A Reconstruction of an Archaic Rite of Holy Communion (Part 2): Insight into St. Cyril of Jerusalem’s Famous Text

The following essay is by Zsolt Orbán. Read Part 1 here.

The Testimony of Written Records

One might naturally ask: If Communion truly occurred in the way we described at the end of our first part, based on the Rossano Codex, the Riha paten, and the Stuma paten, why is there no written confirmation of such a practice?

In fact, such confirmation may well exist. To be sure, we lack a direct and unambiguous primary source that explicitly states – alongside other elements of the reconstructed rite – that “the priest places the Holy Body upon the believer’s tongue.” Nowhere is this ritual described in every minute detail; indeed, this very silence justifies the reconstruction attempted here.

At first glance, the available written records seem to confirm this rite only indirectly, insofar as they do not exclude, but rather permit, the interpretation I have presented. However, upon closer inspection, looking beyond popular translations that often embed their own interpretations, we find confirmation for this rite in the most unexpected places.

In the next section, while listing elements of the rite that survive to this day, I will demonstrate that most components of this reconstructed ritual have been preserved in the Coptic Liturgy. Since Christian liturgical traditions prior to the Novus Ordo did not develop ex nihilo, it is likely that the Coptic tradition did not emerge ex nihilo either, but was characterized by a continuity faithful to its origins. Consequently, elements of today’s practice may well have ancient roots.

If this is the case, the few remaining textual witnesses may indeed validate the reconstruction. Therefore, as witnesses to the reconstructed rite, I cite a frequently invoked Alexandrian example from Eusebius, and one from Saint Cyril of Jerusalem, along with a Syriac text often mentioned as another ancient precedent for the practice.

In his Historia ecclesiastica, Eusebius quotes a letter from Bishop Dionysius of Alexandria to the pope (book VII, chapter 9) regarding a believer who came from a heretical sect. Upon witnessing a true baptism for the first time, the man realized his own baptism had borne no resemblance to the real one and began to doubt its validity. From this letter, the following passage is often cited: “...and stretching forth his hands to receive the holy sustinence, and receiving it, and partaking of the Body and Blood of our Lord.” (“καὶ χεῖρας εἰς ὑποδοχὴν τῆς ἁγίας τροφῆς καὶ ταύτην καταδεξάμενον καὶ τοῦ σώματος καὶ τοῦ αἵματος τοῦ κυρίου ἡμῶν μετασχόντα.”)

Popular interpretation holds that “hands stretched forth to receive” clearly indicates communion in the hand. In reality, however, in nearly every Greek text cited as evidence for this practice, the word used for receiving Communion is the same one found here, yet its meaning is not what many assume. Among ancient Christians, the Greek word term hypodoché (ὑποδοχή) did not signify taking something into one’s palm. Originally, it was a Scriptural term for welcoming a guest (cf. Luke 10, 38 or 19, 6), and from there, it became a terminus technicus for Communion. This evolution is easily understood by anyone who recognizes that in Communion, we welcome the most Precious Guest. Furthermore, the text describes these hands as proteinanta (προτείναντα), meaning “stretched forward.” Thus, the actual meaning of the full expression used for Communion is: hands stretched forward for the welcoming / receiving of the Guest. This is correctly understood only when viewed through the lens of the practical ritual shown by the physical artifacts analysed earlier.

The second text is from the 17th Homily of Narsai of Edessa. This, too, is often presented as proof of communion in the hand; indeed, it cannot be ruled out that Alphonse Mingana, who discovered the text and was not above occasional forgery, sought to ensure it was read that way. In Dom R. H. Connolly’s translation, it reads:

“He who approaches to receive the Body stretches forth his hands, lifting up his right hand and placing it over its fellow. In the form of a cross the receiver joins his hands; and thus he receives the Body of our Lord upon a cross... And the priest who gives says unto him: ‘The Body of our Lord’... He receives in his hands the adorable Body of the Lord of all; and he embraces it and kisses it with love and affection.” (The liturgical homilies of Narsai online; see p. 108; in the original, p. 28)

Yet, in Mingana’s “original” Syriac text, the expression used for receiving the Host – just as in Eusebius – does not denote taking it with the hands. Instead, we find the same Scriptural term for “welcoming / receiving” as in the Greek. This term stems from the root Q-B-L, which in this context refers to the internal, spiritual, or faithful reception of the Sacrifice, much like in the Peshitta version of John 1, 12: “as many as received Him” (d-qabbelūhy).

