The Feast of the Circumcision 2024

Christ, who art the end of the Law unto justice to everyone that believeth (Rom. 10, 4), and the path of all good things; who didst become the corner-stone for them that came from the circumcision and the uncircumcision, as the mystery did once represent, when the stone placed beneath the head of Jacob was anointed (Gen. 28, 18); whom Abraham did also show in himself alone, when he foretold that some would come from the circumcision, and others from his faith (Rom. 4, 16-17 and Gen. 17, 4-5), so that he might make on people in himself from both nations; we beseech Thee, we pray Thee, that Thou may make doers of Thy precepts even them for whom Thou didst fulfill the precepts of the Law, to release them from it; that we whom Thou hast gained in Thy peace may obtain a peace that is pleasing to Thy majesty. R. Amen. Because Thou art our peace, and unbroken charity, thou livest and reignest with the Holy Spirit, one God, unto the ages of ages. R. Amen. (The prayer at the giving of the Peace in the Mozarabic Mass for the feast of the Circumcision.)

The Circumcision of Christ, 1480-88 ca. by the Spanish painter Fernando Gallego (1440-1507). Public domain image from Wikimedia Commons.

Christe, finis Legis ad justitiam omni credenti et bonorum omnium limes, qui ex circumcisione et praeputio venientibus lapis effectus es angularis, olim mysterio figurante, cum Jacob capiti unctus est suppositus lapis, quem et Abraham in se uno ostendit, cum alios ex circumcisione, alios ex fide sua venire portendit: quatenus ex utraque gente, unam in se faceret plebem: Te quaesumus, te oramus, ut pro quibus praecepta Legis implesti ut absolveres, praeceptorum tuorum efficias effectores; ut qui nos in pace tua acquisisti, pace potiamur Majestatis tuae placabili. R. Amen. Quia tu es vera pax nostra et caritas indisrupta vivis tecum et regnas cum Spiritu Sancto, unus Deus, in sæcula sæculórum. R. Amen.

On behalf of the publisher and writers of New Liturgical Movement, I wish all our readers a most happy New Year, as we pray for peace in the Church and in the world.

The Kiss Off: A Crisis of Meaning in the Sign of Peace

The rite of peace, which was restored to all Masses in the 1970 Missal, has fallen onto hard times. Although some Catholics wholeheartedly praise it as the “highpoint of the Mass” (as one of my priest friends has been told several times by his parishioners), others view the matter differently. The 2005 Eucharistic Synod worried that the greeting has assumed “a dimension that could be problematic,” as “when it is too prolonged” or “causes confusion.” [1] In Sacramentum Caritatis Pope Benedict XVI spoke of the peace becoming “exaggerated” by emotion and causing “a certain distraction” before Holy Communion. [2] Consequently, the Supreme Pontiff not only called for “greater restraint” in the gesture of peace but even raised the question as to whether it should be moved to another part of the Mass. [3] His question was answered in 2014 by the Congregation for Divine Worship and the Sacraments, which decided to keep the Sign of Peace in its historic place in the Roman Rite.

How could such an ostensibly bright hallmark of the new liturgy become the object of such abuse and uncertainty? And what was the rationale to keep the status quo nevertheless? As will be made clear in this essay, Paschaltide is an especially appropriate time to contemplate these issues.

The Holy Kiss

The “holy kiss,” as St. Paul calls it, [4] has almost always been an important component of the Mass. Originally the kiss—which was a full, lip-on-lip act—was given to members of the same and opposite sex; but by the late second century Church Fathers like Clement of Alexandria were complaining that a lascivious element between men and women was creeping into the proceedings. This problem was solved by segregating the sexes to different sides of the nave, a practice that was still being recommended as late as the 1917 Code of Canon Law.

