A Homily of St Gregory the Great Carved in Stone

Today is the feast of two Roman Saints named Nereus and Achilleus. An inscription placed over their burial place by Pope St Damasus I (366-84) tells us that they were soldiers who were forced to participate in the persecution of Christians, but threw away their weapons and armor, and were in turn martyred for the Faith. There can be no doubt of the authenticity of their martyrdom, or that their feast is very ancient, but the date of their death is uncertain, and the various details later added to their story are considered legendary. In the pre-Tridentine Roman Divine Office, their Matins lessons amount to barely over a hundred words, which are restated with similar brevity in the reformed version of St Pius V. Their feast was kept at the lowest rank, and shared with another Roman martyr who died on the same day, St Pancratius.

Pope St Gregory the Great venerating a miraculous image of the Virgin and Child, surrounded by Ss Papias and Maurus (left), and Nereus, Achilleus and Domitilla (right); 1606-7, by Peter Paul Rubens. This painting was commissioned for the Chiesa Nuova, the church of the Roman Oratory, which dedicated to both the Virgin Mary and St Gregory; parts of the relics of the five Saints depicted in it are in the high altar.

They were buried in part of the Christian cemetery complex now known as the Catacomb of Domitilla, about 1½ miles from the Aurelian Walls down the via Ardeatina; Pope Damasus then built a small basilica on the grounds over this cemetery. More than two hundred years later, Pope St Gregory the Great preached in this church on the martyrs’ feast day. However, in later centuries, when the empire had fallen apart, and the countryside around Rome was no longer safe for pilgrims to traverse, the relics of nearly all the Saints who had originally been buried in the various catacombs were brought into the city, and placed in churches. The basilicas over the cemeteries were then abandoned and mostly fell into ruin, in some cases, so completely that their exact location is no longer identifiable.

The interior of the modern reconstructed basilica of Ss Nereus and Achilleus, at the catacomb of Domitilla. (Image from Wikimedia Commons by Dennis G. Jarvis, CC BY 2.0)

It is not certain when Nereus and Achilleus were brought into Rome. Around 800 AD, Pope St Leo III built or rebuilt a church in their honor next to the baths of Caracalla, and it is possible that this was done specifically to accommodate the translation of their relics. But one way or another, four centuries later, they were brought to the church of St Hadrian in the Roman Forum.

When Pope Clement VIII elevated the great Church historian Cesare Baronio, a priest of the Roman Oratory and close friend of its founder, St Philip Neri, to the rank of cardinal in 1596, he gave him the church of Ss Nereus and Achilleus as his title. Baronio immediately set about giving the building a much-needed top-to-bottom restoration. The following year, the Saints’ relics were discovered at St Hadrian, and solemnly translated to their own church on the day before their feast.

Image from Wikimedia Commons by RealRome, CC BY 4.0 

Image from Wikimedia Commons by LivioAndronico2013, CC BY-SA 4.0

At the time, it was mistakenly believed that this was the church in which St Gregory had preached the aforementioned homily, and the cardinal therefore had the full text of it carved onto the episcopal throne in the apse, where it can still be seen today. The feast itself was raised to the rank of semidouble, and excerpts of the same homily, on the Gospel of the healing of the prince’s son (John 4, 46-53) were added to the breviary. (Another part of the same homily is read on the 20th Sunday after Pentecost.)

Image from Wikimedia Commons by Lalupa, CC BY-SA 3.0 

Here is the conclusion, starting from where St Gregory mentions the Saints for the first time. If he seems very pessimistic about the state of the world, one must remember that Rome was in a terrible condition after the Gothic wars of the sixth century, and he would have walked through roughly two miles of ruins to get to the place where he preached it. Assuming he took the shortest route from the Lateran, where the popes lived at the time, he would have passed by at least one broken aqueduct, an abandoned bath complex, and a good many large but long-empty houses.

“Behold, this world which is loved flees away. These saints at whose grave we stand trampled the flourishing world with contempt. They had long life, continual health, material riches, many children, tranquility in long-lasting peace, and yet, though it flourishing in itself, this world had already withered in their hearts. Behold, now this world is withered in itself, and still, it flourishes in our hearts. Everywhere is death, everywhere mourning, everywhere desolation; on all sides we are struck, on all sides we are filled with bitterness. And yet, in the blindness of our mind, we love the very bitterness of the tasted fleshly desire; we pursue what flees, we cling to what falls, and since we cannot hold onto that which falls, we fall with what we hold onto. Once, the world captivated us for itself with its delight; now it is now full of such misfortunes that already it sends us back to God.

Consider, therefore, that what happens in time does not count, for the end of all temporal things shows how meaningless is that which can pass away. The collapse of things shows us that something which passes away was almost nothing, even when it seemed to stand firm. Dearest brothers, think of these things with careful consideration; fix your hearts in the love of eternity, so that, while you disdain to reach the heights of earth, you may come to that glory which you hold by faith, through Jesus Christ our Lord, who is God, and lives and reigns with the Father in unity of the Holy Spirit, through all the ages of ages. Amen.”

The ruins of the baths of Caracalla in Rome, depicted in an engraving by the Swiss artist Louis Duclos (1748-1810), ca. 1780. In St Gregory’s time, the complex was already abandoned, but of course nowhere near so badly ruined.  

St Servulus of Rome

The Dialogues of St Gregory the Great are a collection of stories and miracles of Saints whom the author knew personally, or were known by people whom he knew, written as a conversation between himself and a Roman deacon named Peter. The work was translated into Greek early on, and became very popular in the East, whence Gregory’s nickname in the Byzantine tradition, “the Dialogist.” The second book is occupied entirely by the life and deeds of St Benedict, for which it is earliest and the most important source.

In the fourteenth chapter of the fourth book, Gregory gives this touching story of a paralyzed beggar named Servulus, who was wont to spend much of his time in the portico of the basilica of St Clement in Rome. Servulus’ death, which took place on December 23rd, was witnessed by a member of the monastic community which Gregory had led prior to his papal election; this unnamed man was still alive at the time he wrote.

