St Jean-Marie Vianney on the Real Presence

Since surveys on religious belief routinely indicate that most Catholics do not know or understand what the Church teaches about the Real Presence of Jesus Christ in the Eucharist, our bishops have instituted a program for a national Eucharistic revival. A very worthy endeavor, to be sure, and perhaps, if we heard more preaching like this, that would help to change things for the better. This excerpt is taken from the Little Catechism of St Jean-Marie Vianney, the Curé d’Ars, whose feast is kept today. (Pictured right: St Jean-Marie in a stained glass window in the church of St Germain, St Germain-les-Belles, France; image from Wikimedia Commons by Reinhardhauke, CC BY-SA 3.0)

Our Lord is hidden there, waiting for us to come and visit Him, and make our request to Him. See how good He is! He accommodates Himself to our weakness. In Heaven, where we shall be glorious and triumphant, we shall see him in all His glory. If He had presented Himself before us in that glory now, we should not have dared to approach Him; but He hides Himself, like a person in a prison, who might say to us, “You do not see me, but that is no matter; ask of me all you wish and I will grant it.” He is there in the Sacrament of His love, sighing and interceding incessantly with His Father for sinners. To what outrages does He not expose Himself, that He may remain in the midst of us! He is there to console us; and therefore we ought often to visit Him. How pleasing to Him is the short quarter of an hour that we steal from our occupations, from something of no use, to come and pray to Him, to visit Him, to console Him for all the outrages He receives! When He sees pure souls coming eagerly to Him, He smiles upon them. They come with that simplicity which pleases Him so much, to ask His pardon for all sinners, for the outrages of so many ungrateful men. What happiness do we not feel in the presence of God, when we find ourselves alone at His feet before the holy tabernacle! “Come, my soul, redouble your fervour; you are alone adoring your God. His eyes rest upon you alone.” This good Saviour is so full of love for us that He seeks us out everywhere.

Ah! if we had the eyes of angels with which to see Our Lord Jesus Christ, who is here present on this altar, and who is looking at us, how we should love Him! We should never more wish to part from Him. We should wish to remain always at His feet; it would be a foretaste of Heaven: all else would become insipid to us. But see, it is faith we lack. We are poor blind people; we have a mist before our eyes. Faith alone can dispel this mist. Soon, my children, when I shall hold Our Lord in my hands, when the good God blesses you, ask Him then to open the eyes of your heart; say to Him like the blind man of Jericho, “O Lord, make me see!” If you say to Him sincerely, “Make me see!” you will certainly obtain what you desire, because He wishes nothing but your happiness. He has His hands full of graces, seeking someone to distribute them to; Alas! and no one will have them. . . . Oh, indifference! Oh, ingratitude! My children, we are most unhappy that we do not understand these things! We shall understand them well one day; but it will then be too late!

Our Lord is there as a Victim; and a prayer that is very pleasing to God is to ask the Blessed Virgin to offer to the Eternal Father her Divine Son, all bleeding, all torn, for the conversion of sinners; it is the best prayer we can make, since, indeed, all prayers are made in the name and through the merits of Jesus Christ. ...

From our first Corpus Christi photopost of this year; Benediction at Blackfriars, the Dominican house at Oxford Univ., during a station held as part of the procession from the Oxford Oratory.

When we are before the Blessed Sacrament, instead of looking about, let us shut our eyes and our mouth; let us open our heart: our good God will open His; we shall go to Him, He will come to us, the one to ask, the other to receive; it will be like a breath from one to the other. What sweetness do we not find in forgetting ourselves in order to seek God! The saints lost sight of themselves that they might see nothing but God, and labor for Him alone; they forgot all created objects in order to find Him alone. This is the way to reach Heaven.

East-West Disagreements about the Epiclesis and Transubstantiation

Back in February, Hieromonk Enoch published an article entitled “Pre-Schism West Against the Scholastic View of Eucharistic Consecration.” The author weaves together a fabric of half-digested quotations from Western and Eastern authors to argue his claim that it was not the words of institution (Hoc est enim Corpus meum, Hic est enim calix sanguinis mei, etc.) but the Supplices te rogamus prayer that was seen by “pre-Schism” Latins as the prayer that effected the mystery of transubstantiation.

It is certainly true that the Eucharistic Prayer was understood in a more holistic sense by our predecessors who were not yet in the grips of what can be called “neoscholastic reductionism,” but it is certainly going too far to claim that granting a special status to the words of Christ spoken over the elements was a medieval scholastic development.

Ludwig Ott’s ever helpful Fundamentals of Catholic Dogma (I shall be referring to the revised edition from Baronius Press, with a corrected translation newly typeset) qualifies the following proposition as sententia certa: “The form of the Eucharist consists in Christ’s Words of institution, uttered at the Consecration” (416). He continues:

While the Greek-Orthodox Church wrongly placed the power of change either in the Epiclesis alone, following after the narrative of the institution, or in the connection of the words of institution with the Epiclesis (Confessio orth. I 107), the Catholic Church adheres firmly to the view that the priest consummates the transubstantiation solely by the uttering of the words of institution.

Ott then cites the Decretum pro Armenis of Florence and the parallel passage of Trent, and makes an argument from the Gospel narrative. He then cites testimonies from Tertullian (“He took bread…and made it into His Body, by speaking: ‘This is my Body,’” Adv. Marc. IV 40), St. Ambrose (“The words of Christ bring about this Sacrament,” De sacr. IV 4,14), and St. John Chrysostom (“The priest stands there and sets up the outward sign, while speaking these words; but the power and the grace are of God. ‘This is my body,’ he says. These words transmute the gifts,” De proditione Judae, Hom. I 6). Implicit testimonies are cited from St. Justin Martyr, St. Irenaeus, and Origen; St. John Damascene metnions both the words of institution and the Epiclesis (De fide orth. IV 13).

So, then, what are we to make of the Epiclesis? I find the next bit in Ott especially interesting:

In agreement with Cardinal Bessarion, the words of the Epiclesis are to be taken as referring to the time to which they are related, and not to the time at which they are spoken. That which happens in one single moment in the consecration is liturgically developed and explained in the subsequent words of the Epiclesis. It has only a declaratory, and no consecratory, significance. The view of H. Schell that the Greeks consecrate by the Epiclesis alone, and the Latins by the words of institution alone, must be rejected, since the substance of the Sacraments is not within the disposition of the Church. DH 3556. (417)

Cardinal Basilios Bessarion (1403-1472)

An enlightening discussion of this issue is found in Réginald Garrigou-Lagrange’s grand commentary on the Summa theologiae, much of which, sadly, has never been translated. For my students in Gaming, Austria, some time ago I produced a translation (available here) of interesting passages in De Eucharistia et Poenitentia. On Tertia Pars, question 78, we find this commentary:

It is clear that the questions that have arisen between Catholics and schismatics concerning the form of consecration and the epiclesis may only now be treated, the questions of the Real Presence and of transubstantiation being presupposed.
       To begin with, we have before our eyes definitions of the Church. The Church has declared that the form of this sacrament are the words of Christ, not the epiclesis (the subsequent prayer, as the Greeks call it). Cf. Denz. 414, 698, 715, 876, 938, 3043, 3035. [1] The Council of Florence (D. 698) says: “The form of this sacrament are the Savior’s words, with which he confected this sacrament; the priest then speaking in persona Christi, confects this sacrament. For by the power of those words the substance of bread is converted into the body of Christ, and the substance of wine into His blood.” ... The Council of Trent (D. 876) says: “By the force of the words [of consecration], the body of Christ is under the appearance of bread and the blood under the appearance of wine.” [See also D. 938 and 949.]
       Innocent IV, in the year 1254, concerning the Greek rite, declares: “The Greeks should be permitted to celebrate Masses at the hour which is according to their own custom, provided that they observe, in the confection or consecration, the very words expressed and handed down by the Lord” (D. 3043). In fact, Pius X, in the year 1910 (D. 3035), condemning doctrine recently defended, declares against certain errors of the Orientals: [in brief, consecration is effected by the words of consecration, not by the epiclesis, which is not strictly necessary]. Denziger notes here that many earlier popes have declared that the epiclesis is not required for consecration, namely Benedict XII (D. 532), Clement VI, Benedict XIII, Benedict XIV and Pius VII.
       From the fourteenth century on, schismatic Greeks say that the Eucharist is confected by the prayers which are poured out after the words “This is my body, This is my blood” have been pronounced, according to their liturgical prayers as follows: “We beseech you, Father, that you send Your spirit over us and over these gifts set before us, and make this bread the precious body of your Son and that which is in the chalice the precious blood of your Son.” To say that this prayer is necessary for consecration is to affirm that the Masses celebrated in the Roman Church are invalid and is, moreover, contrary to the declaration of the Council of Florence (D. 698 and 715). The chief proponents of this error were Cabasilas, Mark of Ephesus, and Simeon of Thessalonica, who were refuted by Cardinal Bessarion in his work De Eucharistia, as well as by Allatius and Arcudius. (Cf. Dict. Théol. Cath., s. v. «Epiclèse», P. Salaville.)