Beyond the spiritual interpretation, the part of the expression referring to the hands allows for two grammatical readings. The preposition b- (b-īdayhī) can be either locative (‘in’) or instrumental (‘with/by means of’). In the latter case, Narsai’s text may not imply the Body being placed into the hands, but rather approaching the reception of the Body with hands outstretched in a gesture of welcome. The Syriac expression clearly supports this possibility precisely because of the aforementioned primary meaning of the terminus for communion. If, however, one still wishes to interpret the preposition as a locative, they may view it as a spiritual ‘place,’ much like the Father’s hands in Luke 23, 46, which feature the same preposition (b’idayk).

While the grammatical reading would ideally be determined by the subsequent parts of the text, the interpretation of the entire passage ultimately depends on what one considers a conceivable or plausible practice; thus, even the grammatical reading is decided primarily along extra-textual presuppositions. For example, it depends on whether one can imagine that the embracing and kissing of the Eucharist was not spiritual in sense, but an actual physical practice. Since I find this difficult to imagine, I more readily assume that the preposition has an instrumental meaning grammatically, involving a kind of spiritual instrumentality. Outstretched hands are symbols representing and signaling a readiness for reception, which practically served only to prevent crumbs from falling; thus, they are primarily spiritual instruments of a clearly spiritual reception. Therefore, in this text, the Body is perhaps not placed into the hands, but rather the communicant approaches for reception with outstretched hands, bowing.

The final example is the Fifth Mystagogical Catechesis of Saint Cyril of Jerusalem – often considered the “ultimate weapon” for proponents of communion in the hand. The passage in English reads:

“When, therefore, you approach, do not draw near with your wrists extended, nor with your fingers spread; but making your left hand a throne for the right, as for that which is about to receive the King, and hollowing your palm, receive the Body of Christ, saying, ‘Amen’.”

Migne’s edition: “Προσιὼν οὖν, μὴ τεταμένoις ταῖς τῶν χειρῶν καρποῖς προσέρχου, μηδὲ διῃρημένοις τοῖς δακτύλοις· ἀλλὰ τὴν ἀριστερὰν θρόνον ποιήσας τῇ δεξιᾷ, ὡς μελλούσῃ Βασιλέα ὑποδέχεσθαι· καὶ κοίλανας τὴν παλάμην, δέχου τὸ σῶμα τοῦ Χριστοῦ, ἐπιλέγων τὸ, Ἀμήν.” (PG 33, 1124-25, pdf pp. 562-3.)

Here again, we see the author using the technical term hypodechomai (ὑποδέχομαι) for the act of receiving. Even more interestingly: if we can momentarily set aside the ‘communion in the hand’ narrative, we discover that the scene described here is entirely compatible with the reconstructed rite, without the Holy Body ever touching the palm. Because the text does not forbid approaching with hands extended; rather, it forbids approaching with wrists separated, with the right palm not resting in the left, with the right palm not facing upward, or with fingers spread and arms flung wide. The purpose of closing the fingers and slightly hollowing the palms is obvious: to prevent any fragments of the holy Body from falling, an issue the text explicitly addresses with its analogy of gold dust.

Essentially, the text forbids the very hand gesture before reception that the images above depict as the posture of thanksgiving – after communion. If we recall the educational intent mentioned earlier, the Apostle on the Stuma paten – standing with arms wide and fingers spread – shows that the posture St. Cyril forbade before communion was actually the correct posture after communion, during the time of thanksgiving. This was a point of such significance that it demanded the instruction of the faithful; hence, its representation was deliberately sought, even while navigating the inherent constraints of pictorial composition.

It is also worth taking a closer look at the following passage:

