important among them Mariano Armellini [1]) also claim that Pope Hadrian either built the church for a community of Eastern monks who had fled to Italy to escape the persecution of the iconoclast emperors of Byzantium, or installed such a community in the church shortly after building it. If this is also the case, it might well explain why the propers for the Mass were taken from the 20th Sunday after Pentecost.

The Introit is a broad but unmistakable citation from the long deuterocanonical section of Daniel 3 known as the Prayer of Azariah, which he delivers as the leader of the three Israelite boys thrown into the furnace by the Emperor Nebuchadnezzar for refusing to worship his statue.

“Omnia, quae fecisti nobis, Dómine, in vero judicio fecisti: quia peccávimus tibi, et mandátis tuis non oboedívimus: sed da gloriam nómini tuo, et fac nobiscum secundum multitúdinem misericordiae tuae.

All that Thou hast done to us, o Lord, thou hast done in true judgment; because we have sinned against Thee, and have not obeyed Thy commandments: but give glory to Thy name, and deal with us according to the multitude of Thy mercy.”

This episode takes place during the exile of the Jews in Babylon, which is mentioned also in the Offertory, Ps 136, 1.

“Super flúmina Babylónis illic sédimus et flévimus, dum recordarémur tui, Sion.

By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat and wept when we remembered thee, o Zion.”

A very nice polyphonic setting by Palestrina.

The choice of these texts may well reflect the exile of the iconodule Eastern monks who served in the church, as also the Epistle, which continues from the same Prayer of Azariah (vss. 34-45).

“In those days: Azariah prayed to the Lord, saying: ‘O Lord, our God, deliver us not up for ever, we beseech thee, for thy name’s sake, and abolish not thy covenant. And take not away thy mercy from us for the sake of Abraham thy beloved, and Isaac thy servant, and Israel thy holy one, to whom thou hast spoken, promising that thou wouldst multiply their seed as the stars of heaven, and as the sand that is on the seashore. For we, O Lord, are diminished more than any nation, and are brought low in all the earth this day for our sins. ... And now we follow thee with all our heart, and we fear thee, and seek thy face. Put us not to confusion, but deal with us according to thy meekness, and according to the multitude of thy mercies. And deliver us according to thy wonderful works, and give glory to thy name, O Lord: and let all them be confounded that show evils to thy servants, let them be confounded in all thy might, and let their strength be broken. And let them know that thou art the Lord, the only God, and glorious over all the world, o Lord, our God.’ ”

In such a context, the words “we… are diminished more than any nation” may refer to the vast territorial losses suffered by the Byzantine Empire at the hands of the Arabs while it was promoting its previous major official heresy, Monothelitism, when the ancient patriarchates of Alexandria, Antioch and Jerusalem all fell under Muslim dominion. The words “And now we... seek thy face” would refer to the theology of the iconodules, much of which turned around the question of whether the humanity of Christ could be depicted in art, and “let all them be confounded that show evils to thy servants” to the persecution which they underwent for opposing the then-current official heresy, during which the empire was continually besieged and suffered further, though less dramatic, losses. This heresy was officially condemned during the reign of Pope Hadrian at the Second Council of Nicea in 787, but not fully defeated; it was restored in the reigns of four emperors, beginning in 814, and only repudiated definitively in 847.

A further indication of this may also be found in the Gospel, Luke 7, 36-50, the famous episode in the house of Simon the Pharisee, in which the sinful woman, later traditionally identified as St Mary Magdalene, anoints Christ’s feet. When the Lord reproves Simon for thinking that if He were indeed a prophet, He would not allow the woman to touch Him, He says, “Osculum mihi non dedisti – Thou gavest me no kiss.” [2] The Greek word “proskuneo” and the Latin “adorare” both derive from words meaning “to kiss,” and much of the debate over iconoclasm centered on the contention that it was not right to offer “proskunesis – adoration” to the holy images. Therefore, Simon the Pharisee represents the iconoclasts who did not give the Lord proper adoration.

The Feast in the House of Simon the Pharisee, 1570, by Paolo Veronese; originally painted for the refectory of the Servite church in Venice, gifted by the Venetian Republic to King Louis XIV of France in 1664, and since then, kept in the Chateau of Versailles. (Public domain image from Wikimedia Commons; click to enlarge.)

This is confirmed by some early lectionaries that have a different Epistle on this day, Jeremiah 7, 1-7, which in the Missal of St Pius V is read on Thursday of the third week of Lent.

“In those days: The word of the Lord came to me, saying: Stand in the gate of the house of the Lord, and proclaim there this word, and say, ‘Hear ye the word of the Lord, all ye men of Juda, that enter in at these gates, to adore the Lord. … Trust not in lying words, saying, ‘The temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord, it is the temple of the Lord.’ … If you … shed not innocent blood in this place, … I will dwell with you in this place, in the land, which I gave to your fathers from the beginning and for evermore.”

The very first public episode of iconoclasm in Constantinople was the attempted removal of an image of Christ from above the gate of the imperial palace. The iconoclasts also came to reject the intercession of the Saints and the veneration of their relics; in this context, the “lying” words “The temple of the Lord, the temple of the Lord, it is the temple of the Lord” would therefore refer to the contention that these ancient practices detracted from the adoration due to God alone, and to the iconoclast habit of decorating their churches with plain crosses as the only acceptable religious symbol, a symbol “of the Lord.” “The temple of the Lord” becomes a “lying word” because the iconoclasts take it to mean “of the Lord, but NOT of the Saints.” “The shedding of innocent blood” would then here mean the many episodes of persecution by the iconoclast emperors, particularly Constantine V (741-75) [3], the emperor when St Hadrian was elected, whose reign rivals those of Henry VIII and Elizabeth I of England for shame and horror.

A mosaic with a bare cross, a motif admitted by the first iconoclasts, in the church of Holy Peace (Hagia Irene) in Constantinople, ca. 750. (Image from Wikimedia Commons by Nina Aldin Thune, CC BY-SA 3.0)

[1] Le Chiese di Roma, ed. 1891, p. 345

[2] In the Gospel, the word St Luke uses for “kiss” is “philēma”, which comes from a completely different root, but this distinction may well not have been though relevant to the context.

[3] He is traditionally given the epithet “Copronymus – dung-named” in Greek, in reference to a diaper accident that occurred at his baptism; this was taken by those who honored the sacred images as a presage of his impiety.