The façade and part of the portico of the modern basilica of St Clement, which was built in the early 12th century, replacing the building that Ss Gregory and Servulus would have known. (Image from Wikimedia Commons, released to the public domain by the author.) 

“… often when the souls of the elect go forth, a sweet sound of heavenly praise is wont to burst forth, so that, as they willingly listen to it, they may be permitted by the soul to barely feel the dissolution of the flesh. … in that porch which leads the way to the church of the blessed Clement, there was a certain man called Servulus … who was poor in wealth, but rich in merits, and whom a long sickness had afflicted. For from the time when I first came to know him to the end of his life, he lay paralyzed. What can I say, but that he could not stand, and was never able to sit up in his bed, could never put his hand to his mouth, or turn from one side to the other. His mother and brother attended and served him, and whatever he could get in alms, by their hands he bestowed upon other poor people. He could not read at all, yet he had bought for himself the books of Sacred Scripture, and taking in as guests any religious men, he eagerly had them read them to him; and thus it came about that he fully learned the Sacred Scripture in his own way. …

An engraving of St Servulus, made before 1635. Public domain image from Wikimedia Commons.

He always took care in his pains to give God thanks day and night with hymns and praises, and when he knew that he was close to death, he urged all the strangers lodged in his house to rise and sing psalms with him as he awaited his departure. And as he, though dying, was singing with them, of a sudden he restrained the voices of the singers, startling them with a loud cry, and saying, ‘Be silent! Do you not hear the great praises that resound in heaven?’ And while he lay the ear of heart to those praises which he heard inwardly, his holy soul was released from the flesh, and as it went forth, so great a fragrance filled the place, that all who were present were filled with an unfathomable sweetness, and thus did they clearly learn from this that those praises had received his soul in heaven. One of our monks who is still living was present for this event, and bears witness to it with great weeping, for until they gave his body over for burial, they smelled that fragrance continually.”

The Feast of St Gregory the Great 2025

It is reported that some merchants, having just arrived at Rome on a certain day, exposed many things for sale in the marketplace, and an abundance of people resorted thither to buy. Gregory himself went with the rest, and, among other things, some boys were set to sale, their bodies white, their countenances beautiful, and their hair very fine. Having viewed them, he asked, as is said, from what country or nation they were brought, and was told, from the island of Britain, whose inhabitants were of such personal appearance. He again inquired whether those islanders were Christians, or still involved in the errors of paganism, and was informed that they were pagans. Then, with a deep sigh from the bottom of his heart, “Alas! what a pity,” said he, “that the author of darkness is possessed of men of such fair countenances; and that being remarkable for such graceful aspects, their minds should be void of inward grace.” He therefore again asked, what was the name of that nation, and was answered that they were called Angles. “Right,” said he, “for they have an Angelic face, and it becomes such to be co-heirs with the Angels in heaven. What is the name,” he continued, “of the province from which they are brought?” It was replied, that the natives of that province were called Deiri. “Truly are they De ira,” said he, “withdrawn from wrath, and called to the mercy of Christ. How is the king of that province called?” They told him his name was Ælla: and he, alluding to the name said, “Allelujah, the praise of God the Creator must be sung in those parts.”

An inlaid stone panel in the chapel of Ss Gregory the Great and Augustine of Canterbury in Westminster Cathedral, London, depicting the story told here by St Bede.

Then repairing to the bishop of the Roman Apostolic see (for he was not himself then become Pope), he entreated him to send some ministers of the word into Britain to the nation of the English, by whom it might be converted to Christ; declaring himself ready to undertake that work, by the assistance of God, if the Apostolic Pope should think fit to have it so done. Which not being then able to perform, because, though the Pope was willing to grant his request, yet the citizens of Rome could not be brought to consent that so noble, so renowned, and so learned a man should depart the city; as soon as he was himself made Pope, he perfected the long-desired work, sending other preachers, but himself by his prayers and exhortations assisting the preaching, that it might be successful. This account, as we have received it from the ancients, we have thought fit to insert in our Ecclesiastical History. (From St Bede the Venerable’s Ecclesiastical History of the English Nation, book 2, chapter 1)

Here are some pictures which I took of the same chapel in Westminster Cathedral which I took when visited London with the Schola Sainte-Cecile in August of 2019. On the wall facing the panel shown above, an image of the same workmanship, depicting the Judgment of Solomon. (It is not clear to me why this particular subject was chosen here; if any of our readers knows, perhaps he could leave a note in the combox.)

On the ceilings, mosaic of Saints important to the history of Catholic England: Ss Wilfrid, Archbishop of York (633 ca. - 710), St Benedict, and St Cuthbert of Lindisfarne (634 ca. - 687). St Benedict was of course never in England, but is included because of the particular importance of monks in the evangelization of the country, and its religious life in general before the Reformation. At the time of the suppression of the monasteries, half of the cathedrals in the country were staffed by monks, rather than canons.

On the opposite side, St Oswald (604 ca. - 642), King of Northumbria from 634 to his death, an early promoter of Christianity in England; St Bede the Venerable (672-735); and St Edmund the Martyr (841ca. - 870), King of East Anglia from 855 until his death in one of the Danish invasions that plagued England in that era.

On the arch looking into the baptistery, which is right next to this chapel, St John the Baptist and St Augustine, a combination which refers to the role of the latter in evangelizing England, the famous mission on which he was sent by Pope Gregory. The Breviary lessons on his feast day, May 28th, state that “Once on Christmas, when he had imparted baptism to 10,000 persons and more in the river at York...”

This kneeler was carved by a furniture maker named Robert Thompson, who used to work a little mouse into almost every one of his pieces. This was made at Ampleforth Abbey and donated to this chapel, where is stands in front of the grave of Basil Cardinal Hume (1923-99), Archbishop of Westminster, who had previously been abbot of Ampleforth.

