I came to the Maronite church tonight expecting some form of Lebanese Catholicism which, although somewhat Latinized, might initiate me into the ancient liturgy and piety of that people. What my friends and I got could not have been farther from that.
The church looks like a modern Roman Catholic Church in America: wood paneled walls, comfortable seats, plaster statues, a free standing altar, and a tabernacle behind the priest's chair. The celebrant, in a way foreign to most oriental rites, entered the sanctuary in a procession. The celebrant tonight was Fr. Mitch Pacwa of EWTN. Instantly the music—some groovy 1970s blend of synthesizers—immediately gave away the heavily neo-Latinized rite we were about to witness.
Upon arriving at the sanctuary the concelebrant, the parish priest, congratulated Fr. Pacwa on the anniversary of his ordination and thanked him for making his annual trek to this particular parish. Rousing applause met Fr. Pacwa. After some introductory rites, which seemed like arbitrary greetings based on more ancient texts, we were treated to a series of narrations by a lector lectrix who read the part of the deacon.
During the Gospel we sat while the parish priest washed the feet of twelve primary school-aged boys. In the Maronite tradition the foot washing takes place in the midst of the Gospel. Apparently the ancient Maronite practice was for the priest to wash the feet of all present. In the newer Maronite usage the priest washes twelve people's feet, the last of whom represents St. Peter and interjects the washing with the Apostle's dialogue with Christ. Nothing is less euphonious than a pubescent 11 year old squeaking "Are you going to wash my feet, Lord?"
I thought better of all this nonsense and resolved to give the liturgy a fresh start at the sermon. What's that? On this, the night on which Christ instituted the Eucharist and priesthood, the night which the Son of God was handed over to wicked men by His Apostle, the night which began the final steps in the journey of the redemption of all the world, the night which God Himself sweated blood you expect a sermon on a relevant topic? Good luck! Fr. Pacwa gave a sermon on atheism and our constitutional right to freedom of religion.
The Creed was not the Greek version in English, but the Latin version ("....God from God....Who proceeds from the Father and the Son...."). Perhaps the strangest thing about the Creed was not that it was the Latin Creed, but that it utilized that erroneous old translation "We believe in one God."
Before the offertory the parish priest again congratulated Fr. Pacwa on the anniversary of his ordination, prompting more applause and smiles. This was the last straw for me. Laughter and self-referential chatter are not suitable for this night.
I went outside and five minutes later was joined by a friend who was horrified that they began celebrating the Eucharist versus populum. We sat in the car and my first reaction was "What is this $***!?" My friend hastily advocated for the immediate suppression of the Maronite rites. As a compromise we sang the Evlogitaria. Later there was a full blown Blessed Sacrament procession followed by adoration with a monstrance.... This is a Lebanese church.... It is difficult to doubt the intentions of the Maronites, but what is their tradition? The liturgy, what I saw of it, seems born not in Lebanon, but in the spirit of the Mass of Paul VI with all the poor liturgical taste of the year 1975.
The blog Alma Bracarense on the Bragan rite will now be published in English rather than in Portuguese. There is an interesting entry on Good Friday up now. Take a peek!
I just returned from Tenebrae, over two and a half hours of psalms and lessons. Really the depth of the old Triduum Office is beyond comprehension. The psalms are about battle, liberation, forgiveness, and defeat of one's enemies. The first lessons are the Lamentations of Jeremiah for the fall of the chosen people, of Jerusalem. The second are of St Augustine on how God can redirect evil for the good. And the first are form St Paul on the Last Supper and the Eucharist. The responsories paint the darkness of Judas' betrayal behind the broader themes of the night and contrast strongly with the festive, celebratory nature of the Mass of the day. And of course the extinction of the candles, leaving us in darkness and the "earthquake" (smashing books) that ends the night. It made quite an impression on myself and many others.
During the strepitus a friend bashed a book containing hymns such as Holy God We Praise Thy Name while I took out my rage lamented Christ's betrayal with a 1962 Missal, possibly damaging the spine.
Tomorrow off to the Maronites for Mandy Thursday, the washing of feet, and a night of Confession. Good Friday Vespers with the shroud burial and Jerusalem Mattins of Holy Saturday the following night. And Divine Liturgy of Pascha with the Melkites in Houston Saturday night/Sunday morning.
The other day, after the Pre-Sanctified Liturgy, a group of fellow worshippers and I got to talking about the idea of a saint and how some saints were positively bonkers, mad as hatters, and generally loopy.
"Fools for God" always attract the attention of the devout, the less devout, and the outright indifferent. These men and women see little in life outside of the lens of faith, which tints and focuses all the persons, places, and events they encounter. I knew one such woman in Oxford, although out of respect for a degree of paranoia I will refrain from using her name. She would travel the churches on St. Giles Street on Sunday going to Mass after Mass and then to Vespers at Blackfriars followed by Vespers ad Benediction at St. Aloysius. Rumor has it that the priests of Oxford made a network to contact each other and find out if she had already received Communion on a given day! She has a very distinct walk, a French accent, and a bubbly mind that floats somewhere above High Street. A friend of mine swears that she can bilocate, having run into her at Sacre Coeur in Paris after having left her in England earlier that morning. Yet she does not approach the madness, or eccentricity if we are to be polite, of some other saints.
Mad in the best possible way
St. Philip Neri once encountered a prince approaching the Papal residence in Rome where he was to visit his brother who was a cardinal. The prince asked St. Philip to teach him humility. The Saint responded by finding a wet homeless dog, dropping it in the prince's arms, and compelling the nobleman to run around the courtyard in full view of the Papal Curia. When the Pope attempted to make Philip himself a cardinal the Saint removed the galero from his head, threw it into the air, and ran out of the room and into the streets yelling "Paradiso! Paradiso!" To this day no one has a clue what he meant.
As a formerly eccentric person myself I find these sorts of saints more sympathetic and knowable than Dominic Savio. I have always harbored some suspicion of Pius X who, according to some stories, never smiled. Papa Sarto was too heart wrenched by the collapse of Baroque politics and the academic career of Duchesne to have a laugh supposedly. Perhaps saints of this quiet type of piety work for some, indeed for a great many, but only mad or eccentric works for me!
Today is one of the great days in the Church's year, Palm Sunday. Today we re-live and commemorate both the Lord's entrance into Jerusalem and His Passion and death. It is also a day which highlights our personal ignorance of God, in spite of what seems obvious in retrospect. Two millennia later, we safely judge this concatenation of events. At the time their meaning was not so obvious, and would not be until Pentecost. Are we ignorant of the truth of God's actions?
Jouvenet's Raising of Lazarus
Just a few days before, on his way to Jerusalem, our Lord Jesus stopped in Bethany at the news that Lazarus, one of his beloved followers, had fallen ill. By the time Christ arrived in Bethany, Lazarus had been dead and buried for four days. Yet Christ took pity upon him and his sisters, Mary and Martha. Jesus here reveals Himself to be more than a prophet, more than a healer, more than a local mystic or anti-establishment rabbi. he has dominion over death.
Christ asks Martha, "I am the resurrection and the life: he that believeth in me, although he be dead, shall live: And every one that liveth, and believeth in me, shall not die for ever. Believest thou this?" (John 11:25-26). She responds that she does believe. Christ turns to the tomb where Lazarus has resided in decay and rot for days and yells "Lazarus, come out!" And the man who was not near death, but dead, was now alive.
Not quite understanding the gravity of what transpired, but still chocked and interested (John ch. 12), the people came to see and greet our Lord when he finally arrived in Jerusalem. Jerusalem was not a city with a temple, but a temple with a city. It was the center of the Jewish religion and the only place on earth where a meaningful sacrifice could be offered to God. Jews scattered throughout the Roman Empire often sent money to have an offering made at the Temple for their intentions if they were unable to be in Jerusalem. And this is where Christ went, not to make a legal sacrifice on stone foundations, as St. Ambrose reminds us today in Mattins, but to make a sacrifice that would established foundations of faith. As Benedict XVI pointed out in his second Jesus of Nazareth book, Jesus sent two Apostles ahead to acquire a donkey and a horse, meaning He already had a following in Jerusalem. Other places in the Gospel indicate that outside the Apostles, Christ had a significant entourage, several hundred people or more. These were those who greeted Him with palms and enthusiasm. The rest of the crowd sought a thrill or novelty. Actually, did not the Apostles and other disciples? They knew more than the people of Jerusalem, but they comprehended practically nothing. In my moments of cynicism I cannot help but interpret certain words of Jesus's like "How much longer must I endure this generation?" as "These people are ridiculous." The Church has understood this frustration over the years. St. Leo the Great remarks in a sermon "Let man's weakness, then, fall down before the glory of God, and acknowledge herself ever too feeble to unfold all the works of His mercy."
Reading from Exodus at the dry Mass at the Institute of Christ the King seminary in Gricigliano, 2003
What was the purpose of the palms? I've always wondered. At some level there is a practical and honorific element to the placing of palms in the path of the Lord, almost saying that the ground on which Christ's donkey walks is unworthy to support the Lord. Yet we ought to recall some typology from Exodus. During the Mass today there is actually a "dry Mass" (Missa sicca) to bless the palms, a ceremony with an introit, reading, gradual, Gospel, preface, Sanctus, and blessing prayers, much like a Mass. the reading from the "dry Mass" is from the book of Exodus, at the moment when Moses and the Israelites arrive at an oasis of twelve fountains and seventy palm trees. The Israelites had left their bondage but would not have made their way out of Egypt without rest, a place of shade, and some water. In short, the palms provided that. As those palms and water provided the Israelites the means of leaving the bondage of slavery, so Christ provides His people with the means of leaving the bondage of death. The third of the five collect prayers to bless the palms contains not a few didactic lines:
The branches of palms, therefore, represent His triumphs over the prince of death; and the branches of olive proclaim, in a manner, the coming of a spiritual unction. For that pious multitude understood that these things were then prefigured; that our Redeemer, compassionating human miseries, was about to fight with the prince of death for the life of the whole world, and, by dying, to triumph. For which cause they dutifully ministered such things as signified in Him the triumphs of victory and the richness of mercy.
The procession from the aforementioned celebration of Palm Sunday by the Institute of Christ the King in 2003
Recall also that in Rome palms are not always used. Often the Roman Church substitutes olive branches given their greater availability in Italy. The olive branch is no less significant. After the Great Flood a dove brought an olive branch to Moses. To he who survived the Flood the olive branch was not a peace-offering, but rather a sign that death had ended and life had begun anew. Olives branches are especially prevalent throughout the Mediterranean world. It is not unthinkable that the Cross was made from from the wood of an olive tree, making olive branches and palms both types and anti-types of Christ's redemptive work. In the first millennium there would be two Masses in Rome. The first would be celebrated in the presence of the Pope at St. Mary Major, where palms would be blessed and distributed. The focus of this Mass would be Palm Sunday. There would then be a procession to St. John Lateran, the cathedral of Rome, where the Pope would celebrate a Mass of the Passion of the Lord. The current arrangement of a "dry Mass" followed by a procession and a Mass of the Passion is a remnant of that, unless one uses the reduced newer rite.
A procession of clergy and laity, holding their palms and preceded by a veiled cross—as the mystery of the Cross is hidden!—leaves the church and takes a path eventually leading back to the front door, which is sealed, a representation of the resistance of the people of Jerusalem to our Lord. A small choir still within the Church sing the hymn Gloria, Laus, et Honor Tibi Sit in alternation with those outside. The entrance of Christ, the unease of the Jewish people, the laud of Christ's followers, and the Lord's lament for Jerusalem are not simply re-enacted, but re-visited! At the end the subdeacon knocks on the door of the Church with the cross, opening it. From here the Mass of the Passion begins.
Glory, praise and honor to Thee, O King Christ, the Redeemer: to whom children poured their glad and sweet hosanna's song.
Glory, praise and honor to Thee, O King Christ, the Redeemer: to whom children poured their glad and sweet hosanna's song.
Hail, King of Israel! David's Son of royal fame! Who comest in the Name of the Lord, O Blessed King.
Glory, praise and honor to Thee, O King Christ, the Redeemer: to whom children poured their glad and sweet hosanna's song.
The Angel host laud Thee on high, On earth mankind, with all created things.
Glory, praise and honor to Thee, O King Christ, the Redeemer: to whom children poured their glad and sweet hosanna's song.
With palms the Jews went forth to meet Thee. We greet Thee now with prayers and hymns.
Glory, praise and honor to Thee, O King Christ, the Redeemer: to whom children poured their glad and sweet hosanna's song.
On Thy way to die, they crowned Thee with praise; We raise our song to Thee, now King on high.
Glory, praise and honor to Thee, O King Christ, the Redeemer: to whom children poured their glad and sweet hosanna's song.
Their poor homage pleased Thee, O gracious King! O clement King, accept too ours, the best that we can bring.
Glory, praise and honor to Thee, O King Christ, the Redeemer: to whom children poured their glad and sweet hosanna's song.
A short clip of the door knocking ceremony
Subdeacon opens the door with the processional cross at the FSSP church in Rome, 2012
The Mass is one of the most beautiful of the year, and especially notable for its music, including the singing of psalm 21 as the tract, the full Passion according to St. Matthew, and the Gospel in the "haunting" tone.
The prayers at the foot of the altar are the reduced form used in Passiontide, the last two weeks of Lent. This form omits the Iudica me psalm and the Gloria Patri.... doxology, which is also omitted in other parts of the Mass as at a requiem Mass. As Fr. Andrew Southwell, OSB once said, Mother Church "is in mourning."
The Epistle is from St. Paul's letter to the Philippians, in which the Apostle writes that at the "name of Jesus every knee should bow, of those that are in heaven, on earth, and under the earth." Christ's sacrifice on the Cross for man gives Him primacy over all things in God's creation.
The gradual today, as in very ancient days, is a full psalm and not just an excerpt. It is psalm 21, which Christ quoted from the Cross: "My God, my God, why hast thou forsaken me?" The Father did not desert the Son, but today the psalm functions as an allusion, as the psalm describes the pains of a man suffering for the sins of the world.
Deacons reading the Passion according to St. Matthew
Then three deacons enter the sanctuary and begin to sing St. Matthew's account of the Passion of our Lord, beginning with the events leading up to the Last Supper and ending just after Christ's death on the Cross, for which there is silence and all present kneel.
The three deacons then leave and the deacon of the Mass asks for the blessing, incenses the Gospel book, and sings in a special chant-tone the burial of Christ. The separation from the Passion reading may not be intuitive, but it is instructive: this is the Gospel reading of the Mass, not the Passion—which is an interpolation into Mass. Christ's death and burial are the point of this Mass, which should clear up confusion for us, as opposed to those who watched these events two thousand years ago with little or no break, and who were left in bewilderment as to what to make of the drear they had just witnessed.
In the video to the right, Fr. Tim Finigan sings the Gospel of Holy Tuesday in the same tone used for the Gospel of today. It is sublime.
The Mass continues as normal, with no extra "frills."
At Vespers the hymn Vexilla Regis is sung, which beings with the words:
Abroad the regal banners fly,
Now shines the cross’s mystery;
Upon it Life did death endure,
And yet by death did life procure.
The hymn makes a conclusive elucidation of the mystery of Palm Sunday, that the Cross is slowly unveiled before our eyes. We do not merely read about it in the Scripture or hear some analysis in the sermon, but we enter these mystical events which are so monumental that they do not know the limits of time. Perhaps one of the great tragedies in the Roman rite in the last century or so is that with the endless stream of reforms begun by St. Pius X, furthered by Pius XII, and concluded by Paul VI, we have lost the notion that the liturgy reveals mystery to us, that it is a method of worshiping God, but also a tool God gives us to understand Him. The raising of Lazarus, the veiling of the Cross, the Old Testament significance of the palms, the restless and lamenting entrance into Jerusalem, and the Cross itself make "sense" to us here. Through the lessons, the Mass, the hymns, and procession today God lifts the veil of ignorance the people of Jerusalem had when they went to see the One who raised a man from the dead and, in their own understanding, turned Him over for death, not realizing His dominion over it.
Last night after the Liturgy of the Pre-Sanctified Gifts the priest and I chatted about the usual things when his son pointed out the multiplying presence of some very large bugs and insects. One of them, about the size of the Hope Diamond, had six legs. Big. Creepy. It had to die.
As I was about to administer righteous justice upon it the priest intervened and said, "No, it wants to live!" to which I retorted "But I want it to die!"
Bugs have something of a place in the faith. Locusts played a part in the re-conversion of England under St. Augustine of Canterbury. St. Anthony of Egypt would stare at ant mounds when ambulating meditatively. God used insects as a plague against the Pharaoh prior to the Exodus. Still, like Hyacinth Bucket I have no affection for the little "creepy crawlies." Indeed when my own garden has an ant hill I get the spray and commit genocide on the little things.
