Tintoretto, The Mystic Marriage of St. Catherine with Doge Francesco Donato in Adoration, 1581-4
St. Catherine of Alexandria
St. Catherine of Alexandria used to claim a place among the Great Saints. Catherine herself and the spiked wheel upon which she became a martyr appeared frequently in the work of medieval and Renaissance artists. A monastery in the Sinai bearing her name was a popular destination for pilgimages. In France, unmarried women between the ages of 25 and 30 took the title catherinettes, and wore a special St. Catherine’s bonnet. The instrument of her martyrdom even inspired the name of a pyrotechnic device, the Catherine wheel. It was a rare Catholic who wouldn’t be thoroughly familiar the St. Catherine’s name and story.
Santa Catalina de Alejandría by Caravaggio, c. 1598, with the spiked wheel of her martyrdom.
An Army of Philosophers
It’s a story well worth revisiting today (November 25th) on the saint’s feast day. Saint Catherine, we are told, was a beautiful princess born of pagan parents. She possessed a superior intellect, and applied her talents in the study of the sciences and philosophy. When she became a Christian, she betrothed herself to Christ in a Mystical Marriage. She also used her formidable intellectual prowess in defense of His Church. In this way she came to the attention of the Emperor Maxentius, who enlisted a small army of philosophers to refute Catherine’s arguments.
Not only did Maxentius’s philosophers fail, but she converted some of them. The enraged emperor ordered prison and torture for the young woman. As it happened, in the midst of her punishment she gained even more converts, including the emperor’s own wife. After executing his wife (along with all the other converts) Maxentius tried to win over Catherine with an offer of marriage. She refused, of course, having already married the King of Kings. As a result, the emperor condemned her to death by torture on a spiked wheel. When the mere touch of the saint destroyed this implement of torment, the emperor finally ordered Catherine beheaded. Angels bore her body to the monastery on Mt. Sinai that now bears her name.
A Most Honored Saint
St. Catherine of Alexandria by Giovanni Antonio Sogliano. Here she holds a book representing learning.
For a long time, as we noted above, St. Catherine was one of the best known and most honored Saints. The story of her martyrdom was widely known, and she was popular as the patroness of single women. She was also one of the Saints who spoke to St. Joan of Arc. Today, however, many Catholics have never heard of her. The Church removed her feast day from the Liturgical Calendar in 1969, although it has returned more recently as an Optional Memorial.
There are no doubt a number of reasons for St. Catherine of Alexandria’s loss of prominence. The most apparent is that there is no historical record of her life until several centuries after the fact. We can’t deny, of course, that some pious traditions and stories are clearly fantastic. We shouldn’t for that reason reject anything handed down by our predecessors in the Faith that falls short of the sort of documentary evidence required by modern historiography. To do so is to concede too much to a materialistic worldview. There is certainly no evidence that St. Catherine is a fabrication, and in doubtful matters I’m happy to throw my support to Christian tradition.
Patroness of Modern Women
St. Joan of Arcby Jean Pichore, 1506
St. Catherine’s lower profile is also unfortunate because she has so much to say to women in our world today. She is the embodiment of the sort of “Christian Feminism” that St. John Paul II described in his Apostolic letter Mulieris Dignatem and in other places. While she is able to equal accomplished men, she does not seek to supplant them, and she does not lose sight of her essential femininity. Notice that she finds her fulfillment in her spousal relationship with Christ. Accordingly, her miraculous deeds are a result of her absolute trust in Him. Her later namesake Catherine of Siena, who was a diplomat and advisor to Popes, also had a well known Mystical Marriage to Christ. She was also like the Alexandrian Catherine in that even when she went toe-to-toe with men on their turf, she didn’t pretend to be one of them.
I find the connection to St. Joan of Arc instructive here as well. I don’t see St. Joan as a precursor of modern feminism, despite some modern depictions. She is really much more like the Old Testament Judge Deborah. In Chapter 4 of the Book of Judges Deborah takes the reins of the army unwillingly, only after her general Barak tells her that he won’t lead their troops against their enemy Sisera without her. “I will surely go with you”, she replies, “nevertheless, the road on which you are going will not lead to your glory, for the Lord will sell Sisera into the hand of a woman” (Judges 4:9).
As a result, not only does Deborah receive credit for the victory that should have been Barak’s, but Sisera himself dies at the hand of another woman, Jael, who drives a tent peg through his head as he sleeps. Likewise, when Joan of Arc takes up the sword, it is not to assert that women should behave just like men. It is rather a rebuke to the men who have been failing to do that which they have been called to do.
What More Could We Ask?
There’s a lesson here. Today’s radical feminism is to a large degree an overreaction to a genuine failure to show due respect women and their appropriate role, but feminism has taken a cure that is worse than the original ailment: it denies the essential nature of women by attacking their maternal and nurturing mission. At the same time, a major result of the so-called sexual revolution has been to reduce woman to a mere object of desire. As a consequence, women are, in important ways, less respected than ever.
St. Catherine of Alexandria has a lot to say to such a world. She puts her trust completely in Jesus Christ, and so she trusts in the gifts he has given her, including her femininity. Therefore, she can be as strong as any man, without surrendering her womanhood. She is not deterred by threats, seduced by bribes, and can’t be broken by the worst this world has to offer, because the Lord is her spouse. She commands the respect of men, and invites the emulation of women. What more could we ask of a Great Saint?
Angels Announcing the Birth of Christ to the Shepherds, by Govert Flinck, 1639
The Gloria
The Gloria starts with “Glory to God in the highest . . .” If you frequent the Catholic Mass, you know this prayer. You’ve heard it hundreds of times, maybe thousands. But how much do you know about it? Or have you ever wondered where it comes from, or how it got into the Mass?
First of all, it’s not itself in the Bible. At the same time, you’ve probably noticed that it takes much of it’s content from holy Scripture. The first line, for instance, comes directly from the Gospel of Luke: “Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace to people of good will!” (Luke 2:14). This is the passage where the angels announce the birth of the Savior to the shepherds of Bethlehem.
Biblical References
The rest of the prayer draws on scripture in much the same way. The following list was compiled by Fr. James Chelich (full article here):
Lord God (Exodus 20:7; Amos 5:1-3)
Heavenly King (Psalm 24)
Almighty God (Genesis 17:1)
Father (Matthew 6:6-13)
Lord Jesus Christ (1 Thessalonians 5:28)
Begotten Son (Hebrews 1:5)
Lord God (John 20:28)
Lamb of God, who takes away the sins of the world (John 1:29)
Son of the Father (John 3:16)
Only Son (coming from the Father) (John 1:14, 18)
Seated at the Right Hand of the Father (Mark 14:60-62)
Holy One (John 6:69)
Lord (Acts 2:36)
(Son of the) Most High (Luke 1:32; Luke 8:28)
Psalmus Idioticus
Again, despite its scriptural content, the Gloria is found nowhere in the Bible. It’s an example of what we call a psalmus idioticus. No, that doesn’t mean what it looks like it means. Idioticus means “private” in Greek. The word “idiot” originally mean someone who went off and did his own thing instead of working for the common good. In any case, a psalmus idioticus is a “private psalm.” Prayers of this sort in imitation of the biblical psalms were popular in the first centuries of the Church. The Te Deum is another example.
The Gloria itself is Greek in it’s earliest form, a product of the Eastern Church. Tradition credits St. Hilary of Poitiers with introducing it to the Latin Church. The Greek Churches today (both Orthodox and Catholic) sing the Gloria as part of the Divine Office during the hour of Matins, instead of during the Mass.