The baptismal font

Pope St Gregory the Great on the Gifts of the Magi

The wise men brought gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Gold becometh a King, frankincense is offered in sacrifice to God, and with myrrh are embalmed the bodies of the dead. Therefore, by these mystical gifts did the wise men preach Him whom they adored; by the gold, that He was King; by the frankincense, that He was God; and by the myrrh, that He was to die.

The Meeting of the Magi with King Herod, and the Adoration of the Christ Child; from the Ingeborg Psalter, ca. 1195, now at the Musée Condé in Chantilly, France.

There are some heretics who believe Him to be God, but do not at all believe that He reigns everywhere; these offer unto Him frankincense, but refuse Him gold. There are some others who think that He is King, but deny that He is God; these offer Him gold, but refuse Him frankincense. There are some who profess that He is both God and King, but not deny that He took up mortal nature. These offer Him gold and frankincense, but not myrrh for the mortal nature which He assumed.

Let us, therefore, offer gold unto the new-born Lord, that we may confess His universal rule; let us offer unto Him frankincense, that we may believe that He Who hath appeared in time, was God before time was; let us offer Him myrrh, that, just as we believe Him not subject to suffering in His divinity, we may also believe that He was mortal in our flesh. (From Pope St Gregory the Great’s 10th Homily on the Gospels, read in the Breviary of St Pius V on the third day within the Octave of Epiphany.)

A Proper Hymn for St Gregory the Great

The revised breviary issued by St Pius V in 1568 derives from the tradition which the Papal curia followed in the high Middle Ages, formally codified at the beginning of the 13th century in a document known as the Ordinal of Pope Innocent III (1198-1216). As I have noted several times, this tradition was in many ways very conservative, much more so than most other Uses of the Roman Rite, and especially in regard to its repertoire of hymns. Thus we find that many real gems of medieval hymnody are missing from the Roman breviary, and even the feasts of very important Saints, such as those of the first four Latin Doctors of the Church, take their hymns from the commons. This even includes the Saint after whom the chant proper to the Roman Rite is named, and whose feast we keep today.

An inlaid stone panel in the chapel of Ss Gregory the Great and Augustine of Canterbury in Westminster Cathedral, London, depicting the famous story of Gregory’s first encounter with English people in a slave market in Rome, as told by St Bede the Venerable in his Ecclesiastical History of the English Nation, book 2, chapter 1.

The Benedictines have always held Saint Gregory the Great in particular honor, not only because he was a monk himself, and the first great promotor of monasticism among the Popes, but also as the biographer of their founder. His feast is therefore kept as a double of the second class, on a par with the Apostles, and has a mostly proper Office. (“Mostly”, because it has no proper antiphons for the Psalms of Matins, and borrows one responsory from the Common of Doctors.) It also includes this hymn composed by St Peter Damian (1007 ca. - 1072), which is split into two parts, one to be sung at both Vespers and Matins, and the other at Lauds. The translation below is by Kathleen Pluth, except for the stanzas given in italics on the English side (explanation below). The recording is by the monks of Downside Abbey in England, the main church of which is dedicated to St Gregory. (It is accompanied by several pictures of St Pius X, and two of Pope Benedict XVI; it was posted a few month after the Apostolic Visit of the latter to England in fall of 2010, so I presume as a tribute to the latter.)

At Vespers and Matins

Anglorum jam Apostolus, nunc Angelorum socius, ut tunc, Gregori, gentibus, succurre iam credentibus.	Apostle to the English lands Now with the angel hosts he stands. Make haste, St. Gregory, relieve And help the people who believe.
Tu largas opum copias omnemque mundi gloriam spernis, ut inops inopem Jesum sequaris principem.	From riches and from wealth you    turned. The glory of the world you spurned, That you might follow, being poor, Prince Jesus, who was poor before.
Videtur egens naufragus, Dum stipem petit Angelus, Tu munus jam post geminum Praebes et vas argenteum.	An angel asks for alms, who seems a poor, shipwrecked man; after giving him a double gift, you present also a silver vessel.
Te celsus Christus pontifex (originally ex hoc te Christus    tempore) suæ præfert Ecclesiæ; sic Petri gradum percipis, cuius et normam sequeris.	This Christ, High Pontifex, decreed (orig. from this time, Christ made    thee head of His Church) That you would take His Church’s    lead, And learn St. Peter’s steps to tread: The rule of all called in his stead.
O pontifex egregie, lux et decus Ecclesiæ, non sinas in periculis quos tot mandatis instruis.	O Pontifex, our leader bright, The Church’s honor and its light, Through dangers let them all be    brought, The ones you carefully have taught.
Sit Patri laus ingenito, sit decus Unigenito, sit utriusque parili maiestas summa Flamini.    Amen.	The unborn Father let us praise, And to His Son like glory raise, And to their Equal, majesty. All glory to the Trinity. Amen.

At Lauds

Mella cor obdulcantia Tua distillant labia, Fragrantum vim arómatum Tuum vincit eloquium.	Thy lips drip honey that sweeteneth hearts, thy speech surpasseth the power of fragrant spices.
Scriptúræ sacræ mýstica Mire solvis ænígmata: Theórica mysteria Te docet ipsa Véritas.	You wondrously solved riddles deep: The mystic secrets Scriptures keep, For Truth Himself has taught you these: The lofty sacred mysteries.
Tu nactus Apostólicam Vicem simul et gloriam: Nos solve culpæ néxibus, Redde polórum sedibus.	Having obtained the apostolic office and glory, release us from the bonds of sin, and bring us back to heaven.
Repeat stanzas O pontifex egregie and Sit Patri laus from Matins.

The translation by Ms Pluth and the recording both follow the edited version of this hymn done for the Liturgy of the Hours by Dom Anselmo Lentini OSB, which omits three of St Peter Damian’s stanzas, the ones which are accompanied by my own less-than-inspired prose translations. Not all of Dom Lentini’s emendations or ideas for new hymns were bad, and some that were bad I have noted as such only in passing, but his changes here call for something sharper than my preferred description of his work, “cack-handed.”