The Embrace of Saints Peter and Paul, late 15th century

Similarly, like most other kinds of kissing, the liturgical kiss was seen as an intimate gesture, the kind of thing one would only do within one’s family. Hence, the kiss was not given to “non-family members” such as heretics or catechumens. This principle was relatively easy to observe, since the early Church dismissed non-initiates after the homily, before the kiss was given.

The kiss remained a vital part of the liturgy until the mid-1200s, when it began to fall into disuse, and no one is certain why. The Church tried to sustain the rite by using a paten-like object called a “pax-brede.” This object, which can to this day still be used even at a Low Mass, is kissed by the priest, then the servers, then the laity, in order of rank. Eventually—perhaps because of disputes within the laity over who outranked whom—the pax-brede was restricted to the most notable dignitaries present, as we see in the 1962 rubrics.

Pax Brede, Cluny

The ritual kiss remained as well, though the laity ceased taking part in it and though it remained limited to Solemn High Masses. It also underwent a gradual modification. By the time Pope St. Pius V codified the Missal, actual kissing was no longer a part of it. The giver of the peace placed his hands on the recipient’s shoulders and leaned forward towards his left cheek saying Pax tecum, to which the recipient replied, Et cum spiritu tuo. The rubrics state that the cheeks of giver and recipient should “lightly touch,” though rubricians interpreted this as “a moral, not a physical touch”! [5]

Moral touching only, please

While the Tridentine kiss may seem a bit rarified, it nevertheless maintains the phenomenology of a kiss while circumventing all of a kiss’s potential drawbacks, such as the moral dangers of untoward eros or the legitimate concern for physical hygiene. Indeed, the word “accolade,” which originally meant either an embrace or a kiss marking the bestowal of knighthood, comes from the Latin ad collum, “to the neck,” because the act of falling on someone’s neck betokens a kiss. (Note how the father kisses his prodigal son in Luke 15, 20). This is important, for in preserving the kiss’s form, the Roman peace was still able to evince the rich tradition from which it was derived.

The traditional kiss of peace

Moreover, the Tridentine pax preserved an already centuries-old tradition of ordered administration. In the 1962 Missal the priest kisses the altar near the Host (earlier rubrics have him kissing the Host itself) and then “kisses” the deacon who in turn “kisses” the subdeacon and so on. No one can give the peace who has not received it from someone else, including the priest, who has received it from Christ Himself.

The symbolism is both beautiful and clear. All true peace comes from Christ through the ministration of His Church. Grace cascades from the Eucharist through Christ’s ministers to His people, forming a “chain of love” that both binds and elevates. This is further echoed in the etiquette governing the ritual. While it is common in the Tridentine rite to bow to one’s ecclesiastical superior at incensations, one does not acknowledge the rank of the peace-giver before it is administered, for, as the rubrics put it, “there is consideration not for the minister bringing it but for the Peace [itself].” [6]

Placing the Kiss

Another important feature of the kiss in the early Church is that there were two different places where it was given. All Eastern rites and several Western rites placed the kiss somewhere around the Offertory, while the churches in Rome and North Africa placed it after the Consecration. This divergence has caused considerable confusion among liturgists, some of whom see the Roman and North African usage as an unwarranted departure from apostolic times. The kiss of peace, they claim, is inspired by our Lord’s admonition to “be reconciled to thy brother” before offering “thy gift at the altar” (Matt. 5, 23-24), and hence the Roman rite should, following the example of the East, have the kiss at the Offertory.

The Paschal Kiss

What these authors overlook, however, is that there is not one theological rationale undergirding the kiss but two. While the Eastern kiss, which we may call the “conciliatory kiss,” is indeed grounded in Matthew 5, 23-24, the Roman kiss, which we may label the “Paschal kiss,” takes its bearings not from the Sermon on the Mount but from the Paschal mystery stretching from the Last Supper to the Resurrection. That Paschal kiss has at least four distinct meanings.