Mozart’s Mass in C
Many composers over the centuries have put the Gloria to music. One of the most glorious of these settings is the one Mozart composed for his Mass in C. I’ve posted Mozart’s Gloria below in its entirety. Don’t despair if you don’t have time for the entire clip (it’s about 26 minutes long). I recommend listening at least to the “Laudamus Te” (“We praise you”), which starts at the 2:40 mark. It simply soars.
The performers, by the way, are local (are least for me): the Concorde Chorale & Phillips Exeter Academy Chamber Orchestra.
The Gloria, in Latin and English
Gloria in excelsis Deo
et in terra pax hominibus bonae voluntatis.
Laudamus te,
benedicimus te,
adoramus te,
glorificamus te,
gratias agimus tibi propter magnam gloriam tuam,
Domine Deus, Rex caelestis,
Deus Pater omnipotens.
Domine Fili unigenite,
Iesu Christe,
Domine Deus, Agnus Dei,
Filius Patris,
qui tollis peccata mundi,
miserere nobis;
qui tollis peccata mundi,
suscipe deprecationem nostram.
Qui sedes ad dexteram Patris,
miserere nobis.
Quoniam tu solus Sanctus,
tu solus Dominus,
tu solus Altissimus, Iesu Christe,
cum Sancto Spiritu in gloria Dei Patris.
Amen
Glory to God in the highest,
and on earth peace to people of good will.
We praise you,
we bless you,
we adore you,
we glorify you.
We give you thanks for your great glory,
Lord God, heavenly King,
O God, almighty Father.
Lord Jesus Christ,
only Begotten Son,
Lord God, Lamb of God,
Son of the Father,
You take away the sins of the world
have mercy on us;
You take away the sins of the world,
receive our prayer;
You are seated at the right hand of the Father:
have mercy on us.
For you alone are the Holy One,
You alone are the Lord,
You alone are the Most High, Jesus Christ,
With the Holy Spirit, in the glory of God the Father. Amen.
The power of love is one of the most powerful gifts that Christ shares with his followers.
Now, it’s true that it’s hard to live as a Christian publicly these days. And, yes, it’s likely to get worse. The lives of the martyrs remind us that there have been Christians (and still are in many parts of the world) who suffer much, much worse things than we do today in the United States.
Today’s saint, St. Julia of Corsica (also known as St. Julia of Carthage), is a good example. St. Julia was a 5th century martyr who refused to be seduced by personal gain or cowed by the threat of torture and death. I published my first post about St. Julia eight years ago. It became one of the most popular pages on my original blog, a testimony to the timelessness (and the timeliness) of this saint. A testimony, in other words, to the power of love.
St. Julia’s story throws an interesting light on the situation in which we find ourselves today. Her story starts in Carthage in the 5th century, where she was born into a noble family. When the Vandals captured and sacked that ancient city, Julia fell into the hands of slave traders. A Syrian merchant named Eusebius purchased her. Despite the hardships and humiliations of her servile state she remained content. More than that, she was cheerful because of her piety and her deep love of Christ. These same qualities greatly endeared her to her master.
Love for the Lord
On one occasion, when Julia was on a journey with her master, he stopped at the island of Corsica where the locals were celebrating a pagan festival. Eusebius joined in the revelry; Julia, needless to say, stayed away. Her refusal to participate greatly annoyed the local governor, a man called Felix. According to the account in Butler’s Lives of the Saints, Felix
asked who this woman was who dared to insult the gods. Eusebius informed him that she was a Christian, and that all his authority over her was too weak to prevail with her to renounce her religion, but that he found her so diligent and faithful he could not part with her.
This governor, however, was not one to take no for an answer. First, he offered Eusebius four of his own female slaves in exchange for the one Julia. Eusebius, however, emphatically refused to surrender her. Next, after her master had fallen asleep, the governor approached Julia directly, offering to free her if only she would sacrifice to the pagan gods. She answered that she was “as free as she desired to be as long as she was allowed to serve Jesus Christ.” Felix fell into a rage at this answer, and then he tortured and crucified her. Neither the bribes nor the threats of the governor could overcome Julia’s love for her Lord.
“The blood of the Martyrs is the seed of the Church.”
-Tertullian
The Seed of the Church
Needless to say, St. Julia paid a much higher price for her faith than mere cancellation from social media. Let’s look at a few points that stand out from the account of her life. First and foremost, Julia’s devotion to Christ and her courage in the face of unspeakable suffering is an inspiration to us. Maybe I’ll remember that the next time I’m feel the temptation to “go along with the crowd.” Maybe when I’m afraid of the disapproval or verbal abuse of others, I’ll take some strength from Julia’s fortitude in the face of much, much worse persecution.
Julia also shows us the power of example. Clearly, her character and virtue made a large impression on her master Eusebius. It’s true that her diligence and fidelity alone were not enough to win him over to the faith, at least not right away. On the other hand, they did give him the courage to stand up to the governor Felix. In fact, the virtues she gained from her faith convinced him not to give her up for, literally, any price.
None of the accounts I have seen, unfortunately, tell us anything about what eventually happened to Eusebius. One wonders whether the example of her heroic martyrdom was finally enough to make him a Christian. We do know that the witness of the martyrs was crucial to the conversion of very many people. The fruitfulness of that witness inspired Tertullian to say: “The blood of the martyrs is the seed of the Church.”
A Saint for Our Time
Julia’s story also tells us something about the nature of sin. It brings to mind Father Richard John Neuhaus’ aphorism: “When orthodoxy becomes optional, sooner or later it will become proscribed”. Simply doing the right thing, in other words, looks like a rebuke to those who are doing the wrong thing. Look at Julia: she wasn’t interfering with the pagan festival, she was simply staying away. The governor, however, couldn’t tolerate anyone who was not actively endorsing his activities.
How often have we seen this same attitude today. We can see that the advocates of a “New Orthodoxy” will certainly try to destroy the reputation and livelihood of anyone who does not publicly cheer for their moral and societal innovations. Of course, at least in the United States, nobody is literally suffering crucifixion.
Nevertheless, the consequences of trying to live a Gospel life are real. The list of people runs from celebrities on down to ordinary people including school counselors and college professors and students. They have been “cancelled” merely for stating their adherence to things that were considered to be common sense up until the day before yesterday. We all know about the weak-kneed corporations giving into leftist bullying. Within the last couple of years we have seen communications monopolies such as Twitter, Facebook, and the rest become bolder than ever in their attempts to shut down speech that doesn’t adhere to the politically correct point of view.
Newspeak vs. The Eternal Word
Regarding which situation, look at the stances that draw the most fire from the Woke Cancellation Mob. They are not only things that virtually everyone has traditionally taken for granted. They are also matters of clear Catholic teaching. Consider the following questions from then Senator, now Vice President (!) Kamala Harris directed toward judicial nominee Brian C. Buescher. Mr. Buescher, it seems, belonged to what Senator Harris and Senator Mazie Hirono characterized as an “extremist” organization:
“Were you aware that the Knights of Columbus opposed a woman’s right to choose when you joined the organization? . . . Were you aware that the Knights of Columbus opposed marriage equality when you joined the organization?”
Of course, in the Orwellian language of the left, “a woman’s right to choose” means unfettered legal abortion. Likewise , “marriage equality” is newspeak for redefining marriage to include same sex couples. The senators, therefore, were berating Buescher for the simple fact of adhering to Catholic doctrine.