The first omitted stanza, which begins with the words “Videtur egens naufragus”, refers to the story that when St Gregory was still a monk, one day an angel came to his monastery in the guise of a man who had been shipwrecked, begging for alms. Gregory gave him six silver coins, but the angel returned the next day, saying that he had lost them, at which the Saint gave him six more. The same thing happened on the third day, and the procurator of the monastery informed Gregory that there was nothing left in the house but the silver platter by which his mother, St Silvia, used to regularly send him vegetables to eat. Gregory immediately ordered that it be given to the beggar.

The central section of Paolo Veronese’s Supper of St Gregory (1572), which depicts the appearance of the thirteen man at his table, as explained below. In the refectory of the shrine of the Virgin Mary on Mt Berico outside Vicenza, about 43 miles west of Venice. (Image from Wikimedia Commons by Sailko, CC BY-SA 3.0)

As Pope, Gregory was wont to welcome twelve pilgrims or poor people to dine with him every day, but one day, he beheld a thirteenth in their midst, who was visible only to himself. After the supper, he approached the man and asked him who he was, to which the fellow replied, “Why do you ask about my name, which is wondrous? And yet, know that I am the shipwrecked man to whom you gave the silver dish... and from that day... the Lord destined you to become the head of his Church, and the successor of the Apostle Peter.” He then revealed himself to be not just an angel, but Gregory’s guardian, and told him that he would obtain all that he asked through himself.

The lesson here is not at all hard to grasp, namely, that Gregory was deemed worthy of the papacy above all else because of his charity. This is a lesson which St Peter Damian clearly chose to emphasize out of his great concern with the reform of the Church, in an age when the Church was very much in need of reform, precisely because it suffered from so many thoroughly worldly prelates, and no few Popes among them.

Dom Lentini, however, decided that this reference had to be removed because it is “difficult for many who do not know the particulars of the Saint’s life”, as he writes in his account of the reforms of the hymns. This offers us a very neat summary of one of the worst problems with the entire project of the post-Conciliar reform: its operating assumption (a deeply clericalist one) that the faithful are not just completely untaught, but completely unteachable. It was therefore deemed impossible that the original text might offer a good opportunity to teach them something about St Gregory’s life, much less to explain what it was about this particular episode (among so many others that might have been chosen) that another Doctor of the Church thought it worthy of our attention. And of course, in an age of unbridled (and, as it turned out, totally unwarranted optimism) about the general condition of the Church, this lesson brings with it an implicit warning to worldly prelates who choose not to follow the example of Saints like Gregory, one which we forget to our tremendous peril.

The First Sunday of Advent 2023

At the beginning of each new liturgical year, the Church wisely reminds us that the end of the world is always nigh, by reading an admonition to that effect from Pope St Gregory the Great, who died over 1400 years ago.

The beginning of today’s Gospel, Luke 21, 25-33, and the beginning of St Gregory’s homily on it, in an Office lectionary copied out ca. 850-75. (Cod. Sang. 430; CC BY-NC 4.0) This lectionary follows a common variant of the Roman Rite by which the Gospel of the First Sunday of Advent was that of the Lord’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem (Matt. 21, 1-9), and the other Gospels of Advent each bumped forward one week.

Our Lord and Redeemer, wishing to find us ready (at His second coming), declares what evils accompany the world as it grows old, that He may restrain us from the love of the world. He makes known what great disturbances will come before the end as it approaches, so that, if we will not fear God in times of tranquillity, we may at least be beat down by such disturbances, and so fear His judgment. For right before this reading of the Holy Gospel which you have heard, brethren, the Lord said, “Nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom, and there shall be great earthquakes in various places, and pestilences and famines.” Then, after a few other things, (is read) this which you have just heard (Luke 21, 25-33); “There shall be signs in the sun, and in the moon, and in the stars, and upon the earth distress of nations with perplexity, the sea and the waves roaring.”

St Gregory’s words about earthquakes overthrowing cities very likely refer to the destruction of Antioch, the seat of one of the three ancient Christian Patriarchates, and various other cities in Syria by a series of six major earthquakes between 526 and 588. The buildings shown in this fifth-century mosaic (discovered in the Antiochene suburb of Daphne, about 4 miles to the west of it) may be the city’s imperial palace and cathedral. (Public domain image from Wikimedia Commons) The latter, where St John Chrysostom had preached when he was still a priest of Antioch, was known as the Golden House; it was destroyed and rebuilt three times in those years, and finally abandoned after 588.

Now some of these things have already come to pass, and others we fear are not far off. For in our days we see nation rise against nation, and their distress over all the earth, more than we read in books ever happened of old. You know also how often we hear that an earthquake has overthrown countless cities in other parts of the world. We suffer pestilences without ceasing. Now in truth, we do not as yet clearly see signs in the sun and moon and stars, but from the very change of the air, we gather that they are not far off. (The homily of the third nocturn of the First Sunday of Advent in the Breviary of St Pius V, and many other breviaries before it.)

Pope St Gregory the Great, (ca. 1646-66) by the Flemish painter Lucas Franchoys the Younger (1616-81); public domain image from Wikimedia Commons.

Sacred Art Is Not For Teaching Scripture to the Illiterate (Part 2)

Sacred art is not meant, primarily, to help people to know good things, rather it is to inspire us to do good things, through beauty.

If we were to believe what some say, especially professional art historians, it seems, then the main purpose for the creation of Catholic art of the past (for example, the stained glass windows of Gothic cathedrals), was to teach Scripture to the illiterate. Some might broaden this slightly and tell us that it is to teach Catholic doctrine, but again, to the illiterate. This can, in turn, be asserted by Catholics who think that it is a good thing, and occasionally, Eastern Rite Christians who criticize Catholic art for this reason, and tell us that the iconographic tradition forms the hearts of those who worship, while they worship, in contrast to what they would argue are degenerate naturalistic forms. I explain why I suspect the historians are wrong, and doubt that has been the main goal of Roman Catholics in the past, but even if the historians are correct, then this narrow defined didacticism should not have been the main purpose for Catholic sacred art, because the Roman Catholic Church has consistently told us otherwise. This posting is the second in a two-part article.