Peace

First and foremost, the Roman kiss not only betokens peace but confers it. The kiss was seen not a “sign of peace” or even the sign of peace—it was peace. The Roman liturgical books simply refer to the kiss as the pax. While this may certainly include reconciliation and forgiveness, the peace itself, as the 2004 Redemptionis Sacramentum explicitly states, is not done primarily for this reason. [7]

The Risen Christ

Second, the Paschal kiss symbolizes the Paschal Lamb, the resurrected and glorified Christ. In St. John’s Gospel, the risen Jesus appears to the Apostles and, after saying “Peace be with you,” breathes the Holy Spirit onto them, a breath that gives them the power to forgive sins (John 20, 20-23). Although the Latin Fathers rightly interpreted this passage as the institution of the sacrament of penance, they also saw Christ’s communication of the Holy Spirit through His breath as a kind of kiss. Hence the whole scene is redolent of the kiss of peace.

Continue Reading this Article. . .

Time for the Soul to Absorb the Mysteries — Part 3: The Communion

(Links to Part 1 and Part 2)

Continuing our exploration of how the ancient Roman Rite has, built into it, sufficient time or leisure for the appropriation of its sacred content, today I would like to focus on the segment of the liturgy usually referred to as the Communion rite, which, in a well-celebrated usus antiquior, is a veritable oasis of tranquility.

“Deep calleth on deep, at the noise of thy flood-gates. All thy heights and thy billows have passed over me” (Ps 41:8). After the long silence of the Roman Canon, the uttering or chanting of the Lord’s Prayer emerges like the cry of a swimmer raising his head above the water. Soon, though, he is submerged again in the Libera nos, followed shortly after by the rich prayers of preparation for Holy Communion, the threefold Domine, non sum dignus, the poignant psalm verses.

I’ll admit that I used to feel a little impatient right around this time. We’ve had our oasis of silent worship during the Canon, and just as the sung or recited prayers are cranking up again, we find ourselves confronted once more with several sizeable pauses: the gap between the Lord’s Prayer and the per omnia saecula saeculorum preceding the Pax Domini, and then the gap between the Agnus Dei and the Confiteor/Ecce Agnus Dei. Why are we standing or kneeling and waiting for stuff to happen? Can’t we move on?

One could answer this question with a disquisition on the development of this part of the liturgy and the importance of the various prayers and gestures that the priest is busy with at that moment. But here we are considering the moral and spiritual benefit that accrues to the people from the way the liturgy developed. This benefit is summed up in the famous words of Milton: “They also serve who only stand and wait.” Certain virtues or spiritual dispositions are formed precisely in these gaps or pauses, these stretches of profound and expectant silence. We know what is coming, and yet it still has to come, in its own way and at its own time. We may not, must not, rush it in our desire to be “in charge.” It is like having to wait nine months for a child to be born. How hard it is to go for so many months without seeing the child, or even, in many cases, knowing whether it is a boy or a girl!

Waiting for the priest at the altar, waiting for the liturgy to do its work at its own pace, is a model of our stance vis-à-vis life and death. Think of the Blessed Virgin Mary, who had to wait for her Son to suffer his agony, die upon the cross, and be taken down. The Mass reflects this trustful stance of waiting for God to act and readying oneself to meet Him, to be acted upon — that is, to suffer, and thus, to partake of His victory, when and as He wishes to share it. Thinking of it this way, I have learned not only to accept but to welcome and appreciate these pauses in the post-Canon portion of the Mass.

Let us return to the rich prayers of the liturgy at this juncture, most of which are said silently by the priest. Laity with daily missals often make these prayers their own, but just as often they may pray in their own words or thoughts or desires or emptiness as they await their invitation to the banquet of immortality. The priest’s separate communion brings two immense goods: first, it strongly accentuates the de fide teaching that the priesthood of the priest and the priesthood of the faithful are essentially different and that, as a result, only the priest’s communion is required for the completion of the holy sacrifice; secondly, it allows the faithful an ample moment of proximate preparation, in which we can take a big spiritual breath (so to speak) before we approach the altar ourselves. I was recently reminded of the importance of this moment when reading about a medieval nun, St. Mechtilde of Hackeborn (c. 1240–1298), who had the pious custom of reciting five Hail Marys before receiving Holy Communion:

