The Gospels of the Epiphany (Part 3)

The introit of the Third Sunday after Epiphany begins with the same words as another antiphon from the Matins of that feast, “Adore God, all ye His Angels.” The reference to Epiphany is even more explicit in the Gradual, taken from the one-hundred-and-first psalm, “The nations will fear thy name, o Lord, and all the kings of the earth Thy glory.”

On the previous Sunday, the Church reads of the first miracle occurring in the Gospel of St John; on this Sunday are read the first two miracles in the Gospel of St Matthew (8, 1-13), namely, the healing of a leper, and of the servant of the centurion of Capharnaum. The Roman centurion, when asking for the cure of his gravely ill and beloved servant, declares himself the inferior of a provincial carpenter, unworthy to receive Him into his home. This Gospel is therefore not simply the story of a miracle, but also of the nations’ confession of the divinity of Christ; even the might of the Roman Empire humbles itself before Him, as the Magi did at His birth. The story of the centurion is one of the very few that is used more than once in the temporal cycle of readings, being also the Gospel of the Thursday after Ash Wednesday. In the liturgical rite which originated in Rome, and is now celebrated in every corner of the world, his confession of faith in Christ has been part of the rite of Holy Communion for many centuries.

Christ and the Centurion, by Paolo Veronese, ca. 1571

The remaining Sundays of the season after Epiphany have their own prayers and Scriptural readings, but their Gregorian antiphons are repeated from this third Sunday. On the fourth Sunday, the last which can occur before the Christmas season ends on the Purification, the Gospel recounts yet another manifestation of Christ, the calming of the waters of the Sea of Galilee. (Matt. 8, 23-27) Up to this point in St Matthew’s Gospel, the miracles he recounts have all been healings; this is the first miracle of dominion over inanimate creation. This Gospel was perhaps also chosen as a vague reminiscence of the Office of the Epiphany, in which the antiphon of the Benedicite reads, “Seas and rivers, bless the Lord, sing to the Lord a hymn, o fountains, alleluja.” The last two Sundays after Epiphany always fall after the Christmas season ends on February 2nd, and the Gospels chosen for them are no longer manifestations of Christ, but parables.

At most of the Masses associated with the Epiphany, (the vigil, the feast, the two Sundays after the feast), the text of the Communion antiphon is taken from the Gospel. On the third Sunday, however, it is taken from a Gospel text that is not read at all in the Missal of St Pius V. In the Tridentine missal, the ferial days of most seasons have no proper Scriptural readings, but simply repeat those of the previous Sunday, a custom well-established in Rome long before Trent. Many medieval missals, on the other hand, including those of Sarum, Liège and most of the churches of the German Empire, preserve an older custom of the Roman Rite, whereby proper readings were assigned to the Wednesdays and Fridays throughout the year. The story from St Luke’s Gospel of Christ in the synagogue at Capharnaum, (4, 14-22), is assigned by the very oldest surviving Roman lectionary, the seventh-century Wurzburg manuscript, to an unspecified day after the Sunday of the wedding at Cana. After Christ reads a passage from the book of Isaiah, He declares the words of the prophet to be fulfilled in by His coming to Israel; it is the Lord Himself who manifests to the world the true meaning of the words of sacred Scripture. This Gospel’s former presence in the corpus of Mass-lessons is the origin of the Communion antiphon which is sung until Septuagesima Sunday arrives; “All wondered at these things which proceeded from the mouth of God.”

The ancient lectionaries and medieval missals add a number of other Gospel episodes to the season, such as the arrival of Christ in Galilee (Matt. 4, 12-17), and several of the early healings performed by Him. The miraculous multiplication of the loaves and fishes, and the feeding of the five-thousand is also occasionally counted as part of the Epiphany story. The Ambrosian liturgy’s Epiphany hymn Illuminans altissime devotes three strophes to this event, more than it gives to the coming of the Magi, the Baptism of Christ or the Wedding at Cana; then, curiously no further reference to it is made until the Fifth Sunday after the Epiphany, when it is read from the Gospel of St Luke (9, 10-17). The same hymn is sung in the Mozarabic Rite, whose preface of the feast also dwells at length upon the event, but the Gospel itself is never read in the Epiphany season. The Wurzburg lectionary assigns the story to be read twice in the seventh week after Epiphany, first from St Mark and then from St Matthew, but these readings are not in the eighth-century Murbach lectionary, or the medieval missals.

The Crucifixion, by Ottaviano Nelli (1421-24), from the chapel of the Palazzo Trinci in Foligno, Italy; Blessed James of Voragine, who was archbishop of Genoa, Italy from 1292 until his death in 1298 or 99, is the bishop on the left. (Photograph by Georges Jansoone from Wikimedia Commons; CC BY-SA 4.0)

Blessed James of Voragine, the author of the much maligned (and unjustly so) Golden Legend, says that the feast commemorates four miracles, and, citing the authority of the Venerable Bede and of the aforementioned hymn, notes that the feast was also called Phagiphania, from the Greek word for eating. He also notes, with some of the critical spirit he is habitually attacked for lacking, “but concerning this fourth miracle, it is doubted whether it happened on this day, both because this is not read in the original text of Bede, and because it is said in the sixth chapter of John, where this miracle is dealt with, ‘Easter was nigh.’ ” (Legenda aurea cap. 14)

Sicard of Cremona agrees in rejecting this tradition as “not authentic”, and it is very likely that the prominent position of the story on Laetare Sunday is the reason why it was early on removed from the Epiphany season. As the church of Milan sings in an antiphon of Epiphany Matins, “Thou alone hast wrought many wonders, o Lord God,” and some must be saved for the rest of the Church’s year.

The Gospels of the Epiphany (Part 2)

As with the other solemnities of the Lord, the Sunday within the octave of the Epiphany has its own proper Mass, which begins with the introit In excelso throno; the Gospel of this Mass is that of the finding of the twelve-year old Jesus among the doctors in the temple. (St Luke 2, 42-52) The only canonical episode of the hidden years of Christ’s life has been an object of devotion as a mystery of the Rosary for centuries, and was formerly celebrated with a particular feast by the Dominican Order; it is fittingly placed by the sacred liturgy between His birth and the beginning of His public ministry. When Pope Benedict XV decided to extend the feast of the Holy Family to the universal calendar in 1921, it was fixed to the Sunday within the octave of the Epiphany, since the Gospel, which sets the key note of the whole Mass and Office, is the same as that of In excelso throno.