The Council of Trent, in the 16th century, did refer to art and its role as an aid to the teaching role of the bishops, but this is only after reiterating the words of the Seventh Ecumenical Council of 787AD:

Moreover, that the images of Christ, of the Virgin Mother of God, and of the other saints, are to be had and retained particularly in temples, and that due honour and veneration are to be given them; not that any divinity, or virtue, is believed to be in them, on account of which they are to be worshipped; or that anything is to be asked of them; or, that trust is to be reposed in images, as was of old done by the Gentiles who placed their hope in idols; but because the honour which is shown them is referred to the prototypes which those images represent; in such wise that by the images which we kiss, and before which we uncover the head, and prostrate ourselves, we adore Christ; and we venerate the saints, whose similitude they bear: as, by the decrees of Councils, and especially of the second Synod of Nicaea, has been defined against the opponents of images. (The Council of Trent, Twenty-fifth Session, On the Invocation, Veneration, and Relics, of Saints, and on Sacred mages.)

St Joseph and the Child Jesus, ca. 1620, painted in the Baroque style which developed in the wake of the Council of Trent, about 60 years after the close of the Council.

The Council then went on to advise bishops to teach: 

...that, by means of the histories of the mysteries of our Redemption, portrayed by paintings or other representations, the people is instructed, and confirmed in (the habit of) remembering, and continually revolving in mind the articles of faith; as also that great profit is derived from all sacred images, not only because the people are thereby admonished of the benefits and gifts bestowed upon them by Christ, but also because the miracles which God has performed by means of the saints, and their salutary examples, are set before the eyes of the faithful; that so they may give God thanks for those things; may order their own lives and manners in imitation of the saints; and may be excited to adore and love God, and to cultivate piety. But if any one shall teach, or entertain sentiments, contrary to these decrees; let him be anathema.

This is not, it seems to me, describing a simple Scripture lesson for the illiterate; rather it is an additional tool at the disposal of those who are (or at least ought to be) the primary teachers of the Church. One could as easily interpret what is being described (especially in light of the effect that the Council later had on sacred art ) as mystagogical catechesis that is directed towards orthopraxis. That is, art is there to inspire prayer and right worship, and people can be instructed on how to engage with it so that this happens when they do so.

The Council concluded its remarks on sacred art by cautioning against images that could lead the viewer away from the teachings of the Church:

And if any abuses have crept in amongst these holy and salutary observances, the holy Synod ardently desires that they be utterly abolished; in such wise that no images, (suggestive) of false doctrine, and furnishing occasion of dangerous error to the uneducated, be set up. And if at times, when expedient for the unlettered people; it happen that the facts and narratives of sacred Scripture are portrayed and represented; the people shall be taught, that not thereby is the Divinity represented, as though it could be seen by the eyes of the body, or be portrayed by colors or figures.

Moreover, in the invocation of saints, the veneration of relics, and the sacred use of images, every superstition shall be removed, all filthy lucre be abolished; finally, all lasciviousness be avoided; in such wise that figures shall not be painted or adorned with a beauty exciting to lust; nor the celebration of the saints and the visitation of relics be by any perverted into revelings and drunkenness; as if festivals are celebrated to the honor of the saints by luxury and wantonness.

Finally, let so great care and diligence be used herein by bishops, as that there be nothing seen that is disorderly, or that is unbecomingly or confusedly arranged, nothing that is profane, nothing indecorous, seeing that holiness becometh the house of God. And that these things may be the more faithfully observed, the holy Synod ordains, that no one be allowed to place, or cause to be placed, any unusual image, in any place, or church, howsoever exempted, except that image have been approved of by the bishop.

Agnus Dei c. 1635–1640, by Francisco de Zurbarán, another work in the Baroque style, painted 80 years after the Council.

More recently, in the 20th century the constitution of Vatican II, Sacrosanctum concilium (SC 127) suggests the following:

All artists who, prompted by their talents, desire to serve God's glory in holy Church, should ever bear in mind that they are engaged in a kind of sacred imitation of God the Creator, and are concerned with works destined to be used in Catholic worship, to edify the faithful, and to foster their piety and their religious formation.

Formation can include the imparting of information and knowledge of Scripture, but a religious formation is, as stated before, primarily directed to the end of guiding us to right worship.

The Catechism of the Catholic Church is similar (CCC 2502):

Sacred art is true and beautiful when its form corresponds to its particular vocation: evoking and glorifying, in faith and adoration, the transcendent mystery of God—the surpassing invisible beauty of truth and love visible in Christ, who "reflects the glory of God and bears the very stamp of his nature," in whom "the whole fullness of deity dwells bodily." This spiritual beauty of God is reflected in the most holy Virgin Mother of God, the angels, and saints. Genuine sacred art draws man to adoration, to prayer, and to the love of God, Creator and Savior, the Holy One and Sanctifier.

The Adoration of the Magi, by Martin Earle; 21st-century art by a Roman Catholic artist following the Second Vatican Council, painted 60 years after it closure.

As we know, Catholics do not always follow the guidance of Mother Church! If the art historians are right and the role of art has been primarily a narrow didactic role, then it means that consistently and through the centuries, artists have been ignorant of, deliberately ignoring, or at least unable to fulfill what the Church has been telling them about sacred art.

There is another point to make, in regard to the recent period in Church history. Since at least the beginning of the 19th-century, in my opinion, the art created by Catholic artists began to decline in quality and, generally speaking, failed more and more in its purpose of ‘drawing man to adoration, prayer, and the love of God.’ (I have made the argument in other articles on this blog, as to how and why stylistic changes in this period led to this decline, and more generally to a decline in Catholic culture). This, it occurs to me might explain why there is a focus today on the didactic purpose of sacred art, for if it fails to inspire through beauty then that is all you have. Furthermore, if it lacks divine beauty, as nearly all modern art does in my opinion, then ultimately it will fail in this lesser purpose as well for people will not be so inclined to look at it. If art is as vital to the cultivation of faith as the Seventh Ecumenical Council tells us, no wonder we have seen a decline in faith. 