The Dogma Lives Loudly
Justice Amy Coney Barrett is sworn in at her nomination hearing.
This was not an isolated incident. A year earlier, Senator Dianne Feinstein in a similar way confronted judicial nominee (and eventual Supreme Court Justice) Amy Coney Bryant. Bryant is also a Catholic. Feinstein disapprovingly pronounced, “the dogma lives loudly within you.” In other words, if you’re a believing Catholic, you’re not fit to be a federal judge. The year after Harris’s grilling of Buescher, Senator Cory Booker followed the same script. He demanded of Neomi Rao, another nominee for a federal judgeship (and in her case a convert to Judaism) “whether you believe it is sinful for two men to be married?”
The Constitution’s explicit ban on “religious tests” for office did nothing to deter these prominent politicians. Likewise, no fear of electoral backlash restrained their overt shows of anti-religious bigotry. Tellingly, at the time two of them were actively seeking the presidency.
Wrong at the Roots
Given that, it should come as no surprise that the administration in which former Senator Harris now serves has promulgated a rule denying conscience protection to Catholic and other doctors morally opposed to “gender reassignment” surgery. Likewise, it is promoting the so-called “Equality Act,” which would force pro-life doctors to perform abortions.
We should not conclude from the examples above that this is primarily a political problem: as we have seen before (hereand here, for instance), politics is an outgrowth of things going on at deeper levels in society, in the culture and, more fundamentally still, on the religious level. Politics reflects changes that have already taken place on those deeper levels, and if major national politicians believe that they can get away with such overtly anti-Christian behavior (and why shouldn’t they? It’s worked so far), something has already gone very wrong at the roots.
An Alternate Religion
In fact, aggressive secularism has not only taken over the culture, but has also taken on the the role of an alternate religion. It is now fighting traditional Christian belief for possession of the deepest foundations of our society. The secularists can draw on their cultural influence to acquire political power, and then in turn use their political gains to protect what they have won on the other levels. As Austin Ruse said in an essay published on the Crisis website last year:
Catholics and other Christians must understand that we are not merely up against a new faith but a new faith that is an established Church backed by the power of the federal, state, and local governments.
Like St. Julia, simply by believing in orthodox Christianity and following its precepts, we are seen as a threat by that rival faith.
More Precious Than Gold Tested By Fire
But, of course, that’s not the end of the story. Christ sent the Holy Spirit down on his Church at Pentecost, the Church against which, he had promised Peter, the “Gates of Hell” would not prevail (Matthew 16:17) . . . but he had also promised persecution (Matthew 5:11). The Persecution was not long in coming. The same Peter who boldly addresses the wondering crowds on Pentecost will soon be writing to the early Christians:
In this you rejoice, though now for a little while you may have to suffer various trials, so that the genuineness of your faith, more precious than gold which though perishable is tested by fire, may redound to praise and glory and honor at the revelation of Jesus Christ.(1 Peter 1:6-7)
Granted, the sort of harassment Christians face in the secular West does not come close to that faced by the Early Church or by martyrs like St. Julia . . . yet. We can’t say the same for much of the Islamic world, where Christians face tremendous violence or, increasingly, in communist China. We are kidding ourselves if we think it can’t happen here. At the same time, throughout the history of the Church we have seen that even the most zealous persecutors can sometimes experience conversion. From St. Paul himself through the Nazi death-camp guards who were awed by the martyrdom of St. Maximilian Kolbe, the faith and Christ-like serenity of their victims can win apparent enemies for Christ.
Sharing in Christ’s Sufferings
The ancient accounts don’t tell us, but St. Julia’s master Eusebius, or even the governor Felix, might well have been among these converts. Whether or not St. Julia’s martyrdom moved them in this way, we can be sure that she did move many of the other pagan witnesses.
Finally, the times are dark, but be of good cheer. The example of St. Julia of Corsica is a reminder that, although there will always be defeats along the way, Christ wins in the end. If we can put our Hope in His promise and rely on the support of the Holy Spirit, as Julia did, we can persevere. As St. Peter said: “Rejoice in so far as you share Christ’s sufferings, that you may also rejoice and be glad when his glory is revealed” (1 Peter 13).
Sacred music is a topic near and dear to my hear. More importantly, it is dear to the heart of the Church. Consider what the Second Vatican Council had to say:
The musical tradition of the universal Church is a treasure of inestimable value, greater even than that of any other art. The main reason for this pre-eminence is that, as sacred song united to the words, it forms a necessary or integral part of the solemn liturgy. (Sacrosanctam Concilium, 112)
You may not be surprised to know that my tastes in liturgical music tend toward the more traditional. I’m not disparaging contemporary religious music, in and of itself. Honestly, I even like some of it. For instance, I have been known to play John Michael Talbot’s “Table of Plenty.” Not only that, I also have an abiding fondness for Dana Scallon’s “We Are One Body. Really. These and many other songs are fine as expressions of religious devotion. Are they truly appropriate, though, for the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass? Do they really capture the sacredness of the Miracle of the Holy Eucharist?
“The Most Beautiful Music I’ve Ever Heard”
I was once discussing sacred music (specifically the work of Palestrina and Allegri) with a co-worker. This man was a very talented non-Catholic music teacher. “It’s some of the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard,” he said. “I can’t believe they got rid of it in the liturgy. I mean, I guess they had to, but It’s hard to believe.” It’s understandable that he might think this. In fact, many Catholics do, too. But as it happens, the Church itself says otherwise. For example, In the Second Vatican Council’s Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy Sacrosanctum Concilium we read:
The Church acknowledges Gregorian chant as specially suited to the Roman liturgy: therefore, other things being equal, it should be given pride of place in liturgical services.
But other kinds of sacred music, especially polyphony, are by no means excluded from liturgical celebrations, so long as they accord with the spirit of the liturgical action, as laid down in Art. 30. (Sacrosanctam Concilium, 116)
Set Aside For God
The word sacred means “set aside”, as in set aside for God. Sacred music, therefore, should be very special indeed. The clip below, for instance, offers a sterling example, Gregorio Allegri’s “Adoremus in Aeternum.” Like his more well-known setting for the “Miserere,” it employs both Gregorian Chant and Polyphony. Nothing less could adequately express the beauty and wonder of Christ present in the Eucharist.
To read Sacrosanctum Concilium’s full discussion of sacred music, see HERE.
Sacred Music in Latin and English:
Adoremus in Aeternum
Adoremus in aeternum Sanctissimum Sacramentum.
Laudate Dominum Omnes Gentes
Laudate Eum Omnes Populi
Quoniam confirmata est super nos misericordia eius
Et veritas Domini manet in aeternum.
Gloria Patri Et Filio et Spiritui Sancto
Sicut erat in Principio et Nunc et Semper
et in saecula saeculorum. Amen.
Adoremus in aeternum Sanctissimum Sacramentum.
Let Us Adore for Eternity
“Let us adore for eternity the most holy Sacrament.
Praise the Lord, all you nations:
praise Him all you peoples.
Because his mercy is confirmed over us:
and the truth of the Lord remains into eternity.
Glory be to the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit:
As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be,
world without end. Amen.
We will adore for eternity the most holy Sacrament.
The Church’s first decision (of consequence, anyway) concerned the first successor to the Apostles. That would be the choice of today’s saint, St. Matthias, whom the Apostles designated to take the vacant place of Judas among the twelve. How the Apostles came to their decision gives us an enlightening look at the first days of the Church.