On the octave itself, the Church celebrates the public manifestation of Christ to the people of Israel in His Baptism, at which God proclaims, “This is my beloved Son; hear ye Him.” Sicard of Cremona comments that the second miracle celebrated by the Epiphany, the Baptism of the Lord, “is put off until the octave day, because (baptism) takes the place of circumcision, which was celebrated on the eighth day.” The public revelation of Christ to the nations, however, is deferred to Pentecost, when the Apostles begin the mission of the Church, which will last until the end of the world.

In the Missal and Breviary of St. Pius V, and subsequent revisions, the octave day of the Epiphany is textually identical to the Epiphany itself, with the exception of the three prayers of the Mass, the Gospel, which is Saint John’s account of the Baptism (1, 29-34), and the readings of Matins. Prior to the Tridentine reform, however, the Office also had a large number of proper antiphons for the psalms of Matins, Lauds and Vespers, all of them centered on the Baptism. These were entirely suppressed from the Roman Breviary in the Tridentine revision, a most uncharacteristic act of a reform that was generally very conservative. The reason would appear to be that these antiphons are clearly Greek in origin; indeed, they were even recognized to be such by the liturgical commentators of the medieval period. These were retained by several breviaries of the religious orders after Trent; the antiphons for the Gospel canticles are:

At the Magnificat of First Vespers The soldier baptizeth the king, the servant his Lord, John the Savior: the water of the Jordan is struck dumb, the dove beareth witness: the Father’s voice is heard: this is my beloved Son.
At the Benedictus John the Forerunner exsulteth, when, the Lord having been baptized in the Jordan, the cause of rejoicing to the word is made: remission of our sins is made. ‘O thou that sanctifieth the waters’, let us all cry out, ‘have mercy upon us!’
At the Magnificat of Second Vespers The fountains of the waters sare sanctified, as Christ appeareth in glory to the world: draw ye waters from the fountains of the Savior; for now Christ our God hath sanctified every creature.

The Baptism of Christ, from the Menologion of Basil II, ca. 985

In several medieval uses of the Roman Rite, white was the liturgical color of the season between the octave of the Epiphany and the Purification, where the Missal of St. Pius V prescribes green; this custom survived in much of France until the later part of the nineteenth century. It reflects the fact that the Masses of the first three Sundays of this period continue the solemnity of the Lord’s manifestation, extending the season of Christmas to include the entire forty days from the Nativity to the Purification. A similar custom existed in many places for the season after Pentecost, whereby red vestments were used instead of green; this is still the tradition of the Ambrosian Rite for all but the last four weeks before Advent.

The Office of the Epiphany itself refers to the conversion of water into wine at the wedding at Cana as one of the three miracles commemorated by the feast. (St John 2, 1-11) The fourth stanza of the principal hymn of the feast, Crudelis Herodes, reads:

Novum genus potentiae

Aquae rubescunt hydriae,

Vinumque jussa fundere,

Mutavit unda originem.

This is translated (in a somewhat archaic style) by the English Breviary of the Marquess of Bute:

A strange miraculous power is shown,

The water pots are ruddy grown,

Whose waters by command divine

Their nature change, and yield pure wine.

Although this is sung every day through the octave, the reading of the Gospel itself is delayed until the second Sunday after the feast. The tradition of commemorating this episode alongside the visit of the Magi and the Baptism of Christ is a very ancient one; St Maximus of Turin refers to it as “the tradition of our fathers” in the mid-fifth century, and the three events are mentioned together in the liturgical texts of many different rites. Of the various actions by which Christ manifests Himself as Our salvation, this one was undoubtedly chosen for such a prominent place because St John calls it the first of Christ’s miracles, whereby “he made manifest (ephanerose) His glory.”

The Wedding at Cana, painting in the Scrovegni Chapel in Padua, Italy, by Giotto, 1305.

The introit of this Mass is almost identical to the fifth antiphon of Epiphany Matins, taken from the sixty-fifth psalm: “Let all the earth adore Thee, o God, and sing to Thee; let it sing to Thy name, o Most High.” These words are sung on the feast because the three Magi were understood to represent all the ends of the known world, one from Asia, one from Africa and one from Europe. Although this tradition concerning their number and origin was almost universally accepted in the Middle Ages, and the connection with the Epiphany is fairly obvious, the liturgical writers of the era also knew of a curious story concerning the origin of this introit. It is recounted thus by Sicard of Cremona:

It is said that Augustus Caesar decreed for the glory of the Roman Empire, that from each city of the world someone should come to Rome, bearing as much earth as can be held in one hand, so that by this it might be clear that all were subject to the Roman Empire… and from this earth (terra) there arose a small mountain, upon which a church was later built, and dedicated on this Sunday. Therefore, on its dedication is sung “Let all the earth adore Thee.” (Mitrale V, 11)

The modern reader should be aware that medieval authors often use a phrase like “It is said…” to indicate a story which may not be altogether reliable. However, there is in fact an artificial mountain in Rome, the Mons Testaceus (“Monte Testaccio” in Italian), a heap of discarded potsherds near the location of some warehouses of the ancient city; it is well over a hundred feet high, probably even higher in antiquity, and more than half a mile around at the base. It is easily seen to be a man-made structure, and the medieval mind perhaps found it difficult to imagine that such an achievement of engineering could be anything so prosaic as a garbage dump; hence the story.

A view of the Mons Testaceus in the 19th century.

The Gospels of the Epiphany (Part 1)

The feast of the Epiphany is one of the richest of the Church’s liturgical year, commemorating several different events in the life of Our Lord. The Roman and other western rites have traditionally laid the strongest emphasis on the visit of the three Magi to the infant Jesus, which is recounted in the Gospel of the feast; the paintings and sarcophagi from the catacombs of Rome attest to the great antiquity of this tradition. In the Byzantine Rite, on the other hand, the visit to the Magi is read on Christmas Day, and the Epiphany is principally focused on the Baptism of the Lord, as may be seen in the icon of the feast. The Roman Rite traditionally assigns the celebration of this latter event to the octave day of the Epiphany, which was officially renamed “the Baptism of the Lord” in the 1961 rubrical reform; this change was carried over into the post-Conciliar liturgy. The Epiphany is also traditionally the day on which the date of Easter is announced to the faithful, and the feast and its vigil are the occasion of several blessings in the Rituale.

The Adoration of the Magi, depicted on a Christian sarcophagus of the 4th century, now in the Pio-Christian collection of the Vatican Museums.

At the first Mass of Christmas, the Church reads the revelation of the Incarnation to the people of the ancient covenant, represented by the shepherds; at the dawn Mass, these men of humble estate come to Bethlehem, and behold the Creator of the Universe as an infant sleeping in a manger. This private manifestation of God to the people of Israel on Christmas is complemented by a similarly private manifestation on Epiphany to the nations of the world, in the persons of the Magi. As St Fulgentius says in a sermon read during the octave of the Epiphany, “The shepherds were the first-fruits of the Jews; the Magi have become the first-fruits of the gentiles.” St Matthew does not say that the Wise Men found the Holy Family still at the stable in Bethlehem, where they had been found earlier by the shepherds, but the Church’s artistic tradition has depicted it thus, precisely to emphasize the connection between these two “epiphanies”.