Then Garrigou-Lagrange proceeds to give an account of the liturgical meaning of the epiclesis:

There is a twofold explanation of the meaning of the epiclesis after the words of consecration.
       (1) One explanation is: When it is read after the consecration, as it now is [in the Greek rite], the epiclesis invokes the Holy Spirit, not to effect transubstantiation, which is already accomplished, that is, not so that the bread become the body of Christ, but that it may become this for us, namely, that it may profit the priest and the faithful, especially those who are going to receive communion. In this way speak Vasquez, Bellarmine, Suárez, de Lugo, Billuart, and among the recent authors, Billot. But this explanation does not seem literal enough [i.e., it doesn’t account for the seemingly obvious meaning of the prayer].
       (2) The second explanation, which is more common, was proposed by Cardinal Bessarion. The epiclesis invokes the Holy Spirit exactly inasmuch as the consecration, being a work ad extra, is common to the three divine Persons, and accordingly the Holy Spirit is invoked, so that, with the Father and the Son already having been invoked, He Himself [in unity with them] may bring about transubstantiation. Indeed, this transubstantiation is accomplished in an instant, by the words of consecration already pronounced; but because, by our human speech, all these things cannot be expressed in one and the same instant, “things which are completed in an instant are declared one after another.” In this way speak Bessarion, Bossuet, Ferraris, Cagin, Franzelin, Salaville.

Later, Garrigou notes that a similar principle is at work in the narrative of the Last Supper, where Jesus takes bread, blesses it, breaks it, and speaks the words: “narration is successive and announces words after facts, when really the words spoken are simultaneous with the facts.” [2]

These two theories, in spite of their superficial disagreement, help us to understand the “moment of consecration” in a non-reductionist sense. Even if there must be a moment after which the real Body or Blood of Our Lord is present and thus deserving of the worship of latreia, as we can extrapolate from the behavior of clergy in every traditional Eucharistic rite [3], nevertheless beings like ourselves, who live, think, and speak in time, must pray in such a way that our anaphoras (and our liturgies as a whole) draw out, step by step as it were, the meaning of mysteries that occur timelessly.

The reason why this kind of temporal disjunction happens is not hard to see. We humans can only speak of an instantaneous coming-to-be in language of change and therefore of measurable duration (consider all the troubles theologians have had to face when speaking of “creation ex nihilo”). Thus, every orthodox Christian liturgy speaks at length of the conversion of the gifts—it calls down the Spirit, recalls or repeats the institution, offers up the gifts to the heavenly Father, and so on (in different sequences for different rites)—but really, these things are occurring simultaneously. This we cannot express with our time-bound language.

This explains why traditional rites grow, over time, in their textual witness to the substance of what is happening: they grow in doctrinal precision, spiritual amplitude, poetic grandeur, and ascetical demands. It would be unworthy of the magnitude of the moment of consecration to treat it cheaply and to think that, having said “the magic words,” we’re pretty close to being done with what we have come to do. The attitude of a true believer is quite the opposite: so great is this moment that it must be surrounded by wall after wall of language, silence, chant, incense, gesture; it must be placed like a mighty jewel in the most exquisite setting; it must be approached by many steps, and these not always audaciously forward-moving, but sometimes circular, hesitant, reiterative.

Thus, so far from supporting a reductionist view of consecration, the position summarized by Garrigou-Lagrange works against it, and in favor of the fullness of expression one finds in the Greek tradition as well as in the undeformed Latin tradition.


NOTES

[1] These are not the most up-to-date Denzinger numbers; they would reflect the edition nearest 1948.

[2] We need not linger here over the issue of whether or not the traditional Roman Rite has or ever had an epiclesis, and whether its absence is anything of a defect. The debate has gone back and forth for a long time. Readers today are likely to encounter it in two authors: Martin Mosebach and Fr. John Hunwicke. Mosebach claims that the Veni Sanctificator of the Offertory is an epiclesis. Hunwicke, having noted that the Roman Canon predates the Macedonian controversy through which the epiclesis entered the Greek liturgy, argues that the Roman Canon rests on a theology of the Father’s omnipotent good pleasure sufficient to account for the transformation of the gifts when He is asked to do so in the Name of His beloved Son (see here for an NLM round-up).

[3] I defend this position in my article “On ‘Pinpointing’ Consecration: A Letter for the Feast of St. Thomas Aquinas.” I also defended this position in the hardest possible case, namely, for an anaphora that seems to lack the words of institution. See my article “Doing and Speaking in the Person of Christ: Eucharistic Form in the Anaphora of Addai and Mari,” Nova et Vetera 4 (2006): 313–79. Br. Ansgar Santogrossi has subjected my arguments to a welcome critique; some portions of this may be found here and here. I am not particularly wedded to a defense of this anaphora. My stated goal was simply to see if any way could be found, on the basis of principles of Thomistic sacramental theology, to explain how transubstantiation might be efficaciously signified and recognized without the words of institution.

Visit Dr. Kwasniewski’s website, SoundCloud page, and YouTube channel.

Brian Holdsworth on Unbelief in the Real Presence

The Catholic internet has seen a good number of articles in the last several days about a recent Pew Research Center Poll, which shows that only a quarter of Catholics under the age of 40 believe in Transubstantiation and the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist. As is his wont, Brian Holdsworth has come up with (for my money) the best commentary on the matter thus far. He very rightly points that this is not primarily a problem of catechesis, and this is not the kind of problem that one resolves intellectually, because the reality of Christ’s presence in the Mass is not something which we experience primarily in an intellectual way. The greatest obstacle to presenting what the Church teaches about the Mass and the Eucharist is our low standards for the celebration of the liturgy, in which we actually experience these realities. If you surround the Real Presence with ugly, banal and commonplace architecture, decorations and especially music, you are sending the message, whether you mean to or not, that this is not really God Himself present in our midst. Watch the whole thing, it is well worth your time, and if you have the opportunity, share it with your pastor, bishop, youth ministry coordinator etc. Kudos once again, Mr Holdsworth!

St Jean-Marie Vianney on the Real Presence

A new survey on religious beliefs from the Pew Research Center indicates that only a quarter of Catholic under 40 in the United States believe in the Real Presence of Jesus Christ in the Eucharist. Perhaps if they heard more preaching like this, that would change for the better; this is from the Little Catechism of St Jean-Marie Vianney, the Curé d’Ars, whose feast is kept today in the Extraordinary Form. (pictured right: St Jean-Marie in a stained glass window in the church of St Germain, St Germain-les-Belles, France; image from Wikimedia Commons by Reinhardhauke, CC BY-SA 3.0)

Our Lord is hidden there, waiting for us to come and visit Him, and make our request to Him. See how good He is! He accommodates Himself to our weakness. In Heaven, where we shall be glorious and triumphant, we shall see him in all His glory. If He had presented Himself before us in that glory now, we should not have dared to approach Him; but He hides Himself, like a person in a prison, who might say to us, “You do not see me, but that is no matter; ask of me all you wish and I will grant it.” He is there in the Sacrament of His love, sighing and interceding incessantly with His Father for sinners. To what outrages does He not expose Himself, that He may remain in the midst of us! He is there to console us; and therefore we ought often to visit Him. How pleasing to Him is the short quarter of an hour that we steal from our occupations, from something of no use, to come and pray to Him, to visit Him, to console Him for all the outrages He receives! When He sees pure souls coming eagerly to Him, He smiles upon them. They come with that simplicity which pleases Him so much, to ask His pardon for all sinners, for the outrages of so many ungrateful men. What happiness do we not feel in the presence of God, when we find ourselves alone at His feet before the holy tabernacle! “Come, my soul, redouble your fervour; you are alone adoring your God. His eyes rest upon you alone.” This good Saviour is so full of love for us that He seeks us out everywhere.

