Pope Leo Restores An Ancient Tradition (From 42 Years Ago)

At the end of this month, our Holy Father Leo XIV will celebrate the feast of Ss Peter and Paul as Pope for the first time. Our readers have perhaps read that the custom will be restored by which during the celebration of Mass in St Peter’s basilica, the pope blesses the pallia which are to be given to those who have lately been made metropolitan archbishops, and personally imposes it on them. In 2015, this custom was changed so that the pope blessed the pallia, but they were imposed on the archbishops back home by the local nuncio. It is difficult to think why this was thought to be necessary, or some kind of improvement, and I think it is a good thing that Pope Leo has undone it. The pallium Mass had become quite a festive occasion in Rome, and many of the new archbishops would be accompanied by large pilgrim groups from their dioceses. It will be nice if these kinds of pilgrimages flourish again.

Pope Leo wearing the pallium during his inaugural Mass last month.

However, it bears remembering that the custom is itself very new, instituted by Pope St John Paul II in 1983. During the homily which he preached at the Mass on June 29 of that year, the pope himself referred to it as a new custom, saying, “During this celebration, this year there will take place the blessing and imposition of the pallia on some recently named archbishops.” I point this out because I have seen a few reports which refer to this as if it were an ancient custom, which it is not; and perhaps this will be useful as a reminder that all customs begin as novelties, and we should not shy away from the new simply because it is new.

As the Catholic Encyclopedia notes, the pallium was for a long time not conferred by the pope in person at all, unless the man to receive it was already a cardinal; much less was there any such special ceremony for it in Rome on the feast of Ss Peter and Paul, or any other feast. “The pallium is conferred in Rome by a cardinal-deacon, and outside of Rome by a bishop; in both cases the ceremony takes place after the celebration of Mass and the administration of the oath of allegiance.” Any archbishop, and some bishops who had the privilege of the pallium, could ask to receive their pallium during a private consistory in Rome, but they were not required to do so. And indeed, the Pontificale of Clement VIII has a special section on the pallium, (right after the consecration of a bishop), the rubrics of which presume that the ceremony is not taking place in Rome, but in the new archbishop’s cathedral. However, where it is more convenient, it may be done in some other church of his diocese, or even one outside his diocese, within the metropolitan province.

The ceremony in the Pontificale for the imposition of the pallium goes as follows. No blessing for it is given, since it is blessed by the pope who sends it. A solemn Mass is celebrated, and after the celebrant’s Communion, the pallium is laid on the altar, wrapped in a silk cloth. After the Mass, the bishop who is to impose it sits before the altar on a faldstool, with cope and miter, and in the name of the Apostolic See, receives the oath of fidelity from the new archbishop, who kneels before him vested as if for Mass, but without miter. (The text of the oath is quite long, and was clearly designed with the memory in mind of the less-than-edifying conduct of some archbishops of old...)

When the oath has been given, the bishop rises and lays it on the new archbishop’s shoulders, saying, “Unto the honor of almighty God, and of the blessed Virgin Mary, and of the blessed Apostles Peter and Paul, of our lord the Pope N., and of the Holy Roman Church, and also of the church of N. entrusted to thee, we hand over to thee the pallium taken from the body of the blessed Peter, in which (pallium) is the fullness of the pontifical office, together with the title of patriarch or archbishop; that thou may use it within thy church on certain days, which are set out in the privileges granted by the Apostolic See. In the name of the Fa✠ther, and of the ✠ Son, and of the Holy ✠ Spirit.” The bishop then withdraws to the epistle side of the altar, and the new archbishop gives the pontifical blessing.

The words “taken from the body of the blessed Peter” refer to the custom, which is indeed VERY ancient, that a pallium is a relic-by-contact from the tomb of St Peter. Within the wall right in front of the Apostle’s tomb is a niche with a silver casket in it, where they are kept until they are sent out. When St John Paul II instituted the custom of imposing them during the Mass of Ss Peter and Paul, it became customary to place the pallia in this casket the evening before, after First Vespers of the feast.

The niche of the pallium within the confessio of St Peter’s Basilica, photographed from upstairs. (Image from Wikimedia Commons by Tieum512, CC BY-SA 3.0.)

From an article published in 2017, the pallium of St Caesarius, archbishop of Arles (470-542; elected 502), sent to him by Pope Symmachus.