The last antiphon of Christmas Matins is “God hath made known, alleluja, his salvation, alleluja,” words which are repeated at both Lauds and Vespers; the psalm from which they are taken, Psalm 97, has been associated with the Nativity of the Lord from very ancient times. A subsequent verse of the same psalm is sung as the communion antiphon of the third and most solemn of the three Christmas Masses, and is repeated several times during the octave: “All the ends of the earth have seen the salvation of our God.” These words are fulfilled in the Epiphany, when the representatives of the ends of the earth, the Magi, come to worship the Christ Child, God Incarnate for our salvation. Therefore, although the Gospel does not say how many they were, Christian art from the earliest times (and especially in Rome) has usually shown them as three, representing the three parts of the world known to ancient peoples, Asia, Africa and Europe, descendents of the three sons of Noah.

The Adoration of the Magi, by Flemish painter Gerard David, ca. 1490.

From the earliest times, the Roman Gospel of the third Mass of Christmas has been the Prologue of St John (1, 1-14); this is attested already in the middle of the seventh century in the very oldest lectionary of the Roman Rite, the Comes Romanus of Wurzburg. In the high Middle Ages, the custom emerged of reading this same text at the end of the Mass, as part of the celebrant’s thanksgiving. At the third Mass of Christmas, therefore, the Gospel of the Epiphany was read in its place, uniting the revelation of the Incarnate Word to Israel with His revelation to the nations. It is worth noting that the Gospels of both Christmas and Epiphany end with a genuflection, by which we imitate the Magi in kneeling before the Divine Infant, just as we honor the Incarnation every Sunday by genuflecting during the Creed at the words “Et incarnatus est.” (The 1961 rubrical reform of Pope St John XXIII prescribes that there be no last Gospel at this Mass.)

In the Middle Ages, another pair of Gospels was added to the liturgy to associate the feasts of Christmas and Epiphany. At Matins of Christmas, the Genealogy of Christ according to St Matthew (1, 1-16) was sung before the Te Deum and the Midnight Mass, at Epiphany Matins, the Genealogy according to St Luke (3, 21 – 4, 1). Both of these were normally sung with the same ceremonies that accompany the singing of the Gospel at Solemn Mass. Since these texts are fairly repetitive, musicians composed special and elaborate music for them; they were often set for two deacons or groups of deacons, who would alternate the verses.

St Matthew’ genealogy was clearly chosen for Christmas because it ends with St Joseph, “the husband of Mary, from whom was born Jesus, that is called Christ.” In German-speaking lands, it was usually follow by the antiphon “O mundi Domina”, a final O antiphon on the cusp between Advent and Christmas. That of St Luke was then assigned to Epiphany because it is preceded by an account of the Baptism of Christ (vs. 21-23), one of the principal events commemorated by the feast. This Gospel ends with Christ departing into the desert “lead by the Spirit”, a distant prelude to the coming Lenten fast. Commenting on the reason why these two Gospels are read on their respective feasts, Sicard of Cremona writes in about 1200, “Matthew reckons (the genealogy) by descending (from Abraham to Joseph), because he is describing the humanity of Christ, by which He descends to us. Luke recounts (the genealogy) ascending, since from the baptized One he ascends to God, showing the effects of baptism; because the baptized become sons of God.” (Mitrale, V, 6)

Folio 19r of the Schuttern Gospels, an early 9th century illuminated manuscript produced at the Abbey of Schuttern in Baden-Württemberg, Germany.

These texts occur in virtually every use of the Roman Rite except that of the Roman Curia itself, the ancestor of the Breviary of St. Pius V; they were retained after the Tridentine reform in the proper breviaries of certain religious orders, including the Premonstratensians, Dominicans, and Carmelites of the Ancient Observance.

Here is a marvelous recording of the Genealogy of Christ according to St Luke from Epiphany Matins.

An equally nice version of the Genealogy according to St Matthew from Christmas Matins, sung by the Schola Hungarica; brevitatis causa, the names between “the wife of Uriah” and Jacob, the father of St Joseph, are omitted in this recording. (There is small mistake at the very beginning; the word “autem” is incorrectly added after the name of Abraham.)

Also from the Schola Hungarica, the antiphon “O mundi Domina”; the music is very similar to that of the standard seven O antiphons of Advent.

Aña O mundi Domina, regio ex semine orta, ex tuo jam processit Christus alvo, tamquam sponsus de thalamo; hic jacet in praesepio, qui et sidera regit. ~ O Lady of the world, born of royal descent, Christ hath now come forth from Thy womb, as a bridegroom from his chamber; he lieth in a manger, that also ruleth the stars.

Elijah And The Priests of Baal - An Anticipation of the Trinity

Recently, I was reading some of the hymns from the Midnight Office of the Byzantine Rite, and the following one from the third tone of the Sunday octoechos particularly caught my attention:

In days of old, Elijah ordered that water be poured three times over the wood and the sacrifice; thus, he manifested a symbol of the Three Hypostases of the one and divine Lordship.

This is a commentary on a passage from 1 Kings 18, in which the prophet Elijah challenges 450 prophets of the pagan God Baal to a contest on Mount Carmel. Each side prepares a bull on an altar without lighting a fire:

Then Elias bade the people come near; and when they were standing close to him, he began repairing the altar of the Lord, which was broken down. Twelve stones he took, one for each tribe that sprang from the sons of Jacob, to whom the divine voice gave the surname of Israel; and with these stones he built up the altar again, calling on the Lord's name as he did it. Then he made a trench around the altar of some two furrows breadth; piled the wood high, cut the bull into joints, and laid these on the wood. Now, he said, fill four buckets with water, and pour it over victim and wood alike. And again he bade them do it, and when they had finished a third time. The water was running all around the altar, and the trench he had dug for it was full. (1 Kings 18, 30-35)

He then calls on their god to send flames from heaven to consume the sacrifice. Elijah, needless to say, prevails, calling upon God who consumes altar, bull and water with fire.

Here are examples of artistic depictions of this scene that I found. There weren’t many to choose from, so this is pretty much all of them!

3rd Century Fresco, Dura Europos, in modern Syria.

