Pentecost Vigil IV - write-up in the Church Times

Here's a little write up from the Church Times about the first solemn pentecost vigil in the UK in 55 years:

Diary

by Glyn Paflin
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Violet at Whitsun

I KNEW I would one day need a 1933 English Missal for the Laity when I bought one at Easter 1988 — recording the date in the front, as bookish young men still do, no doubt, if they haven’t fallen for the latest electronic wizardry.

But when at long last, on the eve of Whitsun 2011, no other book that I own would do as well, where was it? Certainly not where it needed to be, in St Magnus the Martyr, London Bridge, as we in the pews looked at the backs of two cantors briskly inton­ing six lengthy Prophecies — in the Authorised Version, needless to say — while the celebrant read them at the altar.

So, though too much fuss is made about versus populum by Anglicans who call themselves Modern Cath­olics, I do begin to see why a “com­mon-sense” view of liturgy — if not, in­deed, a rather Anglican one — began to make itself felt in the Roman Catholic Church in the 20th century. In the mid-1950s, the Pente­cost vigil became a casualty of the new way of thinking, which was about to transform the worship in RC churches.

So this was history in the making; for we could be confident that the Bible-based service revived by St Magnus’s was a great rarity if not, indeed, probably a first for some half a century — and just the thing for this KJV year. The altar sheathed in violet, and the candles unlit; the sacred ministers in their Lenten vestments, prostrating during the sing­ing of the litany, having returned with the paschal candle from the bless­ing of the font; and the bells ringing during the Gloria of the mass. . .

So, what had it all been about? It was, I was told by the MC, a service from ancient days when there were too many candidates for baptism to be “done” at the Easter vigil. It certainly makes much more of an event of the festival of the descent of the Holy Spirit than we are used to now that both the Ordinary Form of the Roman Rite and Common Wor­ship take us back into green on what used to be Whit Monday.

Maybe there is something to be said for an Anglican cathedral-style version of this service for the Eve of Pentecost, if it hasn’t already been done: those readings that I heard were Genesis 22, Exodus 14 and 15, Deuteronomy 31, Isaiah 4, Baruch 3, and Ezekiel 37. But it is possible that the old ritual notes could be followed with a freer hand. . .

I'm very pleased with Mr Paflin's article, which I'm sure has brought the existence of the vigil to the attention of many people, as well as publicising S. Magnus - very good work.

My comments are:

1. I think the common-sense view of liturgy to which he refers is that the prophecies were sung facing the altar. At S. Magnus, the acoustics didn't really support that as an option and perhaps, had we turned around to sing them, no one would have needed to reach for a hand Missal! I don't see why they can't be sung facing the other way, if this means everyone can hear them. I'm sure a cathedral rendering of this service would involve the prophecies being read by laity with the antiphons and collects being sung. My own view is that while this would be a lovely Anglican service, it's not Liturgy, and why bother imitating Carols & Nine Lessons?
2. The Litany of the Saints did not work at our vigil. With only one cantor and the petitions doubled, and not having the full text printed out, it was sort of torturous straining to hear what was being sung. If we are to do the correct thing and keep the full Litany, doubled, we need to go on a walk around the Church in procession or something. I imagine that next year, they will simply not be doubled.
3. I think priests should think very seriously about drafting an Anglican cathedral-style Vigil service based on the traditional rite, without reference to the modern Roman Vigil. Even if they toned it down in terms of length, and followed the rubrics "with a freer hand", I'm certain the result would be more authentic - and baptismal. I can't wait to see the Archbishop of York baptising adults in a paddling pool on the Eve of Whitsunday in the future!

Persecuting the Laity....

A post on a new blog I've just discovered, a Minor Friar, got me thinking about how much the poor laity get bullied on these traddie websites and forums. He was talking about how Trads often whinge that in the New Rite Eucharistic prayer, we thank God for "counting us worthy to stand in your presence and serve you", when the laity should really be kneeling. He made the point that on this occasion, trad critics had chosen to ignore the possibility of a non-literal interpretation of the verb "stand" to make the point that either the laity don't kneel anymore as they should during the Eucharistic prayer, or that the modern rite is inadequate for congregations who do kneel.

How exhausting. It reminds me of the obsession with Communion in the hand. That debate can get so heated, I normally start wondering if Traditionalists shouldn't chew off their own hands just to make their point and then get on with it. When serving as Subdeacon I get to see exactly who receives Communion and how, and as for those who receive in the hand, I would not doubt their piety, their devotion to the Sacrament, or any other motive.

I personally receive on the tongue, because I feel more comfortable that way, especially in terms of respect for the Sacrament. I also kneel, partly out of reverence and partly because most people who administer the Eucharist are shorter than me, and so it's just more practical. I'm sure those hands that regularly receive the Host from the Priest carry less bacteria than my tongue on a Sunday morning, or indeed the tongues of some of those nutters on the forums. We could all of us be boiled in bleach and yet we still wouldn't be clean enough, in any sense of the word, to receive the Body and Blood of Our Lord Jesus Christ. That's the point.

Maybe it's the yoga talking, but I sort of see the posture of the laity during the Liturgy as not something we should worry about too much. It's all OK as long as they have the right attitude to what is happening. Whether the laity sit or stand or bow at a certain point doesn't matter nearly as much as what the ministers in the Sanctuary are doing on their behalf. Servers and clergy should pay the utmost attention to how they behave during the Liturgy, knowing that the laity expect it of them. It's not about "Oooh, Fr so-and-so says a lovely Mass", it's about the ministers fulfilling an office, without personal flourishes or adornments or personalised extras. They should be self-effacing and decorous at all times. And it's OK to bully them about that because they should be used to it! It's their job!

In the typical Roman parish, or indeed Roman Rite Anglican parish, some people will stand during the Eucharistic prayer, some will kneel. Some receive on the hand, some on the tongue, some kneeling, some standing. I really cannot understand how that image makes some people's blood boil so much! Leave the laity alone! If you want to make a point about the defects of the Modern Rite, make it a principle not to discount the good intentions of the devoted people who have turned up for Mass in the first place.

Pentecost Vigil III - Photos!

Dear readers, it's time to share with you the primary commodity of this, my humble blog....photos from S. Magnus! For a full description of the ceremonies of this ancient vigil service, see the post below. Many thanks to everyone who everyone who served and attended the Vigil. Next year we can expect it to be celebrated earlier in the day and with greater pomp. In the picture above you can see the Celebrant reading the first Prophecy which is being chanted by a Reader at an ambo.

The altar party process to the font, led by the Paschal Candle

The Celebrant blesses the Baptismal waters, dipping the candle thrice.

After the blessing of the font, the Litanies are sung in procession back to the sanctuary, where the ministers remove their violet vestments and prostrate themselves before the altar.

Towards the end of the Litany, the ministers go to the Sacristy and vest in Red for the Mass. The violet frontal is removed from the altar to reveal the red frontal, the altar is prepared for Mass and the candles are lit. Here the ministers recite the psalm Judica me while the MC lights a troublesome candle.