“So then after having carefully hallowed thine eyes by the touch of the Holy Body, partake of it; giving heed lest thou lose any portion thereof; for whatever thou losest, is evidently a loss to thee as it were from one of thine own members. For tell me, if any one gave thee grains of gold, wouldest thou not hold them with all carefulness, being on thy guard against losing any of them, and suffering loss? Wilt thou not then much more carefully keep watch, that not a crumb fall from thee of what is more precious than gold and precious stones?” (Μετ’ ἀσφαλείας οὖν ἁγιάσας τοὺς ὀφθαλμοὺς τῇ ἐπαφῇ τοῦ ἁγίου σώματος μεταλάμβανε, προσέχων μὴ παραπολέσῃς τι ἐκ τούτου: ὅπερ γὰρ ἐὰν ἀπολέσῃς, τοῦτο ὡς ἀπὸ οἰκείου ἐζημιώθης μέλους. Εἰπὲ γάρ μοι, εἴ τίς σοι ἔδωκε ψήγματα χρυσίου, οὐκ ἂν μετὰ πάσης ἀσφαλείας ἐκράτεις, φυλαττόμενος μή τι αὐτῶν παραπολέσῃς καὶ ζημίαν ὑποστῇς; Οὐ πολλῷ οὖν μᾶλλον ἀσφαλέστερον τοῦ χρυσίου καὶ λίθων τιμίων τιμιωτέρον διασκοπήσεις ὑπὲρ τοῦ μὴ ψῖχα ἐκπεσεῖν.)

Those who view the above quote as irrefutable evidence for Communion in the hand generally fail to address what exactly was to be done after receiving the Most Holy Body. If this text were meant in a literal sense, then the Eucharist would have had to be touched to the eyes, just as later the remaining drops of the Holy Blood on the lips would have been smeared onto the sensory organs. Yet, it is highly contradictory that the author argues against dropping Eucharistic fragments using the gold dust metaphor, while simultaneously prescribing that it be kissed and touched to the eyes, acts that would obviously increase the risk of crumbs falling.

Furthermore, smearing droplets of the Holy Blood would almost inevitably result in dripping. Such a practice is highly improbable because – as proponents of Communion in the hand often overlook – those who possess an “excessive fear” of losing a single particle, likening it to the loss of their own limbs, do not typically handle the Blessed Sacrament in their hands, much less touch or smear it onto various parts of their body. Therefore, a sober interpretation suggests that the quote refers to actions in a spiritual sense; thus, the eyes are sanctified by gazing upon the Eucharist rather than by physical contact.

This is further supported by grammatical analysis, specifically the presence of the instrumental dative (dativus instrumenti) in the phrase τῇ ἐπαφῇ. This term, denoting contact or touch, can be rightly interpreted here as a kind of dativus instrumenti spiritualis.

Thus, this text serves as a vital supplement to the reconstructed ritual of the faithful’s Communion. With this detail, the action immediately preceding the reception of the Holy Body can be visualized: the communicant, approaching with hands extended and covered by the himation, raised his gaze to the Holy Body before receiving it, saying “Amen,” and then receiving it from the priest’s hand directly into his mouth.

Beyond its spiritual significance, the act of raising the eyes may have served a practical purpose. The phrase “carefully” (Μετ’ ἀσφαλείας) emphasizes the mindfulness with which the eyes are raised to gaze upon the Holy Body. This suggests a practical role for the gesture: by looking up at the Host, the face and mouth of the communicant, who approaches bowing with hands extended and covered, are placed in the optimal position for receiving Communion, thereby ensuring the safety of the metadosis (the priest’s handing over of the Holy Body). This aspect of safety is paramount, underscored by the Greek word for great care, “ἀσφάλεια”, a constant liturgical technical term in the Byzantine tradition. This very care is traditionally prescribed in Byzantine rubrics for priests administering the Eucharist. An example of this consistency is found in the Great Horologion (Horologion to Mega, p. 70), published in Venice in 1856, where the rubric for the priests’ communion prescribes: “And thus he takes what is in his hand with fear and great care.” (Καὶ οὕτω μεταλαμβάνει τοῦ ἐν χερσὶ μετὰ φόβου, καὶ πάσης ἀσφαλείας.)

In summary, it can be asserted with confidence that the texts presented here do not exclude the possibility of the reconstructed Communion rite. On the contrary, if we understand the spiritual state of the faithful – approaching bowed, with covered and extended hands as a humble sign of readiness to receive – we discover a posture identical to the traditional gesture of requesting a blessing preserved in Eastern traditions to this day, as we shall see in the final part of this essay.

Maurice Duruflé’s 40th Anniversary

Today is the 40th anniversary of the death of the French composer, organist and teacher Maurice Gustave Duruflé (1902-86). He was born in a small town in Normandy, and attended the cathedral school at Rouen from age 10 to 16; In 1919, right after the end of World War I, he moved to Paris, and took lessons with the famous organist Charles Tournemire. The following year, he began studying at one of the most prestigious music schools in Europe, the Conservatoire de Paris; later on, in 1943, he was hired by this school, and taught there until 1970. In 1927, the organist of Notre-Dame, Louis Vierne, took him on as his assistant; the two became good friends, and ten years later, Duruflé was at Vierne’s side when the latter died suddenly in the middle of a recital. From 1929 until his death, he was the organist at the Parisian church of St-Étienne-du-Mont, although in the last eleven years of his life, after being seriously injured in a car crash, he was almost entirely unable to perform.