The Sacrifice of Elijah, by Aert Jansz. Marienhof (1626-54) Credit: The Bowes Museum

Albert Joseph Moore: Elijah’ Sacrifice, 1863. (Bury Art Museum)

Rembrandt, pen and ink, 17th century Dutch

Domenico Fetti (Rome c. 1588-Venice 1623) - The Sacrifice of Elijah Before the Priests of Baal

Looking at these, I realised that, as far as I could see, none of the artists attempted to draw out the simple Trinitarian symbolism referred to in the Byzantine liturgy. This, therefore, provides an opportunity for contemporary artists to enrich the tradition. It is important to draw out these parallels, just as Rublev reflected the Trinitarian imagery in his depiction of the Hospitality of Abraham. By connecting the texts of the Old and New Testaments through prototypes, artists and hymnographers help to reinforce the unity of Scripture and establish the sense of a single arc of time in Salvation History.

I was reflecting on this and thinking about how I would do it if I were to paint it. What follows is purely speculative.

I suggest incorporating a clear triangular geometry and a representation of the triple action of pouring water, showing each of the three instances as a triple image.

We might also draw out other prototypes too, it occurs to me. First is Eucharistic (just as Rublev’s Trinity is both Eucharistic and Trinitarian...and even Marian); second is Baptismal; and third is Pentecostal.

The Eucharistic parallels are in the sacrifice, while the baptismal arises from the purifying action of the water.

It is the pentecostal that is most interesting to me. First, the action of fire that consumes evil but leaves the pure untouched echoes that of the three children in the fiery furnace in the book of Daniel. The hymns of the liturgy describe this scene from Daniel very often, and refer to the action of God in the fire of the furnace, and of the young men who were protected by the presence of a cooling dew. Both dew and fire are connected symbolically to the Holy Spirit. The other place where this parallel with dew and the Spirit is made in the commentaries of Church Fathers is in the description of the fleece of Gideon. So how might I bring all of this together?

I suggest creating a painting of Pentecost in which the New Testament scene is the primary image, with subsidiary images in the same painting of Gideon, Elijah, and the prophets of Baal, and the three young men in the fiery furnace. Just a thought!

13th century Armenian illumination: The Fiery furnace by Toros Roslin.

Medieval Allegories of the Divine Office

I have often had occasion to quote the medieval canonist and liturgical scholar William Durandus, bishop of Mende in France, who was born in a small town in Provence in 1237, and died at Rome in 1296. His treatise titled “Rationale Divinorum Officiorum – Explanation of the Divine Services” may well be described as a “Summa Liturgica”, for it provides a summary at once general and thorough of the Church’s liturgy, (covering both text and rite), as his contemporary St Thomas Aquinas did for theology in the two Summas.

The tomb of Durandus in the Dominican church of Santa Maria sopra Minerva in Rome. On the left side, he is presented to the Virgin and Child by St. Privatus, the patron saint of his see; St. Dominic is on the right.

Like earlier medieval writers on the liturgy, Durandus simply takes it for granted that the Church’s received liturgical texts are full of allegories, and may be explained as having a mystical significance greater than their mere letter. In this, his attitude to the liturgy is similar to that of the Church Fathers to the Holy Scriptures, and that of the Biblical authors themselves to earlier parts of the Bible. An interesting example of this is his explanation of the readings of Matins in the period after Pentecost.

The system of Scriptural readings assigned to the Office goes back to the 6th century; it originated in the ancient Roman basilicas, but we know nothing about how it was devised. When it was extensively revised in the Tridentine reform, the basic pattern of readings (Isaiah in Advent, St Paul after Epiphany, Genesis in Septuagesima etc.) was not changed, but completed and expanded. Following the feast of Pentecost, the readings are from the books of Kings until the first Sunday of August, when the Church takes up the Sapiential books, Proverbs, Ecclesiastes, Wisdom and Ecclesiasticus. In September are read Job, Tobias, Judith and Esther, followed by the two books of the Maccabees in October, and Ezechiel, Daniel and the twelve minor prophets in November.

As he goes through the liturgical texts of the individual Sundays after Pentecost, Durandus is particularly concerned to explain both the mystical significance of the readings taken from a particular book, and their connection with the Sunday Masses. Of course, the date of Pentecost changes every year, ranging from May 10th to June 13th; therefore, the Office readings, which are tied to the calendar months, coincide with a different Sunday every year. Durandus’ allegorical links between these readings and the Sundays assumes a period of only 24 weeks between Pentecost and Advent, although there can be as many as 28. This section of the Rationale is quite long, and I here give only a few selection from the more interesting passages, all from the sixth book.

On the first Sunday after Pentecost

By Septuagesima we signify the human race’s expulsion from the fatherland of Paradise; by Lent, the people’s servitude under Pharaoh; by Easter, the immolation of the Lamb; by the forty days of Eastertide (i.e. from Easter to Ascension), the forty years in the desert; by the Rogations, the entrance into the promised land; by the seven days of Pentecost, in which seven gifts are apportioned, the division of the land; from the season which begins today, we signify the affliction of the people, and the governance by judges and kings. Therefore, there follow the four books of Kings. …

And here begins the fourth time of pilgrimage, because we are on the way to return to the fatherland. But because we have enemies before we arrive there, namely, the flesh, the world and the devil, the readings are taken from the books of Kings, which treat of wars and victories, that we may have victory, as the Jews did against the Philistines, …

But because war is not waged well without discretion, in the period that follows come the books of Solomon. Again, because vices arise, against which patience is necessary, the history of Job comes after that.

(Referring then to the principal personages whose stories are told in the Books of Kings) Saul is proposed to us as an example, who by disobedience lost (the rule of) the kingdom, that we may not be disobedient as he was, and lose the eternal kingdom. But David was humble in all his works, …

Saul and David, by Rembrandt, ca. 1655

David is preaching, and by the sling of preaching the devil is cast out of the heart of men, … Therefore, because men obtain victory through humility, at the Mass the Introit (of the First Sunday after Pentecost) begins “Lord, I have hoped in Thy mercy” – this shows David’s humility – “my heart hath exulted” – this is the joy of his mind, and through these two things is the battle won.

On the seventh Sunday after Pentecost

(The Sapiential books) are read from the beginning of August to the beginning of September, because this month is hot, and signifies the heat of the vices, in which we must rule (ourselves) wisely, as in the midst of a wicked and perverse nation. Or otherwise, because this month, August, is the sixth month (according to the ancient Roman calendar), whence it was called Sextilis before the time of Augustus Caesar, and our true Solomon (i.e. Christ) came in the sixth age of the world, Who made both one, and was the might of God, and the wisdom of God, and who taught us to live and teach wisely.