Mass of this Vigil is similar to Holy Saturday - there is no Introit (the one in the Missal is only for private Masses on this day), hand bells are rung during the Gloria, and the acolytes don't hold candles at the Gospel. Above you can see the Last Gospel read by the Celebrant at the end of Mass.

Pentecost Vigil II

Last Friday I had the most extraordinary encounter which I have been thinking of alongside this Saturday’s similarly extraordinary Pentecost Vigil. After an extremely onerous and dull day at work, I was dropped off near Mile End tube station by a colleague. I had intended to take the tube from there to my next engagement at Waterloo, but overcome by nostalgia for the foetid kebab joints and knife fights on the number 25 bus that comprise my memories of living in that part of London, I was persuaded instead to wander into Mile End park and take some sun. Unfortunately I fell asleep under the beating rays and woke up after half an hour looking like a spare rib, and I found myself rather in need of urgent refreshment. So, I retired to the nearest cafe, Roastars, under the “Green Bridge”, and sat down with several pint glasses of water and an iced latte. After a while, a young man with cropped hair and shorts asked if he could sit at my table, and naturally I replied “of course”. I noticed that he was wearing several bangles with cryptic slogans that I guessed must identify him as some sort of evangelical Christian. I suppose the mystery around such random inscriptions as WWJD or GODSTRONG are supposed to draw the curious into conversation with the wearer, and ultimately get them signed onto an Alpha course or something. This guy had two bracelets saying I AM SECOND, which definitely piqued my interest, and when I noticed he was writing out verses from Galatians in I AM SECOND-emblazoned notebooks, I said to myself “I have to find out who this nut is….and if I end up winding him up with my hardcore adherence to catholic doctrine then so be it”.

I shouldn’t have been so judgemental and self-assured. I so rarely encounter real live prots, and so my excitement at a perfect opportunity to counter-evangelise must be excused. Still, the ridiculous, arrogant idea that I was nurturing at that moment that I could convert him instantaneously with a salvo of rebuttals of his heretical non-doctrines and a visit to S. Magnus to seal the deal, should certainly not be excused. It turned out that I probably came away from that encounter having learnt far more profound things from him than I had managed to impart with my attempt to preach the True Faith.

We covered a range of topics; the Eucharist, the Blessed Virgin, invocation of the Saints, infant Baptism, and Confession and, of course, the Sacred Liturgy. Admittedly, although clearly a very devout young man, I have no problem saying that some of the views he expressed are heretical and run counter to the canons of the first ecumenical councils, which I had assumed would be our common ground. Then again, we are talking about a religion that teaches a form of sola scriptura that encourages a “what this Bible passages means to me personally in my life” individualist approach to Holy Writ, orchestrated by a succession of free-lance Pastors whose teaching authority derives more from their tithe-inflated bank balances than their endorsement by any legitimising or regulating system. This is a religion that has no concept of Tradition at all, in which “worship” consists of half an hour of preaching sandwiched between coffee and some soft Christian rock, and where the priestly exercise of Christ’s ministry of forgiveness in the Sacrament of Penance has been replaced by “discipleship meetings” with an “accountability partner”.

Our longest discussion was about infant baptism. I hope I managed to expound clearly the doctrine that the transformative grace imparted by the Sacrament of Baptism is not contingent upon the child’s understanding of what is happening. The Credobaptist Evangelical was not convinced and laid out the reasons – all worthy of consideration – why this is not so. We both claim that our respective beliefs are rooted in scripture, but mine are expressed in what I believe to be a Tradition shaped by the operation of the Holy Spirit, in which I can trust, and in which disagreements can be settled.

I won’t go further into Baptismal theology, as I am shamefully unschooled in anything beyond the very basics, but this discussion reminded me of the last time I witnessed the doctrinal vacuum created when Tradition retreats and subjectivity takes hold. I remember the first time our Parish celebrated Holy Week in the Older Rite, after the Paschal Vigil I received complaints from some parishioners who felt aggrieved at having been denied the opportunity to “renew their Baptismal promises” at the font, and that they were worried not having been able to do so. I sympathise with people who are attached to what, for them, is the only Paschal Vigil service they know, and I can completely understand how one would feel a sense of rupture, especially at so sensitive a time, in the pattern of worship they know, but I believe that these people, and countless other people who are subjected to the aliturgical modern rites year after year, have been persuaded to believe that the validity of their baptism is in peril, and they have been deceived by bad liturgy. Bad liturgy teaches bad theology, and for me, this is a perfect example.

The fact that the “baptismal promises”, the verbal assent to believe in Christ and rejection of Satan, were made on our behalf at our baptism as infants has no effect on our baptismal regeneration. At baptism, our soul is made entirely pure and white, this is what it means to die to sin and rise again to new life in the Sacramental waters of Baptism. While our souls may be sullied by sin as we grow older and attain reason and responsibility, our recourse is not to the “renewal” of those vows, but rather to the Sacraments of Penance and Holy Communion. The Sacrament of Confirmation is about “confirming”, at the age of reason, our initiation into the Church which is begun at Baptism. The supposed need to renew one’s baptismal promises annually at the Paschal Vigil erodes the teaching of the Church and brings nothing but confusion.

This morning I was looking over the texts of the Vigil of Pentecost, which as you can read below is a Baptismal Liturgy, which consists of the reading of Old Testament prophecies (the origin of which was to instruct the Catechumens), Blessing of the Font and Baptisms, Litany and then Mass in Red Vestments. As I read the collects, I realised how strongly this preparation for Pentecost, historically ranked second only to Easter, reverberates with the related themes of Baptismal regeneration and the operation of the Holy Spirit – our forefathers in the Faith had no need to worry about renewing their baptismal promises: the entire Liturgy sings with them. The many Collects between the prophecies ask for the continual outpouring of Grace on those already baptised.

O Lord God of hosts, who restorest those things that are broken down, and preservest those things that thou restorest : increase the peoples that shall be regenerated in the sanctification of thy name; that all who are washed in holy baptism may ever be guided by thy inspiration. Through.

Collect on the Sixth Prophecy

The character of this Liturgy was shaped by the first centuries of the Church, where entire households of Catechumens were received by Baptism: men, women AND their children. The Church was proclaiming in her Liturgy that there is one font of Baptism, one Fountain of this Grace from which these waters flow, and that all who wish to be saved must die to sin and be reborn: men, women, newborn children, regardless of physical or mental ability there is one font for all of them. This is a startling teaching, impossible to reconcile with worldly assumptions about people in different conditions of life, and it remains so today. There was no need for anxiety about one’s age or ability affecting their baptism because the Church proclaimed the opposite so confidently! So confidently, in fact, that it became impossible to baptise every Catechumen on the eve of Easter, and so the rest had to be baptised at the next Great Feast of Pentecost!

So what do we proclaim with the new non-Liturgies that have become the norm in the West? Ever noticed how those protestant pastors I mentioned above sometimes seem to be obsessed with one thing? The evil of homosexuality, the rapture, national apostasy, and the threat of Islam……These people re-mould Christianity around their own anxieties and obsessions and then impose this creed on their congregations, and they are not accountable. Whenever we liturgical practitioners presume to ad lib, excise, abolish, suppress, reform or tamper with the Liturgy, we behave exactly like those pastors, re-creating the worship of God in our own image to suit ourselves, not the diverse personalities of the plebs sancta Dei. Indeed what we are left with is no longer fit to be called leitourgia for that reason. We make it up as we go along...we make it "high looking" to impress people, or we make it cuddly to indulge certain expectations, allowing the zeitgeist to inform the Sacred Liturgy, and the Church, instead of the other way around. We find ourselves standing before nothing more than a wooden coffee table, and a font that is only a few drops deep. We end up seeking God’s forgiveness from our “accountability partner” and sipping coffee between hollow smiles, telling ourselves how good it all makes us feel to be a Christian.

The Vigil of Pentecost

The Vigil of Pentecost will be celebrated in the Church of S. Magnus on Saturday 11th June at 6.30pm. This vigil, supressed in the devastating 1955 Holy Week reforms, is now almost never celebrated, and I am informed that if we manage to find Deacon and Subdeacon for our celebration at S. Magnus, it will likely be the first such celebration in this country since the vigil was supressed.

Gregory DiPippo's excellent Compendium of the Holy Week reforms, published on the New Liturgical Movement blog, includes a description of this Vigil, to which I can add little.

Synopsis of the Pre-Pius XII Ritual

Already in very ancient times, the sacrament of baptism was celebrated on the feast of Pentecost as on Easter; this is said explicitly by Pope Saint Siricius (384-399) in a letter to bishop Himerius of Tarragon. (Epist. ad Himerium cap. 2 : Patrologia Latina vol. XIII, col. 1131B-1148A) Pope Saint Leo I (440-461) reasserts that this was the practice of the Church in a letter to the bishops of Sicily, exhorting them to follow the example of the Apostle Peter, who baptized three thousand persons on Pentecost day. (Epist. XVI ad universos episcopos per Siciliam constitutos : P.L. LIV col. 695B-704A) This custom is expressed in the liturgy of the vigil of Pentecost, which resembles in many respects the rite of Holy Saturday. This resemblance is found in the Missal of St. Pius V, as in all of the missals that came before it, and in the medieval usages of the great cathedrals and religious orders.

The rite begins in the penitential color, violet. There is no blessing of a Paschal fire, nor of a Paschal candle, nor the Exsultet; therefore, the vigil begins with six prophecies, repeated from the vigil of Easter, each of which is followed by a prayer. (The three tracts from Easter night are also repeated in their respective places). The six prayers are different from those of the Easter vigil, but express in many respects the same ideas. After the sixth prophecy, the blessing of the baptismal font is repeated, changing only the prayer at the beginning, following which the Litany is sung. During the Litany, the major ministers return to the sacristy and change to red vestments for the Mass.

Other rites of the Easter vigil are repeated at this vigil Mass; there is no Introit, and the bells are rung at the Gloria in excelsis. (The Introit Cum sanctificatus fuero was later assigned for private Masses only.) The collect of the Mass refers to the baptismal character of this celebration even more clearly than that of the Easter vigil Mass. After the Alleluja of the Mass is sung the same Tract which is sung on Easter night. At the Gospel, the acolytes do not carry candles. Just as on Easter night the Resurrection is watched for, but not anticipated, so also with this same gesture, the Church watches for the coming of the Holy Spirit in tongues of fire, as Christ told His disciples to do, but does not anticipate it. A further reference to the baptisms done in the first part of the rite is found in the Canon of the Mass, in which the proper Hanc igitur of Easter is said. This text speaks explicitly of those whom the Lord “(has) deigned to regenerate of water and the Holy Spirit, granting to them remission of their sins. ” It is said in this Mass, and though the entire octave of Pentecost, as it is also said at the Mass of the Easter vigil, and throughout the octave.

Synopsis of the Pius XII Reforms

The 1955 reform almost completely removes this ancient tradition of the Roman Rite, suppressing the Prophecies, the blessing of the font, and the Litany. The Mass begins with the Introit which was formerly said only in private Masses. The rubrics about ringing the bells during the Gloria and not carrying candles at the Gospel are also suppressed. The text of the Mass itself is not changed; the same collect and the same Easter Hanc igitur are still said, although the baptismal rituals to which they refer are suppressed.

Copyright Gregory DiPippo 2009

So I'd urge you come to S. Magnus to take part in this most ancient and excellent preparation for the Great Feast of Pentecost. I don't know that another Church in London will be celebrating the vigil and although we hope to repeat it next year, God willing, this could be your one chance to attend this service. See you there!

Childermas

Today's feast of the Holy Innocents is known in English as Childermas. This feast is a real liturgical curiosity. Certainly very ancient (going back in the West to at least 485), this feast is pegged in different traditions to either the "Sanctoral" or the "Seasonal" cycle of the year. While the Latin church keeps this feast on the 28th December, the Greeks on the 29th and the Syrians and Assyrians on the 27th, the Armenians on the Monday after the second Sunday of Pentecost, as they maintain that the Holy Innocents were killed fifteen weeks after the Nativity.

Another curiosity is the liturgical colour used for the feast. If the feast falls on a weekday, Violet is used. This stems from the Roman argument that since the Innocents were killed before they were able to attain the beatific vision, they should not be commemorated as other Martyrs, but in honour of the women of Bethlehem, the Gloria and Alleluia are not sung at the Mass. In the Gallican rites of France and parts of Germany, this distinction was not made and Red was used along with the Gloria and Alleluia. Therefore, in the Old Roman Rite, Violet is used if the feast falls on a weekday and Red is used if it falls on a Sunday (and on the Octave day, when the Gloria and Alleluia are also sung), a rare example of compromise between Roman and local uses.

In England, there was a custom of not working on whatever day of the week the feast fell on for the rest of the year until the next Childermas. It would be logical to assume that this custom was only followed by the very wealthy.

More on Deacons, and Maniples

More on the subject of Deacons, and more specifically the question "Is a Priest a Deacon?" which has been exercising my mind over the last few days.

I broached this topic with an Anglican clergymen that I met when he was a recently ordained Deacon and who is now a Priest. He said that yes, he was a Deacon. One sign of this is the Priest and Bishop's use of the Maniple, which has its origins in the towel carried by the Deacon. A quick glance at the Catholic Encyclopaedia, which I tend to believe and trust, seems to contradict this, however. The origin of the Maniple is supposedly in a small mappa, or handkerchief which was ornamental and rarely put to actual use, and was carried by anyone of high rank in the left hand. The evidence for this is found in the peculiar use of this vestment by the Bishop who is handed His Maniple to wear at the prayer Indulgentiam in the Mass, while other clergy put theirs on before Mass begins. The Maniple, then, has as its origin a sign of status, rather than service, although the modern Maniple could well be a conflation of the ornamental maniple with other, more practical cloths and towels employed by clergy in the service of the Altar, the Deacon included. Furthermore, along with the development of the Subdiaconate as a Major or higher Order, the Maniple came to be given to the Subdeacon at his ordination, placed on his arm by the Bishop himself, almost as a sign of his inclusion in the higher ranks of clergy. Additionally, the analogous vestment in the Byzantine rite, the epigonation (that hangs from the cincture) belongs only to the Bishop (and there exists an exclusively Papal version in the West). The other possible analogy, the epimanikia, are ornamental cuffs worn by Bishops, Priests and (strict) Deacons.