A photo of Duruflé taken in 1939.

His best known work is a Requiem (Opus 9) for choir, two soloists, orchestra, and organ, first published in 1947. Duruflé was a perfectionist who frequently revised his own composition, and this piece is therefore known in three versions, one for symphony orchestra, one for chamber orchestra, and one with organ. (One of his Masses was similarly revised and published in three different versions.) The Dies Irae is reduced to just the last two lines (Pie Jesu Domine, dona eis requiem), but the Libera me and In paradisum are both included.

“Deification and the Sacraments: Perspectives East and West” - Conference in London, June 25-26

There are still some places left for anyone interested in attending the conference which will take place on June 25-26 in London, on “Deification and Sacraments: Perspectives East and West.” My good friend Fr Andrew Marlborough, who is an occasional contributor to the NLM writing about sacred art, is one of the organizers of what promises to be a great event, with a spectacular lineup of great speakers. (Two that caught my eye are Dr Matthew Levering and Fr Uwe Michael Lang.)

To register, go to the St Mary’s University Online Store here, or scan the QR code below.

The Sainte-Chapelle of Vincennes

The term “Sainte-Chapelle”, French for “holy chapel”, is most often used to refer to one of the most famous Gothic churches in the world, the chapel on the Île de la Cité in Paris which St Louis IX built to house the Lord’s Crown of Thorns. But there are nine other chapels of royal or noble foundation which are also so called, and there were four others which no longer exist. Of these, the best known is the Sainte-Chapelle de Vincennes, the chapel of a castle complex called the Château de Vincennes on the outskirts of Paris, which was often used as the royal residence from the time it was built the 1360s, until it was effectively replaced by Versailles in the late 17th century. 

Construction of the chapel was begun in 1379, ten years after the castle was finished, but not completed until 1552. With the permanent move to Versailles under Louis XIV in 1682, it lost its importance; the castle itself ceased to be an official royal residence in 1754, and the collegiate chapter that officiated in the chapel was suppressed in 1787. The chapel was badly damaged during the Revolution, later to be restored by Eugène Viollet-le-Duc (better known for his important work on Notre-Dame de Paris), but many of its decorations, including the spire, the tympanum, almost all the exterior sculptures, many of the stained glass windows, and all of the original furnishings (e.g. the choir stalls) were irreparably lost. Despite this, it remains an impressive example of the style of later phase of Gothic architecture known as the flamboyant. These pictures were taken by Nicola during a recent visit.

The small tower-like structure on the left of the church is the sacristy; the upper story was a treasury to house other relics of the Lord’s Passion. (I have been unable to find a source which says which ones exactly.) 

An especially good shot from a window within the castle.

Continue Reading this Article. . .

St Basil the Great on the Value of Tradition

St Basil the Great died on January 1st, 379, after serving the Church as bishop of Caesarea in Cappadocia for about 8½ years. The structure of the Byzantine Rite permits the joining of two feasts much more readily than the Roman Rite does, and so it keeps his feast on the day of his death together with that of the Circumcision. In the West, his feast was hardly kept at all before the later 15th century; once it began to spread, the date most commonly chosen for it was that of his episcopal consecration, June 14th, since his death day was already occupied. This choice was then consolidated by the Tridentine Reform, which raised him to what was then the highest of three grades of feast, together with three other Easterners, Ss Athanasius, Gregory of Nazianzus and John Chrysostom, and granted them all the title of Doctor of the Church.

An icon of St Basil the great, 1764, by the Greek painter Spyridon Romas (1730-86). Image from Wikimedia Commons by Sailko, CC BY-SA 3.0. 

Some years ago, I happened across this very interesting passage from his treatise on the Holy Spirit, which is well worth considering. (chapter 27)

“Of the beliefs and practices, whether generally accepted or publicly enjoined, which are preserved in the Church, some we possess derived from written teaching; others we have received delivered to us in a mystery by the tradition of the Apostles; and both of these in relation to true religion have the same force. And these no one will gainsay – no one, at all events, who is even moderately versed in the institutions of the Church. For were we to attempt to reject such customs as have no written authority, on the ground that the importance they possess is small, we should unintentionally injure the Gospel in its very vitals; or, rather, should make our public definition a mere phrase and nothing more.