Ah! if we had the eyes of angels with which to see Our Lord Jesus Christ, who is here present on this altar, and who is looking at us, how we should love Him! We should never more wish to part from Him. We should wish to remain always at His feet; it would be a foretaste of Heaven: all else would become insipid to us. But see, it is faith we lack. We are poor blind people; we have a mist before our eyes. Faith alone can dispel this mist. Soon, my children, when I shall hold Our Lord in my hands, when the good God blesses you, ask Him then to open the eyes of your heart; say to Him like the blind man of Jericho, “O Lord, make me see!” If you say to Him sincerely, “Make me see!” you will certainly obtain what you desire, because He wishes nothing but your happiness. He has His hands full of graces, seeking someone to distribute them to; Alas! and no one will have them. . . . Oh, indifference! Oh, ingratitude! My children, we are most unhappy that we do not understand these things! We shall understand them well one day; but it will then be too late!

Our Lord is there as a Victim; and a prayer that is very pleasing to God is to ask the Blessed Virgin to offer to the Eternal Father her Divine Son, all bleeding, all torn, for the conversion of sinners; it is the best prayer we can make, since, indeed, all prayers are made in the name and through the merits of Jesus Christ. ...

From our first Corpus Christi photopost of this year, the station during the Corpus Christi procession at the church of the Nativity of the Virgin Mary in La Londe les Maures France. (Courtesy of the Fraternity of St Joseph the Guardian.)

When we are before the Blessed Sacrament, instead of looking about, let us shut our eyes and our mouth; let us open our heart: our good God will open His; we shall go to Him, He will come to us, the one to ask, the other to receive; it will be like a breath from one to the other. What sweetness do we not find in forgetting ourselves in order to seek God! The saints lost sight of themselves that they might see nothing but God, and labor for Him alone; they forgot all created objects in order to find Him alone. This is the way to reach Heaven.

St. Francis of Assisi: Eucharistic Mystic and Reformer

Although we are still a little ways out from the better-known of the two feasts of St. Francis, namely, the one that falls on October 4 (the day after he died), I would like to continue reflecting on the saint of Assisi in connection with last week's article about his stigmatization in 1224.

My fellow NLM contributor, Fr. Augustine Thompson, O.P., is well known for Francis of Assisi: A New Biography, which a broad spectrum of people (including those who assign books to Franciscans in formation) now consider the definitive biography of the saint in all of his personal complexity, zeal, idealism, and contradictions, set within the fraught context of his age.

One of the most striking elements of this biography is the author’s insistence that the dominant theme in Francis’ spirituality is not poverty or service to the poor, but devotion to the Mass and to the Body of Christ. One of Francis’ few writings is a letter to priests rebuking them for using dirty or unworthy items in the Mass, and his mature letters on the spiritual life also rotate around the Eucharist and the Mass.

For those who have not yet had a chance to read the biography, I will quote the passages that demonstrate this point well, gathering them in one convenient place.

Within a year of his return to Assisi, Francis composed his first extant letter. Something had triggered his decision to go to France, where the Eucharist was venerated properly, and now he was unable to go. Instead, he dispatched this letter, the first of his two “Letters to the Clergy.” Its language is heated, pained, and almost frantic in tone. In it he includes himself among the clergy, a good indication that he had already been ordained to the deaconate. What motivates him is the same passion that sent him on the road to France: his love of the Eucharist. He is outraged at the “great sin and ignorance some have toward the most holy Body and Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ and his most holy names and words that consecrate his Body.” How that sin expressed itself, and its remedy, he made clear: “Let all those who administer such most holy mysteries, especially those who administer them illicitly, consider how very dirty are the chalices, corporals, and altar linens, on which his Body and Blood are sacrificed. It is placed in many dirty places, carried about unbecomingly, and ministered to others without care. Even his written names and words are at times left to be trampled under foot.” Francis directs that the Host be kept in a “precious place” and locked up, and that scraps of parchment with the words of scripture or the name of God be collected and put in suitable places. Those receiving his letter are to clean their altar linen and polish their chalices without delay.
          This theme reappeared regularly in Francis’s writing, but seldom with such passion and anger. Francis returned to the theme of reverence for the Eucharist in other writings about this time. His “First Admonition,” even if influenced by the mystical understanding of the Mass found in Cistercian writers as some suggest, is authentically Francis’s own. For him, the change of the elements from bread and wine to Christ’s Body and Blood was like the Incarnation. Christ gives himself to those viewing the Host or receiving communion as literally as he allowed himself to be seen and touched by the apostles. By this giving, he is with believers until the end of the age. The locus of Francis’s “mysticism,” his belief that he could have direct contact with God, was in the Mass, not in nature or even in service to the poor. 
          Thus his harsh words for those who ignored the Eucharistic presence are unique: he never used such language about peace breakers or those who oppressed the downtrodden, deeply as those sins pained him. Francis always preferred to speak by actions and gestures rather than words: he expressed his reverence for churches by sweeping and cleaning them. In response to clerical failure to keep the Host in honorable containers, Francis once tried to have his friars bring precious pyxes to all the regions where they were active. He asked that these be used to reserve the Host when other decent containers were lacking. One can imagine the effect of Francis’s poor followers, with their miserable habits, presenting silver pyxes to parish clergy for the reservation of the Sacrament. (Kindle ed., pp. 60–61)

Again:

In his “Letter to the Clergy,” Francis spoke warmly of reverence for priests as well as for the Blessed Sacrament. He demonstrated his devotion by kissing the hands of any priest he met: consecrated with sacred chrism, they handled the Host. For the Host itself Francis practiced acts of reverence that, although not uncommon in France, were just becoming popular in Italy. He begged the brothers who met a priest on horseback, especially one carrying the Blessed Sacrament, to kiss the horse’s hooves rather than wait for the priest to dismount.  (p. 62)

Again:

Beyond its rubrical concerns, Francis’s first letter gives a window into his developing spirituality. His earlier piety had focused on praying before the Crucifix, repairing or cleaning churches, and reverence for priests. All involved symbolic or mystical manifestations of the Crucified Lord: churches as the place where God chose to dwell, and priests because they have the power to draw Christ down from heaven during Mass.
          Francis’s piety has now focused on God’s most tangible manifestation in the world: the Host itself. Francis was developing an ever greater sense that God is present to Christians in the Sacrament, and that it was to be reverenced above all other presences. In both the Host and Christ’s words, the work of Calvary is delivered to the believer. The Host is Christ’s real Body, the same one that suffered and died for us. The sacred words that especially concerned Francis are those used in the canon of the Mass and found in the Last Supper narratives of the New Testament. These record his action of offering himself to his disciples “on the night before he suffered.”
          Modern observers find Francis’s growing concern about the writing on scraps of parchment somewhat embarrassing or perplexing. Even pious Christians today have lost this sense of the concrete divine presence. In the thirteenth century, however, this attitude was not some oddity that Francis had picked up from Jewish or Muslim practice. For Christians of his age, the words of scripture were not merely didactic reminders of past events or moral norms. As divine words, they were a locus of power. Merely pronouncing them, as when the bishop read the beginning of the four Gospels toward the city gates facing the four points of the compass during springtime Rogation processions, put demonic powers to flight. When used by Brother Silvester over the city of Arezzo, the divine words could, by their very power, end civil strife.
          Now, when Francis began to chant from the book of Gospels as a deacon, he himself proclaimed and enacted the words of power. A perplexed brother once asked Francis about his practice of collecting such scraps of parchment, and he replied: “Son, I do this because they have the letters that compose the glorious name of the Lord God, and the good that is found there does not belong to the pagans nor to any human being, but to God alone, to whom every good thing belongs.” This identification between names and the realities they signify was not only a commonplace in medieval sensibility; it spoke to Francis’s profound sense of God’s presence in the concrete here and now, and in the most commonplace of things and events.
          For a layman like Francis, only marginally able to write, letters themselves were mysterious and somehow sacred: friars knew well that when Francis made a mistake in writing, he let it stand, rather than “killing the letter” by crossing it out. Before, as a simple cleric singing the Office, he had chanted the psalms of David; now, as a deacon, he read the very words of Christ. At Solemn Mass, he did so facing north—the direction of darkness and, for medieval minds, paganism, and thus putting both to flight. That certain clerics treated these powerful and holy texts with disrespect outraged Francis’s acute spiritual sense. To leave sacred books on the floor or in dishonorable places was, in its own way, as sacrilegious as the desecration of the Host.
          Ever more intensely, Francis associated his own experience before the Cross, his transforming encounter with the lepers, and the divine commission to live the Gospel perfectly with the immediate, unmediated presence of Christ given to each Christian in Word and Sacrament. (pp. 62–63)