It’s interesting, by the way, that our scriptural sources actually tell us very little about St. Mathias himself. The only place his name appears is in the passage in the Acts of the Apostles that describes his election:
St. Matthias
In those days Peter stood up among the brethren (the company of persons was in all about a hundred and twenty), and said, “Brethren, the scripture had to be fulfilled, which the Holy Spirit spoke beforehand by the mouth of David, concerning Judas who was guide to those who arrested Jesus. For he was numbered among us, and was allotted his share in this ministry . . . For it is written in the book of Psalms, ‘Let his habitation become desolate, and let there be no one to live in it’; and ‘His office let another take.’ So one of the men who have accompanied us during all the time that the Lord Jesus went in and out among us, beginning from the baptism of John until the day when he was taken up from us–one of these men must become with us a witness to his resurrection.”
And they put forward two, Joseph called Barsabbas, who was surnamed Justus, and Matthias. And they prayed and said, “Lord, who knowest the hearts of all men, show which one of these two thou hast chosen to take the place in this ministry and apostleship from which Judas turned aside, to go to his own place.” And they cast lots for them, and the lot fell on Matthias; and he was enrolled with the eleven apostles. (Acts 1:15-26)
The Holy Spirit Guides
Notice that we have very little personal information about St. Mathias himself. Aside from the fact of his election, all we know is that he had follwed Jesus since the beginning of his ministry. That’s all. Now, as an Apostle Mathias was ipso facto an important person. And yes, there are various traditions identifying him with other names that come up in the New Testament, and about his ministry and martyrdom. The passage above, however, is the only canonical information we have. Which is to say that whatever importance he had in his own time, his significance for us lies in the very fact and manner of his selection.
So, what do we see in this passage? We see Peter taking the initiative: he presides and authoritatively interprets Scripture. Everyone understands that the Apostles hold an office that someone must fill when another relinquishes it. They all acknowledge that the Holy Spirit guides their choice. We also have concrete confirmation that Jesus’ mission didn’t pass from the world when he ascended into Heaven. Now his followers wo
uld carry it forward in his place.
The Early Church is Catholic
This passage and others like it were very important to me at the time of my reversion to the Church after my exile among the secular humanists. One of the first things I did following my own initial conversion experience was to read through the New Testament. I could see that the Church in this passage not just the Early Church. This was the Catholic Church with Pope and Bishops already in place just a few days after the Ascension.
Not only that, it’s clear that they were already exercising magisterial authority, with the help of the Third Person of the Trinity. And this is before the full outpouring of the Holy Spirit a few days later at Pentacost. It confirmed for me that if I wanted to set aside my disordered life and follow Jesus, I also needed to submit to the authority of the Church that He had established from the beginning.
That’s not to say that we owe unthinking obedience to all pronouncements from persons holding positions of authority in the Church. I discuss this topic at length in “What Do We Do When Our Priest Is A Communist?” Part I & Part II). Let’s remember that the passage from the Acts of the Apostles above tells us chiefly about the need to fill a vacant office. It doesn’t much concern itself about the personal qualities of the new Apostle Mathias. The holders of office come and go, but the office itself remains. Furthermore, it retains the authority it has received from none other than Jesus Christ himself.
“As the Father has sent me, even so I send you.” (John 20:21)
“The Great Commission” by Szymon Czechowicz, 1758
The Great Commission
That is in fact one of the salient themes of the Feast of the Ascension as well. Jesus is withdrawing his direct, human presence so that his followers can take over the leadership of his mission. It is clear that the authority they are to exercise is his, not their own. They are acting under the guidance of the Holy Spirit. For instance, in John’s Gospel we read:
Jesus said to them again, “Peace be with you. As the Father has sent me, even so I send you.” And when he had said this, he breathed on them, and said to them, “Receive the Holy Spirit. If you forgive the sins of any, they are forgiven; if you retain the sins of any, they are retained.” (John 20:21-23)
and also in Matthew’s Gospel:
And Jesus came and said to them, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Go therefore and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, teaching them to observe all that I have commanded you; and lo, I am with you always, to the close of the age.”(Matthew 28:18-20)
Ecce Ecclesia
So, yes, today’s feast honors one of the first Apostles and, in fact the very first successor to the Apostles. It is also a timely reminder that malfeasance on the part of an office holder doesn’t undo that essential office. Not even evil on the scale of Judas’ betrayal of Jesus himself can do that. Most of all, it shows us the Church in action. We see, in its infancy, the same Church we have today.
Concluding Prayer from today’s Liturgy of the Hours:
O God,
Who assigned St. Mathias
a place in the college of Apostles,
grant us, through his intercession, that,
rejoicing at how your love has been allotted to us,
we may merit to be numbered among the elect.
Through our Lord Jesus Christ. Your Son,
Who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit,
The interior of St. Ann’s Woonsocket, RI (rimonthly.com, photo by Sarah Farkas)
Body and Soul
The Devil is in the details. He is indeed. Take this whole body and soul thing, for instance. We have a very hard time giving each its due. The world of the flesh is constantly trying to pull us away from the life of the spirit. It’s always tempting us with mere stuff. In our efforts to resist the world we often overcompensate. We try to behave as though we were pure spirit, like the angels. Ironically, that often leaves us more immersed in the world.
Given that, we shouldn’t be surprised to find that the history of the great heresies is the story of our failure to comprehend the balance of the material and the spiritual. The Arians, for instance, simply couldn’t accept that a fully human Jesus was also fully God. They erred on the side of the flesh, and decided that Jesus was a created being. The Docetists couldn’t conceive of God truly incorporating human nature, and so erred on the side of the spirit. They taught that Christ’s humanity, and therefore his death and resurrection, was an illusion.
Jesus Christ Himself, on the other hand, tells us, “Be perfect, as your heavenly Father in Heaven is perfect” (Matthew 5:48). The Latin word perfectus is a translation of Matthew’s original Greek τελείως (teleios). The most literal translation of the Greek word is “finished” or “complete.” Christ is the perfection, the completion of humanity, and he’s inviting us to model ourselves on him. We are not incorporeal angels, and we aren’t earthy beasts. We are body and soul.
“You, therefore, must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.” (Matthew 5:48)
The Sermon of the Beatitudes, by Jacques Tissot, 1896
Body and Soul: Destroying the Temple
Our difficulty in grasping that duality with our finite minds is a vulnerability. The Devil can exploit that weakness to separate us from our true selves, and from the true God. Consider the case of another heresy, Albigensianism. The medieval Albigensians believed that matter (including the body) was bad, and that spirit was good. The application of this belief to the actual details of their lives led to some odd results. Since the body was bad anyway, you could hardly make it worse by using it in sinful ways. Many Albigensians, therefore, saw no problem in embracing a life of carnal ingulgence.
The most advanced members of their sect, however, however, went in a different direction. They called themselves (ironically) the perfecti, or parfaits in French. Since the material body was bad, they reasoned, the ultimate good deed would be to deny it all material sustenance. The culmination of Albigensianism, therefore, was the endura, the act of starving oneself to death. In their quest for holiness they destroyed the vessel that Holy Scripture call “the temple of the Holy Spirit” (1 Corinthians 6:19).
Temples of Stone and Brick
The Albigensians themselves are no longer with us, but something of their spirit lives on. Over the last century or so we’ve seen an echo of the violence that they visited upon the temples of their bodies. In our day, however, the urge to destroy is instead directed at the temples of stone and brick in which the body of the faithful offer up their worship to God. Last week I discussed the former St. Mary’s Church in Lewiston, Maine. This one-time Catholic church is now a community center and museum.
I remarked that “I was struck with the realization that this secular hall still looked more like a Catholic Church than many recent church buildings still being used for that purpose.” That’s good for the Franco Center (the building’s new name). It’s bad for those of us who must worship God in a structure that’s as ugly as sin.
Libido Delendi
The Franco Center, Formerly St. Mary’s Church
The design and appearance of our churches is not a trivial matter. I touched on this point in another recent post, on The Basilica of St.s Peter and Paul (also in Lewiston, as is the former St. Mary’s). I described church buildings as “enormous sacramentals, consecrated objects that can help connect us to the Grace of a God who is pure Spirit.” We are body and soul. Human beings need material means to approach the immaterial God. The means need to be suited to the end, or we’re liable to go astray. For that reason, destroying the beauty and religious distinctiveness of our churches does real spiritual harm.
Crisis magazine published one of the best explanations of the important connection between faith and the spaces in which we worship several years ago. The article is by Anthony Esolen, who uses the magnificent St. Ann’s Church in Woonsocket, RI, as his vehicle for discussing what he calls the libido delendi, “lust for destruction.” This odious force has had its way with the Catholic Church over the past few decades. It doesn’t limit itself to matters relating to church art and architecture. It has wrought havoc upon language, liturgy, and much else. As it turns out, the indefatigable Prof. Esolen published a second essay on The Catholic Thing website at about the same time. Here he examines the theme of tradition and destruction through the posture of prayer in the Mass (ably assisted by Homer and his Odyssey).
A Great Symphony of Stories
Esolen’s articles have not lost any of their relevance over the past eight years. If anything, the problerms he identifies have come into sharper focus. His overarching theme is the incarnational nature of Catholic worship. The art, architecture, language and posture of prayer are not only the direct tangible connection to the experiences of our predecessors in the Faith. They are also all part of our experience of God. As he says in his Crisis article, referring to the former parishioners of the beautifully frescoed St. Ann’s:
Every time they entered their church, they walked into a great symphony of stories. Here is Abel, the smoke of his sacrifice ascending straight toward the heavens. Here is Cain, ducking, his arms held before his head, the smoke of his sacrifice blinding and choking. Here is God the Father, bringing light out of darkness. Here exactly opposite Him is the prophet Jonah, spat out by the whale de profundis onto the shore. You cannot understand the paintings and their placement in the same way in which you understand a bald message, such as, “The last person to leave the church must lock the doors.” You cannot come to an end of understanding them. They are mysteries, familiar and utterly unfamiliar at once. They cause you to be at home with wonders.
It’s worth noting a connection, by the way, that St. Ann’s has with both St. Mary’s and the Basilica of St.s Peter and Paul. Poor French Canadian millworkers, not the wealthy and well-connected, built the Church and commisioned the artwork.
At home with wonders: Jonas fresco, St. Ann’s (detail from photo by Sarah Farkas, rimonthly.com)
The Original Smashers of Images
We worship the God Who Became Flesh with our entire being. We can’t contain that experience within our limited minds and in narrow categories of our own devising. In The Catholic Thing Esolen describes the church/liturgy/doctrine wreck-o-vators as people who simply don’t grasp this expansive understanding of Catholic practice (and, really, human existence):
Over-schooled people, long sheltered from the physical necessities oflife, from plowing, sowing, digging, sawing, stitching, bleaching, ironing, mowing – they are most prone to lifeless abstractions, and most dismissive of the bodily gestures that people who work with hands and shoulders and backs understand.
And as he points out, again in the Crisis article:
Intellectuals are the original smashers of images. It was not quarry workers who demanded that their communion rails be knocked out with sledge hammers. It was not little children who pleaded with their pastors to cover paintings with whitewash. It was not housewives who demanded that the high altars with all their draperies and candelabra be replaced with tables so bare and spare that they would not do for an ordinary kitchen.
Our intellectual understandings need to be refined by the real corporeal experience of the Faith, as handed on and as lived by generations of believers. Esolen suggests that when we separate ourselves from the tangible signs of that history, we get the de-mystifiying. We get the leveling, and the whitewashing. In sum, “as an ultimate but never to be realized aim, the destruction of Christ’s Church on earth.”
Why Not a High Altar?
The reredos at the Franco Center (francocenter.org)
I found myself entertaining similar thoughts as I sat in the former St. Mary’s Church in Lewiston, Maine. I was there to hear a lawyer who is also a Baptist preacher. He was talking, ironically enough, about the deconstruction of the U.S. Constitution. The original reredos (the structure that stands behind an old-fashioned high altar) still towered over the stage. There, keeping her original place in the reredos, the Blessed Mother cradling the Baby Jesus looked down on it all.
The whole time I kept thinking of so many newer churches I’ve seen. They just don’t seem to know what to do with the space behind the new-style free-standing altar. One of the better choices I’ve seen is a large wall painting of Christ Pantocrator [sadly this, too, has now been painted over]; a large Crucifix is also appropriate; less suitably, I’ve seen shelves or plants. The worst solution I can recall was a piano occupying the area behind the altar, as in a concert hall.
One thing I’ve never seen on the back wall in any church built since 1965 is a high altar, with or without a reredos. This was one of the most distinctive architectural features, perhaps the only essential architectural element, of every single Catholic church built from the time of Constantine seventeen centuries ago up until the mid sixties. Somehow, it doesn’t occur to anyone involved in designing Catholic churches as the solution to the problem of what to put behind the new altar – even if only for the sake of appearance.
Maybe Our Ancestors Were on to Something?
It reminds me of the people I’ve seen doing the awkward dance of holding a squirming baby in one arm while trying to receive communion in the other hand. There’s a danger of dropping either the Sacred Host or the child. They seem unaware that they could simply hold their youngster securely with both hands and put their tongue out to receive. They could protect the safety of the child, the sanctity of the Sacrament, and their own dignity all at the same time. Again, the long-standing tradition of our predecessors is both more elegant and more practical.
The high altar at St. Ann’s (tripadvisor.com)
The high altar, as an architectural element, also does something else as well. It serves as a natural focal point. A reredos or a baldacchino (a canopy-like structure over the altar) gives it even more emphasis. In a church of traditional design, all the elements naturally draw the eye toward the high altar. Here the miracle of transubstantiation takes place, the Word becomes Flesh. Just above that is the Tabernacle, containing the Body of Christ. Even on an unconscious level we understand that Christ is at the center. We know that our encounter with Him in the Eucharist is the Source and Summit of the Christian Life. Now, compare the esthetic confusion of many contemporary altars and churches to the still profound impact of a former church like the former St. Mary’s in Lewiston . . . or St. Ann’s in Woonsocket.
Empty Altars
Did I mention St. Ann’s, like St. Mary’s, is no longer a church? That’s a detail that Prof. Esolen seems to have left out of his otherwise excellent essay. Both churches were originally expressions of the Catholic faith of poor French Canadian laborers. Both are now non-religious meeting halls. You can visit the web site of the St. Ann Arts and Cultural Center here. The Diocese intended to tear down one of the most beautiful, and one of the most theologically engaging, parish churches in the United States. A secular group recognized its the value. They saved it along with its treasures of sacred art and inspiring architecture.
Now its gorgeous frescoes look down on wedding receptions and the like. There is no longer any regular celebration of the mass, however. There is a link on the website labeled “Church Services.” The only services, however, are the Firm Foundation Christian Church’s Sunday morning worship service, and Friday evening Bible study. Of course, it’s good to see there is still some connection to Christian worship. But unfortunately, both the high altar and the free-standing post-Vatican II altar seem to be little more than relics.