At the first Hail Mary, she reminded our Lady of the solemn hour when she conceived a Son in her virginal womb, at the word of the Angel, and drew Him to her from heaven by her profound humility. She asked her to obtain for her a pure conscience and profound humility.
         At the second Hail Mary, she reminded her of the happy moment when she took Jesus for the first time into her arms and first saw Him in His Sacred Humanity. She prayed Mary to obtain for her a true knowledge of herself.
         At the third Hail Mary, she begged our Lady to remember that she had always been prepared to receive grace and had never placed any obstacle to its operation. She begged Mary to obtain for her a heart always ready to receive divine grace.
         At the fourth Hail Mary, she reminded our Lady with what devotion and gratitude she received on earth the body of her well-beloved Son, knowing better than anyone the salvation to be found there by mankind. Mechtilde begged her to obtain that her heart might be filled with worthy feelings of gratitude. If men knew the blessings which flow for them from the body of Jesus Christ, they would faint with joy.
         At the fifth Hail Mary, she reminded our Lady of the reception given to her by her divine Son when He invited her to take her place near Him in heaven in the midst of transports of joy.[1]

Everyone who attends the usus antiquior can understand why St. Mectilde was able to do this as her own “pious custom.” Quite simply: she had the time, the space, the silence, to recite five Hail Marys before going to communion. Alas, such a thing is well-nigh unimaginable in the Novus Ordo, when one is scarcely allowed an opportunity to collect one’s thoughts, let alone enjoy the presence of mind to pray five Hail Marys for these noble intentions! A mystic like St. Mectilde would have fared rather badly any time after about 1964, since the liturgy would no longer have been able to nourish her interior life as it had done before.

If the saints have warned us to guard against lapsing into a routine of thoughtless, unprepared communions — even in the best of circumstances, when the liturgy itself, with earnest prayer and pools of silence, furnished every opportunity to rise above this fault! — what would they say about our situation today, when the casual, routine, indiscriminate and undiscerning reception of the Holy Eucharist is the norm throughout the Catholic Church, rather than the exception?

A different Mectilde, Mother Catherine Mectilde de Bar (1614–1698), foundress of the Benedictines of Perpetual Adoration, describes what happens when a person receives communion. Her description helps us to appreciate why St. Thomas Aquinas says that two things are required for a fruitful communion: being in a state of grace, and being in a state of actual devotion.[2] A certain devout recollection is required from the communicant in order to follow Our Lord whither He goes, for He hides Himself in the depths of the soul:

Jesus Christ, being thus in the soul, whither does He withdraw? As I said, to the sancta sanctorum of the soul, which is its most intimate depth and which serves as a sanctuary for this High Priest and as a temple where He celebrates His divine and terrible sacrifice of all that He is to His Father. This sacrifice He wants to renew in the depth of each soul as in a holy temple, for which it was consecrated on the day of baptism. O inconceivable marvel! Jesus Christ descends into our hearts in order to sacrifice Himself and to celebrate there His solemn Mass in profound silence. All is quiet in this temple, the angels and saints admire and adore the way the Lord humbles Himself there, and the Eternal Father is well pleased.[3]

I might add in passing that the theoretically optional but in practice mandatory “sign of peace” only contributes to the superficiality and spirit of distraction. The Novus Ordo seemingly does not want you to drift away from the surface of things: since it supposed to build up the community, the People of God, you must be forcibly reminded of that at every turn. This, I think, might explain why so many pastors seem content to allow the faithful to chit-chat before and after Mass rather than catechizing them about the sacred silence that befits the temple of God. This chit-chat is, in a way, the conversation one would expect at the family dinner table, which is what the Mass has been reduced to in progressive circles. How strange it would be for guests at a meal to keep silent, close their eyes, and speak only in whispers!