Again:

Not satisfied with writing to priests, Francis also wrote a circular letter to the local superiors in his order, the custodians. In it he made them directly responsible for ensuring that Franciscan communities properly reverenced the Eucharist and had worthy vessels and appointments for Mass. Typical of his unwillingness to place himself (or his brothers) in a position superior to priests, he instructed the custodians, who would often be lay brothers, to “humbly beg the clergy to revere above all else the most Holy Body and Blood of our Lord Jesus Christ.” 
          In addition, he returned to a theme first mentioned in the letter to priests from before his departure for the East. He begged recipients to pick up and keep in a place of reverence any piece of parchment on which was written one of the holy names of God (Lord, Jesus, Holy Spirit, etc.) or the words of institution (“This is my Body”; “This is the chalice of my Blood”) used in the consecration at Mass. Here cooperation of the clergy was not needed; any friar could show reverence to the holy words.
          Writing as much to nonordained brothers as to priests, Francis expressed in this letter his own spiritual preferences, without concern for clerical tradition. Instead of Pope Honorius III’s bow, Francis insisted: “In every sermon you give, remind people about penance and that no one can be saved unless he receives the most holy Body and Blood of the Lord. When it is sacrificed on the altar by a priest and carried anywhere, let all peoples praise, glorify and honor on bended knee the Lord God, living and true.” This instruction on sermons, whether by ordained or unordained brothers, shows his determination to encourage the more dramatic and humbling act of kneeling before the Sacrament in place of the older bow. 
          Francis was himself a leader in this new lay style of prayer and reverence. He considered this message so important that within the year he wrote again to the custodians, reminding them of the instructions in his first letter and again reminding them to preach reverence for the Sacrament, whether this was in the piazza before people or in sermons before “podestas, consuls, or other rulers.” That he wrote twice on this topic to those in the best position to make his will known is a window into the founder’s frame of mind at this time.
          We have from Francis one other message written in 1220, an appeal to the very rulers to whom his friars were to preach repentance and devotion to the Eucharist. Addressed “to the podestas, consuls, and other rulers” of cities, the letter is short and stern, a reminder of death and judgment: Reflect and see that the day of death is approaching. With all possible respect, therefore, I beg you not to forget the Lord because of the world’s cares and preoccupations and not to turn away from his commandments, for those who leave him in oblivion and turn away from his commandments are cursed and will be left in oblivion by him. When the day of death does come, everything they have will be taken from them. The wiser and more powerful they were in the world, the greater will be the punishment they will endure in Hell. He then turned to his favorite topic in this period, the Eucharist, writing that “therefore” they should receive communion with fervor and foster honor to the Lord among those they rule. “If you do not do this, know that, on the day of judgment, you must render an account before the Lord your God, Jesus Christ.”  (pp. 83–84)

Again:

He writes: “We must be Catholics. We ought to visit churches frequently and venerate clerics, and revere them, not so much for their own sake, for they may be sinners, but on account of their office and administration of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ, which they sacrifice on the altar and receive and minister to others.” The logic, or better poetic associations, in Francis’s thought have taken us full circle. The subordination of the Christian to the Church makes sense only because Christ has chosen to use its clergy, sinners as they are, to make his own self-emptying present to the world through the Mass. To participate worthily in this is, for Francis, what it means “to love God above all things.” (p. 87)

Lastly:

His retreat and return are the background to the “Letter to the Entire Order,” which was, in a way, Francis’s public farewell address. The Latin is carefully crafted, although colloquial enough to suggest it is Francis’s own work, not much revised by his secretaries.
          After a formal greeting in which he kisses the feet of the brothers, Francis arrives at his issues and concerns. The first concern would be familiar to anyone who has read his other letters. All possible reverence is to be had for the Body and Blood of the Lord, and priests who celebrate Mass are to do so with the utmost care. In treating the celebration of Mass, Francis’s tone is urgent, indeed harsh and peremptory. Like the priests of the Old Law who violated the laws of temple sacrifice, priests of the New Covenant who celebrate unworthily are damned and cursed. He elaborates on the priestly office in a long section, extolling its dignity and the exalted nature of the priestly calling. Although not a major theme in early letters, Francis’s well-known reverence for the clergy is reflected in his words. In his final words to his followers, the issue he found most pressing was not poverty, not obedience, but proper reverence for the Eucharist. (pp. 119–20)

The issue he found most pressing was not poverty, not obedience, but proper reverence for the Eucharist. Not immigration, starvation, dehydration, disease, global warming, ecology, or endangered species (unless it be the endangered species of bread and wine unworthily treated); not faux obedience to apostolic exhortations, brain-fever fervorinos, or councils of cardinals; but proper reverence for the Lord in His true Body and Blood, expressed through the careful and devout offering of the Mass, the most worthy vessels and vestments one can supply, signs of adoring love, and an unyielding insistence on penance and renunciation of sin prior to communion. This is what St. Francis believed in; this is what he stood for; this is what his order was meant to believe, say, and do.

So, the next time someone tries to invoke Pope Francis on you to downplay the importance of liturgy, you might want to tell them about the real Francis who apparently inspired the pope with his choice of name. The saint was radically different from the modern sentimentalized and romanticized proto-hippie and peacenik. In fact, it is no exaggeration to say that this poor deacon who started the single greatest popular religious movement in the history of the Church would not recognize many of his twentieth-century followers as having anything to do with him, his religion, or his priorities—and the same might be said of others who have taken his name upon themselves, but for the wrong reasons.

Hippie Francis... step aside.

Even hipper Francis... definitely step aside.

Bishop Athanasius Schneider’s Sermon in Winnipeg for Corpus Christi

As announced previously at NLM, The Society of St. Dominic sponsored a visit of Bishop Athanasius Schneider to the city of Winnipeg for two Pontifical Masses and a ceremony at which the Regina Sacratissimi Rosarii award was presented to His Excellency in gratitude for his clear articulation and courageous defense of the Catholic Faith. Bishop Schneider graciously gave NLM permission to publish his sermons for both days. Today we will publish the sermon for the Feast of Corpus Christi; tomorrow will be published the sermon from the previous day.

“Heaven is Being Opened”: On the Most Holy Eucharist

Sermon of H. E. Bishop Athanasius Schneider

St. Anthony of Padua Catholic Church, Winnipeg, Manitoba

May 31, 2018

Dear brothers and sisters! Our Lord Jesus Christ said: «I am with you always, even unto the end of the world» (Mt 28:20). Jesus remained with us in the sacraments, particularly in the sacrament of the Eucharist.

Jesus sent the Holy Spirit who stays always with us. The Holy Spirit, the third Person of the Most Holy Trinity, dwells in those souls who live in the state of grace. The Holy Spirit lives always in the Church, because the Church is the Mystical Body of Christ. The Holy Spirit is the soul of the Church. The soul gives life to the body and to each of its parts. When the souls departs from the body, the body becomes dead, without life. This applies also to the Church. The Church cannot live without the Holy Spirit. The Church cannot move without the Holy Spirit. All good and holy deeds in the Church are accomplished with the help of the Holy Spirit.