On the ninth Sunday after Pentecost

The book of Wisdom is read. Wisdom is to think about heavenly things, and lift the heart up to them, … and because a man cannot lift himself above himself, but must be drawn by the Lord, therefore the Introit says, “Behold God is my helper: and the Lord is the protector (‘susceptor’) of my soul”, that is, one who taketh upwards (‘sursum captor’.) ”

King Salomon, by Pedro Berruguete, ca. 1500

On the twelfth Sunday after Pentecost

The twelfth Sunday is about prayer, and Job, as it were is portrayed, praying and sitting upon the dung heap (Job 2, 8) complaining about his false friends. … Job upon the dung heap is symbolically the soul in mortal sin, … and while it remains there, can only pray God to deliver it thence; wherefore the Introit begins “O God, come to my assistance; O Lord, make haste to help me.” …

But in the Offertory is shown the efficacy of prayer, and the whole text is the prayer of Moses, taken from Exodus (chapter 32), when he prayed for the children of Israel, who made the golden calf for themselves, … which proves that the merits of the Saints benefit us.

On the thirteenth Sunday after Pentecost

The book of Tobias is read, by whom the human race is represented, made blind by the sin of the first parent, which can only be healed by the bitterness of the Passion, which is signified by the gall (placed on Tobias’ eyes to heal them in chapter 11). … it says in the Introit, “Look, o Lord, upon Thy covenant, … and forget not to the end the souls of thy poor.” And this is what Tobias said to his son, “Fear not, my son: we lead indeed a poor life, but we shall have many good things if we fear God.”

On the sixteenth Sunday after Pentecost

(T)he Church reads and sings about the Maccabees, who suffered many things under Antiochus and seven (foreign) nations. And by this it is held that the temple, which was polluted by those peoples, was purified by the Maccabees. By this it is signified that the soul, which is the temple of God, once polluted by the seven deadly vices, cannot be purified unless it be purified of sin.

Heliodorus Driven from the Temple (2 Maccabees 3), by Bertholet Flémal, 1658-62, following Raphael’s depiction of the same subject in the Stanza di Elidoro in the Vatican Museums.

Mary in the Old and New Testaments: The Overshadowed and Unhewn Mountain

Hail, O Theotokos, Maiden of many names: Tabernacle, Vessel of Manna, Table, Lampstand that bears the Light, burning Bush, overshadowed Mountain of God! (from Orthros - Morning Prayer - of the Melkite (Byzantine) Liturgy in the first week of Lent.)

This is one of what I plan as an occasional series of posts in which I highlight types of the Virgin Theotokos from the Scriptures which appear in traditional sacred art. 

In the icon below, Mary is shown in person and as the unhewn mountain, which refers to the biblical prophecy in Daniel: “You saw until a stone was cut out of a mountain without hands, and it smote the image upon its feet of iron and earthenware and utterly reduced them to powder.” (Daniel 2, 34) 

“Whereas you saw that a stone was cut out of a mountain without hands, and it beat to pieces the earthenware, the iron, the brass, the silver, the gold; the great God has made known to the king what must happen hereafter: and the dream is true, and the interpretation thereof sure” (Daniel 2, 45).

This image is interpreted as prefiguring Christ (the stone) being born of Mary (the mountain) without human intervention so that she remains a Virgin. It is “overshadowed” because at the Annunciation, in Luke 1, 35, the angel Gabriel tells Mary, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you.”

This divine overshadowing enabled the virgin birth, or put another way, it enabled the stone to be removed although ‘unhewn’. The cave, therefore, also becomes the womb that is ‘more spacious than the heavens’, as it can contain God as another hymn to the Virgin Mary states, the Akathist. 

The image below is my illumination of the Nativity. In this rendition, the mountain in this scene is overshadowed by the Glory of God, the light in the sky that guides the wise men. 

The Song of Songs on the Feast of the Virgin’s Nativity

Before the Tridentine reform, very few feasts had Scriptural readings in the first nocturn of the Divine Office. On Saints’ days, it was typical for readings of their lives to supply all the Matins lessons, while on those of Our Lord and Our Lady, the first two nocturns were usually taken up with a sermon about the feast, and the third by a homily on the Gospel read at Mass. There were, however, certain exceptions to this, such as Christmas and Epiphany, which always had the same readings from Isaiah that they do today. Among the feasts of the Virgin Mary, only that of her Nativity had Scriptural readings; these were taken from the Song of Songs, or Canticle of Canticles, as it was traditionally known in the Latin West, from its title in the Vulgate, “Canticum Canticorum.”

Two pages of a breviary according to the Use of Prague, printed in 1502, with the Office of the Nativity of the Virgin Mary; the Canticle of Canticles is read in both the first and second nocturns. In many Bibles of this period, the Canticle also had notes added to the text to indicate who is speaking, as explained below: these were often incorporated into breviaries as well, as seen here. (Click image to enlarge.)

When the Birth of the Virgin was given an octave in the mid-13th century, readings from the Canticle were supplied for the days within it, but in the Tridentine reform, this arrangement was transferred to the Assumption. Readings from the Canticle were retained for September 8th and 15th, but in the reform of St Pius X, the latter date became the feast of the Seven Sorrows, which has readings from the Lamentations instead. After making the solemn dogmatic definition of the Assumption in 1950, Pius XII promulgated a new Office for it which has Genesis and First Corinthians in the first nocturn, so the custom is now retained only in its original place.

Pope St Gregory the Great (busily writing a Biblical commentary in cope and tiara, as one does), ca. 1370, by the Bohemian painter known as Master Theodoric, active in Prague ca. 1360-80.

The Canticle is, of course, one of the most difficult books of the Bible to interpret. Writing in the mid-3rd century, the great Biblical scholar Origen begins his commentary on it by noting that among the Jews, it is one of the parts of Scripture which the young are not allowed to read, and is “reserved for study till the last.” St Gregory of Nyssa (335-95 ca.), who, like the other Cappadocian Fathers, was greatly influenced by Origen, refers to it repeatedly as a mystery: “Through the title ‘Song of Songs’, the noble text also promises to teach us the mystery of mysteries.” In the West, St Gregory the Great’s commentary became the standard work on the subject; he begins his prologue by stating that “through certain aenigmata, the divine Word speaks to the cold and languid soul, and from the things which it knows, insinuates to it in a hidden way that love which it knows not.” The word aenigmata (the plural of aenigma) means “things which are enigmatical or dark in a figurative representation; allegories; things which are obscure or inexplicable; riddles, enigmas, obscurities, mysteries.” It entered the Latin language from Greek partly through the Vulgate version of 1 Corinthians 13, 12, a verse which the King James Version renders with one its most intriguing and often-used turns of phrase, “We see now through a glass darkly.”