For instance, to take the first and most general example, who is thence who has taught us in writing to sign with the sign of the cross those who have trusted in the name of our Lord Jesus Christ? (This means the ritual of signing the catechumens with the sign of the cross on their foreheads before baptism.) What writing has taught us to turn to the East at the prayer? Which of the saints has left us in writing the words of the invocation at the displaying of the bread of the Eucharist and the cup of blessing? For we are not, as is well known, content with what the Apostle or the Gospel has recorded, but both in preface and conclusion we add other words as being of great importance to the validity of the ministry, and these we derive from unwritten teaching. Moreover we bless the water of baptism and the oil of the chrism, and besides this the catechumen who is being baptized.

On what written authority do we do this? Is not our authority silent and mystical tradition? Nay, by what written word is the anointing of oil itself taught? And whence comes the custom of baptizing thrice? And as to the other customs of baptism, from what Scripture do we derive the renunciation of Satan and his angels? Does not this come from that unpublished and secret teaching which our fathers guarded in a silence out of the reach of curious meddling and inquisitive investigation? Well had they learned the lesson that the awful dignity of the mysteries is best preserved by silence. What the uninitiated are not even allowed to look at was hardly likely to be publicly paraded about in written documents.”

This translation is taken from the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers series, published between 1886 and 1900, as a companion to the earlier Ante-Nicene Fathers series (1867-73), both originally put out by T&T Clark, which still exists as an imprint of Bloomsbury Publishing. The founder, Thomas Clark, was a member of a break-away Presbyterian sect called the Free Church of Scotland, and the two series were conceived as a response to a similar series begun in 1836 by the founders of the Oxford Movement, The Library of the Fathers, which was seen as too sympathetic to Roman Catholicism. (Given that one of the founders and most active contributors to the latter, St John Henry Newman, ended his days as a Roman Catholic cardinal and religious, this view was, from a Presbyterian point of view, perfectly reasonable.) The anti-Catholic tenor of the notes in both of Clark’s series is very pronounced, but personally, I find it almost touching to read their fierce defense of points of doctrine which the majority of the churches born at the Reformation would not touch with a barge pole today.

The authors of the series recognized (how could they not?) how damning this passage is to the logical contradiction that is sola Scriptura, and certainly deserve credit for their honesty in noting that the slippery Erasmus tried to remove it as inauthentic, but that this cannot be justified. They therefore introduced certain other passages of St Basil in the same note, which purportedly show that he “is, however, strong on the supremacy of Holy Scripture.” But even if such passages did prove what they imagined they proved, and that St Basil therefore essentially contradicted himself, what this really proves is what the Roman Catholic Church has always taught, namely, that since the Fathers themselves do not agree on every point, it is necessary that there be an authority which can pronounce definitively on the meaning and value of what they say.

The Miraculous Responsory of St Anthony of Padua

R. Si quaeris miracula, Mors, error, calamitas, Daemon, lepra fugiunt, Aegri surgunt sani. * Cedunt mare, vincula: Membra resque perditas Petunt et accipiunt Juvenes et cani. V. Pereunt pericula Cessat et necessitas: Narrent hi, qui sentiunt, Dicant Paduani. Cedunt. Gloria Patri. Cedunt.	R. If you ask for miracles, Death, error, all calamities, Leprosy and demons fly And health succeeds infirmities. * The sea obeys, and fetters break, And lifeless limbs thou dost restore, While treasures lost are found again, When young and old thine aid implore. V. All dangers vanish at thy prayer, and direst need doth quickly flee, Let those who know thy power proclaim, Let Paduans say, “These are of thee.” The sea obeys... Glory be.. The sea obeys...
V. Ora pro nobis, beate Antoni. R. Ut digni efficiamur promis- sionibus Christi.	V. Pray for us, blessed Anthony. R. That we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.
Oremus. Ecclesiam tuam, Deus, beati Antonii Confessoris tui at- que Doctoris solemnitas votiva laetificet, ut spiritualibus semper muniatur auxiliis, et gaudiis per- frui mereatur aeternis. Per Chri- stum Dominum nostrum. R. Amen.	Let us pray. May Thy Church, o God, be gladdened by the solemnity of the blessed Anthony, Thy Confessor and Doctor: that she may be evermore de- fended by Thy spiritual assistance, and merit to possess everlasting joy. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.