Which is the greatest, the most important, the most indispensable act, which the Church could accomplish? This act is the celebration of the Holy Mass. And why? Because the Holy Mass is really and substantially the sacrifice of Christ on the Cross. It is the same and identical sacrifice which Jesus offered upon the Cross for the salvation and the eternal redemption of humankind. On the Cross, Jesus accomplished the most sublime act of the adoration of the Father, of the whole Holy Trinity, offering as the High Priest the sacrifice of His body and of His blood. He did this through the Holy Spirit (cf. Heb 9:14), with the power of the eternal Flame, Who is the Holy Spirit and Who burned always in the soul of Jesus. The sacrifice of the Cross, offered through the power of the Holy Spirit, is really and actually present in all its substance and in all its effects in the celebration of the Holy Mass.

Jesus, our High Priest, offers His sacrifice continuously—that means without interruption—through His priests. The human priest is the living instrument of Christ. The human priest was made a true priest by the power of the Holy Spirit. The human priest offers in the celebration of the Mass, also through the power of the Holy Spirit, the immense and divine sacrifice of Christ. The sacrifice of Christ is to such an extent great, that it can not be limited in the tight frame of time and space. The sacrifice of Christ is infinite and eternal. Whenever Holy Mass is celebrated, heaven is being opened, and Jesus Christ, our Eternal High Priest, is present with His immolated body, with His blood poured out, with His merciful Heart where without interruption burns the flame of the act of His total surrender to the Father for the salvation of men. Hence, in the Mass we are gazing spiritually at the living Christ with His wounds, His luminous and radiant wounds like divine diamonds. The mystery of the Holy Mass shows us the truth that Jesus Christ is our High Priest «ever living to make intercession for us» (Heb 7:25).

In each Holy Mass heaven is being opened, and with our spiritual eyes we see the immense glory of God, we see with the eyes of our soul the immolated and living Lamb, before Whom all the Angels and Saints in heaven prostrate themselves, falling down on their faces, adoring and glorifying Christ the Lamb with joyful and awed love. When the priest offers the sacrifice of Mass in the moment of the consecration and elevation of the living and immolated body of Christ, the heavens are truly being opened. What should we do in these sublime moments? We too should fall down on our knees, offering to our Savior the affects of our love, of our contrition, and of our gratitude, pronouncing in the depth of our heart maybe such words as: «Jesus, Son of the Living God, have mercy on me, a poor sinner», or «My Lord and my God, I believe!», or «My God and my All».

And then, this Eucharistic Body of Christ, filled with the immense divine glory and with His radiant wounds, is being carried by the consecrated hands of the priest in order to be delivered to our souls as divine food in the moment of Holy Communion. And what we shall do in this moment? Without any doubt, we should greet our Lord in the same manner as did the apostle Saint Thomas, who fell down upon his knees professing: «My Lord and my God!».

Saint Peter Julian Eymard said: “Has Jesus not a right to still greater honors in His Sacrament, since He multiplies His sacrifices therein and abases Himself more? To Him the solemn honors, the magnificence, the richness, the beauty of worship! God regulated Mosaic worship in its minutest details, and it was only a symbol. The worship and honors paid to Jesus Christ are the measure of the faith of a people. Let honor therefore be given to Jesus Eucharistic. He is worthy of it; He has a right to it” (The Real Presence. Eucharistic Meditations).

The form of the Holy Mass which we celebrate today is the form which had been celebrated even in its details during more than a thousand years. All our ancestors, almost all Saints whom we know from the second millennium—as, for example, Saint Francis, Saint Anthony of Padua, Saint Ignatius of Loyola, Saint John Mary Vianney, Saint Therese of Child Jesus, Saint Padre Pio, the young Saints: Saint Maria Goretti, Saint Francisco and Jacinta of Fatima—all of them were drawing their spiritual strength from this immemorial liturgy of the Eucharistic Sacrifice.

This form of the liturgy is therefore very ancient and venerable, it is the form which expresses the constant liturgical tradition of the Church. It should therefore not be called the “extraordinary form” of the Mass, but the “more ancient and constant form” of the Mass. The Church makes it available to us in our days. In this way we can feel as one and the same big family, which embraces Christian generations of more than a millennium. This represents for us a moving fact, which fills us with gratitude and joy. We not only have the same faith, we can as well pray and glorify God in the same liturgical manner, which has been valid and which had been loved by our ancestors. «Jesus Christ is same yesterday, today and forever» (Heb 13:8).

Come, O Holy Spirit, and make our faith unshakeable, so that we may not allow ourselves to be confused in our holy convictions by anyone. Come, O Holy Spirit and kindle in our soul the flame of a deep and awed love for the Eucharistic Sacrifice and the Eucharistic Body of our Savior Jesus Christ. Lord Jesus, stay always with us with your Holy Sacrifice and with your Eucharistic Body. The Eucharist is our true sun, our true life, our true happiness, our paradise already here on earth. Amen.

Photo courtesy of Jsenftphotography‎.

“The Fingers that Hold God”: The Priestly Benefits of ‘Liturgical Digits’: Historical, Theological, and Liturgical Conclusions

In this last part of the series (links to parts 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5), I would like to offer some thoughts that emerge from reflecting on the nineteen priests’ responses to my questions.

According to Jungmann, the custom of holding finger and thumb together arose in the Middle Ages, about the eleventh century, when

we begin to find, hand in hand with an increased care for everything connected with the Sacrament, the first signs of a new attitude. According to the Cluniac Customary, written about 1068 by the monk Bernhard, the priest at the consecration should hold the host quattuor primis digitis ad hoc ipsum ablutis. After the consecration, even when praying with outstretched arms, some priests began to hold those fingers which had “touched” the Lord’s Body, pressed together; others even began this at the ablution of the fingers at the offertory. In one form or another the idea soon became a general rule.[1]

Jungmann also notes that the increased theological attention paid to the Real Presence from the eleventh century onwards, particularly in response to the heresy of Berengarius of Tours (d. 1088) who reduced the Eucharist to a symbol of the Lord’s Body and Blood, prompted ever greater care:

Here [in clerical circles], in any case, and especially in the monasteries, the greatest care was from this time on devoted to the forms with which the Sacrament was surrounded; prescriptions about the choice and preparation of the materials, the custom of keeping the fingers together which—after a special cleansing [at the Lavabo]—had touched the Sacrament, the detailed rules for the ablution of the fingers and of the vessels after Communion.[2]

It is unquestionably true that the gradual rise in devotion to and theological understanding of the Most Blessed Sacrament spontaneously and organically prompted the development of all the many “forms with which the Sacrament was surrounded,” the customs that promoted due care and reverence for this most awesome mystery. The holding together of the thumb and finger is exactly what we would expect to find in a rite in which the priest really believes he is handling the very Body and Blood of God Incarnate, from the moment he begins to handle it until the moment he has washed his fingers in wine and water, restoring them, so to speak, to ordinary use.[3]

What, then, should we say about the almost flippant abolition of this practice on May 4, 1967? In the Second Instruction on the Orderly Carrying Out of the Constitution on the Liturgy Tres Abhinc Annos, published by the Sacred Congregation of Rites, we read (alongside dozens of other deformations of the rite of Mass): “After the Consecration, the celebrant need not join thumb and forefinger; should any particle of the host have remained on his fingers, he rubs his fingers together over the paten”[4]—with no explanation as to why a custom of at least 800 years’ standing should be discontinued. Humanly speaking, the 1967 “simplification” probably resulted from the general spirit of antinomianism among the liturgical reformers, animated as they were by a false conception of “simplicity” and “naturalness.”

If we take seriously the responses of the surveyed priests, and if we trust common sense, the Church’s faith in the Real Presence is objectively demonstrated and subjectively sustained by just such practices as these. It follows that the desire to abolish this custom, and the actual abolition and cessation thereof, has as its root cause the loss of faith in transubstantiation and the Real Presence. The custom’s absence has become one more factor that supports a culture of unbelief in these mysteries, even as its unexpected reappearance—not only in the usus antiquior, where it remains obligatory, but in the usus recentior, where it is making a comeback—has the opposite effect of heightening the priest’s awareness of the awesome mysteries he, though unworthy, is handling in persona Christi. 