The beginning of the Song of Songs in Bible printed at Strassbourg in 1481, with the Glossa Ordinaria and other commentary material printed in any around it, as was commonly done in that era. (There is another “glossa ordinaria” for the law code of Justinian, which was produced by scholars at the University of Bologna at the same time as the Biblical one.)   

In the early 12th century, a group of scholars associated with the cathedral school of Laon in France put together a collection of glosses on the text of the whole Bible. This became one of the standard textbooks for the rest of the Middle Ages and beyond, and was therefore known as the “Glossa Ordinaria”. In its section on the Canticle of Canticles, many of the glosses explain certain verses by indicating the speaker; for example, the opening words “Let him kiss me with the kiss of his mouth” is explained as “The voice of those who lived before the coming of Christ, who pray to the father of the bridegroom, who is Christ.”

Since the Canticle was regarded as an especially difficult text, many early printed Bibles contain a series of very brief notes interpolated into the text of it, which are derived from the Glossa Ordinaria, or one of the other works of Biblical interpretation that were commonly read in the Middle Ages, the Postillae of Hugh of St Cher, and the commentary of the Franciscan Nicholas of Lyra.

Here, then, is the text of the first chapter of the Canticle of Canticles, with the notes as printed in the Bible shown above.

The beginning of the Song of Songs, with the glosses in red, from a Latin Bible printed at Nuremberg in 1516. (The rest of the book is seen below; the type is small enough that the whole book fits into two pages.) 

The voice of the one who longs for the coming of Christ. Let him kiss me with the kiss of his mouth: for thy breasts are better than wine, ₂ smelling sweet of the best ointments. The voice of the Church to Christ. Thy name is as oil poured out: therefore young maidens have loved thee. ₃ Draw me: we will run after thee to the odour of thy ointments. The voice of the bride to the young women. The king hath brought me into his storerooms: we will be glad and rejoice in thee, remembering thy breasts more than wine: the righteous love thee. The Church (speaking) about its sufferings ₄ I am black but beautiful, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, as the tents of Cedar, as the curtains of Solomon. ₅ Do not consider me that I am brown, because the sun hath altered my colour: the sons of my mother have fought against me, they have made me the keeper in the vineyards: my vineyard I have not kept. The voice of the Church to Christ. ₆ Shew me, O thou whom my soul loveth, where thou feedest, where thou liest in the midday, lest I begin to wander after the flocks of thy companions. The voice of Christ to the Church. ₇ If thou know not thyself, O fairest among women, go forth, and follow after the steps of the flocks, and feed thy kids beside the tents of the shepherds. ₈ To my company of horsemen, in Pharao’s chariots, have I likened thee, O my love. ₉ Thy cheeks are beautiful as the turtledove’s, thy neck as jewels. The voice of the friends (of the bridegroom). ₁₀ We will make thee chains of gold, inlaid with silver. The voice of the Church (speaking) about Christ. ₁₁ While the king was at his repose, my spikenard sent forth the odour thereof. ₁₂ A bundle of myrrh is my beloved to me, he shall abide between my breasts. ₁₃ A cluster of cypress my love is to me, in the vineyards of Engaddi. The voice of Christ. ₁₄ Behold thou art fair, O my love, behold thou art fair, thy eyes are as those of doves. The voice of the Church. ₁₅ Behold thou art fair, my beloved, and comely. Our bed is flourishing. ₁₆ The beams of our houses are of cedar, our rafters of cypress trees.

The Next Possible Anti-TLM Strategy: A Novus Ordo/TLM Hodge-Podge to Demonstrate “Acceptance of the Reform”

Convent de Sant Francesc, Santpedor, Spain (source)

In a press release dated July 25, 2024, the Dominicans of the Holy Spirit, a community that celebrated the traditional rite for decades but was then ordered by the Vatican to begin to adopt the Novus Ordo, announced that the Vatican had given them detailed stipulations as to how they should proceed in the future. As of December 1, 2024:

The Holy See asks us to follow the liturgical calendar currently in force in the Universal Church for the Roman rite [i.e., the Novus Ordo calendar]; it also asks that in our various houses, Mass be celebrated according to the Novus Ordo one week of the a month, with the exception of Sundays, while the Vetus Ordo remains in use for the other three weeks and every Sunday. It specifies that the Mass readings for each day will be those of the current Roman lectionary, and that all the prefaces of the Paul VI Missal will be used for Masses according to the Vetus Ordo. [1]

The Vatican here targets a vulnerable community of nuns, heavily reliant on the outside support of priests [2] , in order to run an experiment that it would like, if possible, to extend to all TLM institutes, such as the Priestly Fraternity of St. Peter, the Institute of Christ the King Sovereign Priest, the Institute of the Good Shepherd, the Fraternity of St. Vincent Ferrer, the Fontgombault monasteries, and so forth: namely, not to suppress the old rite, but to hybridize it with the Novus Ordo. Thus, the diktat might be issued that the old Ordo Missae may be retained, but the Novus Ordo calendar, lectionary, and prefaces must be used at all times, instead of the ones proper to the classical Roman rite.

This idea is hardly a new one. In fact, Traditionis Custodes already seems to have envisaged it in the following passage: “In these celebrations the readings are proclaimed in the vernacular language, using translations of the Sacred Scripture approved for liturgical use by the respective Episcopal Conferences.” The obvious sense of these words is that the new lectionary was to be imposed on TLM communities. Yet the motu proprio was so badly written, so clumsily revised, and so hugely controversial from the first moment, that this provision was basically ignored by nearly everyone (and rightly so: see here, here, and here).

This deconstruction by hybridization, and the resulting fractures in unity it would bring about in the traditionalist movement, would be the next and more subtle strategy for officials who have realized they cannot achieve direct and total abolition of the old rite. If you can’t beat them, why not assimilate them in some fashion?

Another view of the same church, which on both the outside and inside was renovated with modernist elements (source).

Such moves would, of course, undermine the integrity of the rite and make it a hodge-podge. As Joseph Shaw is especially good at explaining (see this pamphlet and this book), the old rite and the new rite each has its own “design principles,” if one may use that expression. Each is consistent from start to finish at pursuing certain goals with certain means. In the old rite, the inflexibility of the rubrics, the separation of priest from people, the use of a hieratic language, the frequent periods of silent prayer, the exclusive use of the Roman Canon, the fixed, limited, and repeated texts, etc., form a phenomenological and theological unity. In the new rite, the compact order of celebration, the interaction with the people, the verbalization of nearly everything, the options, the looser movements, the ample portions of Scripture, the clerically controlled silences, the vernacular extroversion, and so forth, also form a phenomenological and theological unity.