Angels in the architecture: detail of a fresco from St. Ann’s
The Sons Of This World Are Wiser . . .
How odd, and sad. “The sons of this world are more shrewd in dealing with their own generation than the sons of light” (Luke 16:8). Secular groups are willing to save, on purely esthetic or sentimental grounds, sacred treasures that have been entrusted to us but which we are trying to throw away. The church buildings are only one target of the libido delendi. The project of eradicating the old and beautiful also includes sacred art, sacred language, traditional devotions, and much more. As Anthony Esolen argues, it ultimatelyaims to destroy the Church by destroying any sense of identity among its members.
Totalitarians smother opposition by separating people from each other and from their history. They want people to have no strong sense of self, of who they are. They divide body and soul. St. John Paul II understood this well. By recalling the Polish people to their national and Christian identity, he led the way to the overthrow of communism. So why are we trying so hard to destroy our own Catholic identity?
St. Paul in the Areopagus by Mariano Fortuny (1855-1856)
We live in strange times. Never in human history has it been possible for so many people to live lives so disconnected from reality. Former Nuncio to the United States Archbishop Carlo Vigano has just released a remarkable meditation for Lent which touches on that issue. He starts with a prayer from the Ambrosian Missal, which says in part:
Venite flentes, fundamus lacrymas ad Deum: quia nos negleximus, et propter nos terra patitur: nos iniquitatem fecimus, et propter nos fundamenta commota sunt. Festinemus anteire ante iram Dei . . .
Come weeping, let us shed tears to God: because we have transgressed, and because of us the earth suffers: we have committed iniquity and because of us its foundations have been shaken. Let us hasten to prevent God’s wrath . . .
Archbishop Vigano (ncronline.com photo)
“It is difficult for a man of today,” Archbishop Vigano remarks, “to understand these words of the Ambrosian Missal.” The idea that we owe any obedience to anything outside of our own will and desires has become foreign to us. The understanding that justice demands that we submit ourselves to God’s judgment is particularly difficult:
The de-Christianized world and the secularized mentality that has infected even Catholics does not accept the idea of a God offended by the sins of men, and Who punishes them with scourges so that they repent and ask for forgiveness.
We can see the mentality that Archbishop Vigano is describing everywhere today, even, as he says, in the Church. Not only is it a problem everywhere, it is a problem that undermines everything. When we reject the truth of our relationship with God, we undermine the very concept of truth itself. As St. Paul tells the Ephesians:
Now this I affirm and testify in the Lord, that you must no longer live as the Gentiles do, in the futility of their minds; they are darkened in their understanding, alienated from the life of God because of the ignorance that is in them, due to their hardness of heart; they have become callous and have given themselves up to licentiousness, greedy to practice every kind of uncleanness. (Ephesians 4:17-29)
This “darkening of the understanding” makes it very difficult to carry on any sort of reasoned discussion on matters of importance. When all that matters are feelings and desires, when disgreement (at least, disagreement with favored positions or practices) is ipso facto “hate,” real dialogue is impossible.
This curious state of affairs complicates the efforts at evangelization in various ways. For instance, a few years ago when I was the moderator of an online community a young non-Catholic Christian suggested that sharing the Gospel with other people and praying for them was impeding their free will. Now, it would never have occurred to me that informing or attempting to persuade somebody, much less praying for them, somehow interfered with their ability to make free choices; on the contrary, without free will, such efforts are pointless. Nonetheless, I had heard similar questions from other young people as well. Most young people today (and many older ones as well) have been formed in a popular culture that teaches that simply disagreeing with somebody can be a “microaggression”, particularly if the alleged microaggressor holds more traditional views, and most especially if those views can be traced back to orthodox Christian morality. How should we respond to this situation?
The first thing, I think, is to stress that evangelization and prayers for conversion are an act of mercy. How? Since we are all ultimately held accountable for the things that we do with our free will, we try to save others from the consequences of bad decisions, which is to say, sin. It is, of course, merciful to save another person from sin (and, potentially, from eternal damnation). More specifically, I think we can profitably look at this question in terms of several of the traditional Spiritual Works of Mercy.
Let’s start with free will itself. Even though our will is free, that doesn’t mean that it isn’t influenced by many things. Not only that, we can’t make good choices if we’re missing essential information. Let us suppose, for instance, that a friend is about to dive into a lake that has just been declared unsafe due to high levels of harmful bacteria. Informing him of the danger doesn’t violate his free will; in fact, it allows him to make a truly free choice, because it’s based on the truth, and not on a false belief that the water is safe. If it’s merciful to protect a friend from getting sick in this way, how much more so if we can give him information that can save his soul for eternity? This is the 2nd Spiritual Work of Mercy, “Instructing the Ignorant” (“ignorant” isn’t meant as an insult; it simply means someone who doesn’t know).
7th Spiritual Work of Mercy: Praying for the Living and the Dead (CNS photo/Jim West)
We sometimes have the right information, but we may also have disordered desires (that is, attraction to sin) that lead us to do things that we know are wrong. Disordered desires such as greed, lust, envy, etc., pull our will away from what we know is right. Consequently, it often happens that a Christian who knows full well that a particular act, adultery for instance, is seriously wrong, follows his or her desires instead. The consequences can be disastrous for such a person and for others involved in his sin. It is merciful to point out these abuses of our will to each other, because in doing so we can sometimes bring a sinner back to right conduct. As an added bonus, we help ourselves as well, as Holy Scripture tells us:
My brethren, if any one among you wanders from the truth and some one brings him back, let him know that whoever brings back a sinner from the error of his way will save his soul from death and will cover a multitude of sins. (James 5:19-20)
This is the 3rd Spiritual Work of Mercy, “Admonishing Sinners” (and we are all sinners who sometimes require admonition).
In the end, of course, none of us exercises our free will perfectly, and none of us can save ourselves: that’s why we needed Christ to die on the Cross for us. For that reason we “Pray for the Living and the Dead” (the 7th Spiritual Work of Mercy). When we pray for the living, we are asking God not to override their free will, but to give them the Grace (His help and support) to freely use their will in accord with His Will, and not according to their disordered desires. We also pray for the dead in Purgatory who are being cleansed of the consequences of the misuse of their free will, that God’s mercy might ease their passage into His Presence.
We hear a lot less about the Spiritual Works of Mercy these days than we do about the Corporal Works of Mercy (a reflection of materialist tendencies affecting even the Church). That’s a shame, because in the midst of the greatest material prosperity that this world has ever seen we have a vast sea of spiritual suffering. The world is full of people, including me and you, whose choices are hampered by ignorance, whose desires are disordered, and who are desperately in need of prayers. Answering their needs isn’t an imposition: it’s an act of mercy.
Lent is approaching fast: Ash Wednesday is just over a week away. This is one of our last chances to get in a joyful sacred composition by our old friend Joseph Haydn before the penitential season begins.
Today’s selection is a setting for the ancient prayer Te Deum (see my discussion of the prayer itself below the video). This is the third different setting of the Te Deum I’ve posted on this site. Last year I shared a very recent composition (as in, premiered in December 2019) by Pedro Camacho. I also posted a version by Domenico Scarlatti that was first performed in the 1720s.