Si quaeris miracula is the eighth and final responsory of the Franciscan Office of St. Anthony of Padua, whose feast is kept today, the anniversary of his death in the year 1231. It is traditionally known as the “miraculous” responsory, from the once-common custom of reciting it to ask for St. Anthony’s miraculous intervention. English-speaking Catholics today perhaps think of him principally as the Saint to call upon when something is lost, for which there is a well-known rhyme, “St. Anthony, St. Anthony, please come down: something is lost and cannot be found.” In his own lifetime, however, and for centuries after, Anthony was principally known for his extraordinary learning and his skill as a preacher; he was the first Franciscan to study at a university and teach.

St Anthony of Padua, ca. 1272, by an anonymous artist known as the Master of St Francis. In his hand he holds a book on which are written the words of Wisdom 7, 7 “I called upon (the Lord), and there came upon me the spirit of wisdom and understanding,” a verse often associated with the Doctors of the Church. (Image from Wikimedia Commons by Sailko, CC BY 3.0)

He was also known for a variety of highly spectacular miracles. The 39th chapter of The Little Flowers of Saint Francis tells the story of how he preached before the Pope and cardinals in consistory, and was understood by them all,

Greeks, Italians, French, Germans, Slavs and English, and other languages… as if he had spoken in their own languages … and it seemed that that ancient miracle of the Apostles at the time of Pentecost was renewed, when they spoke by the power of the Holy Spirit in every tongue. And they said to each other with admiration, “Is this man who preaches not a Spaniard? And how do we all hear our own language as he speaks?”

By an interesting coincidence, St. Anthony’s feast day is also the last day possible on which the feast of Pentecost can occur. He was canonized within a year of his death by the Pope in whose presence this miracle took place, Gregory IX (1227-1241), who also referred to him publicly as the “ark of the covenant, and the treasure-chest of the Divine Scriptures”; this is sometimes said to be the fastest canonization ever, but that honor actually belongs to the Dominican St. Peter Martyr. On the occasion of his canonization, Pope Gregory intoned in his honor the Magnificat Antiphon for Doctors of the Church, “O Doctor Optime”, a title which was formally confirmed in 1946 by Pope Pius XII.

The Franciscan Office of St. Anthony of Padua was composed by a German member of the order, Julian of Speyer, roughly ten years after the Saint’s death: one of the best known examples of a later type of Office known as a “rhymed office”. Rhyme itself was not used by the ancients, and where it occurred it was considered a blemish on poetry. Verse was formed by the alternation of long and short syllables in regular patterns; the iambic pentameter used so much by Shakespeare is broadly similar. (His type of English poetry is however much freer than Latin verse.) An example of this type of poetry in the liturgy is an antiphon found in the Office of St. Peter in Chains on August 1st.

Solve, jubente Deo, terrarum, Petre, catenas,
Qui facis ut pateant caelestia regna beatis.

Release at God’s order, o Peter, the earthly chains
Who make the kingdom of heaven open to the blessed.

These two lines are written in dactylic hexameters, the same metrical form used in the epic poetry of Homer and Virgil; they were composed by Pope St. Leo I, (440-461) and inscribed on a wall of the ancient church of St. Peter.

As the Latin language evolved into the modern Romance languages, the vowel quantities on which ancient poetry was based came to be less and less perceptible, leading over the centuries to the emergence of rhyme as we understand it today. (The older forms, on the hand, never ceased to be used.) By the high Middle Ages, this new type of poetry had become extremely popular in the liturgy. Four of the five sequences in the Tridentine Missal (“Lauda Sion” on Corpus Christi, “Veni Sancte Spiritus” on Pentecost, “Stabat Mater” on the feast of the Seven Sorrows, and the “Dies irae” of the Requiem Mass) are in rhyme.

The responsory Si quaeris miracula in a 16th century Franciscan antiphonary. (Two pages cropped and joined.)

Likewise, whole Offices were routinely composed in which all of the proper musical parts, (antiphons, hymns and responsories), are rhymed. Julian of Speyer is considered one of the great masters of this type of liturgical composition, and the rhymed offices which he wrote for St. Anthony and St. Francis were widely imitated from his own time (he died in about 1250), until the Tridentine liturgical reform, when rhymed offices fell out of favor. