Vale alleluia

I always find the return of the Alleluia at the Easter vigil a moving moment. Like the leaven removed during the Passover season, we expunge it from our liturgy, to have it return full and glorious at Easter.
But then, I have to say, I am only too glad to have it cut back to size at the end of Eastertide; I worked out that in today's office (EF), Tuesday in the octave of Pentecost, one says Alleluia 162 times!
Matins, 37; Lauds, 21; Prime, 13; Terce, 13; Sext, 15; None. 17; Vespers, 21 and Compline, 25.
If I had celebrated the EF Mass (which I didn't), I would have added on another 13 alleluias making 175 in all.

And yes, I'm aware that the pic shows a Christmas alleluia, not an Easter one.

Choral Treasure update

Thanks to all those who supported Choral Treasure; a note on the site says that they have received enough contributions to continue for a few more months: please do continue to support this wonderful initiative.

Any man can dream…

I'm sure I must have posted before about the modern difficulty concerning the sacrament of Orders. Is it three-fold, or seven-fold? And is Episcopacy a separate order from priesthood (as certainly current theology would have it) or the legal unfolding of powers already latent within the priest (as Trent would imply)? My view has always inclined to the latter, not because I want to think of myself as a bishop, but it would be hard to explain otherwise how a priest has the apostolic power to forgive sins, and why he consecrates the chrism with the bishop. There is a lot more that could be said here, but the point I want to make is that considering Episcopacy a separate order, standing on its own, like the presbyterate or diaconate, opens the door to groups like the American Catholic Church (see the last post), who are so proud of the validity of their orders.

Peter Anson in his wonderful book Bishops at Large (which desperately needs reprinting) asked a very pertinent question. In the course of his book, he went into great detail about the proliferation of these little groups and noted that it was rarely sufficient for them to be episcopally consecrated only once: they were often consecrated over and over again by other bishops, as if this somehow made them even more valid. Anson asked: In what sense can these consecrations really be considered valid? Yes, of course, in a mechanical, pipeline, sense, all the bits are in place. But did our Lord really establish the college of bishops so that strange men might celebrate weird rites in odd clothes in their front rooms with their wives making the responses?

The older understanding of episcopacy would suggest that these episcopal consecrations lacked the essential element for validity—legitimate ecclesiastical authority. The Orthodox would agree. Whereas priesthood is sacramentally conferred by a validly consecrated bishop, episcopacy is [non-sacramentally?—in a literal sense] conferred by ecclesiastical authority unbinding the powers latent in the priesthood, so that the bishop thereafter exercises 'the fullness of the priesthood'. If there is no legitimate authority doing the unbinding, then the consecration would have no validity, no matter how many times the ceremony is repeated and, presumably, the specifically episcopal functions carried out by the recipient would, simply, lack validity. He would simply remain a presbyter (assuming he had received presbyteral orders from a bishop who genuinely possessed ecclesiastical sanction for his consecration).

This would sort out the proliferation of these strange sects who claim legitimate catholic status combined with arcane theological positions. And I hope it would bring to an end this rather disedifying scramble for episcopal orders. An Anglican priest in the Welsh borders told me that there is a not insignificant number of ordinary Anglican clergy who may well have obtained episcopal orders in anticipation of a melt-down of the CofE. Indeed he knows of one or two. Setting aside the question whether the CofE can count as legitimate ecclesiastical authority within the meaning of the term, the older theology would help them sort this one out. However, I am aware that the CofE is firmly wedded to the threefold ministry, and I rather suspect that this is where our more modern view came from in the first place!

Wikipedia makes the point that the episcopal consecrations of Archbishop Milingo were declared null, whereas those of Archibishop Lefebvre have been declared valid but illegal. This does rather suggest (probably, all other things being equal) that Rome is thinking about legitimate authority again.

If you have the stomach and patience for it, here is the lineage of one Episcopus Vagans (who delights in that nomenclature). He has his own blog.

Wikipedia on episcopi vagantes.

Does the revolution begin here?

I found a link on the New Oxford Review news page that spoke of a former permanent deacon in the States (Diocese of Scranton) who is about to be excommunicated for seeking ordination to the priesthood in the American Catholic Church, a body begun in Maryland ten years ago. This piqued my curiosity, and so I googled and discovered their web page. 

One might have thought, given their comments about themselves:

[The American Catholic Church] affirms traditional Catholic beliefs of faith and love, spirituality, community and prayer. It celebrates the seven sacraments and adheres to the essential Catholic doctrine and practice as expressed and implied in the statements of Vatican Council II, and in the light of the best contemporary thought.

that it was a breakaway from the Catholic Church, this being reinforced and maybe explained by the fact that they will ordain just about anyone—women, men, gay, straight &c. &c. , and by the lovely picture of their presiding Archbishop, Lawrence J Harms DD (where did he get the DD?) which tells you everything you need to know about its theology and spirit.

However, if you look down the pages, you will discover that in fact this Harms' orders descend from yet another of those Episcopi Vagantes. In other words, they are just simply a private playpen for those who like that sort of thing. I think that the Vatican may sleep easy for now; these are not NewChurch independent and on the rampage.

You will also see on the pages, by the way, that they have canonized Martin Luther King.

Ad multos annos!

Twenty five years ago today, as a young seminarian, I remember being in the little church of St Pius X in Merrow, a suburb of the unsophisticated unmetropolis of Guildford in Surrey for the ordination to the priesthood of Raymond Blake. The liturgy was not great, but it was about as good as one could get away with in those days–my own ordination, five years later, was scarcely better—but the ceremony left an impact on me which I have never forgotten.

Please say a prayer for Fr Ray today, that the grace of his ordination may be refreshed in him and that many souls may find their way to our Lord through his ministry.

Ad multos annos, Ray!

In case you haven't guessed, I'm speaking of the great hierophant of St Mary Magdalen, Brighton.

Pantheon

The Emperor Phocas (602-610) is not one of the better known Emperors; he was the Emperor before Heraclius, the one who trounced the Persians and so exhausted both the Empire and the Persian Empire in the process that the Islamic hordes simply mopped up most of both within a very few years. Back to Phocas. Oddly enough he is better known in Rome, where his column still stands in the forum, and also for another interesting act which we are celebrating today.
The Pantheon is one of the most remarkable buildings in Rome. Originally built (according to the inscription on the front) in 27bc by Marcus Agrippa, the friend of Augustus, it was radically altered by Hadrian in about 125ad, the cella being a drum surmounted by a concrete dome, the largest in the world at that time, and not surpassed until relatively modern times. It was dedicated to all the gods, and the various niches inside presumably held their statues; the marble decoration still to be seen there is original, and so this is one of the very few real ancient Roman buildings one can really walk into and around.
Now here comes the point. By the time of Phocas, the ancient pagan religion had been outlawed for some time. Phocas himself was particularly beastly to people who tried to worship the old gods even in secret. He gave permission to Pope St Boniface IV (whose feast we celebrated yesterday) for the Pantheon to be converted into a church. Boniface did so, and brought the bodies of many people (especially the martyrs) from the old catacombs and reburied them inside the Pantheon—the Catacombs, being outside the city walls, were no longer considered safe, on account of the various barbarian (and soon Islamic) raids. And so the Pantheon was consecrated the church of St Maria ad Martyres, which remains its official title to this day, on 9th May 609, which is to say 1400 years ago today.

On another topic, if you visit the Pantheon, do not miss the caffe granita at the little cafe called the Tazza d'Oro on the edge of the Pantheon square.

Here's a Mass celebrated on the feast itself; shame there were so few there to enjoy it, but a note on the New Liturgical Movement blog mentions that it was arranged a mere two days beforehand, celebrated during the siesta and while there was a major procession of the Bd. Sacrament at the Angelicum.

Hereford

Last Sunday I and my friend William went to Mass at the church of St Francis Xavier, Hereford. I had met the Parish Priest, Dom Michael Evans (a monk of nearby Belmont Abbey) when I was a boy and he was visiting his parents—we come from the same town. I served Mass for him—the first Latin Mass I attended since infancy. I suppose he started something! And so I was delighted to renew acquaintance last summer at the Merton College Extraordinary Form training conference, and again in the last few days. The Mass was in the EF: you can find one at St Francis' every Friday and a Missa Cantata on Sunday once a month. A splendid schola sang a very difficult pre-Reformation Mass very creditably—and even sang the Credo polyphonically, a very rare occurrence.

If you have not visited St Francis Xavier's, don't miss it if you are in the area. Fr Michael has restored it spectacularly—and that really is the only word. It is very near Hereford Cathedral, and cannot be missed, since it has a vast Ionic portico leading into the classical rectangular interior typical of many Catholic churches of the first half of the nineteenth century. The picture above I have nicked from Fr Tim's blog as I forgot to bring my camera. What is astonishing is that on two or three occasions this lovely Church has narrowly escaped destruction from those whose taste is for the brutal. Thank God and Dom Michael that this never happened, and that, after such work has been expended on it, it is now safe for several future generations.

After you have visited St Francis, you should visit the Cathedral. Unlike most Anglican Cathedrals, there is no charge for visiting (yet), though if you want to see the chained library and the Mappa Mundi, you (quite understandably) will have to pay. What is particularly splendid is that the current Dean of Hereford, Michael Tavinor, has restored a shrine to Hereford's great saint, Thomas de Cantilupe. Unlike the 'shrines' you will find in other cathedrals (Swithun at Winchester, Thomas Becket at Canterbury, Richard Wych at Chichester) this is no cenotaph ('This is where the shrine used to be until Henry VIII thought that the Cathedral would look tidier without it, kindly took away all those messy jewels and gave the bones a decent Christian burning &c') but a real reliquary set inside a sort of feretory on the site of St Thomas' first burial place. Take your sunglasses—it is decorated in full quasi-mediaeval vibrant colours and gilt. The relic is the tibia of St Thomas, lent by Stonyhurst College, and I greatly valued the opportunity to pray at the shrine and light a candle. I am told that the restoration of the shrine has not been without controversy—not everyone in the Hereford Anglican diocese is happy with the idea of the veneration of saints, and still less their relics. But I am very grateful. Thank you, Mr Dean, and especially for not treating the relic as a museum piece, to be gawped at, but as a holy thing to be prayed before.

Choral Treasure

While surfing the net I encountered on the NLM site a reference to an on-line radio station called Choral Treasure. Basically, this appears to broadcast, pretty well non-stop, the Church's great treasury of choral music. They now are scheduled to close at the end of the month, because they have to pay royalties and are running out of money.

It is such a shame that I have only discovered this wonderful treasure just as it is about to close. If any of you have money to spare right now, you might consider going to their site and making a contribution via Paypal.

Back.

Sorry to have been silent for the last couple of weeks: other things have rather intervened, quite apart from the fact that my posting often tends to be either feast or famine. For the last few days I have been away in the Welsh Marches, a region with which I am not that familiar. Now I'm back, I'll try and post a few pics for those of you who are interested.

Chacun à son gout!

How humiliating! Last night in bed I began to get horrible pains in my left foot; even the light pressure of the duvet was painful. And, today, the National Health website confirms the dreadful truth. I think I have gout! But there is one consolation; it kindly waited to the end of the Triduum to strike. I don't think I could have endured the ceremonies with this!

In the meantime, while I accept this for my dreadful sins &c, I am embarrassed to think that (given the traditional—but inaccurate—attribution of overindulgence as the cause) it has happened at the end of Lent, of all times!

Happy Easter!

Paschal moon, Shoreham Beach

Picture by my friend, Tommy Heyne

Sarum Holy Saturday

The Easter Vigil
The priest to bless the fire is dressed in sacerdotal vestments with a silk cope; deacon and subdeacon wear tunicles, the others with amice and alb. Another cleric in a surplice carries a long candlestick (hastam) with an unlit candle on it. There are no acolyte candles and the thurible is unlit. As they process to a corner of the church near the font, they say (not sing) the psalm Dominus illuminatio mea without Gloria Patri. All lights in the church are extinguished.

This hasta has a strange appearance in the wonderful diagrams in the Sarum Processionale. The top is three pronged, and it looks as if it might simply be the triple ‘reed’ familiar to the pre-1950 Vigil. Or the three prongs might simply be to hold the candle steady. Further down the shaft, however, it looks as if there is a boar’s head impaled on it, with the length emerging from its mouth.

The celebrant stands next to the fire, facing east, the deacon on his left and the subdeacon to the left of the deacon. One candlebearer stands opposite the celebrant, at his right a boy holds the book near the celebrant. To his right is the holy water bearer, and in the last place, behind everyone, to the west, stands the hasta bearer. To the south stands the thurifer, and the choir of clergy to the north. All face the celebrant.

The fire is blessed and sprinkled, and the incense is blessed at great length. Coals are placed in the thurible, then incense, and the fire is censed. The candle on the hasta is lit from the new fire. The procession moves to the Quire as two clerics sing the following hymn. The first verse is sung as a sort of chorus by the whole choir after each other verse sung by the clerics. While the clerics sing, they stand still and the rest of the procession moves on. While the choir sings, they stand still and the clerics move and catch up.

Inventor rutili dux bone luminis
Qui certis vicibus tempora dividis,
Merso sole chaos ingruit horridum,
Lucem redde tuis Christe fidelibus.

Quamvis innumero sidere regia (regiam)
Lunarique polum lampade pinxeris,
Incussu silicis lumina nos tamen
Monstras saxigeno semine quærere.

Ne nesciret homo spem sibi luminis
In Christi solido corpore conditam,
Qui dici stabilem se voluit Petram,
Nostris igniculis unde genus venit.

Splendet ergo tuis muneribus, Pater,
Flammis mobilibus scilicet atria,
Absentemque diem lux agit æmula,
Quam nox cum lacero victa fugit peplo,

Per quem splendet honor, laus, sapientia,
Majestas, bonitas et pietas tua,
Regnum contineant Numine triplici,
Texens perpetuis sæcula sæculis.