The Pontificale also contains several restrictions and requirements regarding the use of the pallium. An archbishop was not allowed to be called by the title Patriarch, Primate or Archbishop before receiving it, nor to consecrate another bishop, hold a synod, make chrism, dedicate a church, or perform ordinations. However, he could entrust these functions to another bishop, as long as he was not deliberately delaying the obtaining of his pallium. If a man were moved from one archbishopric to another, he was required to obtain a new pallium, and could not use his old one to perform these functions. An archbishop without a pallium was free to celebrate Mass, but the archiepiscopal cross could not be carried before him. The pallium was not to be used outside the archbishop’s own province, nor in processions, nor at Masses for the dead, but only on certain feasts, (as stated above in the words said when it was imposed), and it was mandatory that he be buried with it.

The following are the feast days when the pallium was to be used, listed in the Pontificale.

• Christmas
• St Stephen
• St John the Evangelist
• The Circumcision
• Epiphany
• Palm Sunday
• Holy Thursday
• Easter Sunday, Monday and Tuesday
• Low Sunday
• The Ascension
• Pentecost
• Corpus Christi
• The five major feasts of the Virgin Mary: the Purification, Annunciation, Assumption, Nativity and Immaculate Conception
• The Birth of St John the Baptist
• St Joseph
• All Saints
• The feasts of all the Apostles
• The principal feasts of the archbishop’s own church.
• At the dedications of churches, ordinations of the clergy, consecrations of bishops, abbots and virgins.
• The anniversary of the dedication of a church
• The anniversary of his own consecration.

The Twentieth Anniversary of the Death of Pope St John Paul II

Today marks the twentieth anniversary of the death of Pope St John Paul II, whose reign of almost 26½ years is the third longest in history, after those of St Peter (traditionally said to be 32 years, one less than Our Lord’s earthy life), and Blessed Pius IX (31 years and nearly 8 months.) In the days leading up to his funeral, roughly 4 million people came to Rome from all over the world to pay their respects; a friend of mine waited in line for 15 hours to enter St Peter’s basilica and pray at his casket. Rome is a city whose normal state is to teeter on the brink of complete logistic collapse, and yet somehow, it was able to welcome such a huge number of people without any real disruption. Very rightly did the city’s mayor at the time, Walter Veltroni, say, “In these days, Rome is writing one of the most beautiful pages in its history of more than 27 centuries.”

Here is some footage from the YouTube channel of the AP, which shows the official announcement of the Pope’s death to the crowds in the Piazza San Pietro, made by then-archbishop Leonardo Sandri (later created cardinal by Benedict XVI), followed by a press-conference announcement by Vatican spokesman Joaquin Navarro-Valls, then the ringing of the death knell, and various shots of the crowd with some interviews.

And here is CBS’s reportage of his election on October 16, 1978, including the famous first appearance on the balcony of St Peter’s, when he said, in reference to his ability to speak Italian, “If I make a mistake, you will correct me”, greatly endearing himself to the Romans, as their first non-Italian bishop in 455 years.

Painting the Nude: The Theology of the Body and Representation of Man in Christian Art

I am delighted to announce that Pontifex University Press is publishing my new book on the place of the nude in Christian art. With a foreword written by Dr Christopher Blum (of the Augustine Institute), Painting the Nude: The Theology of the Body and Representation of Man in Christian Art will be of interest to artists and non-artists alike. It contains a discussion on the place of the nude in the Christian tradition historically and what its place ought to be today.

In his writing on the human person and art, St John Paul II created a renewed interest among Catholics in the nude in art generally, and particularly in sacred art. His call for artists to represent the human form ‘naked without shame’ has given many artists the inspiration to paint nude figures in service of the Church, with varied results and, frankly, not all of them good.

The 10,000-word essay contained in this booklet compares his writings on the representation of the human form with the traditions of the Church in order to assess how artists and patrons ought to respond. I conclude that far from representing a new Catholic permissiveness (as some have interpreted), John Paul II is reaffirming a very traditional line.

The book is broken down into three sections:

REMOVING THE FIG LEAVES uses the case of the recent renovations of the Sistine Chapel, completed in 1994, as a starting point to examine how Christian art should portray nudity so as to avoid licentiousness on the one hand and to reveal the full beauty of a creature made by God on the other.

THE THREE TRADITIONS OF FIGURATIVE LITURGICAL ART looks at the ways in which the authentic liturgical traditions in Christian art, the iconographic style, the Gothic and the Baroque, have dealt with the dilemma in the past. These traditions each deviate from perfect realism and stylistically depict essential truths that are not always visible to the naked eye. It is the invisible truths that the artist chooses to reveal that distinguish one style from another. Given this, as I demonstrate, they are not all equally appropriate for portraying the nude.

THE PROBLEM OF THE NUDE MODEL guides Christian artists towards an understanding of their responsibility to avoid the occasion of sin while producing the art and learning to draw and paint in the studio.

Some people that Pope St John Paul II’s work shifted the balance from an outdated “prudishness” toward a genuine openness to the beauty of the human body. This is certainly true to some degree, but I argue this aspect has been exaggerated. His writings can not be understood apart from a deep awareness of the Christian artistic traditions of sacred art. In truth, his ideas are a fresh presentation of deeply a conservative approach — far from being radical and new, they reconnect us to centuries of authentic Christian anthropology and tradition, and breathe new life into the contemporary conversation around body, soul, and spirit.

In his foreword, Dr. Christopher Blum (Academic Dean and Professor of History and Philosophy at the Augustine Institute) writes:

In addressing the topic of the nude in sacred art, David Clayton has performed an act requiring considerable courage. The temper of our spirituality today is highly emotional, to say the least. We are quick to accuse earlier ages of Jansenism and slow to admit that the mortification of the senses has a permanent place in the Christian way of life. Moreover, our tastes have been permanently affected by more than one artistic revolution. Clayton’s reminder that Christian art has always had a much higher purpose, then, is a call that asks us to swim against a very strong tide. 

Clayton takes us on a journey of rediscovery, anchored in a careful reading of St. John Paul II. With his help, we can newly appreciate the essentially iconic nature of Christian sacred art. 

Deacon Keith Fournier, General Counsel Director of Diaconal Formation for the Diocese of Tyler, Texas, wrote the following review of this book: 

Between September 5, 1979 and November 28, 1984, Pope St. John Paul II delivered a series of 129 catechetical instructions called “Human Love in the Divine Plan”. It is popularly referred to as a “Theology of the Body”, a phrase the late Pope called a “working term.” The term has led to a minimization of the depth of the theological anthropology of the integrated human person as gift which the late Pope presented. The thought of the late Pope was not new; it is rooted in the Patristic Tradition and must be seen in a hermeneutic of continuity.

One of the problems arises from an oversimplification of this body of teaching in some popular presentations, and which presents the work as a break with the teaching of the Church on modesty, purity, chastity and the virtuous life – particularly as it relates to the depiction of the human body in art. This is incorrect and in this respect a disservice to the four years of teaching of this great Saint.

David Clayton has demonstrated a deep knowledge and understanding of Christian sacred art, and of the writings of John Paul II on both anthropology and art. In this book, Clayton provides us with a synthesis that places all within the context of the greater tradition of Catholic thinking on these topics and shows how, far from being a radical departure from it, the Theology of the Body is reinforcing a traditionally Christian and conservative approach to the nude in art.

Pope Appoints Commission to Study Matter Exhaustively Studied by Earlier Papal Commission

I suspect most of our readers have already seen elsewhere that the Holy See has announced the formation of a commission to study the question of women deacons. A member of Fr Zuhlsdorf’s commentariat has very cleverly pointed out a statement by the Holy Father himself to the effect that the surest way to make sure a question remains unresolved is to appoint a commission.

I noticed while Googling the matter that almost all of what is available on the internet about this matter relates either to the Pope’s original statement back in May that he would consider appointing such a commission (in the statement linked above), or to today’s announcement. Very few results come back with any reference to the International Theological Commission’s study of women deacons, which examined the question during the papacy of St John Paul II. Their report was published in 2002 after four years of work, “approved in forma specifica by unanimous vote of the Commission on 30th September 2002. It was then submitted to its President, Card. J. Ratzinger, Prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of Faith, who authorised its publication.” It is available here in English from the Vatican’s official website.

http://www.vatican.va/roman_curia/congregations/cfaith/cti_documents/rc_con_cfaith_pro_05072004_diaconate_en.html

Including the titles, foreword, introduction and footnotes, it clocks in at a bit over 42,000 words; this works out to about 85 single-spaced pages in the standard layout (Times New Roman, 12-point). The members of the new commission probably don’t have to worry about whether they can keep their day jobs, since a very large portion of their work has already been done for them. It is difficult to imagine that any significant historical documents or liturgical texts referring to women deacons in the ancient Church have been discovered since 2002.

I make bold to suggest to any fellow bloggers or Catholic journalists who may read this article that the existence of this earlier study really is essential information on the topic, and should be included in any future articles regarding what the Pope has done today and the work of the commission.

Why Offer God the Finest of Human Artistry?

In a book on the great contemporary composer Arvo Pärt, I recently read this inspiring passage:

Under Archbishop Laud (1589–1645) there was a strong move towards greater ceremonial dignity in the church. As the house of God it was to be fitted out accordingly with the finest of human artistry, and its functions were to be conducted in a spirit of deepest reverence. The liturgy, the music, the sacred vessels, the very fabric of the building, all were to serve and make manifest the beauty of holiness. This phrase, which we find invoked time and again both by writers of the period and, later, by historians, derives from Psalm 96: “O sing unto the Lord a new song… O worship the Lord in the beauty of holiness.” (Paul Hillier and Tõnu Tormis, On Pärt [Copenhagen: Edition Samfundet, 2005], p. 61)

Laud was Anglican, of course, but it is no more than ecumenical common sense to recognize that we Roman Catholics could learn a thing or two from his devout attitude. (Need I mention the sincere hope of many Roman Catholics that the Anglican Ordinariates, by modeling that Laudian attitude and approach, will become a force of renewal for the rest of us?)

Do we not need “greater ceremonial dignity in the church”? Why are our processions in church so slapdash, casual, and quick, almost as if we’re embarrassed to be engaged in divine worship? Why are there so few processions outside of church? We could certainly use “a spirit of deepest reverence” in conducting our services. Less of the informal greetings, smiles, and handshakes—more of the reverent fear of the Lord that brings us to our knees in homage to the great King of all the earth, begging for His mercy. We need music, vessels, and architecture that “make manifest the beauty of holiness.” (In particular, we’ve all heard music that seems neither beautiful nor holy; its mawkish sentimentality, circus-like tunes, predictably syncopated rhythms, and simpering lyrics are an appalling combination from which beauty must hide her fair head while holiness flees to the mountains to bewail her virginity.)

But why must we seek to do such laudable things? For one simple reason: because God, the greatest and best, deserves the greatest and best from us. And there is a corollary: we human beings, created in His image and likeness, need to be able to offer “the finest of human artistry” to Him, lifting up our minds and hearts by means of it. If only we knew ourselves, we would see that we have a longing to give the best of ourselves to Him, not what is mediocre, humdrum, worldly, or two-faced. Doesn't an artist who takes pride in his work want to give the best to his patron? Don't lovers with noble intentions long to give the best of themselves to one another? God has given us the ability and the calling to reach out to His transcendent holiness with works of beauty that carry us along with them, past the realm of the profane into the sanctuary of divinity. As St. Thomas says, we worship God not to give Him something He does not already have, but to bring ourselves closer to Him by yielding what we owe Him. In this way we draw nearer to His goodness and grow in likeness to Him.

This explanation will always hold true for all human beings at all times. But we can say something more specifically Catholic. The whole thrust of Catholic tradition and teaching on the dignity and beauty befitting the temple of God rests on the truth that the Body and Blood of Jesus, really present, are offered in sacrifice in this building, on this altar, enacted by these rituals, sung in this music. Whatsoever we do to the least of His symbols and ceremonies, prayers and chants, that we do unto Him. This is not so much a fearful vision of the danger of making mistakes as it is a joyful awareness of how many ways, little and great, He lavishes upon us to pay Him homage and to adore Him as well as we can. But it does remind us that we are dealing with the Lord of life and death, the Alpha and the Omega, the one who is, who was, and who is to come—and (to borrow from another Anglican) He is not a tame lion.

This is why it matters, crucially, what we are doing, what we are endeavoring to do, when we worship God in public prayer. If we have got quite the wrong idea about it, we may well do that which is seriously unfitting, unworthy, and displeasing to the Lord, whom it is our great privilege to serve and to please. If we follow the lead of the Church’s Tradition and the requirements or counsels of the Magisterium, we can be certain of giving glory to God and aiding, over time, the sanctification of His people.

I remember reading about the holy Curé of Ars, St. John Vianney, that he starved himself on potatoes, but spared no expense for the embellishment of the sanctuary. He knew, like Archbishop Laud, and like faithful Christians of every age, what came first and what came second. The same was true of St. Francis, pace the falsification of his legacy by hippies who groove on Nature rather than adoring the Blessed Sacrament. Indeed, Franciscan churches are some of the most beautiful in Europe, magnificently decorated—even those that were built in periods when the friars themselves were dirt-poor beggars who didn’t know where their next meal was coming from, except that the Lord would surely provide. They knew what came first; they knew that when it is God who is to be honored, the work calls forth everything in us, everything great and glorious we can muster, for His sake. This is why the Catholics of old never built cheap churches, if they could help it, and, at least on special occasions if not more often, brought together the best musical forces they could find, to provide the most glorious music they knew.

Let no excuses be made; it should not be any different for us. Take Americans: we are a wealthy and industrious country. If we had a proper religious formation combined with some education in virtue and nobility, the trite ditties of our hymnals would evaporate and our churches would be filled with music of artistic merit. We would insist that it happen; we would make it happen through personal sacrifices; we would absorb its fruits with gratitude as we let these heavenly harmonies penetrate and shape our very souls. The same would be true of the churches we build.

As is well known, Pope Benedict XVI offered theological support for this exultant and sacrificial attitude in his Apostolic Exhortation Sacramentum Caritatis as well as many other writings pre-papal and papal. No different was the message of John Paul II’s final encyclical, Ecclesia de Eucharistia, where we read:

Like the woman who anointed Jesus in Bethany, the Church has feared no “extravagance,” devoting the best of her resources to expressing her wonder and adoration before the unsurpassable gift of the Eucharist. No less than the first disciples charged with preparing the “large upper room,” she has felt the need, down the centuries and in her encounters with different cultures, to celebrate the Eucharist in a setting worthy of so great a mystery. … [T]he faith of the Church in the mystery of the Eucharist has found historical expression not only in the demand for an interior disposition of devotion, but also in outward forms meant to evoke and emphasize the grandeur of the event being celebrated. (Emphasis in original)

That the liturgy should be done with splendor and solemnity, in surroundings as magnificent as can be, evoking the transcendence, holiness, and glory of God, is not a “debatable question” but a plain given as far as Holy Mother Church is concerned. This is why she has always striven for and sponsored the finest of human artistry—and why the poor have always contributed to the building of churches of which they are rightfully proud. Such an unequivocal dedication to the sacred liturgy does not, of course, substitute for personal prayer, works of charity outside the church doors, or energetic efforts of evangelization. But neither can it be replaced by them; it serves as their final end, from which they derive their very meaning. Most simply, this is what we owe to God, and He comes first.

Albi Cathedral

(Image at the top used with permission of Corpus Christi Watershed.)

Benediction in Salzburg and the Vienna Philharmonic at Papal Mass

Here are some photographs of Benediction following Solemn Mass last Sunday at St Sebastian's Church in Salzburg. The celebrant was Fr Daniel Kretschmar F.S.S.P.

During the Mass, after the Elevation, the choir sang the Christmas hymn 'Christe redemptor omnium' which is surely one of the most beautiful melodies in the entire Gregorian repertory. The niche in the centre of the Altar revolves to one of three positions, exposing separately the Tabernacle, Crucifix or Monstrance. In these photos you can see the latter two 'settings'. Outside the church in its famous cemetery lie the remains of Mozart's widow Constanza (who remarried hence the name Nissen) and his father Leopold.

Continuing the Austrian theme, a reader has sent in a link to the video below of Pontifical Mass at St Peter's celebrated by Pope John Paul II on the Feast of SS Peter & Paul in 1985. The most incredible musical forces were assembled: the Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra and the Vienna Singverein, along with soloists Kathleen Battle, Trudeliese Schmidt, Ferruccio Furlanetto and Gosta Winbergh, conducted by the legendary Herbert von Karajan. They performed Mozart's Coronation Mass complete: Kyrie (3.32), Gloria (7.02), Credo (16.16), Sanctus (29.36), Agnus Dei (40.36) and also Mozart's 'Ave verum' (48.24). And not to be outdone, the Sistine Choir is on good form too, singing a beautiful rendition of Bartolucci's 'O sacrum convivium' after the dismissal (53.36) during which Pope John Paul goes over to thank the Austrian maestro (53.58). The Deacon chants the Gospel exquisitely too (12.17).