Haydn’s magnificent setting was probably composed in 1799, and had its public premier in 1800. Haydn wrote the piece at the request of the Empress Maria Theresa, for which reason it is known as (what else?) The Te Deum for the Empress Marie Therese. The Aylesbury Choral Society has published a brief but very informative explanation of this wonderful sacred composition HERE. I’m really not sure who is performing the piece in the video below, other than they’re boy singers (sängerknaben), along with somebody named Diego. Whoever they are, they do a fine job. Take a few minutes to enjoy their performance of a great composer’s masterful musical rendition of a beautiful ancient payer:
The Te Deum is an ancient Christian prayer. Its title comes from its first line in Latin: Te Deum Laudamus, “We praise you, God.” For many centuries Christians would sing the Te Deum as a song of celebration and thanks to the Lord. This was true not only after events of clearly religious significance, such as the Christian victory over the Muslim Turks in the Battle of Lepanto in 1572, but on the occasion of more worldly triumphs as well, in recognition that all good things are a gift from God. For instance, the English King Henry V is reputed to have ordered his army to sing the hymn after their victory over the French at Agincourt in 1415, an event William Shakespeare includes in his play Henry V.
While nowhere near as old as the psalms, the Te Deum is still a very ancient prayer, having been composed in the 3rd or 4th century. Its authorship is unknown, but has been attributed to St. Ambrose and/or St. Augustine, St. Nicetas of Remesiana, or St. Hillary of Poitiers. It has been set to music many times over the centuries.
Te Deum:
Te Deum laudámus: te Dominum confitémur. Te ætérnum Patrem omnis terra venerátur. Tibi omnes Angeli; tibi cæli et univérsae potestátes. Tibi Chérubim et Séraphim incessábili voce proclámant:
Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus, Dóminus Deus Sábaoth. Pleni sunt cæli et terra majestátis glóriæ tuæ. Te gloriósus Apostolórum chorus; Te Prophetárum laudábilis númerus; Te Mártyrum candidátus laudat exércitus. Te per orbem terrárum sancta confitétur Ecclésia: Patrem imménsæ majestátis; Venerándum tuum verum et únicum Fílium; Sanctum quoque Paráclitum Spíritum. Tu Rex glóriæ, Christe. Tu Patris sempitérnus es Fílius. Tu ad liberándum susceptúrus hóminem, non horruísti Vírginis úterum. Tu, devícto mortis acúleo, aperuísti credéntibus regna cælórum. Tu ad déxteram Dei sedes, in glória Patris. Judex créderis esse ventúrus. Te ergo quǽsumus, tuis fámulis súbveni, quos pretióso sánguine redemísti. Ætérna fac cum sanctis tuis in glória numerári. Salvum fac pópulum tuum, Dómine, et bénedic hæreditáti tuæ. Et rege eos, et extólle illos usque in ætérnum. Per síngulos dies benedícimus te. Et laudámus nomen tuum in sǽculum, et in sǽculum sǽculi. Dignáre, Dómine, die isto sine peccáto nos custodíre. Miserére nostri, Dómine, miserére nostri. Fiat misericórdia tua, Dómine, super nos, quemádmodum sperávimus in te. In te, Dómine, sperávi: non confúndar in ætérnum.
You are God: we praise you; You are the Lord: we acclaim you; You are the eternal Father: All creation worships you. To you all angels, all the powers of heaven, Cherubim and Seraphim, sing in endless praise: Holy, holy, holy, Lord, God of power and might, heaven and earth are full of your glory.The glorious company of apostles praise you. The noble fellowship of prophets praise you. The white-robed army of martyrs praise you. Throughout the world the holy Church acclaims you: Father, of majesty unbounded,your true and only Son, worthy of all worship, and the Holy Spirit, advocate and guide. You, Christ, are the King of glory, the eternal Son of the Father. When you became man to set us free you did not spurn the Virgin’s womb. You overcame the sting of death, and opened the kingdom of heaven to all believers. You are seated at God’s right hand in glory. We believe that you will come, and be our judge. Come then, Lord, and help your people, bought with the price of your own blood, and bring us with your saints to glory everlasting. Save your people, Lord, and bless your inheritance.— Govern and uphold them now and always. Day by day we bless you. — We praise your name for ever. Keep us today, Lord, from all sin. — Have mercy on us, Lord, have mercy. Lord, show us your love and mercy, — for we have put our trust in you.In you, Lord, is our hope: — And we shall never hope in vain.
(Detail), Scenes from the Apocalypse, Paris-Oxford-London Bible moralisée, France, c. 1225–45 (The British Library, Harley MS 1527 fol. 140v)
Latin is Your Language
Latin is your language.
At least it is for the 1,295,000,000 Catholics who belong to the Latin Rite. We call it “Latin Rite” because Latin is its language, as it has been for over a millennium and a half. It is not just the official language of the Church but, to this day, the official language of the Mass. I’m not talking about the Tridentine Mass, which we often call the Traditional Latin Mass, or TLM. I mean the ordinary Mass that you can find in any parish church.
True, you have probably never heard it in any language other than English, or another modern language such as French or Spanish. And yes, the Second Vatican Council permitted the Mass in local languages (see below). That permission quickly became the norm after the council. Nevertheless, the official language of the liturgy is still the same language spoken by Julius Caesar. It’s the language of St. Augustine. St. Thomas Aquinas wrote the Summa Theologica, and rowdy medieval scholars composed the Carmina Burana, in this very same tongue.
Yes, there are non-Latin Catholics, by the way. About 18 million of the World’s Catholics belong to other rites such the Byzantine, Maronite, Melkite, etc. Still, the fact remains that, outside of those relative few, if you’re Catholic, Latin is your liturgical language.
If you’re lucky you may hear some of the traditional language, your language, at Mass. At the very least you should hear it in some traditional Christmas songs. You may even occasionally hear some chant in Latin. After all, the Second Vatican Council also decreed:
The Church acknowledges Gregorian chant as specially suited to the Roman liturgy: therefore, other things being equal, it should be given pride of place in liturgical services. (Sacrosanctum Concilium 116)
The Human Touch
Again, if you’re lucky: the “Spirit” of Vatican II has little use for the Letter of Vatican II. If you’re very fortunate indeed you may find yourself in one of those parishes which is bringing back some of the responses, such as the Sanctus and the Agnus Dei, in Latin.
The Laying on of Hands: Archbishop of Brisbane Mark Coleridge ordains Timothy Harris as Bishop of Townsville, Australia (https://mediablog.catholic.org.au/)
Some of you, no doubt, are asking, “What’s so lucky about that?” Glad you asked . . . But first, before I deal directly with the Latin language in the liturgical life of the Church, we need to take a quick look at the sacraments.
I’m thinking specifically of the ordination of bishops. The bishops are the successors of the Apostles. The ordination rite of Catholic bishops says: “Gladly and gratefully, therefore, receive our brother whom we are about to receive into the college of bishops by the laying on of hands.”
And that’s exactly what happens.Iit has always been part of the rite that, just before the consecration itself, the presiding bishop places his hands on the head of the bishop-elect. That same presiding bishop felt the hands of another bishop on his own head when he was ordained, the hands of a bishop who himself had experienced the laying on of hands from another bishop, and so on all the way back to the Apostles. Those same Apostles had felt the physical touch of Jesus Christ himself. A true bishop must be part of that unbroken chain of physical contact starting with the hands of our Lord. It’s an essential part of the Apostolic Succession.