The deacon now proceeds to the blessing of the paschal candle, standing at the presbytery step facing north. He begins the Exsultet (mostly the standard ancient text). He pauses at
In hujus igitur noctis gratia suscipe, sancte Pater… to insert the five incense grains into the candle or the candlestick, and continues …incensi huius sacrificium vespertinum.

He pauses again after Sed iam columnæ huius præconia novimus quam in honorem Dei rutilans ignis accendit to allow the paschal candle to be lit. In Salisbury and, presumably, in other major churches this must have been quite a sight as it required getting a light to an enormous height. It was presumably usually lit and extinguished from the triforium, and no doubt the light had been taken there by another cleric, though the missal does not say this.

There is a note here to say that the candle must remain alight until Compline of Easter Sunday, and must be lit during the Octave at Matins, Mass and Vespers. Thereafter it is only lit at Mass, except on greater feasts, when it is lit as in the Octave.

The deacon resumes the Exsultet; there is a variant of the text in this section: there is no prayer for the Emperor, but instead, at the end we get:

Precamur ergo te, Domine, ut nos famulos tuos, omnem clerum et devotissimum populum, una cum patre nostro papa N., atque rege nostro N., necnon et episcopo nostro N., quiete temporum concessa, in his paschalibus gaudiis conservare digneris, Qui semper vivis, regnas, imperas, necnon et gloriaris, solus Deus, solus Altissimus, Jesu Christe cum Sancto Spiritu, in gloria Dei Patris. Amen.

The celebrant now reads the Officium (Introit) and goes to put on the chasuble, laid on the ‘altare autentica’. This seems to mean the high altar, and since there was a mention which I found late yesterday which suggested that on Good Friday the third Host was brought from the ‘altare autentica’, then it seems that on Maundy Thursday the Blessed Sacrament was simply reserved in the pyx over the high altar as usual.
There are no prayers at the foot of the altar, but simply Pater noster, then the celebrant kisses the altar with the ministers (I think this means that they are simply with him, not that they kiss the altar too) and goes to sit down. The hasta candle is taken away. Now the readings begin. of which there are not twelve, but simply four, almost identical to the Pius XII Vigil (the third reading has one more verse), which perhaps gives the latter considerably more authenticity than I had previously suspected.

Now follows the ‘sevenfold litany’ (septiformis letania), sung by seven boys in seven surplices. The celebrant takes off the chasuble and puts on a red silk cope, standing before the altar to the end of the litany. A bishop stands at the throne. The litany has all the normal saints one would expect, plus a few others; Maurice and his companions, Aldhelm, Germanus, Romanus, Brigid.
Then follows the ‘fivefold litany’, (quinquepartita letania, or letania ad fontes) sung by five deacons in five surplices, with a slightly different selection of saints, during which a procession moves off to the font in order to bless it. The acolyte leads it, vested in tunicle and carrying a processional cross, and two deacons carry the oils to pour into the font.

There is an interesting clause in the Processionale:

In his duabus letaniis, non dicatur Pater de Cælis neque Fili Redemptor mundi Deus, neque Spiritus Sancte Deus neque Sancta Trinitas, unus Deus. Gelasius Papa ostendit dicens; Quia ipse qui Pater et Filius et Spiritus Sanctus, una persona in Trinitate et tres personæ in Unitate, et in sepulchro se custodiri promittitur, omnino de adhuc surrexerat a mortuis qui voluit propetiam implere, sed jacuit in sepuchro usque ad tertium diem, quod bene istæ prædictæ quatuor clausulæ in his letaniis possunt prætermitti.

The font blessing is long, and at the end we have another hymn (also called a letania) sung by three senior clerics in silk copes: again there is a chorus to each verse. It would go to ‘Christ is made the sure foundation’ (but I’m sure it didn’t!)

R

ex sanctorum angelorum, totum mundum adjuva.
Ora primum tu pro nobis, Virgo mater Germinis.
Et ministri Patris summi ordinis angelici.

Supplicate Christo regi cœtus apostolici
Supplicetque permagnorum sanguis fusus martyrum.

Implorate confessores consonæque virgines.
Quo donetur magnæ nobis tempus indulgentiæ.

Omnes sancti atque justi, nos precamur cernui,
Ut purgetur crimen omne vestro sub oramine.

Hujus, Christe Pater alme, plebis vota suscipe,
Qui plasmati protoplastum et genus gignentium

Præsta Patris atque Nati compar Sancte Spiritus,
Ut te solum semper omni diligamus tempore.

And now the Mass begins with the Kyrie Lux et Origo, the celebrant and ministers beginning with the confiteor and omitting the initial pax.

Lux et origo lucis summæ, Deus, eleyson.
In cujus nutu cuncta constant semper, eleyson.
Qui solus potes misereri, nobis eleyson.

Redemptor hominum et salus eorum, benigne nobis eleyson.
Per crucem redempti a morte perenni, te exoramus, eleyson.
Qui es Verbum Patris, sator pietatis, lux veritatis, eleyson.

Paraclyte, Spiritus Sancte, Deus, nobis eleyson.
Medicina nostra et misericordia, eleyson.
Trinitas et unitas sancta, nostri semper eleyson.

The celebrant intones Gloria in excelsis Deo, and everybody kneels and takes off his black cloak. I think the Dominicans still do this. All the bells in the tower are rung as the Gloria proceeds.

The collect and epistle are as in the ancient Roman rite, and this done, two clerics in silk copes go to the pulpitum to intone the Alleluia, which is repeated by the choir, continuing Confitemini Domino quoniam bonus. They end with Alleluia again, ‘cum neuma’ and then the two clerics sing Alleluia again ‘sine neuma’. Then follows the Tract, and the Gospel from the pulpitum, without cross, and the candlebearers carrying unlit candles.

The offertory verse is omitted, and the Mass continues paschally as normal until the Agnus and Pax, which are both omitted, but after a pause Vespers is commenced, as in the Roman ancient use.

After the postcommunion/collect, the people are dismissed with Ite missa est, alleluia.



At Vespers on Easter Sunday there is a procession to the font, solemnly carrying the oils.

Sarum Good Friday

After the office of None, (the ninth hour, of course, corresponding to three in the afternoon, though the service almost certainly took place in the morning) the celebrant goes to the altar vested in red chasuble, with the deacon, subdeacon and acolyte simply in amice and alb. Directly, the acolyte goes to the choir step to read (unannounced) Hosea 6:1-6, as in the ancient Roman use. The choir then recite the tract, which is followed by a collect. Then the subdeacon reads Exodus 12:1-11, and there is another tract. St John’s passion follows.
Two cloths have been laid on the altar, and when the stripping of Jesus is described, the cloths are removed. At the Lord’s death, there is a pause, all saying Pater, Ave and In manus tuas. The last part of the passion, describing the burial is separately labelled ‘Evangelium’.
The solemn prayers follow directly, with a direction that there be no flectamus genua at the prayer for the Jews.
The celebrant removes his chasuble at the sedilia and sits with the sacred ministers. Two priests in unapparelled albs and with bare feet go behind the high altar on the right side and sing Popule meus, holding up the veiled cross. Three deacons in black copes sing hagios ho theos, the choir of clergy responding Sanctus Deus, kneeling and kissing the benches.
The priests holding the cross uncover it, singing both the Ecce lignum and venite adoremus. The choir, kissing the benches, reply with the Crucem tuam, following it with the psalm Deus misereatur, repeating the crucem tuam after each verse.

The cross is meanwhile placed on the third step of the altar, the two priests sitting on either side of it. The clergy, with bare feet, approach and venerate it. Crux fidelis and Pange Lingua are sung. The cross is then carried to an altar outside the choir for veneration by the people. It is then carried to the high altar.

The priest vests again in chasuble and begins Mass with confiteor up to aufer a nobis in the usual way, but without the customary pax between the sacred ministers before ascending the altar.
The Blessed Sacrament is brought to the altar; it is censed, and wine and water put in the chalice. In spiritu, orate fratres are said as usual. This is immediately followed by the Pater noster and what follows. So it would seem that there is no Canon, as appears in the pre-1955 Roman use. The host is broken as usual and a fragment placed in the wine. There is no pax, nor Agnus Dei, and the priest communicates as usual. After the priest cleans his hands, the office of Vespers begins. At the end, the priest says the collect Respice, which serves as the Postcommunion. Thus Mass and Vespers end.

After this, the priest removes the chasuble again, and with another priest, and barefooted, he places the cross together with the third consecrated Host (in a pyx) in the Easter sepulchre. All kneel. The celebrant alone rises and intones the responsory Aestimatus sum, whereupon all rise. The sepulchre is censed and closed. The celebrant intones another responsory, Sepulto Domino, and a couple more, In Pace in idipsum dormiam et requeiscam, and Caro mea requiescet in spe, during which all kneel until the end of the service. All pray quietly on their knees for a while, then leave as they wish, in no particular order. The celebrant resumes the chasuble and leaves with the sacred ministers.

At least one candle is left burning at the sepulchre until the Easter Vigil, to be extinguished during the singing of the Benedictus at Lauds, and again [so it must have been relit] during the Easter Vigil, when the great paschal candle (the missal directs that this is to be 36 feet high!) is lit.

For an account of Good Friday in pre-Reformation Durham, go here, to Joe versus the Volcano.

The picture shows the surviving Easter Sepuchre at Woodleigh in Devon.

Sarum Maundy Thursday

The first thing to take place was the reconciliation of penitents, after the office of None (sung, of course, in the morning). A senior priest goes to the west door wearing a red silk cope, accompanied by two deacons in alb and amice (but no subdeacons). Instead of a processional cross, the procession moves through the choir headed by a penitential banner. Those who are to be reconciled wait in the atrium. If the bishop is present, the archdeacon reads a long statement (‘Adest, O venerabilis pontifex, tempus acceptum’) on behalf of the penitents. The bishop, inside the door but turned to the north, intones the antiphon ‘venite, venite’ and beckons the penitents with his hand. One deacon, outside with the penitents, says ‘flectamus genua’ and the other, inside, says ‘Levate’. This all takes place three times, though after the third repetition of the antiphon, there is no Flectamus, but the whole psalm Benedicam with Gloria Patri (despite it being Maundy Thursday), the antiphon being repeated after every verse. During this, each penitent is taken to a priest (for absolution?), and by him is restored to the bosom of the Church (et ab ipso restituantur Ecclesiæ gremio). If the bishop is present, the archdeacon conducts each penitent to him for reconciliation. The procession goes to the Quire in the usual way, and there, kneeling, the seven penitential psalms are sung, again with Gloria Patri. There is a Pater noster, and a few collects, and finally the priest, hand extended and turned to the people, speaks (not sings) the following:
Absolvimus vos vice beati Petri apostolorum principis, cui collata est a Domino potestas ligandi atque solvendi, et, quantum ad vos pertinet accusatio et ad nos remissio, sit vobis omnipotens Deus vita et salus et omnium peccatorum vestrorum pius indultor. Qui vivit &c.
If a bishop is present, he gives a blessing, and then the Mass begins.

Mass is a little unusual, too. The Officium (introit) is as the Roman use, Nos autem gloriari, but Gloria Patri is only sung if the bishop celebrates. Likewise, there is no Gloria in excelsis unless the bishop is there. The farced Kyrie ‘Conditor’ is mandated for all celebrations, however.

Conditor, Kyrie, omnium, ymas creaturarum, eleyson.
Tu nostra delens crimina, nobis incessanter eleyson.
Ne sinas perire facturam: sed clemens ei eleyson.

Christe, Patris unice, natus de virgine, nobis eleyson.
Mundum perditum qui tuo sanguine salvasti de morte, eleyson.
Ad te nunc clamantum preces exaudias pius, eleyson.

Spiritus alme, tua nos reple gratia, eleyson.
A Patre et Nato qui manus jugiter, nobis eleyson.
Trinitas sancta, trina Unitas, simul adoranda,
Nostrorum scelerum vincula resolve redimens a morte,
Omnes proclamemus nunc voce dulciflua, Deus, eleyson.

The collect is a variant of the Roman one, the Epistle and Gospel are identical. The gradual, too is the same, with the note that if the bishop celebrate, it is either repeated or not repeated (some books have nisi, others ubi!). The Gospel is read ‘in pulpito, more dominicali’ (!) and if the bishop celebrate, then the Gospel is proclaimed ‘more duplicis festi’, and Credo is sung.

The offertorium and secret are the same as at Rome. Meanwhile the subdeacon (or deacon, again a variant) prepares three hosts for consecration. The preface is simply the common daily preface.

There is no separate Chrism Mass, but when he celebrates, the bishop blesses the oils during the Canon of this Mass. At Te igitur, three servers vest in amice and alb, and take up a banner. Three deacons carry the vessels in humeral veils, and a fourth carries a canopy. The archdeacons fill the vessels with oilp.
Before the Per ipsum, the bishop stands aside and the oil of the sick is brought to him, which he blesses.

The oil of catechumens is brought before the blessing (which happens after the Pater Noster, extraordinarily, and is only ever given by a bishop). The bishop then proceeds to the throne.

The Chrism is then solemnly brought in for consecration. First there are three banners, then two acolytes in albs, then two thurifers, then two subdeacons with the book of Epistles and the book of the Gospels, then three singing boys in surplices, then the deacon with the Chrism, the canopy over it.


The three boys in surplices are directed to sing this splendid hymn as they walk before the oil:

O

Redemptor, sume carnem temet concinentium.
Audi judex mortuorum una spes mortalium.
Audi voces proferentum, dona pacis præmium.
Assit flamen sacrosanctum, olim per diluvium
Qui ramum tulit olivæ ad archam Ecclesiæ.
Arbor fœta alma luce hoc sacrandum protulit,
Fert hoc prona præsens turba Salvatori sæculi,
Consecrare tu dignare, Rex perennis patriæ,
Hoc oleum signum vivum contra jura dæmonum.
Ut novetur sexus omnis unctione chrismatis,
Et medetur sauciata dignitatis gloria.
Stans ad aram, immo supplex, infulatus pontifex
Debitum persolvat omne consecrato consecrato chrismate;
Sit hæc dies festa nobis sæculorum sæculis;
Sit sacrata laude digna nec senescat tempore;
Laus perennis Deo Patri gloriaque Filio,
Honor, virtus ac potestas amborum Paraclito.

The bishop returns to the altar to infuse balsam into the oil and bless the chrism.

Today the Agnus Dei is not said (unless the bishop celebrates when the veneration of the chrism replaces the pax—the chrism is carried to each cleric as a pax brede).

After the communion verse is sung, the office of Vespers immediately begins with the first antiphon. Gloria Patri is not sung at the office. After the Magnificat, the postcommunion prayer is sung. Ite Missa est is only sung if a bishop celebrate, otherwise it is Benedicamus Domino.

Everyone now goes to lunch (and yes, the missal does say that).

After lunch, water is blessed privately. Two senior priests with deacons and subdeacons and candle bearers all vested in amices and albs go to the high altar and wash it with wine and water while the responsory In monte Oliveti is sung, without Gloria Patri. Then the antiphon and collect of the saint in whose honour the altar is consecrated is read, and the same process is carried out for all the altars in the church. There are a lot of responsories provided for singing meanwhile.
Then everyone goes to the chapter house for the Mandatum.
The Gospel from the Mass is read again, and a sermon is preached. The same priests who washed the altars rise and each wash the feet of all the clergy from one side of the choir, and then each other’s. There are lots more antiphons and responsories to sing meanwhile. Then all share a ‘loving-cup’, while Christ’s farewell discourse is read, (John 13:16—14:31) and the celebration concludes with some prayers and then all return to the church where they recite the office of Compline privately.

As to what happened to the Blessed Sacrament, whether it was placed in an altar of repose, or in the sepulchre, or simply returned to its usual place of reservation, the books I have are silent.

After I wrote this post, I discovered a reference to the third Host being brought from the 'Altare Authentica' to bury in the sepulchre on Good Friday. This altare authentica is probably to be identified with the high altar, and therefore we assume that there is no altar of repose, but that the Blessed Sacrament is simply reserved at, or over, the high altar as usual. The ceremonies that we associate with the altar of repose are observed the following night, then, at the sepulchre.

Offertory

Fr Ray (of St Mary Magdalene's) and I met up today, and over lunch we discussed a number of issues, but one subject that came up was of particular interest to me. It concerns the offertory of the Mass (or, if you prefer, the preparation of the gifts). I expressed a hope that a new edition of the Missale Romanum might provide the possibility of using the traditional offertory prayers within the Ordinary Form Mass.

The Consilium who drew up the Novus Ordo Missæ originally planned simply to have the bread and wine placed on the altar and then a prayer over the gifts said. The reason was probably that offering a 'Spotless Victim' before the said Victim was actually present was thought a bit odd. But many felt that apparently abandoning any sort of an offertory was a step too far, and so the berakah prayers ('Blessed are you, Lord') were composed and then the orate fratres reinstated.

My quibble is that although the new berakah prayers are oblationary, what they offer is not the spotless Victim, but bread and wine. In what sense do we offer bread and wine to God, and why? The Mass offers Christ, the spotless victim; the people offer praise and thanksgiving, and their whole lives: their sacrifice is obvious. But is bread and wine a New Testament sacrifice? In this context, the Anglican fudge statement of we 'bring before you' this bread and wine (or whatever) would be much better for the 'offertory'.

It has been a modern (probably since Thomas Aquinas, or Peter Lombard perhaps) trend to identify particular moments in the Mass; now is the consecration, now is the calling down of the Holy Spirit, this is the oblation—I'm not really sure that the historical liturgy saw it quite that way, but rather that the Immaculate Victim was offered from the offertory to the communion (in time, while eternally out of time). A sacrifice of bread and wine simply doesn't come into it.

What do you think?

p.s. I hope you like the picture!

Notker Balbulus

Today is the feast day of blessed Notker the Stammerer who died on this day in the year 912.  He was a monk of the abbey of Sankt Gallen and was principally famous for his versification. He may have stammered with his mouth, but he was eloquent with his pen.

He was in the past credited with inventing the Sequence, by which I mean the prolongation of the Alleluia at Mass which, they think, grew out of the jubilus, or very long melisma that prolonged the singing of Alleluia on feast days, simply by adding a poem to be sung to the same melody.

The Mediæval Mass had a Sequence almost every day, but most of them were excised at the Renaissance (though it was the Renaissance that beatified Notker in 1512), and I don't think any of the surviving ones are by our friend. Rather unaccountably Bugnini, in his iconoclastic way, changed the position of the Sequence to before the Alleluia in the 1970 missal, thus severing its connection with the ancient past, and, indeed, its very raison d'etre. I really miss the final Alleluia after Amen in the sequence, especially after the Easter and Pentecost sequences—I find the concluding Alleluia melodically and emotionally very satisfying. It feels bald without it.

Notker is also famous for writing one of the two biographies of Charlemagne (the other being by Einhard).

Here is Notker's Sequence for Pentecost:

Sancti Spiritus
Adsit nobis gratia
Quae corda nostra sibi
Faciat habitaculum
Expulsis inde cunctis
Vitiis spiritalibus.
Spiritus alme, illustrator hominum,
Horridas nostrae mentis
Purga tenebras.
Amator sanctae sensatorum
Semper cogitatuum,
Infunde unctionem tuam,
Clemens nostris sensibus.
Tu purificator omnium
Flagitiorum Spiritus,
Purifica nostri oculum
Interioris hominis;
Ut videri supremus
Genitor possit a nobis,
Mundi cordis quem soli
Cernere possunt oculi.
Prophetas tu inspirasti, ut praeconia
Christi praecinuissent inclyta.
Apostolos confortasti, ut trophaeum
Christi per totum mundum veherent
Quando machinam per Verbum suum
Fecit Deus coeli, terrae, maris,
Tu super aquas foturus eas, numen
Tuum expandisti, Spiritus.
Tu animabus vivificandis
Aquas fecundas,
Tu, aspirando da spiritales
Esse homines.
Tu divisum per linguas mundum
Et ritus adunasti, Spiritus.
Idololatras ad cultum
Dei revocas,
Magistrorum optime.
Ergo nos supplicantes tibi
Exaudi propitius, sancte Spiritus,
Sine quo preces omnes cassae
Creduntur et indignae
Dei auribus.
Tu, qui omnium saeculorum sanctos,
Tui numinis docuisti instinctu,
Amplectendo spiritus;
Ipse, hodie apostolos Christi
Donans munere insolito
Et cunctis inaudito seclis,
Hunc diem gloriosum fecisti.

You can find his whole book of Sequences here, at Migne's Patrology on-line.

Holy week.

'Wry don, wry don in majesty'

It must be holy week! 

Five services down, thirteen to go.

EF Holy Week

The Latin Mass Society request that I direct you to this account of the Triduum celebrations to take place in the Extraordinary form this year.

ICEL

Well, here is the news I didn't post the other day. Mgr Bruce Harbert, the Executive Director of ICEL is leaving his post, and his successor is to be another Englishman, my friend Fr Andrew Wadsworth, a priest of the Diocese of Westminster, and a noted enthusiast for the Extraordinary Form. I don't suppose Fr Wadsworth will have much to do with the Missal now, it being mostly complete, but there is still lots of other things to be done, notably the Breviary.

I shall be glad when the new Missal comes out. Today's Prayer over the Gifts went like this:

Merciful Lord, we offer this gift of reconciliation so that you will forgive our sins and guide our wayward hearts. We ask this through Christ our Lord.

Ask what? The 'prayer' was a statement. It didn't ask anything, simply stated the reason for offering the gift.  Our prayers are with Fr Wadsworth in his new job.

My apologies for the picture; it's the only picture of Fr Andrew that I have. It shows him after an EF Mass in Guildford some ten years ago tucking into Bruno's (my chocolate labrador's) squeaky hamburger.

Pulpitum

I've lately been passed a book on the Sarum liturgy and customs to read. It raised for me an interesting question which I hope somebody reading this might be able to help me with.

In any number of guide books to English cathedrals and also liturgiological texts, you can find the rood screen referred to as 'the rood screen or pulpitum'.

In the Sarum Missal, you can read (under the First Sunday in Advent, where a lot of the rubrics lie hidden) 'Et legatur Epistola in Pulpito omni die dominica…in omnibus vero aliis festis et feriis…ad Gradum chori legatur'. And similar directions are given for the Gospel: 'Et sic procedat diaconus per medium Chori, ipsum Textum super sinistrum manum solemniter gestando, ad Pulpitum accedat, thuribulo et ceroferario præcedentibus.'

This has led a number of authorities to conclude that the Gospel and Epistle were read from the top of the rood screen. This is patently absurd: I flatly refuse to believe that. If you look at the various examples of surviving rood screens, if they can be ascended at all, this is done via a narrow staircase accessed by a door, often as little as three feet (=1 metre) high. Possibly the rood screen at Salisbury (destroyed by Wyatt in his 'restoration') had more convenient access, but somehow I doubt that there would have been any dignified way for crucifers, acolytes, subdeacon and deacon, all vested and carrying bits and pieces, to have ascended to the top to sing their parts. It would at least have presented a comic sight.

My Cassells Latin Dictionary has 'pulpitum, a platform: Horace, esp. for actors 'the boards' of a theatre. Hor. Juv.'

My Latham's Revised Mediæval Latin Word-List (a marvellous book) has 'pulpit…ambo'.

Can it be that this long fantasy of the words of scripture being proclaimed from the top of the rood screen is simply that, a fantasy, and is a pulpitum simply, er, a pulpit?

Or a lectern such as the splendid original one in the middle of Merton College Chapel which we actually used for the reading of the Epistle and Gospel in the celebration you can access on the left?

I'd be really interested if anyone has any further information about this.

My suspicion is that a lot of research on the Sarum liturgy was done by Victorian Anglican rectors with plenty of time on their hands but no experience in actually performing solemn liturgy—that didn't really come in until the twentieth century, I think. Having never tried to sing the Gospel from a rood screen, the sheer impracticality didn't occur to them. Other things don't seem to have struck them, such as the fact that the nave in great churches (those with solid rood screens, on the whole) was not used for the gathering of large congregations. But more perhaps on this in another post.

ICEL news

Some of the sharper-eyed among you noticed that very briefly I posted some ICEL news, but having been advised that I was a little premature and should wait for an official announcement, I took the post down again. 

It doesn't (directly) concern the new translation, in case any of you were getting anxious.

Thank you

Several people have recently noticed that I haven't been posting very much in the last few weeks and have, one way and another,  expressed concern: please let me reassure you that I am fine, just very busy in the parish (and the seminary seem to think this is just the time to unload lots of marking [US, grading] on me)! But thank you very much for your kindness.
All will soon, (please God) be back to normal. I'm sure that most, if not all, priests will agree that that this is the most exhausting time of the year, and with three churches, I find this particularly so. But by mid-June, things calm down agreeably, once our children have made their first Holy Communions, and our teenagers have been confirmed, and our converts have been converted.
A few years ago, I had three years of obligatory idleness. However exhausting this is, I find busyness preferable.

Saints

Thanks to Richard for the link.

Councils and all that

As so often, the erudite Fr Hunwicke has got me thinking. 

So often it happens that historical circumstances force the Church to think through things that have never been thought through before. In our own time, the situation of the St Pius X society has brought to the front just what it might be that constitutes a Council: what solemnity is attached to its teachings, doctrinal and disciplinary, and what degree of submission is required by the faithful in order to describe themselves as Catholic (or indeed O/orthodox)? Must Bishop Fellay and his mates subscribe to every jot and tittle of every document of Vatican II in order to be defined as a Catholic?

My friends will tell you that the matter of what makes or doesn't make a Council infallible has been going round in my mind for some time. Fr Hunwicke has simply encouraged me to write about it, since he is obviously on a not dissimilar tack.

Here, then, are some random thoughts:

1) The word 'council' is a very loose one. There were all sorts of councils in the early Church, regarded as more or less authoritative. In one case in the 4th Century, a semi-Arian council of three hundred or so bishops was held to be overturned by a little council of, I think 24, organized by Athanasius in Alexandria. With hindsight, of course, but I think that this is really the key to status. There is another criterion of solemnity when one comes to Ecumenical Councils. These are councils of the Ecumene, of the world, or at least the parts of the world held to be important (which effectively means the Roman Empire—I never heard of Celtic or Persian Christians participating in an early Ecumenical Council, though I stand to be corrected).

The first 'ecumenical' council is generally agreed to be Nicæa, 325. But what made this any more authoritative than any number of other councils around the same time? Did the participants believe it to be so, just because there were more bishops there than before? The West was not very strongly represented. The actions of some participants subsequently (such as those of Eusebius of Nicomedia) suggest that the answer is no.

One possible answer is that the participation of the Bishop of Rome is the sine qua non for a council that is universally authoritative. And it is certainly true that the Popes or their representatives have taken part in all the councils regarded as 'Ecumenical', though also, presumably, some not so regarded.

There are parts of even ecumenical councils that are now disregarded. Mostly on disciplinary matters, of course, and yet they still have anathemas attached. So what is their status? What, for instance is the status of a bishop who breaches the prohibition of moving from diocese to diocese, this being analogous to adultery? (Nicæa). But then, even a participant of Nicæa, Eusebius of Nicomedia (he had been in another diocese before Nicomedia, too), moved to Constantinople very shortly after the council.

2) Then there is the matter of the preamble and canons. Most councils formulate their material into a discourse followed by canons. The canons at the end are the bits that are considered necessary for a Catholic to believe; they usually conclude anathema sit (condemning those who hold the contrary to the assertion). The preamble is important, but does not require the submission of mind and heart that the canons do. 