This is quite a diversion from the actual question "Is a Priest a Deacon?" which the Roman Church logically affirms, since She teaches that Ordination produces an indellible mark on the soul: a diaconal ordination cannot be undone, and diaconal orders are not revoked. It seems to me that a mythology of this gradual acquisition of Orders (indistinct from Office) has been projected onto the Liturgy, which is why Catholics can say a Bishop is Priest, Deacon and Subdeacon when vested in Chasuble, Dalmatic and Tunicle at the Liturgy.

My assertion is that in the West, there has traditionally been a distinction (now lost) between Orders and Office, which comes out in the oldest forms of Ordination rites. The "possession" of certain Vestments by certain Orders is also false, generating an ecclesiastical version of secular "insignia", but probably stems from the idea that as a clergyman ascends through the Orders, he retains their proper Offices and therefore some visible sign of them. If that is true, why do we have Mitred Abbots (who are not in Episcopal Orders) and Deacons and Subdeacons in Folded Chasubles (evidence that the planeta was not originally only a Sacerdotal vestment)?

My feeling is that this conflation of Orders and Offices in the West, and all that comes with it, has been had overwhelmingly negative effect on Western Liturgy: the virtual suppression of the Diaconate, making the Office of Deacon a temporary state from which one will almost invariably proceed to be Priested, and in any case not an important office at all, since all functions can be fulfilled by a Priest; the actual suppression of the Subdiaconate and Minor Orders in our own time (regardless of their antiquity) and, finally, the evolution of the "Server" as an ambiguous category of person occupying the borderland between clergy and laity and therefore quite unregulated and uncontrollable. Given all this, it hardly surprises me when I see Romanized Anglican "Priest-Deacons" forget the rules and kiss the Gospel Book at a Pontifical Liturgy: they simply don't know what they're supposed to be doing, and in most cases, as long as there's incense and pretty vestments, they don't even care.

The first time I opened a Pontifical, I couldn't believe what I was seeing: all the Ceremonies and Rites for instituting and ordaining every category of clergy you would ever need (and some you might think you don't), and blessings for pretty much every eventuality. These rites are effectively dead to most of the Western Church, which is a shameful neglect and rejection of our very anchor in the Faith. When will we learn that we have to let the Sacred Liturgy, that great repository of Tradition, teach us what to do? When will we stop projecting our own superstitious symbolism onto the Liturgy, and hacking away at its integrity with our own confused notions of what is "permissable" or "convenient"? The moment we start constructing the Liturgy (or a Liturgy) around ourselves is the moment when we start making up our own religion, and after that, there's just no point.

Priests, Deacons, Subdeacons...and Ethiopians

(Picture from Wikipedia)

I don't have much time to linger on Liturgical blogs these days, alas. Whenever I do look at RC tradworld blogs, however, I do notice one feature of tradworld liturgies that irks me: the practice of priests serving the Liturgy not as priests, but rather as Deacons and Subdeacons. I've also been reading a little about the Ethiopian rite of the Divine Liturgy and tradworld vs Ethiopian Orthodox is quite a contrast.

Reading tradworld rubrical guides, new and reprinted, one often sees instructions to the effect that Priests may carry out the functions of the Deacon or Subdeacon at Mass, or similar. In the Latin rite, a layman may fulfill the functions of the Subdeacon, with certain restrictions, of course, on what he can wear and do. This raises several important questions about how the Western Church "does" Liturgy: Are we saying that the rite is inherently defective, because it puts into vestments a person (the Subdeacon) who needn't be ordained to fulfill that office? Why is it that under current rules, both an ordained priest and a layman can serve as Subdeacons at the Liturgy? Does that make sense? Is there supposed to be a sharp line between clergy and laity, and which side of the Minor Orders does it fall on?

At the Ethiopian Liturgy, one will find at least five (seven is canonically correct) ministers: The Celebrant, the Assistant Priest, the Deacon, the Subdeacon, and the Lector, to which Fanbearer and Acolyte are added to make up the canonically required seven. A Priest assists, but he does so as an Assistant Priest. There is no notion of "demoting" him to the rank of Deacon for the duration of the liturgy.

Western practice begs the question, what actually is the Priest-Deacon? Is he a just a Priest in Deacon's clothing? If he is, why does he receive Communion with his stole tied inappropriately, or if he's acting as Subdeacon, not at all? The inconsistencies that arise, where the Priest in choir is expected to receive Communion in a stole, but the Priest-in-Tunicle isn't!

Another major question is that of the relationship between Office and Liturgical Function. My understanding of Orders, starting from scripture and going on to the Fathers, is that each clerical order has both an Office and a Function. In some cases, the liturgical function overlaps a little: Bishops and Priests both celebrate the Liturgy, Subdeacons and Lectors (formerly) both chant Readings. Yet, their respective offices are not precisely the same. Is it right then, for a priest to temporarily relinquish his proper function to fulfill that of another minister, or for a layman to usurp the liturgical function proper to a Subdeacon?

This might all seem like so much splitting of hairs, and shying away from providing real answers. But comparing the Ethiopian and Latin-rite practice reveals the massive gulf between how East and West project their own notions of convenience onto the Liturgy.

Convenience does matter, though. In my church, I'm used to priests acting as Deacons. We don't have a Deacon affiliated to the Parish, and when one visits, he acts as Deacon. Luckily though, I don't think I've ever seen a Priest act as Subdeacon in the Parish (which must be one of the worst liturgical solecisms ever!). The rotation of lay servers in this role is perhaps not the ideal, but is certainly better practice than using a priest, and approaches at least a "simulation" of ministers in minor orders. And to my mind, the minor orders are the answer to this problem. That and the promotion of the Diaconate. One of the good things (but possibly the worst named) to come out of late twentieth-century mucking around with the Liturgy is the revival of the "Permanent" Diaconate, individuals who are ordained as Deacons to fulfill the Office of pastoral care and teaching, and the Functions of the Deacon at the Liturgy. Surely that is the first step in achieving an understanding of orders that chimes with scripture and tradition.

The Antidoron, the Pain Benit and the Sunday Loaf

I've been considering quite a lot recently the role and history of blessed bread in the liturgy and by extension, in parish life. The distribution of bread which is blessed, not consecrated, at the conclusion of the Liturgy is found in both Western and Eastern liturgical traditions. The Antidoron, the remains of the Eucharistic breads not consecrated during the Liturgy, is distrubted after every Liturgy amongst Russian and Greek Orthodox christians. The custom has as much of a history in the West, attested by the existence of no fewer that six benedictio panis prayers in the Roman Ritual, and the survival in France of the pain benit, bread blessed before, during or after the liturgy and distributed to the faithful as a sign of charity and community.

The common origin of both is found in the primitive liturgy, where the faithful would supply the bread that would be consecrated in the Liturgy. It is assumed by some that surplus bread was consumed by those who had been present at the Liturgy, including the catechumens (Gregory Dix makes reference to this in his description of the primitive liturgy in Sacramental Life, where he imagines a modern re-enaction consisting of secretive Christians arriving at a house laden with scones to be consecrated!). This custom survived as the Fermentum, where a Bishop would send consecrated Eucharistic Bread to his priests as a sign of their communion. Later, in order to prevent profanation of the Sacrament, as as the baking and supplying of the bread became the responsibility of ministers, supported by the donations of the faithful, the parrallel customs of the Western eulogia and the Eastern Antidoron took shape. As the Catholic Encyclopaedia notes:

The usage then began of sending blessed bread instead of the Holy Communion to those who did not communicate at the Mass, and to those who might wish to receive this gift as a pledge of communion of faith. These who did not communicate received bread offered at the Offertory the Mass but not consecrated. It appears to have received no other blessing than that of the Offertory Prayer, and was considered blessed because it formed part of the oblation. This bread is called eulogia, because it is blessed and because a blessing accompanies its use; it is also called antidoron, because it is a substitute for the doron, the real gift, which is the Holy Eucharist. The eulogia prescribed in the liturgies of St. Basil and St. John Chrysostom, but now it is distributed to all, both communicants and non-communicants. It existed also in the West, and is mentioned by St. Gregory of Tours, the Council of Nantes, and Leo IV in terms which would make it appear a somewhat universal custom.

Other small loaves, blessed but not consecrated, were also called eulogiae, and used by Bishops in a similar way to the fermentum, and the sending of a loaf signified by a Bishop could signify the resumption of communion after a schism or censure.

The development in the West of the wafer-like Eucharist host, which could not be easily baked in most homes and became a task entrusted to religious, signified the beginning of the end of the original eulogia, bread presented at the Offertory. The custom survived, however, in France, where one continues to see vestiges of Liturgical praxis that have died out in the rite of Rome. CE again:

Later, when the faithful no longer furnished the altar-bread, a custom arose of bringing bread to the church for the special purpose of having it blessed and distributed among those present as token of mutual love and union, and this custom still exists in the Western Church, especially in France. This blessed bread was called panis benedictus, panis lustratus, panis lustralis, and is now known in France as pain bénit. It differs from the eugloia mentioned above, because it is not a part of the oblation from which the particle to be consecrated in the Mass is selected, but rather is common bread which receives a special benediction. In many places it is the custom for each family in turn to present the bread on Sundays and feast days, while in other places only the wealthier families furnish it. Generally the bread is presented with some solemnity at the Offertory of the parochial Mass, and the priest blesses it before the Oblation of the Host and Chalice, but different customs exist in different dioceses. The prayer ordinarily used for the blessing is the first or second: benedictio panis printed in the Roman missal and ritual. The faithful were exhorted to partake of it in the church, but frequently it was carried home. This blessed bread is a sacramental, which should excite Christians to practice especially the virtues of charity, and unity of spirit, and which brings blessings to those who partake of it with due devotion. The Priest, when blessing it, prays that those who eat it may receive health both of soul and body: "ut omnes ex eo gustantes inde corporis et animae percipant sanitatem"; "ut sit omnibus sumentibus salus mentis et corporis". In some instances the pain bénit was used not only with superstitious intent, and its virtues exaggerated beyond measure, but also for profane purposes. This usage was brought from France Canada, and was practised chiefly in the province of Quebec. There the pain bénit had blessed immediately after the Asperges, and then distributed to those who assisted at high Mass. The parishioners furnished it in turn, and vied with one another in presenting as rich and fine a pain bénit as possible, until finally the bishops, seeing that it entailed too much expense upon the poor circumstances, prohibited it. Within the last twenty-five and thirty years the custom has almost entirely disappeared.

I'm not very knowledgeable about the extent of this practice in England, although it would seem to make sense that in Sarum something similar was done with bread as in France, at least on major feasts. However, the custom of wealthier parishioners supplying bread for the needs of the poor seems to have been a part of Parish life in the post-reformation Church of England, and to have possibly flourished on account of the Poor Laws enacted from the 16th-19th centuries. My own Parish church of S. Magnus, built by Wren in 1676, features eight small shelves either side of the main doors in the Narthex to house seven loaves, which were distributed to poor families after Sunday Service. It is unlikely that this bread ever received a special benediction before distribution, but the fact that this bread was donated by those with means to do so for the benefit of fellow Christians, as well as the mere fact that this bread was placed in individual shelves visible to all as they left the Church means this custom of the Sunday Loaf is linked, at least in ethos, to the eulogia of old.

I believe personally that all of these uses of bread honour an ancient and authentic aspect of the liturgy; that of giving. The Sacrifice of the Mass, depends in material terms on the giving of real bread and wine by the faithful, or at least having contributed by giving money. The consecrated Bread was received by those initiated and disposed to do so, but surplus bread, blessed not consecrated, was an important sign of the Christian's belonging to the community, even if he is unbaptised. As we saw with the pain benit, when the Eucharistic bread was no longer supplied directly by the faithful, they substituted ordinary bread, blessed at some point during the Liturgy, to be distributed afterwards. To my mind, this is the meanings of the word "leitourgia", which signifies the whole community of the faithful supplying the spiritual and the material substance of the Eucharistic Sacrifice. To disinvest them of this opportunity to contribute materially, is the first step towards alienating the faithful from the liturgy of the Mass. I would urge "practitioners" of Liturgy to consider reviving the custom of the pain benit, or preferrably of the actual eulogia (blessed by being part of the Offertory). It would be quite simple for an MC or server to place a basket of bread on the altar during the Offertory which could be removed after having been blessed at "haec dona, haec munera" and distributed after Mass. Alternatively, bread could be blessed after Mass according to the Ritual and distributed in the Narthex. Does that sound like such an eccentricity.

The Place of Chanting the Lessons at High Mass

What you can see above is a typical image from a typical S. Magnus Liturgy, of the Subdeacon reading the Epistle of the Mass accompanied by the MC. Now Rubricists will balk at the dreadful disregard of Roman custom in a Parish that claims to practice the traditional Roman Rite in full. I do myself sometimes wonder how to justify this perhaps eccentric custom of having the Subdeacon sing the Epistle from the gates of the Sanctuary.

I refer frenquently as the Classical Roman Rite, by which I mean that developed rite which existed in regional "dialects" both within and without the immediate Central control of later Committees. I include under that term the Roman Rite properly called (i.e. the Use of the City of Rome) which came to be regarded as the normative, authoritative form during the Counter Reformation, as well as regional varieties of the same Liturgy which are now termed "Uses". This term necessarily includes various customs which were region-specific, and some of these customs applied to the place of reading the Epistle(s) at Mass. The Roman custom that is now regarded as the norm is that the Subdeacon, having reverenced the Altar stands some distance from it towards the edge of the Sanctuary (the South side) and sings the Epistle facing East, but as I will mention shortly, this custom is only an approximation of what happened anciently.

However, another question to consider is practicality. While the Rubrics of the Mass are supposed to safeguard the dignity of the celebration and to limit personal excess, they have historically not been an obstacle to considerations of practicality. Different churches have different shapes, some are large and some are small. I wonder where one would send the Subdeacon to sing the Epistle at the Crib Altar in the Grotto of Bethlehem!

One of my favourite photographs that I have on a bookcase at home is a black and white photograph of the ancient Roman church of Santa Maria in Cosmedin, whose portico hosts the famous "Bocca della Verita" or Mouth of Truth. In this photo the church is unadorned except for the altar furnishings: a frontal and six typically Roman tall candlesticks (last time I went in there there were two large electric heaters kicking around the sanctuary). I've always felt that the starkness and simplicity of the church's mouldings are off-played by the wonderful patterns of the marble and the warmness of the frecoes and the intimate, embracing form of the basilican schola. The present structure might not be the original, but it is certainly based on it. The schola structure also indicates where and how the lessons and gospels would have been read. On either side of the schola there is an ambo (which means simply "high place"). The one on the North side is reserved for the Gospel, while that on the South for the Epistle and Lessons. Originally however, there was only one. We read in the Catholic Encyclopedia:

Originally there was only one ambo in a church, placed in the nave, and provided with two flights of steps; one from the east, the side towards the altar; and the other from the west. From the eastern steps the Subdeacon with his face to the altar, read the Epistles; and from the western steps the deacon, facing the people, read the Gospels. The inconvenience of having one ambo soon became manifest, and in consequence in many churches two ambones were erected. When there were two, they were usually placed one on each side of the choir, which was separated from the nave and aisles by a low wall. An excellent example of this arrangement can still be seen in the church of St. Clement at Rome. Very often the gospel ambo was provided with a permanent candlestick; the one attached to the ambo in St. Clements is a marble spiral column, richly decorated with mosaic, and terminated by a capital twelve feet from the floor.

Where there were two or more ambos, one was used only for the Gospel. The common arrangement was that of an ambo on either side of the church, between the choir and the nave, as may still be seen in many old basilicas (e.g., S. Maria in Cosmedin at Rome, etc.). In this case the ambo on the north side was reserved for the Gospel, from which the deacon faced the south, where the men stood. The north is also the right, and therefore the more honourable, side of the altar. The ambo on the south was used for the Epistle, and for other lessons if there were only two. In the case of three ambos, two were on the south, one for all other lessons, one for the Epistles. This arrangement still subsists, inasmuch as the Epistle is always read on the south side (supposing the church to be orientated). Where there was only one ambo it had two platforms, a lower one for the Epistle and other lessons, a higher one for the Gospel (Durandus, "Rationale", IV, 16). The ambo for the Epistle should still be used in the Roman Rite where the church has one; it is used regularly at Milan.

From this history then, we can see that the custom of facing the altar developed from the use of one Ambo only. When churches without ambos became more common, and the Gospel was read facing north (i.e. without turning ones back to the Altar), this action was theologised as providing a link between the Liturgy of the Word and the Liturgy of the Eucharist (a division which deserves another post!). However, we also see that churches made their own arrangements according to the structure of the building, and that practicality ruled in reading to the faithful. We also get a sense of the importance overall of the "High Place" in reading both the Epistle and the Gospel.

Time to share these two photos. The first is from the Alcuin Club's reconstruction of Sarum ceremonial, and shows the Subdeacon reading the Epistle from the entrance of the screen, facing the people but also positioned somewhat to the South side of the entrance. This is more or less what happens at S. Magnus, minus the screen of course.


In this second photo, from a celebration of the Extraordinary Form of the Roman Rite (note, not Dominican rite) in Blackfriars, Oxford. You will notice the Subdeacon reading from the "Epistle side" of the Sanctuary but facing the people, not the Altar.


One of the worst features of the Modern Roman Liturgical praxis is that it perpetuates the false division of the "Liturgy of the Word" and the "Liturgy of the Sacrament". Through what is admittedly a little bit of retrospective theologising, the link between the two "halves" of the Mass is exemplified in the Roman Rite by the reading of the Collects at the altar, the Subdeacon facing East to chant the Epistle, and the Celebrant's reading of the Epistle and Gospel there too. It is therefore imperative for someone wishing to preserve the ethos of the Roman Rite to consider this link with the Altar when deciding to break free of Roman custom in the name of practicality.

However, in both of the pictures above, we can see that both the Altar and the "Ambo" are present in the Subdeacon's position. In the first, we notice that the Subdeacon is directed to remain just outside the screen, but still on the highest step. We need only think of the what the word "altar" means those whose rites involve an Iconostasis to realise that in standing where he does, the English Use Subdeacon has not really left the "altar" at all. He is also reading from an "ambo", a "high place", being elevated by some steps from the lowest level of the church. Exactly the same is true of the Mass at Blackfriars, where the Subdeacon is standing a step or so higher than those you can see in choir, he is also in an equivalent position to the basilican ambo whilst remaining within the Sanctuary of that church as it is configured.

We can see then that there is some legtimate latitude in the position of singing the Epistle at High Mass in the Classical Roman Rite. Looking at tradition and customs from across the West, we can discern that the two principles of the Ambo and the Altar are what determine the "correct" place from which to chant the Epistle and other readings. But, there is never any point in being too prescriptive without thought of circumstance : I'd love to hear suggestions of where the Subdeacon should go to sing the Epistle in the beautiful, multi-level church of San Miniato in Florence!

The seeds of its own dissolution?

I'm currently reading Fr Colin Stephenson's amusing memoir Merrily on High, a very interesting first-hand account of some of the churches I know and love in the glory days of Anglo-Catholicism. I'm only about half way through, but one thought which Fr Stephenson repeats at various junctures of his story deserves comment and interrogation.

From the beginning of his testimony, Fr Stephenson asserts that the strain of Anglo-Catholics who threw their lot in with the "Baroque Catholicism of the Continent" were really dooming themselves to failure, as the fruits of the Liturgical Movement (perceived by Fr. Colin as intrinsically a good thing) percolated into the stuffy mainstream of Western Catholicism.

At points he recalls individuals whom he accuses, and I'm sure not erroneously, of adopting Papalism or Ultramontanism as a foil for inflicting their own whims on their congregations and communities. There is one passage in the book which typifies this opinion:

"Yet for all its [Anglo-Catholicism's] triumphalism it held within it the seeds of its own dissolution which the disorganisation of the last war simply accelerated. It had become congregationalist and cut off from the main stream of the Church of England and rejoiced to have it so. It had thrown in its lot devotionally with the baroque Catholicism of the continent just when that movement was about to be discredited in the church of its origin, and looking back at it now one realises that it had about as much chance of appealing to the average Anglican as the Folies Bergeres to the Mother's Union."

There are also frequent digs at "fussiness" in the Liturgical and Devotional aspects of the movement in the 20s and 30s :

"'It's not a sermon you have [at St Bart's, Brighton] but an interval while the wind performers empty their instruments'. Some months ago I should not have thought this funny, but now I could see the point and as I was leaving he said. 'Our High Mass is always over within the hour'." p66

"I did not see him [Fr Kenrick] often after this pilgrimage, which is recorded in his memorial in Holy Trinity, Hoxton, but I did once visit him there on a Sunday and was surprised to find only a handful of people at High Mass. I was still at the stage when I honestly thought that the externals of Catholic worship were bound to attract crowds. Mature experience has taught me that they are far more likely to drive them away!" p.69

..a reflective passage towards the end of the book...