The Tangible Connection
The recognition that God transmits Grace through physical means permeates the entire Catholic understanding, and really the entire traditional Christian understanding, of God’s relationship to his creation. It’s the underlying rationale for all the sacraments. The same is true for sacramentals like holy water, holy medals, etc. It’s why every Mass used to end with the reading of the Last Gospel, the opening chapter of the Gospel of John, which proclaims that “The Word became Flesh.” (John 1:14)
You’ll notice that those physical connections include not only things, but people. Just as the physical touch of human bishops over the centuries passes on Grace originating in Christ, all of us can draw closer to God through our relationship with our older brothers and sisters in the faith, the saints. Our connection with our fellow Christians in the communion of saints is not a purely spiritual connection, either. We’ve preserved little bits of cloth and even the very bones of the saints to make that connection as tangible as possible. We are soul and body: we need to experience spiritual realities in a physical way.
Latin is to be Preserved
Reliquary containing a vial of St. John Vianney’s blood (http://www.papalartifacts.com/)
That’s where the Latin language comes in. It’s our tangible connection to, and direct sharing in, the liturgical experience of many generations of our predecessors in the Communion of Saints. That’s why in the decree Sacrosanctum Concilium the Second Vatican Council said that “The use of the Latin language, with due respect to particular law, is to be preserved in the Latin rites.” (SC 36) The document does go on to say, however, that: “since the use of the vernacular whether in the Mass, the administration of the sacraments, or in other parts of the liturgy, may frequently be of great advantage to the people, a wider use may be made of it, especially in readings, directives and in some prayers and chants.” (SC 36)
You might not think so from what has happened to the liturgy over the past few decades, but the Second Vatican Council did not mandate, or even recommend, removing the Latin language from the Mass. It was simply allowing some use of the vernacular. Sacrosanctum Concilium returns to this point later on, when it says: “Nevertheless care must be taken to ensure that the faithful may also be able to say or sing together in Latin those parts of the Ordinary of the Mass which pertain to them.” (SC 54)
Not Something We Create
The Council Fathers understood that the Latin language serves a purpose similar to the laying on of hands. Not the sacramental function, certainly. Nevertheless, it keeps alive that sense of connection to previous generations of believers. Even more than that, it’s a tangible reminder that the Mass isn’t something that we create ourselves, or that exists only for us. It tells us in a very concrete way that the Mass is here to bind us back to something immeasurably older and greater than ourselves. It helps to turn us away from a focus on ourselves, and instead put our attention where it belongs, on our Loving Creator.
In Nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti, Amen
“It’s like comparing cats and dogs.” Ever heard that expression before? Ever used it? I did, several years ago. I was teaching a 9th grade theology class in a (more or less) Catholic school, and same sex marriage (a hot topic at the time) came up for discussion. I wanted to emphasize that the marital relationship between a man and a woman is fundamentally different from a relationship between two men or two women. In my naivete I thought it would be helpful to explain that the relationships were as different as cats and dogs. Which is why I found myself in the assistant principal’s office the next day responding to student complaints that I had called people in same sex couples animals. “They tell me you said they were cats and dogs!”
Image from Pixabay.com
This is a true story. I understood perfectly shortly afterwards when I heard Catholic scholar and apologist Peter Kreeft say that analogical thinking is a dying art. Our addiction to communications technology, it appears, is killing our powers of imagination. Kreeft pointed out that brains which spend a lot of time interacting with video games and various other electronic devices simply don’t develop in the same way as those formed by extensive reading. Among the those things that are undernourished are linear and analogical thinking. Professor Kreeft has found that this makes it difficult to teach a subject like Theology that requires dealing with a lot of difficult and abstract ideas.
The “cats and dogs” example above is just one of many I’ve experienced in thirty-plus years of teaching and, yes, such examples have become more frequent over the years. Fortunately, we still have a long way to go: while many people, especially young people, may not be as quick to grasp them as they might have been several decades ago, analogies are still the most effective way to communicate many ideas. Analogies have always been a preferred way of explaining Christian doctrine: think of the parables of Jesus, or St. Paul’s comparison (1st Corinthians) of the Church to a body, with all the members working together at their own assigned tasks. Not only that, one of the four traditional Levels of Meaning in scripture, the Allegorical, relies very heavily on analogical thinking. Analogy is often the only reliable way for us who are composed of both spirit and matter to understand spiritual realities.
Not surprisingly, analogies are also an essential tool in any dialogue with those who don’t share our faith. I don’t mean only those analogies we ourselves offer to explain our ideas. There are times when critiquing poorly conceived analogies offered up by those with whom we are, as they say, in dialogue, can sometimes help clarify the muddy thinking behind them. I once had an enthusiastically atheist student, for example, who proposed the following analogy as a critique of the Christian conception of God: Our Lord, as we Christians envision Him, is like an armed robber with a gun to our heads. He is offering us a choice between giving him all our money (i.e., living according to the Gospel and spending eternity in Heaven), or having our brains blown out (which is spending eternity in Hell).
Now, clearly, there are some very obvious problems with this analogy. The vast majority of people, even many non-Christians, will have a hard time seeing going to Heaven as equivalent to getting mugged, even if we accept the premise that living a Christian life “robs” us of pleasures we might otherwise enjoy. Heaven promises something infinitely better than anything available here, whereas an armed robber does not even pretend to make our life better than it was before we met him. And of course there is quite a lot of secular, sociological evidence that following God’s law actually makes us happier in the here-and-now. Also, the robber analogy depicts Hell as something that God imposes on us, in which we take no initiative at all, when in fact the Catholic conception of Hell is that it is something that we choose for ourselves by our rejection of his freely offered love, contrary to God’s desire that “all men be saved and to come to the knowledge of the truth.” (1 Timothy 2:4)
The example above, by the way, also shows how analogies can be used not only to enlighten, but to deceive. A vivid image can capture the imagination and appear to be making a good argument, when in fact it is distorting the underlying ideas. A rational rebuttal can help to undermine a bad analogy, but logic doesn’t have the emotional impact of the tangible picture an analogy can create. Sometimes, in addition to reasoned argument, a good counter-analogy helps.
The Return of the Prodigal Son, by Bartolomé Esteban Murillo, c. 1670
In this case, what analogy more truthfully communicates the eternal choice which God presents to us? Try this: imagine that we are standing outdoors on a cold, rainy night. Somebody (God) opens a door and invites us to come inside with him, where it is warm and dry (although, of course, we need to take off our wet muddy boots and our wet, dripping coats: those represent our attachment to sin). That’s God’s offer of eternal salvation. We can say yes, although we are equally free to say no. In fact, we are free to say “No, you can’t tell me what to do! Besides, can you prove it’s really warm and dry in there?” And we can remain out in the cold, wet darkness. That’s Hell, the product of nothing but our own pride and stubbornness.
The second analogy presents a much more accurate image of the Christian view of our eternal destiny. Notice also that these two analogies do more than simply offer different interpretations of the Christian view of our relationship with our Creator. Each also provides a telling view of the perspective of those who are offering the analogy. We can clearly see that the atheist’s philosophical stance is concerned with power, force, and will, a zero sum game in which one party must be the winner, and the other the loser. The truly Christian perspective envisions a reality in which love can triumph, and everyone can win.
So, yes, analogies can get us into trouble, both because in our increasingly literal-minded age our listeners might not understand, but also because the images we choose may reveal more of ourselves than we intend. Nonetheless, we follow a Lord who compares faith to a mustard seed, and to a treasure buried in a field. Not only that, he describes our omnipotent Creator as a loving, forgiving Father who waits for each one of us anxiously from afar, desiring us to return to him so that he can say of each of us, “this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.” (Luke 15:24) Let’s not stay outside in the rain.