Vatican II is different. Bd. Pope John XXIII declared that it was to be a 'pastoral council', and therefore that there were to be no anathemas. The consequence is that we have all preamble and no canons. And we find people giving canonical weight, infallible status, to the entire text of Vatican II: something that I suspect we would never have had, had there been canons.

3) The additional problem is actually that those who insist so hard on adherence to the letter of Vatican II are probably far less adhering to its letter than Bishop Fellay. I suspect that Bishop Fellay believes and teaches far more of what is in the documents than do some of his detractors. The things his opponents mean by 'Vatican II' are not really the documents and their contents, but the post-Vatican II 'spirit'.

There is more, illustrated by the Nestorian schism, which will follow when I can get up the energy.

And lest I be accused of heresy or something, if I err, put it down to ignorance. I entirely submit to the judgement of the Church and will rejoice to be corrected.

St Michael and mounts

Sorry for the long silence; the press of parochial and other matters rendered it inevitable.

Having celebrated the first Mass of Sunday last night at Upper Beeding, I returned home and went to sit in front of the television for a while. I don't do that very often, but I'm not feeling on top form right now. There was an edition of Time Team being broadcast—perhaps you saw it too. For those outwith these shores, Time Team is an amateur archaeology programme which can, if you're in the right mood, be quite entertaining. This week the team were excavating two little chapels dedicated to St Michael at Looe in Cornwall. They correctly drew attention to the fact that there are a lot of chapels on the top of hills in the South West of England dedicated to St Michael—St Michael's Mount being the most famous, no doubt parallel (though they didn't say this) to the more famous Mont St Michel over the other side of the Channel. One of these little chapels was on an island in Looe Harbour, over a treacherous and rocky little bit of sea—there were stories of many pilgrims drowning on the way. The island is identified on 16th Century maps as being 'St Michael's Island' but for some reason is now 'St George's Island', perhaps because it was important strategically at the time of the Spanish Armada. For more information on the island, go here.

The chapel on the mainland mirrored the island chapel almost exactly, and it was suggested (probably correctly in my opinion) that the mainland chapel served as the focus of the pilgrimage when it was simply too dangerous to risk the short sea crossing. This suggests that the pilgrimage there was for one day only in the year, otherwise surely pilgrims could have waited for a calmer day. They found in the chapels a full tomb in the floor before the altar on the island, and in the mainland chapel floor a corresponding, but much smaller, space, which they supposed to be a sort of reliquary. Well yes; this lends support, I think, to their theory that the mainland chapel was a sort of foul-weather spare building. If the tomb contained some significant burial, then some bones could be kept in the tomb in the mainland chapel for the veneration of pilgrims. Enough: to the point of the post.

An expert was asked the reason why so many churches were dedicated to St Michael on the tops of hills, and the reply came that, well, he was an angel, and angels fly, so they wanted to be nearer him (I'm paraphrasing).

Well, I didn't think much of that. The thought suddenly flew (as it were) into my mind that the Sarum Liturgy keeps a feast of St Michael in Monte Tumba, on October 16th, as it happens, when sea crossings might very well be risky. In various translations of the Sarum Missal I have seen, this feast is generally translated as 'St Michael in the Mountain Tomb'.

That always sounded rather dodgy to me, rather second nocturnish, (?nocturnal?) if I can put it like that. [n.b. it used to be a rather recherché clerical insult to say 'you lie like a second nocturn!']*

However, a little research reveals that the feast really is St Michael in Monte Tumba—i.e. the apparition of St Michael on Mount Tumba in Apulia—now called Monte Gargano, or Monte Sant'Angelo, (see it here) near the sea, as it happens, where the apparition is commemorated on May 8th each year—a rather balmier season. If you fancy making a pilgrimage, it isn't that far from S.Giovanni Rotondo, so you could take in Padre Pio as well. Apparently the spot was originally sacred to Mithras, which might account for the tomb reference. The shrine is still functioning; you can make a virtual tour here.

The account can be found in the Bollandists, 29th September, Vol 8 (you can now find the whole Acta Sanctorum on line) and is related in Jacobus de Voragine's Golden Legend.

Wikipedia has this to say:

To Michael's dramatic later intercession, appearing with flaming sword atop the mountain, in the midst of a storm on the eve of the battle, the Lombards of Sipontum [=Manfredonia] attributed their victory (May 8, 663) over the Greeks loyal to the Byzantine emperor, and so, in commemoration of this victory, the church of Sipontum instituted a special feast honoring the Archangel, on May 8, which then spread throughout the Catholic Church. Since the time of Pius V it has been formalized as Apparitio S. Michaelis although it originally did not commemorate the apparition, but the victory of the barbarian Lombards over the Orthodox Greeks, faithful subjects of the Byzantine Emperor in the East and the patriarch of Constantinople, and thorns in the papal side.

So that's why Rome keeps it on May 8th. I have no explanation of October 16th [but see a very interesting contribution by Gem of the Ocean in the combox]. And, I am satisfied, that is why there are so many shrines to St Michael on the tops of hills and near the sea.

* The second nocturn of Matins of saints' feasts, until the mid 20th-century reforms, usually consists of biography, or, better, hagiography, and sometimes strays, shall we say, into the legendary.

Virtual Tonsure

I thought it was interesting to see the Holy Father placing ashes on the spot where the young deacon would have been tonsured if he had actually been tonsured. This is the traditional custom for clerics: I and my parish deacon observe it, though neither of us have been tonsured (except by the years, alas).

Ashes

Ash Wednesday is not a day I usually associate with church giggles, but at our Mass at Steyning tonight, I was a little generous with the holy water (one likes to make a nice black mark, naturally). As I thumbed a generous dollop of wet ash onto the forehead of one of our servers, sonorously intoning 'remember man that you are dust and to dust you will return' a large portion detached itself from his forehead and landed on the end of his nose where it remained until the end of Mass. I had to consciously avert my eyes in case I snorted with laughter…… Such are the trials of parish ministry. The lad was quite happy with it when he looked in the mirror after Mass and left it there.

'Utraquism'

Fr Hunwicke has an interesting post on what he calls utraquism—nothing to do with eucharistic theology, but rather trying to hold together in one parish the usage of both the ordinary and extraordinary forms of the liturgy. He's right: it isn't easy. I celebrate the Divine Office in the extraordinary form, and offer Mass in that form once a week, on a Saturday. The other rites I celebrate are according to the ordinary form. Because of calendar changes, this means that if I observe the calendar proper to each form, I will celebrate some saints twice and others not at all. And I would often find myself celebrating the office of one saint and saying the Mass of another. I have reached an uneasy compromise, which I hope is one the Church would not frown upon. Copying the practice I noted at Fontgombault Abbey, I simply observe the new calendar, even when celebrating the traditional Mass or Breviary, taking texts from the commons on the feasts of saints canonized since 1962, or from the 2002 missal, supplying offertory antiphons from the common. For the breviary, I have put together a sort of sanctoral that follows the new calendar but uses traditional forms. If I could not find a genuine liturgical text for any particular saint (and I've come up with an awful lot), then the commons come in useful again. The only real lack is third readings for Matins of third class feasts (=memoria) for the celebrations of newer saints. In this case I have supplied the second reading from the Office of Readings in the Liturgia Horarum, comforting myself that, since it is longer than an average third lesson, this might be held to suffice.