But we are not at a mere meal; we are at a sacrificial banquet, whose host is the crucified and risen Lord. Our behavior should be utterly different. It should never remain on the surface but respond to the still, small voice that calls us to the heights and depths of Our Lord’s infernal sorrow and celestial joy: “Deep calleth on deep…”

In the fourth installment of this series, I will consider the ablutions to the last Gospel, and find, once more, that the usus antiquior as it has developed under the care of Divine Providence displays a subtle grasp of human psychology and divine largesse in pacing the conclusion of the liturgy.


NOTES

[1] From The Love of the Sacred Heart, Illustrated by St. Mechtilde, with a Foreword by the Lord Bishop of Salford (London: Burns, Oates, and Washbourne, 1922), 164.

[2] See, for example, Scriptum super Sententiarum, Lib. IV, d. 9, q. 1, a. 4, qa. 2, sol.

[3] Mother Mectilde, The True Spirit of the Perpetual Adorers of the Most Holy Sacrament of the Altar, ch. 6; unpublished translation.

The CDW Reins in the Sign of Peace

Many years ago, a friend of mine was studying at a prominent Catholic university, where every dorm has its own chapel, and every chapel has at least one Mass a day. Explaining why he never attended Mass in the dorm chapels, he said, “If I were a Martian with no way of knowing what was happening in this rite, or a phenomenologist, I would say that its purpose was to give all the participants an opportunity to hug each other, and then have a light tasteless snack.” Most Catholics have probably attended at least a few Masses where the sign of peace has completely overwhelmed the end of rite, to the despite of Communion, a problem which Pope Benedict noted in the Apostolic Exhortation Sacramentum Caritatis.

(D)uring the Synod of Bishops there was discussion about the appropriateness of greater restraint in this gesture, which can be exaggerated and cause a certain distraction in the assembly just before the reception of Communion. It should be kept in mind that nothing is lost when the sign of peace is marked by a sobriety which preserves the proper spirit of the celebration, as, for example, when it is restricted to one’s immediate neighbours. (parag. 49)

Catholic News Agency and Sandro Magister report that this discussion about greater restraint in the Sign of Peace has been put into practice, citing exactly these words, in a new directive of the Congregation for Divine Worship. The proposal to move the sign of peace to the Offertory, in imitation of the Ambrosian and Byzantine liturgies, has not been accepted; the rite remains in its traditional place. Such proposals have been bandied about for years, and rarely take note of the fact that in the Byzantine Rite, the peace is given among the clergy while the people and choir sing the Creed. It is also rarely mentioned that in the Ambrosian Rite, the removal of the sign of peace from its traditional place after the Lord’s Prayer and Libera nos to its current place after the Prayer of the Faithful is based, like so many pet theories of modern liturgists, on a dubious and purely theoretical reconstruction.

The Congregation also makes several practical recommendations for the sign of peace, summarized by CNA as follows:

First, while confirming the importance of the rite, it emphasized that “it is completely legitimate to affirm that it is not necessary to invite ‘mechanistically’ to exchange (the sign of) peace.” The rite is optional, the congregation reminded, and there certainly are times and places where it is not fitting.
Its second recommendation was that as translations are made of the third typical edition of the Roman Missal, bishops’ conference should consider “changing the way in which the exchange of peace is made.” It suggested in particular that “familiar and worldly gestures of greeting” should be substituted with “other, more appropriate gestures.”
The congregation for worship also noted that there are several abuses of the rite which are to be stopped: the introduction of a “song of peace,” which does not exist in the Roman rite; the faithful moving from their place to exchange the sign; the priest leaving the altar to exchange the sign with the faithful; and when, at occasions such as weddings or funerals, it becomes an occasion for congratulations or condolences.
The Congregation for Divine Worship’s final exhortation was that episcopal conferences prepare liturgical catechesis on the significance of the rite of peace, and its correct observation.