"[Mount Athos] did reveal to me very clearly the dangers of trying to shut the Church up in the past. So much of the Catholic Movement in the Church of England has been a turning backwards and a holding on to certain positions with a fanaticism bred from a sense of insecurity." p186

"... the new Roman instructions for the rites of Holy Week laid down that on Good Friday the cross, if wished, could simply be held up for people to venerate in their places. When Duncan-Jones did this twenty years earlier in Chichester Cathedral he was the laughing stock of the whole Anglo-Catholic world." p. 77

It is difficult to isolate passages of the book which articulate in full Fr. Stephenson's retrospective critique of the fussiness, extremism and punctiliousness of the Anglo-Catholicism of his youth, but I hope you get a general idea of the argument, which could be summarised as follows: Some of the more Romanised Anglo-Catholics were only attracted to the movement for its colour and exoticism and had no interest in an authentic Catholicism (strangely never fully expounded in this memoir, whereas the "externals" are). The truest Anglo-Catholicism found its expression in the Reformed religion adopted later on in the Roman Catholic Church under its greatest hero-Pope John XXIII, which became far more palatable to Anglicans in general and has proved itself over time."

This retrospective criticism of the Anglo-Catholicism is common among the generation who grew up in its Golden Era, and who subsequently had to mourn its passing, and then took charge of the the introduction of the New Catholicism into the mainstream of the CofE. It is also the heritage of that generation of priests who were taught by Fr Stephenson's generation, and who knew him at Walsingham as youngsters, the same exuberant generation of fallen Catholics at places like Staggers, before Ena the Cruel put an end to their shennanigans; a generation that simultaneously revels in the old party badges of lace, birettas, continental vestments and baroque fittings, while owing complete allegiance to the Reformed Roman Liturgy and a vague notion of Papalism. There is a dreadful schizophrenia among these two generations of Anglo-Catholic clergy. The glory days were brilliant, but there is bitterness stemming from the fact that the movement failed to deliver on its promises. They do not know how to deal with the fact that while the Liturgical Movement and its most radical reforms in some ways signalled the death of Anglo-Papalism, Anglican Ultramontanism and Romanism as lively forces in the Anglican Communion, the subsequent Reformation and Iconoclasm of Western Catholicism turned out to yield a far more importable fruit the heady ecumenical decades of the 70s and 80s, apparently giving Papalist clergy what they'd wanted all along : a vernacular Eucharistic liturgy, expressed in the ASB and CW texts.

I have two main objections to this point of view. Firstly, there is an unhealthy distinction between the "externals" of worship and the "interiority" of the faith, with the assumption that those who cherished the externals spurned the Faith itself. Secondly, the attitude that Papalism has proven to be the magic ingredient that has kept the small flame of Anglo-Catholicism alive into the present day, and that it continues to be the guiding light of the movement.

On the both points, I concede that the Romanised Anglo-Catholic dependence on Ultramontanism for its self-expression was the reason for its dramatic death in the 1960s, as the "old ways" were markedly changed (at least inasmuch as the faithful perceived this "radical" change) and old certainties were eroded. However, I would also like to suggest that the reason why some of the most "extreme" and "fussy" Romanised Anglicans enjoyed any degree of success, and I have no hang ups in including the wealthy, largely White Anglo-Saxon congregations of places like S. Magnus (it its day) along with the famous but over-fetishised Slum Parishes (like Hoxton); is not so much because they espoused extreme liturgical Romanism and Ultramontanism, but because these places offered the fullness of the Sacraments, the fullness of the Liturgy, the rootedness in something authentically ancient and identifiably so, a true living School of the Faith. The Ultramontanism of these Parishes was certainly one factor in their decline; but their subsequent side-stepping of Vatican liturgical regulation in favour of asserting their own autonomy in matters liturgical under the authority of tradition is part of the secret of their survival. I have been to English Missal Masses at Hoxton (ergo not a strict 1962 celebration!), but I know far more about S. Magnus, where after years of increasing isolation and a liturgical regime of slack modernism, the Old Rite is flourishing and managing to find its feet again. We have learnt the lesson that good liturgy needs no special dispensation from the Holy Father, to whatever degree we accept his Spiritual Jurisdiction here in our little corner of the Anglican Communion. The prospect of an Anglican Ordinariate full of Anglican clergy bowed down under Roman liturgical law and so using the modern Roman Missal and the "liturgical Bonsai" that is the 1962 rite, has brought our cherished freedom into even sharper relief, despite our perilous position in the wider Communion. These days are for us an opportunity to explore that tradition, and I personally am coming to realise that the "fussiness" denounced by the Colin Stephenson generation is actually the beginning of a spiritual revival for our little group (small, but outward looking, intimate but not exclusive), where all around us is death and division.

Moreover, I hope we can steer clear of the label "traditionalist", which is bandied around so often by Forward in Faith circles, as if we were the same movement that in the Roman church cherishes the heritage of the Liturgical Movement and its "saints" Bugnini and Pio XII, abhorrs Vatican II and exalts Papal Authority. We are rather the "orthodox", who value the genuine authority of tradition, without wanting to go around harrassing gay rights activists and abortion doctors with it.

The new generation of orthodox Anglican seminarians, as well as their established faithful, are entering an era where the issue is no longer "Women Bishops", but whether or not to take the leap into the Roman Jurisdiction. They will need to decide how to live out the faith, or to pick up Stephenson's terms, which "externals" to adopt, in this new and uncertain territory, both inside the ordinariate and outside it. Is the only future for orthodox Anglicans under Roman authority? Is the alternative to submission complete division into various laity-lite bodies calling themselves "Anglican"? Is it possible that the Ordinariate will close the book on Anglican Ultramontanism? What and who will be left behind? I wonder if we're onto an answer....

"beati qui ad cenam Agni vocati sunt"

Following on from my last post (very Hunwickesque, if I might utter the master's name), another thought came to mind re: the Beati qui.

Only moments before the Invitation, (unless you're sitting through the Coronation Mass) the priest has said the prayer: "Unde et memores, Domine, nos servi tui, sed et plebs tua sancta, ejusdem Christi Filii tui Domini nostri tam beatae Passionis....etc"

Or in the Missale Anglicanum :

Wherefore, O Lord, we thy servants, and thy holy people also, remembering the blessed passion of the same Christ thy Son our Lord...etc

In the Eucharistic Sacrifice, tradition endows the Passion with the attribute "blessed". Now, the discussion about whether or not beati should be translated as Happy or Blessed is something I won't go into here, and you can probably guess which side I'd fall on, but there is something significant about this for the Invitation.

Christ's Passion is Blessed. Christ underwent this Passion for the redemption of the whole world. We Christians, though we are called to, and the Saints always do, pick up the Cross, it is important to bear in mind that we have not undergone the Passion of Our Lord. In human terms, it is possible to suffer physically as Christ did, but we have not redeemed ourselves; rather we have been redeemed. Is it a confusion to call ourselves "beati" at the moment before receiving the Body and Blood of Christ? Is it correct to conflate "the Supper of the Lamb" of the Apocalypse with the Banquet of the Mass? Are we not blurring the distinction, despite our Communion, between the Church Militant and the Church Triumphant? Thoughts?

Ecce qui tollit peccata mundi....

Let us consider for a moment these words from the Mass. These moments between the Consecration and the Communion are filled with the recollection of Christ as the pure and spotless Lamb, and of our own petitions for mercy. The priest at High Mass makes the fraction, commixture and receives Communion before and during the singing of the Agnus Dei. Thereafter, if others are to receive Communion also, he first hears their Confiteor, absolves them and then turns to them holding a Host at eye-level and says :

Ecce Agnus Dei, Ecce qui tollit peccata mundi

Behold the Lamb of God, Behold him who says away the sins of the World.

The image provided by the liturgical action, of the Spotless Lamb on the Altar, comes from the Apocalypse, but the verbal formula used go back to the Gospels, where the Baptist bestows upon Our Lord the title "Agnus Dei", Lamb of God. At the River Jordan, he says "Ecce Agnus Dei qui tollit peccatum mundi", referring in the singular to the sin of the whole world. In the Liturgy, the response of the faithful is "Lord, I am not worthy that thou shouldst come under my roof, but speak the word only, and my soul shall be heald". Here, they are echoing the words of the Centurion in Matthew 8 who responds to Jesus' promise to heal with "Lord, I am not worthy that thou shouldest come under my roof: but speak the word only, and my servant shall be healed."

The Gospel texts which have been collated here do not come from one Gospel narrative, but do in fact reflect a common theme: the recognition of man's unworthiness to receive Jesus. The Baptist's words are provoked by his seeing Christ coming towards him, with the crowds of sinners, to be Baptised. These words, these striking images, preface the Baptist's discourse on his unworthiness, and on his role as praecursor. His words are motivated by faith, however, in the fact that Christ's baptism of the Spirit will be the true Baptism, and a true remission of Sins.

The centurion speaks as one who knows his unworthiness before the poor Healer from Gallilee, but also reflect his faith in the healing "word" of Jesus. The liturgical action that accompanies these immortal words skip back to another Gospel story, that of the publican in the Temple who beats his chest and proclaims his unworthiness.

What we have here then is a very small dialogue between the Priest, the People and Christ. While the Priest addresses the faithful in the person of the Praecursor ("Behold..."), the People respond to his declaration by addressing Christ in the Host directly ("Lord, ..."). We have two speech-acts, two voices, and in them, the meeting-place of two themes: unworthiness and faith. This is how tradition has determined that we dispose ourselves before receiving Christ in the Blessed Sacrament.

In the reformed rite of Paul VI, however, we find another formula inserted into this simple three-way dialogue : After Ecce Agnus dei, we have Beati qui ad cenam Agni vocati sunt, which is erroneously translated into English as "Happy are those who are called to his supper". The Latin is in more accurately "Blessed are those who are called to the Supper of the Lamb".

Now, I'm not sure how I feel about picking on specific minutiae of the reforms in order to criticise them (I often feel the principle of reform has had much more disastrous consequences than most of the details), I do think it's important to interrogate these insertions into the rite, and to ask what they mean. My specific interest is in the analogy of Liturgy with language, and so I would like to ask what is meant by these words; who is speaking them and in what voice? What is the meaning behind them, and where do they fit into the dialogue I described earlier?

Clearly this formula is not entirely inappropriate to the liturgical "Invitation to Communion" as this is often labelled in modern Missals. The cena referred to in the sentence is the "marriage feast of the Lamb" of Revelation 19.9 and certainly describes what we are partaking of. However, it must be pointed out that this leap from the Baptist's words in the Gospel to the mysterical and esoteric disrupts the Communion dialogue by bringing in another voice. Suddenly, to the voice of John the Baptist is added the voice of an Angel saying "write these words : Blessed are those....". From the awe and wonder of Christ's presence amongst men (in both the Baptist's words and those of the centurion), we are taken abruptly to the celestial realm, and asked to ponder not the Human Face of our God, but the mystical wedding feast of the Lamb and His reign in Heaven. The addition of this formula to the Mass is consonant with a general de-emphasis of the Mass as Sacrifice in preference of the Mass as Supper and of course, the Mass is both. However, it does seem to me at least that the insertion of the "Beati qui..." into the Mass is at least a little jarring. The Post-Communion collects of the classical Roman Rite, to my mind, do quite enough to emphasise the Mass as meal "these gifts which we have received..." etc. I would also point out that where the voice of Angels is most prominently echoed, in the Sanctus, the words are padded out with plenty of non-scriptural language, and the Sanctus has an "organising" role in the flow of the liturgy that is quite unique.

In any case, I'd be very interested to hear what other people think about the New Rite Invitation to Communion, and whether the "Beati qui..." is an appropriate interpolation.....

Good Friday in the Older Rite at S. Magnus

The ministers enter the Sanctuary, genuflect and prostrate. Two Acolytes spread an altar cloth on the bare altar and place the missal at the Epistle corner. In the photo above, the Celebrant looks over the reading that is being read by a lector.

After a collect, the Subdeacon chants a reading from Exodus as an Epistle.

The Celebrant sings Christus during the Passion

After the Passion and Gospel, the ministers go to the Altar for the Litanical, or bidding prayers. The intention is introduced by the Celebrant, and the Deacon sings "Let us bend the knee".

After a time kneeling, the Subdeacon sings "Arise" and the Celebrant sings the Collect.

During the Collect for the Conversion of the Jews, an acolyte spreads the carpet and cushion in preparation for the Worship of the Cross.

The Deacon goes to collect the veiled cross from the Altar and brings it to the Celebrant at the Epistle corner.

The Celebrant reveals the right arm of the crufied, and sings "Behold the wood of the cross, whereon the world's salvation was hung", all reply "O come let us worship" and kneel in adoration.

The Celebrant climbs a step, and repeats the above revealing the title board. Finally, he removes the veil entirely before the High Altar. He then places the Cross on a purple cushion (to symbolise Christ's regality) topped with a white veil (to represent His innocence, and His burial shroud) to venerate It.

After this, the Subdeacon and Deacon venerate the cross.

The other ministers come thereafter to venerate, making three double genuflections with prostration as they go. This is what our ancestors in England called "creeping to the Cross".

A relic of the True Cross is prepared also for public veneration.

The relic is venerated by the faithful.

The choir sing the reproaches, recited quietly at the bench.

The Deacon places the Cross on the High Altar

A procession is made to the Altar of Repose, and the Celebrant assumes a white humeral veil.

The procession of the Sacrament back from the altar is the first part of the Mass of the Pre-sanctified.

Here, the celebrant is seen censing the Elements. He has prepared a chalice of unconsecrated wine which also stands on the corporal. The Eucharist is censed, as is the altar but the Celebrant is not. He then says the Pray Brethren, not turning all the way, sings the Libera nos, performs the fraction and with some Communion devotions, receives the Host consecrated at Yesterday's Mass.

In deference to Local Custom, the faithful also receive Communion from a number of Hosts reserved with the Priest's Host.

There being no other ceremonies, the ministers stand to sing "When I survey the wondrous Cross" before retiring to the Sacristy.

The ministers in the Sanctuary after the Liturgy