Seasons like Septuagesima I observe in the office but not at Mass. And I have to keep feasts like Corpus Christi and Ascension on their original day, or I would really be in trouble. Here and there one has to fudge: I really cannot work out what to do on the Second Sunday after Christmas, though the last Sunday of October can be patched back together again using older breviaries.

No doubt some of you would find my practice rather unconventional, but really it is not easy to harmonize one's liturgical life, and the blessings of using the more traditional breviary are considerable. Having been granted their use by Summorum Pontificum, I'm not really prepared to forgo them.

Ethelbert

Reading the Martyrology this morning, I was intrigued to read that today is the feast of St Ethelbert. I knew who he was, of course; the (pagan) king of Kent that welcomed St Augustine of Canterbury, who had a wife called Bertha, the Christian daughter of Charibert, King of the Franks. He embraced Christianity, and this kicked off the conversion of the Saxons. I was surprised to discover that for this, he is venerated as a saint. It's reassuring, really, that it isn't only the Francis of Assisis of this world that go to heaven.

The rather romantic story of the time would seem to suggest that Britain was at the time a pagan wilderness to which St Augustine brought the light of the Gospel single-handedly. Well, of course, credit where credit is due. But credit is also due, perhaps even more so, to St Aidan and the Celtic monks of Lindisfarne and Iona, who had already been hard at work converting this island from the top down. And then moving on to the Low countries, Germany, and Switzerland. Their achievement was really spectacular. However, Rome was a little suspicious of the different way that the Celts went about things. Bishops were not very important in the Celtic general scheme of things; they were there to administer the sacraments and that was about that. A bishop may well have been a not particularly important monk in a monastery. The real power in the Church was wielded by abbots. And then there was all that fuss about the date of Easter, and whether a tonsure should be a bald patch on top with a ring of short hair left, or a shaved front of the head with the hair left to grow long down the back. Shades of mullets!

There is a lot of nonsense talked about the Celtic Church, though: I have heard Episcopalians in Scotland seriously assert that they were the natural heirs of the Celtic Church before the Roman usurpation; that the Celts were sorts of proto-Anglicans! As if St Columba every evening kissed his wife and children before going to the Cathedral for Evensong and Stanford in A. There is no question that the Celts were in communion with Rome—its just that the Irish have always liked doing things their own way, whereas Rome has always liked things tidy. 

And the third bunch of Christians in the country were the old Romano-British hierarchy, whom everyone always forgets about. There had been English bishops at the Council of Arles, and Pelagius was said to have been British (though in fact he may have been Irish or Scottish), and there were still plenty of Christians and the whole operation, though on the whole pushed into the West country and what we now call Wales. This old hierarchy was in a bad mood, though: indigenous Christians had refused point-blank to engage in any evangelization among the Anglo-Saxons, which is understandable since the old A-Ss had been engaging in quite a lot of pillage, murder and rape over the last couple of hundred years.

So, happy feast of St Ethelbert! But let's not forget all the others.

Nuts in a box

I thought that I might write a letter to The Tablet about Elena Curti's treatment of Fr Tim. However, James McMillan has done so so much better than I might have done. What does strike me in all of this is the unfairness.

All priests know very well that whenever a change of any kind is made to a Sunday Mass, at least a dozen people will take serious offence. When I came to this parish, my first duty was to combine it with a neighbouring parish up the valley, and so Mass times had to be rescheduled. There are several people who, four years later, have still not forgiven me for my inability to bilocate and who therefore attend Mass elsewhere. Some can still be quite vocal, too. This disaffection is a naturally-recurring phenomenon, if I can put it like that, and it is unfair to make it a particular sin in Fr Tim's case, since all of us who have had to make some change to Masses have experienced it.

In the end, people want the Mass they want at the time they want in the location they want, and if any of these things be changed, then there is trouble. A technique that I have found useful is to implement changes ad experimentum, promising a review several months later. When those several months have passed, usually people have adapted, got used to the new way, and are reluctant to undergo further changes. But there are always those few. Like nuts in a box, you only need a few to make a lot of noise.

Okay

Many thanks to those who offered prayers recently. I am delighted to say that things seem to have been resolved happily now. Sorry to be so mysterious, but it is necessary.

Clarification

For those who know what I am writing about, certain criticisms (made recently by somebody in authority) about clerical blogs does not apply to this blog, according to the very person who made the criticisms. No further comment will be made on this topic, nor will I post comments, I'm afraid.

Fr Tim

I know I have not been posting for a few days: this is an extraordinarly difficult time right now, for reasons I cannot now disclose. But I must put my head above the parapet to state my complete support for Fr Tim. Please pray right now for clerical bloggers.

Say the black; do the red

I found this wonderful hymn today on Eugenia's blog. It goes to the tune 'Greensleeves'.

In hospita Siberia
te vocant, frater, studia.
In muris proseminarii
expectant Jesuitae.

Chorus:
"Dic nigrum, rubrum fac" -
memento, frater, verba haec.
Usque ad tuum obitum
dic nigrum et fac rubrum.

Persolves horas canonicas,
ad Missam quoque servies,
disce, ora et labora,
sec noli hoc oblivisci:

Chorus:
"Dic nigrum, rubrum fac" -
memento, frater, verba haec.
Usque ad tuum obitum
dic nigrum et fac rubrum.

Et quando eris presbyter
et celebrabis primitiam,
manus tuas deosculans
cum reverentia dicam:

Chorus:
"Dic nigrum, rubrum fac" -
memento, pater, verba haec.
Usque ad tuum obitum
dic nigrum et fac rubrum.

Psalm 151, Revised revised psalter

I found this on The Muniment Room—Ttony had got it from here, Sing lustily and with good courage, which I'm going to investigate more thoroughly when I have time.

Do click on the image and have a singalong—if you can stop laughing.

Book-burning, 21st Century Style

Damian Thompson's blog has a story that ought to be almost incredible. Unfortunately, it's only too believable. The publishers of a four-volume Encyclopaedia of Christian Civilization have been forced to pulp the whole first edition because, er, it's too Christian! Their site here.

Objections were raised to the book's use of BC/AD for dates, rather than the politically correct BCE/CE; they demanded that mentions that from time to time Islam has persecuted Christianity be removed, and instead, negative articles about Christianity be inserted…and lots, lots more.

I am reminded of a quotation that I found the other day on that declaration of support for Pope Benedict:

"Nothing emboldens more the audacity of the wicked than the weakness of kind people"

Leo XIII, encyclical Sapientæ Christianæ, January 10th, 1890

rather like Burke's more famous

For evil to triumph, it is only necessary that good men do nothing.

There is a more thorough treatments of this topic here. on Claves non defixi.