A lex orandi that would strip away this and analogous customs (the many kissings of the altar, the many genuflections) is nothing other than a falsification and a denigration of the faith of the Church as it unfolded under the guidance of the Holy Spirit (cf. Jn 16:13), promoted by the dupes of fallen angels and wearing away the faith of the clergy and the people as acid rain wears away great monuments of art and architecture.

Fr. John Hunwicke reminded us that we have seen such anti-rubrical, anti-Catholic antics before:

After the regime of Edward Tudor had imposed the First Prayer Book upon the suffering clergy and people of England, the tyrants discovered that the clergy were assimilating the service as closely as possible to the Sarum Mass. So draft Articles of Visitation ordered “For a uniformity, that no minister do counterfeit the popish mass, as to kiss the Lord’s table; washing his fingers at every time in the communion; blessing his eyes with the paten, or sudary; or crossing his head with the paten; shifting of the book from one place to another; laying down and licking the chalice of the communion; holding up his fingers, hands, or thumbs, joined towards his temples; breathing upon the the bread or chalice; showing the sacrament openly before the distribution of the communion; ringing of sacrying bells; or setting any light upon the Lord’s board...”.[5]

In general, the Church over the centuries adds to the liturgy prayers, chants, and ceremonies expressive of the sacred mysteries. She does not take away deeply-planted, obviously meaningful legitimate customs; she does not deprive God of the reasonable homage owed to Him.[6] The holding together of the fingers from the consecration to the ablutions is not only a practice that should be kept, but one whose abolition should be protested and resisted by any who still believe in the de fide Eucharistic dogma of the Council of Trent. That such resistance did not occur widely in 1967 is a sign of the lobotomizing effects of neo-hyperultramontanism, where any command, however irrational and impious, is accepted “under obedience.”

* * *

The rubric of holding thumb and forefinger together is not what might be called a “major” rubric. It is probably not noticed by many of the faithful, especially in churches where the high altar is some distance away. Anyone familiar with liturgy could cite numerous other rubrics that seem to be more intrinsic to the Mass or more central to its devout celebration. Nevertheless, our series has vindicated the custom as a simultaneously practical, mnemonic, and symbolic gesture:

• It is practical because it prevents loss of sacramental particles and avoids the careless handling of other objects with the same fingers that have held and hold the species of bread. 
• It is mnemonic in the sense that the slight awkwardness of it, coupled with the fact that fingers are never held together like this at any other time or for any other reason, prompts the priest to have a heightened alertness as to what he is doing. 
• It is symbolic in that it makes of the joined thumb and finger a sign of the One before whom the priest stands—a sign given by the Church who decreed the rubric; a sign of reverence offered to Christ Himself, the Eternal High Priest, whose instrument the ministerial priest is; a sign given by the priest to other ministers around him and to any of the faithful who happen to notice; a sign of the coherence and consistency of the lex orandi.

The priest respondents (for whom we offer God our thanks) help us to see the value of every rubric, including the “little” ones, for cultivating and preserving a sense of awe, awareness, carefulness, priestly identity, doctrinal consistency, in everything that pertains to the handling of the Most Blessed Sacrament—the handling of the very Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, under the appearances of bread and wine, present wherever those appearances may be.

In the spiritual life, nothing little is merely little—no more than a fertilized egg is less human or more dispensable than a newborn baby or a fully-grown man. As I argued in the lecture I gave last summer at Silverstream Priory, “Liturgical Obedience, the Imitation of Christ, and the Seductions of Autonomy,” the salutary discipline of the liturgy, at once ascetical and mystical, consists in its demand that the practioner of it deny himself, take up the cross of ceremonial, textual, and musical obedience, and follow the Lord in the path His Bride has traced out in black and red letters—black of self-abnegating ashes, red of self-surrendering blood. “Do the red, say the black” translates spiritually into “Pour out the blood of your time, your energy,  your life, into the Church’s rites; become ashes to your self-will.” A genuine liturgy submerges the individuality of the celebrant in a manner of acting and suffering that belongs more properly to another than to himself; he serves as an instrument in the hands of the master—an intelligent instrument, to be sure, but one that uses its intelligence precisely to submit, to adore, to adhere, and to protect what has been given.

In the book In Sinu Jesu, which has nourished the prayer life of so many priests (may it do so for many more!), there is a striking passage in which Our Lord speaks to the monk about rubrics. These words seem particularly germane to “minor” rubrics, which are more easily neglected—or, sadly and scandalously, even abolished by “reformers” acting on utilitarian and minimalist principles.

The loss of faith that afflicts so many souls is incompatible with a life of adoration. Souls do not stop adoring because they have lost their faith; they lose their faith because they have stopped adoring Me. This is why I would have you hold fast even to the outward forms of adoration. When even these things are cast aside, there is nothing left to invite the soul to the inward adoration in spirit and in truth by which I am glorified. I speak here of the genuflection, the prostration, the profound bow and all the other marks of attention to My presence that provide the soul with a language in which she can express her faith and her desire to adore Me.
          Again, it is for this reason that I call My priests to learn and to practice faithfully the humble rubrics of the sacred liturgy. They are not important in themselves, but they are important in that they contain and express all the sentiments towards Me and towards My sacrifice with which I have endowed My Bride, the Church. One who dispenses himself easily from such practices is guilty of a sin of pride that opens the door of the soul to the cold and hostile winds that would extinguish the flame of faith within.
          Show yourself humble and obedient to My Church, and invite your brother priests to the same joyful fidelity, even in little things. I will reward them with an increase of faith, of hope, and of charity, and reveal to them the mysteries that My Father and I hide from those who think themselves learned and clever according to the world.[7]

NOTES

[1] Joseph A. Jungmann, S.J., The Mass of the Roman Rite: Its Origins and Development, trans. Francis A. Brunner (Notre Dame: Christian Classics, n.d.), 2:205. And: “Durandus enjoins that thumb and forefinger may be parted after the consecration only quando oportet hostiam tangi vel signa fieri,” that is, for either handling the host or making signs of the cross (ibid., n. 21).

[2] Ibid., 1:119.

[3] The objection that Byzantine clergy do not observe this custom is quite beside the point. They do not have the ‘canonical digits’ in the Western mode, but they are very careful about particles. One often sees the priests lick their hands and fingers to make sure that nothing is lost or dropped. The care with which I have watched Ruthenian, Ukrainian, and Romanian clergy handling the Sacrament and cleansing vessels and fingers is thoroughly edifying and far in excess of what one sees in all too many Roman Catholic settings.

[4] http://divinumofficium.com/www/horas/Help/Rubrics/TresAbhinc.html; see n. 12.

[5] I asssume the last is a reference to the Sanctus candle. For the quotation, see http://liturgicalnotes.blogspot.com/2017/07/cardinal-sarah-and-ordinariate-rite.html. Are we not seeing again today both “suffering clergy…assimilating the service [viz., the Novus Ordo] as closely as possible to the [Vetus Ordo],” and the ever-growing opposition to this Ratzingerian trend on the part of the old guard who stand for Law and Order—of a reductive modern sort?

[6] Even if there were practices of which people had lost the original understanding, it makes more sense to keep them and invest them with a new meaning, as the great medieval allegorical commentators on the liturgy did. This is the true spirit of receptivity rather than the Promethean spirit of revisionism.

[7] In Sinu Jesu: The Journal of a Priest at Prayer (Kettering, OH: Angelico Press, 2016), 87–88.

“The Fingers that Hold God”: The Priestly Benefits of ‘Liturgical Digits’ (Part 5)

Today, we come to the final question of the survey, when the responding priests address whether and to what extent laity have noticed this custom and what bearing it might have on those observing the Mass. (Links to earlier parts: part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4.) On Thursday, I will conclude the series with some philosophical and theological reflections.

Young people notice things...

QUESTION 5. Lay Observation and Piety

In your pastoral experience, has any layman ever commented on or asked about the holding-together of the fingers? Do you think it is noticed and has any bearing on the piety of the laity?