Should I respect the creepy crawlies more or am I fine?
With only a week until Good Friday I thought I might share my experience with the Scala Sancta, the "Holy Stairs" located in an unassuming building across from the Lateran Cathedral in Southeastern Rome near the gate of the City.
According to tradition the stairs of the Roman Prefect of Jerusalem's palace were removed either during the visit of St. Helena to the Holy Land or some time soon there after and brought to the City for the devotion of the faithful. The Stairs are currently housed in a very anonymous looking building with a baroque facade across the square from the Archbasilica of Our Savior, aka the Lateran Cathedral. Adjoining this building is a strange structure with an apse and a Christian mosaic that is fenced off from the public, being only a few feet from the street. At first I thought that perhaps this was the ruins of a pagan temple that had been made into a church and since disintegrated in time. How wrong I was! It was the last remaining part of the Lateran Palace given by Emperor Constantine to the Popes for a residence and place of administration (although built by the Laterani family, Constantine acquired it by marrying into its later owners, the Fausta family). The palace, immense and grand in scale, fell into disrepair during the Avignon Papacy and was knocked down by Sixtus V after the popes moved to the Vatican. A smaller edifice conjoined to the Cathedral was erected as a replacement. That apse was actually the end of the great hall where the Lateran Councils were held. The Scala Sancta, it seems, were once part of the Papal residence.
My fellow travelers and I walked into the building that houses the Stairs with little fanfare. There is no gate, no admission process, no guard. The Stairs are between two tall medieval walls painted with faded Renaissance imagery, to dulled to be worth a look. On each side of the Stairs is another staircase for descent. My two friends and I, after meandering for a few minutes, knelt down before the first sep and began our personal ascents.
Every man climbs the steps with Christ at his own pace, attuning himself and opening himself to the Savior's words. I took the first few steps in quiet, attempting more than anything to think of something to consider during prayer. Rather than leaving myself to my own devices and disparate spontaneous prayer I turned to the Rosary and prayed the Sorrowful Mysteries, one Ave Maria, Pater Noster, or Gloria Patri per step.
I prayed for one of my friends travelling with us. Although baptized he really had no religion and was a self-described Deist. All that began to change when we spent more time together the previous year at university. Often he would ask about why God should care about our actions, why God is worthy of veneration, why God would involve Himself in the affairs of man. I do not pretend to have given him good answers. Instead I hoped that in our excursion through Rome he would see and encounter those answers. So I prayed for his conversion. The previous day we had made the day trip by train to San Giovanni Rotondo and visited Padre Pio's convent. In the gardens we stumbled upon a criss-crossed path with Stations of the Cross. We passed each station in silence. My friend spent a particularly long amount of time considering the twelfth station, the Crucifixion. And so I prayed that Christ's passion might penetrate him ever more.
Each person seems to climb a little differently. Some would look at the sacred artwork around the Stairs. Some would venerate the Stairs through openings in the wooden casing which protected each step. One woman climbed in a rush to the top, arriving in a minute or two! Yet the idea "to each his own" seems fitting here.
Christ ascended these steps betrayed, but in mostly good health. We climbed the same steps on our knees. Yet He climbed the Stairs likely in shackles and followed by men with spears. We climbed with Him, and only for Him.
At the top is a small hallway. Opposite the stairs is an elevated kneeler and a large window, on the other side of which is a medieval Roman chapel where the Blessed Sacrament is exposed. I did not labor there, saying a prayer of thanksgiving with Irish efficiency. Turning back to the Stairs, with the chapel behind me, I stared down those steep steps at the people crawling up. Here, I thought, atop these steps, perhaps in this very stop, a man sat in judgment of God. Is this not what sin is? Could sin be summarized any more succinctly? Pilate did not know who Jesus was beyond being a preachy carpenter. At some level we Catholics know much more than Pilate and are more in need of a "good defense before the awesome judgment seat of Christ" than he was. However, Christ did not ascend those steps to condemn, but to free us, "for He is good and He loves mankind."
I have never been to the Holy Land, although hopefully I will visit one day Deo volente. This was the closest I have come to the Passion of Christ thus far.
A year later my friend converted to the Catholic faith.