I think that clergy and laity who are familiar with the two rites are well aware of the many profound differences between them. While the new rite presents itself as an assemblage of modules, which can be explained both by the manner of its genesis and by the intention of situational adaptability, the old rite is most definitely nothing of the sort, and it cannot be treated as if it were a lego-brick toy in which one can swap out some blue pieces for some yellow pieces.

Indeed, almost every proposal for “improving” the old rite either rests on questionable antiquarian premises or betrays a faulty understanding of how the old rite works. (See my article “The Liturgical Rollercoaster: A Recent Proposal for 14 ‘Improvements’ to the TLM.”)

Anyone who knows about the hundreds of obvious and subtle differences between the old and new calendars will see immediately that combining the old rite with the new calendar is a non-starter. For one thing, the hagiocentricity so characteristic of the old rite will be instantly compromised. For another, the symbolic and numerological patterns that fill the old calendar will be lost without a trace.

Of all the changes, the one that is most alarming is the forcing of the new lectionary into the old rite. This is a topic I have extensively researched and written about. For convenience, I will list here the main articles in which I have sought to articulate the profound rationale for the first-millenium lectionary and to point out the new lectionary’s numerous flaws:

• A Systematic Critique of the New Lectionary, On the Occasion of Its Fiftieth Anniversary
• Mythbusting: Why the TLM’s Lectionary Is Superior to the New Lectionary (this talk overlaps to an extent with the preceding)
• Not Just More Scripture, But Different Scripture—Comparing the Old and New Lectionaries
• A Tale of Two Lectionaries: Qualitative versus Quantitative Measures
• The Omission that Haunts the Church—1 Corinthians 11:27-29
• How Typical Lector Praxis Transmits a Pelagian and Protestant Message
• A Great Example of an Expurgated Reading in the New Lectionary
• Is Reading More Scripture at Mass Always Better?
• Floating in the Sea, Not Drinking from the Firehose
• The New Lectionary and the Catholic Wedding
• How the New Lectionary Treats (or Doesn’t) the Antichrist
• The Annunciation and the Subtle Use of Gospels in the Old Roman Rite
• In Defense of Preserving Readings in Latin
• Against Vernacular Readings in the Traditional Mass
• What’s Wrong with the New Lectionary (audio only)

Of related interest:

The Omission of ‘Difficult’ Psalms and the Spreading-Thin of the Psalter

(I am currently at work on a book that will offer a comprehensive apologia for the old lectionary and critique of the new one; look for it in the coming year.)

The experiment in running the old and new rites together was already tried years ago by the monks of Norcia, who started as a “biritual” community that offered Mass in the Novus Ordo and the Vetus Ordo, while singing the old monastic office. Over time, the incoherence of the alternating rites, the clashing of calendars, the lack of tight interaction between Mass and Office, and other inconveniences so pressed upon them that the monks unanimously chose a fully traditional way of life and worship, which instantly brought “pax liturgica”—the ability to rest in the rites of tradition, as countless monks, clerics, and laymen had done for centuries. And in this case, the lack of peace wasn’t a hybridized rite—God forbid—but a mere alternation between them.

For more photos of this project of architectural hybridization, see this article.

I feel genuinely sorry for the Dominicans of the Holy Spirit, as they now embark on the bumpy, cratered, agitating road of incoherence that wiser monks and nuns have left behind: a forced and clumsy attempt to fit new in old, and old in new, will make the resulting neither-this-nor-that liturgical life more self-conscious and wearisome. And to think they are making this shift in 2024—decades after the problems of the new rite have been exhaustively experienced and canvassed! After so many souls, responsive to the same Holy Spirit who raised up for us these noble apostolic rites in their millennial plenitude, have successfully left behind the “banal on-the-spot product” for good! Thus we see the devastating results of placing obedience to renegade authorities higher than obedience to any other principle, including the universal and unanimous acceptance of liturgical tradition that has characterized Western religious life from its dawn until the rise of ultramontanism.

Nor is my concern limited to the current heads, more or less competent, of Roman dicasteries. For there are figures within the traditional movement who would gladly throw open the gates to the Trojan Horse of late Liturgical Movement innovations in order to maintain what they considered the core of their commitment. For example, in certain years on Pentecost Monday of the Chartres pilgrimage, the Epistle and Gospel have been read in French toward the congregation rather than being chanted in Latin while facing eastwards and northwards (a practice whose deep theological and symbolic meaning is explained in this lecture). Apparently many French and German priests who offer the TLM believe that the readings should be given in the vernacular only, and facing the people. This mentality is a consequence of a fundamental failure to understand the role of the Word of God in the Eucharistic liturgy, reflecting widespread errors—largely rationalist in origin—about the exclusively or primarily “instructional” nature of the first part of the Mass. [3]

Imagine a future pope—let us call him Pius XIII, perhaps hailing from Africa or Asia—who, with all the good intentions in the world, wishes to end the “liturgy wars” and therefore decides to produce a hybrid missal for the “Roman Rite” that combines what he, or a committee he appoints, decides are the best features of both. At this point it is almost a foregone conclusion that, among its components, such a hybrid rite would begin from the old Ordo Missae but adopt the new lectionary, precisely because it is considered such a great success, indeed a necessary step of progress in the Church’s relationship with the Bible.

I have no inside information about what is being planned, but it’s not difficult to connect the dots and to make projections. I say none of this to be a fearmonger or to promote anxiety. I simply wish to warn traditional clergy and faithful of the kind of maneuvers that our antagonists have in mind, so that we can make sure we ourselves understand well the rationale behind the traditional practices of the Roman Rite and, on that basis, be prepared to offer respectful but firm resistance to any attempts at diluting or destroying the integrity of that tradition. If or when the Dicastery for Divine Worship (or the Dicastery for Institutes of Consecrated Life and Societies of Apostolic Life) issues the command to adopt the new calendar, the new lectionary, and the new prefaces, we must be ready to say:

Non licet. Non possumus. It is not permitted. We cannot do it.

[1] Communiqué du 25 juillet 2024, translated from https://www.dominicaines-du-saint-esprit.fr/fr/communique-du-25-juillet-2024/.

[2] This is a trial run on a vulnerable group of nuns who seem to be in the grip of a false conception of obedience (see my work True Obedience in the Church for a full explanation). As for Donneaud’s critique of the French translation of my book, I think it is sufficient to point to John Lamont’s refutation of it here.

[3] It goes without saying that there is an instructional aspect, and that is why it has usually been the custom for the preacher to read the readings in the vernacular from the pulpit before his sermon. This is not a liturgical reading but a paraliturgical reading, for the benefit of those who do not know the Latin readings or have not followed them in a hand missal. Nor does it hurt to hear and read the readings twice, a point to which I will return later.

“Aquae Sanctae Terrae”: The Spiritual Signification of the Waters of the Holy Land (Conclusion)

“Aquae Sanctae Terrae”: The Spiritual Signification of the Waters of the Holy Land

A Seminarian from the Midwest

Conclusion: The Devil and the Dead Sea

(Part 1 may be read here, Part 2 here.)

Aerial view of Dead Sea shore (source)

The Dead Sea

Now there is only one more lake in the Holy Land to discuss — the Dead Sea. Its name betrays where it represents on the spiritual map. The Dead Sea represents Hell. The geographic features alone make a strong case for this theory. The Dead Sea, at -1,411 feet below sea level, is the lowest place on earth. Scripture is filled with allusions to Hell being a place where the damned will go down to. The region around the sea can also be odorous due to the high sulfur concentration. The Dead Sea is about nine times saltier than the ocean, and is unable to support any life.[46] The average summer temperatures around the lake are about 105 F, but at times have been recorded over 120 F.

The Dead Sea is also an endorheic lake, which means it has no outlet. This accounts for its high salinity. Whatever minerals the Jordan pumps into it will never leave unless they are physically extracted, which means the lake will only get saltier over time. It is also worth noting that the only entrance into the Dead Sea is from the north, or the top of the lake. This is fitting, because the only way to get to Hell is to go down to it from earth. Lake Hula and the Sea of Galilee, on the other hand, are exorheic lakes, which means they have both an entrance and an exit point. This mirrors how there are entrances at each end of earth and Purgatory. For earth, you can either go up to Purgatory or Heaven, or down to Hell. For Purgatory, there is an entrance coming from earth and an entrance going up to Heaven. Heaven only has a door at the bottom, which Saint Peter faithfully guards, for those coming up from earth or Purgatory.

The Dead Sea also features negatively in the scriptures. In Deuteronomy, the Dead Sea is referred to as the Salt Sea or the Sea of the Arabah, which means Sea of the Desert or Wasteland in Hebrew.[47] Scholars debate the exact locations of Sodom and Gomorrha, but there is a general consensus they were located somewhere on the shores of the Dead Sea. These cities are synonymous for immorality and are fitting symbols for Hell. We also read that God destroys Sodom and Gomorrha with fire and brimstone (which is the same thing as sulfur).[48] Lot’s wife is also turned into a pillar of salt.[49] The Dead Sea and the surrounding region abounds with these two hellish symbols — salt and sulfur. The wicked city Jericho is only seven miles from the Dead Sea.

Debris beside the Dead Sea (source)

Jerusalem is also only about fifteen miles from the Dead Sea which is striking. One may ask why the holy city of Jerusalem is so close to a place that represents Hell? The answer can once again be found in the topography/geography of the landscape. Although relatively close to the Dead Sea and Jericho, Jerusalem towers nearly 4,000 feet above the Dead Sea and sits about 3,200 feet higher than Jericho. Jerusalem is not part of Hell, but is almost its gate. This is fitting because Jerusalem is where Christ triumphed over Satan and Hell.

Through His passion and death, Christ tore down the gates of Hell and harrowed it. Jerusalem and the gates of Hell serve as a counterpoint to Caeserea Philippi and the gates of Heaven. This image of gates is referenced in Matthew’s gospel, “And I say to thee: Thou art Peter; and upon this rock I will build my church, and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.”[50] The gates of Hell shall not prevail against the Church because Christ has vanquished them through His passion and death just outside Jerusalem.

The devil’s hatred for water

The final point to note is the Devil’s hatred for water. Although this theory is more speculative, there is evidence to support it. The storm on the Sea of Galilee can be viewed as a challenge from the Devil. He uses water to try to frighten Christ and the Apostles. The Devil is threatened because Christ is on His way to exorcise the Gerasene demoniac (Mark 5). Our Lord is encroaching on what the Devil thinks is his territory. The water in the symbolic Hell (the Dead Sea) is so polluted with salt, it is useless and cannot support life. Moreover, the Dead Sea itself is shrinking at a steady pace.

The real Hell is likely going to be a place without any water. We can deduce this from the story of the rich man in Saint Luke’s gospel. The rich man, languishing in Hell, begs for a single drop of water, “And he cried, and said: Father Abraham, have mercy on me, and send Lazarus, that he may dip the tip of his finger in water, to cool my tongue: for I am tormented in this flame.”[51] The Devil hates God and God’s creation and is constantly seeking to destroy it. His favorite way to do this is by stealing souls away from Heaven.

The waters of baptism are a painful reminder to him of souls who are escaping from his grasp and of God’s supreme power. Through baptism, God stamps an indelible mark on a man’s soul. The Devil does all he can to sully this mark, but he cannot erase it. Christ’s side during the passion also sprayed water alongside blood. Saint Thomas says this is appropriate because it signifies the purifying effect of the passion.[52] Water is also used at every Mass which is yet one more small reminder to Satan of his defeat at Calvary.

God is eternal wisdom; nothing He does is arbitrary. The geography of the Holy Land is no exception. Although the historical events that occurred in this region tell us it is important, the land and water themselves tell a story through their physical structure. The physical features of the Holy Land were designed in such a way that they would reflect spiritual places and realities:

• The beautiful region around the Jordan’s headwaters with its fresh mountain air signifies Heaven.
• The malarial swamp of Lake Hula and the scorched land around it, cleared of infidels, represents Purgatory as a place of penance and purgation.
• The sometimes tranquil and sometimes turbulent waters of the Sea of Galilee reflect the many ups and downs we experience in our earthly lives. Christ’s abiding presence, however, always pervades the stormy world. Our Lord is always ready to extend a hand to save us or calm the storm when we call on Him.
• The Jordan River, flowing from its heavenly heights, sanctified by Christ Himself, is a symbol of baptism and the grace which flows down to us on earth. It is a life-giving highway connecting Heaven with earth. It also washes the filth of our sins down to the dregs of Hell.
• Finally, the lifeless Dead Sea, sitting at the lowest place on earth, represents Hell in all its hot and sulfurous misery.

The Jordan and its watershed, therefore, are more than just a sliver of Palestine; they also signify the whole physical and spiritual world.

NOTES

[46] Learning Lesson: A Funny Taste — National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration, www.noaa.gov/jetstream/ocean/ll-taste.

[47] Deuteronomy 3:17

[48] Genesis 19:24

[49] Genesis 19:26

[50] Matthew 16:18

[51] Luke 16:24

[52] Saint Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica, III, q. 76, a. 6, corpus, trans. Fathers of the English Dominican Province, (New York, NY: Benziger Brothers, Inc., 1947), 2443.