Fr. A.P.

I don’t recall anyone commenting on it. But all of the gestures in the usus antiquior are noticed by the laity, particularly children. This gesture, and the many other prescribed gestures, help the laity to foster reverence and devotion in their own bearing and prayers at Mass.

Fr. B.H.

I can’t remember lay people commenting on it one way or the other. But I do remember a liberal priest retreat master at a retreat for other priests some 25 years ago who ridiculed and excoriated the practice! He said (in these or similar words), ”Thank goodness we’ve now gotten rid of that artificial, prissy, unnatural-looking practice of holding our fingers together after the consecration!”  He was very big on insisting that the priest’s gestures manner of celebrating should look “natural” and “spontaneous” to the congregation.

Fr. B.J.

       On the occasions when I have been able to maintain custody of the digits in the Novus Ordo (e.g., because I did not have to handle several other vessels besides, before purification), no one has commented to me specifically on that. However, for all of the negative feedback I have gotten at times about how I “do the dishes,” I have also gotten some very beautiful feedback from lay people who have noticed the care that I take in the purification of the sacred vessels. There ARE people in the pew, even at your garden-variety Novus Ordo, who “get it,” and they ARE edified when things are done right.
       I have been intending for some time to produce a series of YouTube videos with principles of purification for the Novus Ordo (taking into account the different shapes of modern vessels, such as the “communion cups,” how to handle purificators, how to handle multiple vessels, etc.), but I have not had the time to act on this desire. It is sorely needed and I have a lot of ideas about what needs to be communicated. Maintaining custody of the digits is just the tip of the iceberg. Reception of communion in the hand is also sort of a symptom of a larger problem. Systemic disrespect for the Holy Eucharist is very widespread and extends from Bishops who absolutely should know better (but apparently do not) to very well-meaning Extraordinary Ministers of Holy Communion, and it is a great mystery to me how our Lord tolerates such grievous outrages for so long—with really only two or three Bishops (Schneider, Laisé, and to a certain extent, Morlino) ever speaking publicly about any of it! Lord have mercy!

Fr. D.C.

A few pious people have commented on it, saying they noticed it and were happy to see it.  Some youth have asked me about it “question and answer sessions” during Religious Education, which provides a great opportunity for catechesis about the Real Presence.  Not a single person has ever complained. 

Fr. D.F.

As I noted in response to Question 3, I do not ordinarily hold my fingers together during public celebrations of the Ordinary Form. Nevertheless, my answer to this question is yes. On several occasions (between five and ten), a layman has mentioned to me that he has noticed the way I hold my fingers together when turning pages, holding the chalice, etc. Sometimes, the person has raised the matter in the form of a question, curious as to why I do this. Most of the time, however, it has been mentioned in a spirit of gratitude, thanking me for a reverent ars celebrandi. I have not yet experienced anyone making reference to my practice in a pejorative fashion.

Fr. D.N.

When I was doing the Novus Ordo with liturgical digits, I got questions, but I don’t think the answers made any sense to the laity, considering crumbs of Our Lord’s body would be all over the place anyway. Hence, when I finally realized my answers to them were not in harmony with systematic protection of Our Lord’s body, I decided that I could only do the TLM. This is what I have done for the past four years, even as a priest in good standing with two dioceses.

Fr. E.W.

Occasionally, laypersons have asked me about the practice when I have used it in the more recent use. I can say from my own experience that seeing a certain priest for whom I served as altar-boy in my youth follow this practice in the usus recentior helped to foster wonder at the Real Presence in my soul.

Fr. E.P.

It has been noticed by others (even though I am rightly oriented at the altar) and has aroused curiosity, leading me to explain the purpose of it. The reaction to this explanation was always one of wonder at the great reverence for the holy Sacrament the Church expected to be shown by her priests. In the early days of my priesthood when sharing the sign of peace was expected of me (or so I thought), I would first wipe my fingers on the corporal (as is the practice for the TLM before the Consecration) in order to avoid any desecration of the Lord’s Body.

Fr. J.F.

I have never had a layman ask me about the practice, but I have talked about it in homilies trying to instill a greater awareness of the Real Presence.

Fr. J.K.

No one has ever commented on the way I hold my hands after the consecration. There have been many comments on the increased reverence in the celebration of the Mass, however. I have even heard some liberals comment that there is increased reverence and silence because of some of the initiatives I have offered at the Mass. These initiatives in the liturgy also were accompanied by preaching on the Mass as well as preaching on contraception, same-sex “marriage” and abortion. It is the combination of all of the above which caused the visceral anger among the liberal, heterodox crowd that caused my removal from my previous parish.

Fr. J.S.

Yes and yes. But for a full effect on the piety of the laity it is necessary to adapt a form of administering communion that is consonant with the finger-holding-action of the priest. So: communion on the tongue—preferably while kneeling. Otherwise it is a nice talking point from which to develop catechesis, but no more and not very effectively so because the reverence thereby shown by the priest is somewhat subverted by him distributing communion in the hand. This discrepancy I know from pastoral experience.

Fr. J.M.

No to the first part. The more observant will have noticed, but I’m afraid nowadays with such a range of shenanigans commonplace in liturgy worldwide and most priests making their own adaptations to the rubrics of the NO, I think a priest would have to dance on the actual altar (not just in the sanctuary) before people would think something odd is happening here!

Fr. J.B.

Not that I can distinctly recall. However, I have mostly done it in contexts where it is at least an already-known practice. My feeling, at least in my area of Austria, is that to the extent it is noticed, it may confirm laity in their eucharistic piety, but taken as an individual practice, doesn’t have much force to alter this piety; e.g., few who habitually receive in the hand (and with little reverence) would rethink their own practice or show greater reverence as a result of this practice by the priest. However, I believe that, as part of an overall renewal of liturgical practice accompanied by catechesis, it does play a role.
       Though I have limited experience as a priest in the USA, I suspect this observation of mine would generally apply much more to traditionally Catholic regions, as Austria and Italy, than to the USA.

Fr. M.K.

I suppose that ‘clerical’ religious women of a certain age will notice it and harrumph. Ordinary layfolk take it in stride as something quite normal and seemly.

Fr. M.C.

Of course. People regularly ask what we are doing there. And they understand the reasons for doing this. Some faithful even intuitively understand the reasons. Or more exactly: They ask why we are doing so, but then comment that they already felt “something different” in the priest's attitude towards celebrating the Mass.

Fr. M.B.

Many people have asked me why I hold thumb and forefinger together and I explain the general thinking of the practice.  I am unsure if it has any real bearing on the piety of the laity attending Mass.

Fr. P.M.

To date, no one has said anything to me regarding my fingers and thumbs together during part of the Eucharistic Prayer. But I must say this: this action has most definitely been recognized inasmuch as those who serve as Extraordinary Ministers of Holy Communion now have mimicked me, even handing me the ciborium at the altar with thumb and finger together and returning to the Credence table for their ablution. Without my ever having said anything, they now have a heightened awareness that their hands should touch nothing until after they have been purified!

Fr. T.K.

A layman, no, but a religious Sister once asked me the reason for the practice. It is noticed, to be sure, but I cannot say whether it has deepened the Eucharistic piety of the faithful.

Fr. W.S.

An old nun, who had not attended the Mass of Tradition since her childhood, remarked approvingly on the gesture, stating that she remembered being puzzled by it as a child.

ADDENDUM

A priest reading this series contacted me to share a marvelous story from his own life. He gave me permission to publish it in honor of his father.

I would like to offer my own thoughts about the use of canonical digits. My father was an Episcopal priest and he always observed this custom since his understanding of the Eucharist was clearly Catholic. I grew up seeing him up close, and how carefully and lovingly he handled the "elements." He once told me that there were two things which could provide the measure of how good a priest was: first how carefully he did the ablutions, and second, how available he was to shut-ins and the dying for the sacraments. He used to say that the most devout of his parishioners were those who came to the spoken Eucharist early each Sunday (which had no sermon in those days! Imagine: Protestants who went to church just for the Eucharist and not for a sermon: that is how strong the Catholic sense remained in some people, even after centuries).
       When I was ordained, it never occurred to me to celebrate the new Mass without observing the digitis clausis tradition. It was natural and instinctive. And when my abbot asked me about it I explained that it was because of what I had seen my father do. The abbot said that he had been intending to tell me to stop, since this gesture is not prescribed in the new missal, but that given my reason, he would let me continue! Later I noticed that Paul VI, even when celebrating the new Mass, always kept his index and thumb together after the consecration. It is practically impossible to find images of this on the internet, but it would be great to find some, so that everyone may know that even in the practice of the legislator who promulgated the new Missal this ancient practice was perfectly fine.
       If we had all done what we had seen our fathers in the faith do, everything would be fine!

“The Fingers that Hold God”: The Priestly Benefits of ‘Liturgical Digits’ (Part 4)

Continuing with our survey of priests (previous installments: part 1 / part 2 / part 3), today we take up the question of how this comparatively minor but, as we have seen, valuable and much appreciated practice fits into the larger whole of the liturgy.

QUESTION 4. The “Ethos” or Spirit of the Liturgy

In your mind, how does this practice fit into the overall “ethos” or spirit of the classical Roman liturgy?

Fr. A.P.

The classical Roman liturgy constantly emphasizes that one is taking part in the holiest act on earth: the renewal of the Holy Sacrifice of Calvary in an un-bloody fashion upon the altar. As such, this practice serves as a reminder and sign that my other movements, and the movements of my heart, should be particularly reverent from the consecration until the ablutions.

Fr. B.H.

I see it as one more example of greater reverence for and emphasis on the Real Presence in the traditional rite. But for me it is less important than other gestures like the double genuflections for the consecrations, facing 'East', the silent canon, and more signs of the cross and kissings of the altar.

Fr. B.J.

Because of the care I take in purifying sacred vessels, I have been accused many times of being “scrupulous” in how I “do the dishes” (this level of flippancy from the mouths of people in the pews is a sad commentary on where we are at today). Yet I would maintain that the detailed instructions and received tradition for purification in the usus antiquior are a safeguard against scrupulosity: if you have followed the instructions, you know that you have purified the vessels according to the mind of the Church, which is to say, in a way that reflects Church teaching concerning the Real Presence. Whereas for a priest whose only experience is with the usus recentior, the total lack of serious guidance about how to handle purification opens him to a wide range of possibilities, from a total lack of scrupulosity (and therefore sloppiness) to a scrupulosity fed by the fact that his faith tells him one thing but he must figure out on his own how to accomplish it and wonder if he has done it right. (The highly imprudent instruction in the GIRM about how one is to use the purificator to wipe the particles from the paten would only feed this sense of scrupulosity, since the sincere priest would then fret about particles that might get stuck on the purificator and then possibly fall to the floor afterwards when transporting it to the sacristy. How this instruction made it into the GIRM is beyond me, considering that the usus antiquior requires the thumb to be used, since the thumb can then be rinsed in the ablutions.) I really could launch into a separate “storytime” on this topic from here, but will curtail this and conclude by saying that the practice of maintaining custody of the canonical digits between the consecration and the purification is perfectly harmonious with the overall ethos of the classical liturgy.

Fr. D.C.

This practice perfectly fits into the overall “ethos” of the classical Roman Liturgy in that it is what we have done for centuries. Not only that, but it speaks to the utter awesomeness of the presence of Christ in the Eucharist. It also speaks to our doctrine regarding the Eucharist in that if we really believe that Jesus is indeed present in every particle of the Sacred Species, then we will go to great lengths to protect every particle of the Sacred Species. Celebrating Mass, and distributing Holy Communion using communion patens, it is clear to me that many, many particles fall from the Sacred Hosts, and also cling to my fingers. These particles, if we believe that they are actually Jesus Himself, must be protected from profanation or indifference. Keeping “canonical digits” is one way of protecting the Sacred Species. An anecdote could be helpful here: one time a priest who I would not describe as “traditional” visited my parish and helped distribute Holy Communion. We use communion patens and after Mass he shared how surprised he was to see so many particles of the Eucharist on the paten. He went home, and instituted the use of communion patens. This illustrates just how important things like keeping ones fingers together after touching the Sacred Host are. If so many particles fall from the Sacred Host at Holy Communion, they also, no doubt, stick to our fingers. To keep those particles that stick to our fingers from falling to the ground, being walked on, or vacuumed up by the cleaning lady, we should keep “canonical digits.”

Fr. D.F.

There is some truth to the description of the Roman liturgy as “practical.” In this sense, the practice of the priest holding his fingers closed is quite fitting, as it is a very practical conclusion of the Church’s belief in the Real Presence. 

Fr. D.N.

Liturgical digits gel with the ethos of the Roman Liturgy because everything is well-ordered. There is no need for creativity to reverence the body of Christ, to effect a sacrifice, to even know which foot to step up the altar first with (the right foot, of course). I once read a priest on an online forum write how unnatural all of this sounded to him. Within my first year of switching from the new Mass to the old Mass, however, I was astonished to find how natural all of this was. In other words, the Traditional Latin Mass is one single movement of reverence to God with no real breaks. The holding of the fingers is so clearly a part of this worship and reverence.

Fr. E.W.

It fits with an ethos that shows reverence for the awesome mystery of the Real Presence through formalization.

Fr. E.P.

Someone has written that he attributes the loss of priestly discipline of life to negligence in the observance of the rubrics of the missal. Our Lord’s authority for caring about such “little” things may be invoked: “He who is faithful in a very little is faithful also in much” (Lk. 16:10).
       There is an act prior to the Consecration that merits mention, too: the wiping of the two fingers of each hand on the corporal. This is a miniature cleansing rite (if that’s not too strong an expression) which, along with the washing of hands before Mass and then again at the Lavabo, is expressive of the purity to be sought by the priest before he will hold the Lord’s Body in his fingers.
       The ablution in the chalice of the fingers following Communion should also be noted. There is a rubric somewhere (or perhaps just a comment by a rubricist) to the effect that in the ablution of the fingers after Communion any other part of the hand that may inadvertently have touched the Host should also be purified.

Fr. J.F.

It is part and parcel of the the Traditional Rite and should be mandated in the Modern Rite. Too many priests treat the sacred particles as if they were bread crumbs. The practice of the canonical fingers ties in with the whole celebration of Mass. If a priest incorporates this practice into the new Mass, it can’t be stand alone. It must be part of a greater “cross pollination” of both forms of the Roman Rite.

Fr. J.K.

The act of holding together thumb and forefinger from the consecration until the ablutions is just one action among many in the traditional Roman rite. But the more I can conform myself to the rite, the more I pray I may conform myself to Christ. I believe that the more reverence that I can show in the ars celebrandi, the more reverence might be called forth from the congregation. In my experience, this has been the case. Some loved it, some hated it, and some did not even notice it.

Fr. J.S.

It is consonant with it.

Fr. J.M.

By expressing greater awe and reverence for sacred realities it is quintessentially Roman. The high and fearsome reverence of the words of the Roman Canon are mirrored in corresponding rubrics such as the canonical digits.

Fr. J.B.

The practice fits in well with, and can support the overall atmosphere of worship of the awesome mystery, the “one thing necessary,” that pervades the traditional Roman rite.

Fr. M.K.

It is wholly expressive of it.

Fr. M.C.

It is a strong sign of reverence for the precious species of the Eucharist, and in this way it fits perfectly with all the other ritual actions in the forma extraordinaria. I’m wondering why all priests do not do it this way spontaneously.

Fr. M.B.

It fits in very well since the liturgy should instruct on the nature of the Eucharist and protect the Eucharist from falling on the floor and the like.

Fr. P.M.

The action most definitely speaks our appreciation of Transubstantiation and the Real Presence of our Lord in the Eucharist.

Fr. T.K.

The practice is of a piece with the reverential and devotional spirit of the classical Roman liturgy, which takes the greatest care to safeguard the Blessed Sacrament from profanation.

Fr. W.S.

Yes, the ancient rite is coherently logical, from the principles of divine revelation to the minutiae of gestures.

Archbishop Alexander K. Sample offers the usus antiquior