Stained glass in a French church, created in the 1950s, 10 years before Vatican II

A carved capital at Clear Creek Abbey, 21st century, by Catholic artist Andrew Wilson Smith.

Sacred Art Is Not For Teaching Scripture to the Illiterate (Part 1)

Sacred art is not meant primarily to help people to know good things; rather it is to inspire us through beauty to do good things.

If we were to believe what some say, especially professional art historians, it would seem that the main purpose for the creation of Catholic art of the past, for example in the stained glass windows of Gothic cathedrals, was to teach Scripture to the illiterate. Some might broaden this slightly, and tell us that it was to teach Catholic doctrine, but again, to the illiterate. This can, in turn, be asserted by Catholics who think that it is a good thing, and occasionally, Eastern Rite Christians, who criticize Catholic art for this reason, and tell us that the iconographic tradition forms the hearts of those who worship, while they worship, in contrast to what they would argue are degenerate naturalistic forms. I explain here why I suspect the historians are wrong, and doubt that this has been the main goal of Roman Catholics in the past. But even if the historians are correct, this narrowly defined didactic purpose would not have been the main purpose or Catholic sacred art, because the Roman Catholic Church has consistently told us otherwise. This posting is the first in a two-part article.

While being happy to concede that this is part of the story, I have never been convinced that the main reason for the presence of art in Roman Catholic churches is purely or even primarily didactic.

First, I would contend that while art can aid instruction, it simply cannot be read like a book without explanation. Assuming the illiterate of the past weren’t also deaf or unable to comprehend the spoken word, people learned primarily by oral tradition: through hearing the Word being read by those who were literate, through homilies, personal instruction, and through the words and actions of the liturgy. If this were the case, then art certainly has a part to play, perhaps through reminding and reinforcing those lessons in the minds of the faithful.

For example, would anyone be able to tell what was happening here if they didn’t already know the story? There is obviously something pretty gruesome going on, but would anyone understand its meaning and context without explanation? Perhaps, we might think, it is inspiring us to kill babies - an abortionist’s manifesto!

Giotto - The Massacre of the Innocents

If, however, this is viewed during the liturgy on the feast of the Holy Innocents in the Christmas season, then we have some context, and it will impart an understanding of the feast and its place in Salvation History and in the Sacred Liturgy, and thus enrich the worship of all those present, literate and illiterate alike.

To limit the purpose of art to a narrow didactic role seems to me to miss the whole point of the Christian faith, which is union with God, most powerfully through our worship of Him in the liturgy. This is the end to which all those lessons are, or at least ought to be, directed. Certainly, art can be a teaching aid for those learning Scripture or Catholic doctrine, but that is not its main purpose, for knowledge of Scripture and Catholic doctrine serve the Catholic life, of which the high point is liturgy. The Catholic faith is not primarily about knowing things, it is about doing things - praxis - and worship is at the heart of what we do. Art can enrich our worship and our prayer directly, for we can worship and pray better while looking at good sacred art, which forms us to be better worshipers through form (meaning the style in which it is painted) and beauty as much as content.

The most important role of art is in stimulating and directing prayer in the course of our worship in the liturgy, and it does this in a way that deepens the participation in the worship as we look at it. In this case, the result, if it is well chosen for the purpose, is not so much a lesson learned, but a love enriched and deepened.

What does the Church say about the purpose of art?

St Gregory the Great, writing at the turn of the 7th century to the Bishop of Marseille, is often quoted to back up the assertion that sacred art has primarily a didactic purpose. “For a picture is displayed in churches on this account, in order that those who do not know letters may at least read by seeing on the walls what they are unable to read in books.”

Gregory the Great

Gregory was not writing dogmatically here, so we do not know if this point of view represented the sole argument in the Roman Church, let alone of Gregory himself, for having art in churches. He was after all writing to a particular person on a particular issue for pastoral reasons, and we would need to know more about the context to be sure. Furthermore, just 178 years later, the Seventh Ecumenical Council, which did articulate dogma, told us something different: the purpose of art is to inspire and stimulate our capacity for the right worship of God and the veneration of the Saints. Art does this through form and beauty and it informs our hearts as much as it gives information to the intellect through content:

We, therefore, following the royal pathway and the divinely inspired authority of our Holy Fathers and the traditions of the catholic church (for, as we all know, the Holy Spirit indwells her), define with all certitude and accuracy that just as the figure of the precious and life-giving cross, so also the venerable and holy images, as well in painting and mosaic as of other fit materials, should be set forth in the holy churches of God, and on the sacred vessels and on the vestments and on hangings and in pictures both in houses and by the wayside, to wit, the figure of our Lord God and Saviour Jesus Christ, of our spotless Lady, the Mother of God, of the honorable Angels, of all Saints and of all pious people. For by so much more frequently as they are seen in artistic representation, by so much more readily are men lifted up to the memory of their prototypes, and to a longing after them; and to these should be given due salutation and honorable reverence, not indeed that true worship of faith which pertains alone to the divine nature; but to these, as to the figure of the precious and life-giving Cross and to the Book of the Gospels and to the other holy objects, incense and lights may be offered according to ancient pious custom. For the honor which is paid to the image passes on to that which the image represents, and he who reveres the image reveres in it the subject represented. For thus the teaching of our holy Fathers, that is the tradition of the Catholic Church, which from one end of the earth to the other hath received the Gospel, is strengthened. Thus we follow Paul, who spake in Christ, and the whole divine Apostolic company and the holy Fathers, holding fast the traditions which we have received. (Percival 1955:).

In short, art is for all, and it inspires as well as instructs.

Next week, I will look at what the Council of Trent had to say on the matter and how this cannot be used to support the assertion of a narrowly didactic role for art in churches.

An 8th-century Coptic painting of St Anne, Mother of Our Lady

An Artist Monk Describes the Celebration of St Gregory’s 1300th Anniversary in Rome in 1904

In recent months I have tremendously enjoyed reading aloud at home two books recommended to me by my son. They were written by a most fascinating individual, Dom Willibrord Verkade, O.S.B. Jan, as he was known prior to entering religion, was an up-and-coming Dutch painter in a post-impressionist style who hob-nobbed with fin de siècle Parisian poets and artists before he converted to Catholicism and became a monk of Beuron. He then specialized in Beuronese art, under the tutelage of Desiderius Lenz; the Wikipedia article about him is spotty, but accurate so far as it goes.

The first book, which takes us from his childhood through his conversion, is called Yesterdays of an Artist-Monk, translated by J. L. Stoddard (New York: P.J. Kenedy & Sons, 1930), and fairly obtainable on the used book market. The second, called In Quest of Beauty (New York: P.J. Kenedy & Sons, 1935), which starts with Verkade’s farewell to his family and entrance into the novitiate and then describes his life as a monk-artist, is nearly impossible to find; we are reading a copy borrowed from the Benedictine College library in Kansas.

In this second volume, Dom Willibrord talks about attending a grand pontifical liturgy with Pope St Pius X in 1904, in honor of the 1300th anniversary of the death of St Gregory the Great in 604. His description is so vivid and so charming—including the amusing detail that, although he was singing in the schola, he whipped out a sketchbook and drew a quick portrait of the pope—that I felt it was supremely fitting to share it today, on the traditional feastday of this truly great pope. (It also, incidentally, offers an interesting historical record of how and by whom chant was executed at the start of the movement to restore chant to its “pride of place.”)

The following year, as I was still in Monte Cassino [painting the crypt], I was allowed to visit Rome on the occasion of the celebration in honor of Saint Gregory the Great, the great Benedictine Pope whose thirteen-hundredth anniversary was being solemnized at St. Peter’s on March 12. It was a memorable occasion. Pius X celebrated a Pontifical High Mass at which the students of the International Benedictine College of Sant’ Anselmo constituted the schola or special choir, and I was privileged to sing among them. We sang the Proper, standing in our places on the right-hand side of the Confessio or Papal Altar. The Ordinary was chanted by a massed group of one thousand Roman students standing further out in the spacious transept.

In the great central nave of the basilica a crowd of over fifty thousand faithful from all parts of the Catholic world were gathered, and all awaited the solemn entry of the Holy Father with tense expectation. Suddenly we perceived a frantic waving of handkerchiefs far down near the portals, and we knew the Pope had entered. He had forbidden all cheering, which demanded some heroic restraint on the part of the volatile Italians, but they succeeded admirably well. Not a sound was heard, save a kind of rustling noise made by the restless movements of the vast throng. It was like the hum of the distant surf, or the whisper of a sudden breeze stirring in a grove of poplars.

The Holy Father came majestically toward us, carried on his sedia gestatoria, bestowing his blessing to right and left to acknowledge all those silent tributes of love and veneration. When he was borne past us, his paternal gaze rested upon our group of singers, and smilingly he blessed us too.

The Mass took its solemn course, the venerable Gregorian chant seeming to take on a special dignity and sonorousness for this occasion. Once the Holy Father’s face was turned directly toward me, as he sang the Preface. I made a rapid sketch of his rather plain but kindly countenance. What soft, luminous eyes he had! Occasions like these make Catholics realise what a great blessing it is to have a common father, one who truly loves and watches over them, a Pastor Vigilans…  (Dom Willibrord Verkade, In Quest of Beauty, pp. 105–7)

Sadly, photographs of pontifical ceremonies from over a hundred years ago are exceedingly rare and somewhat random. For example, as Gregory DiPippo pointed out to me, we have not a single photo from the solemn definition of the Immaculate Conception, or from the rededication of St Paul’s Outside the Walls, which was done two days later. So it’s not surprising that we may not have any photos from March 12, 1904. However, the following photos, one of Pius X on the sedia gestatoria, and the other of a pontifical Mass offered by the same in 1905 in St. Peter’s, would give us a good sense of the kind of thing Dom Willibrord was seeing.

Happy feast of St. Gregory the Great! May he, St Pius X, and all worthy successors of St Peter intercede for us.

The First Sunday of Advent 2020

As this annus horribilis nears its end, the Church wisely reminds us, as She has at the beginning of each new liturgical year for over a millenium, that the end of the world is always nigh, by reading an admonition to that effect from Pope St Gregory the Great, who died over 1400 years ago.

The beginning of today’s Gospel, Luke 21, 25-33, and the beginning of St Gregory’s homily on it, in an Office lectionary copied out ca. 850-75. (Cod. Sang. 430; CC BY-NC 4.0) This lectionary follows a common variant of the Roman Rite by which the Gospel of the First Sunday of Advent was that of the Lord’s triumphal entry into Jerusalem (Matt. 21, 1-9), and the other Gospels of Advent each bumped forward one week.

Our Lord and Redeemer, wishing to find us ready (at His second coming), declares what evils accompany the world as it grows old, that He may restrain us from the love of the world. He makes known what great disturbances will come before the end as it approaches, so that, if we will not fear God in times of tranquillity, we may at least be beat down by such disturbances, and so fear His judgment. For right before this reading of the Holy Gospel which you have heard, brethren, the Lord said, “Nation shall rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom, and there shall be great earthquakes in various places, and pestilences and famines.” Then, after a few other things, (is read) this which you have just heard (Luke 21, 25-33); “There shall be signs in the sun, and in the moon, and in the stars, and upon the earth distress of nations with perplexity, the sea and the waves roaring.”

St Gregory’s words about earthquakes overthrowing cities very likely refer to the destruction of Antioch and various other cities in Syria by a series of six major earthquakes between 526 and 588; the second of these struck on this very day in the year 528. The buildings shown in this fifth-century mosaic (discovered in the Antiochene suburb of Daphne, about 4 miles to the west of it) may be the city’s imperial palace and cathedral. (Public domain image from Wikimedia Commons) The latter, where St John Chrysostom had preached when he was still a priest of Antioch, was known as the Golden House; it was destroyed and rebuilt three times in those years, and finally abandoned after 588.

Now some of these things have already come to pass, and others we fear are not far off. For in our days we see nation rise against nation, and their distress over all the earth, more than we read in books ever happened of old. You know also how often we hear that an earthquake has overthrown countless cities in other parts of the world. We suffer pestilences without ceasing. Now in truth, we do not as yet clearly see signs in the sun and moon and stars, but from the very change of the air, we gather that they are not far off. (The homily of the third nocturn of the First Sunday of Advent in the Breviary of St Pius V, and many other breviaries before it.)

Pope St Gregory the Great, (ca. 1646-66) by the Flemish painter Lucas Franchoys the Younger (1616-81); public domain image from Wikimedia Commons.

The Feast of St Gregory the Great 2020

It is reported that some merchants, having just arrived at Rome on a certain day, exposed many things for sale in the marketplace, and an abundance of people resorted thither to buy. Gregory himself went with the rest, and, among other things, some boys were set to sale, their bodies white, their countenances beautiful, and their hair very fine. Having viewed them, he asked, as is said, from what country or nation they were brought, and was told, from the island of Britain, whose inhabitants were of such personal appearance. He again inquired whether those islanders were Christians, or still involved in the errors of paganism, and was informed that they were pagans. Then, with a deep sigh from the bottom of his heart, “Alas! what a pity,” said he, “that the author of darkness is possessed of men of such fair countenances; and that being remarkable for such graceful aspects, their minds should be void of inward grace.” He therefore again asked, what was the name of that nation, and was answered that they were called Angles. “Right,” said he, “for they have an Angelic face, and it becomes such to be co-heirs with the Angels in heaven. What is the name,” he continued, “of the province from which they are brought?” It was replied, that the natives of that province were called Deiri. “Truly are they De ira,” said he, “withdrawn from wrath, and called to the mercy of Christ. How is the king of that province called?” They told him his name was Ælla: and he, alluding to the name said, “Allelujah, the praise of God the Creator must be sung in those parts.”

An inlaid stone panel in the chapel of Ss Gregory the Great and Augustine of Canterbury in Westminster Cathedral, London, depicting the story told here by St Bede.

Then repairing to the bishop of the Roman Apostolic see (for he was not himself then become Pope), he entreated him to send some ministers of the word into Britain to the nation of the English, by whom it might be converted to Christ; declaring himself ready to undertake that work, by the assistance of God, if the Apostolic Pope should think fit to have it so done. Which not being then able to perform, because, though the Pope was willing to grant his request, yet the citizens of Rome could not be brought to consent that so noble, so renowned, and so learned a man should depart the city; as soon as he was himself made Pope, he perfected the long-desired work, sending other preachers, but himself by his prayers and exhortations assisting the preaching, that it might be successful. This account, as we have received it from the ancients, we have thought fit to insert in our Ecclesiastical History. (From St Bede the Venerable’s Ecclesiastical History of the English Nation, book 2, chapter 1)

During the pilgrimage to London this summer with the Schola Sainte-Cecile, we visited Westminster Cathedral; here are some more images from the same chapel. On the wall facing the panel shown above, an image of the same workmanship, depicting the Judgment of Solomon. (It is not clear to me why this particular subject was chosen here; if any of our readers knows, perhaps he could leave a note in the combox.)

On the ceilings, mosaic of Saints important to the history of Catholic England: Ss Wilfrid, Archbishop of York (633 ca. - 710), St Benedict, and St Cuthbert of Lindisfarne (634 ca. - 687). St Benedict was of course never in England, but is included because of the particular importance of monks in the evangelization of the country, and its religious life in general before the Reformation. At the time of the suppression of the monasteries, half of the cathedrals in the country were staffed by monks, rather than canons.

On the opposite side, St Oswald (604 ca. - 642), King of Northumbria from 634 to his death, an early promoter of Christianity in England; St Bede the Venerable (672-735); and St Edmund the Martyr (841ca. - 870), King of East Anglia from 855 until his death in one of the Danish invasions that plagued England in that era.

On the arch looking into the baptistery, which is right next to this chapel, St John the Baptist and St Augustine, a combination which refers to the role of the latter in evangelizing England, the famous mission on which he was sent by Pope Gregory. The Breviary lessons on his feast day, May 28th, state that “Once on Christmas, when he had imparted baptism to 10,000 persons and more in the river at York...”

This kneeler was carved by a furniture maker named Robert Thompson, who used to work a little mouse into almost every one of his pieces. This was made at Ampleforth Abbey and donated to this chapel, where is stands in front of the grave of Basil Cardinal Hume (1923-99), Archbishop of Westminster, who had previously been abbot of Ampleforth.

The baptismal font

Pope St Gregory the Great on the Gifts of the Magi

The wise men brought gold, frankincense, and myrrh. Gold becometh a King, frankincense is offered in sacrifice to God, and with myrrh are embalmed the bodies of the dead. Therefore, by these mystical gifts did the wise men preach Him whom they adored; by the gold, that He was King; by the frankincense, that He was God; and by the myrrh, that He was to die.

The Meeting of the Magi with King Herod, and the Adoration of the Christ Child; from the Ingeborg Psalter, ca. 1195, now at the Musée Condé in Chantilly, France.

There are some heretics who believe Him to be God, but do not at all believe that He reigns everywhere; these offer unto Him frankincense, but refuse Him gold. There are some others who think that He is King, but deny that He is God; these offer Him gold, but refuse Him frankincense. There are some who profess that He is both God and King, but not deny that He took up mortal nature. These offer Him gold and frankincense, but not myrrh for the mortal nature which He assumed.

Let us, therefore, offer gold unto the new-born Lord, that we may confess His universal rule; let us offer unto Him frankincense, that we may believe that He Who hath appeared in time, was God before time was; let us offer Him myrrh, that, just as we believe Him not subject to suffering in His divinity, we may also believe that He was mortal in our flesh. (From Pope St Gregory the Great’s 10th Homily on the Gospels, read in the Breviary of St Pius V on the third day within the Octave of Epiphany.)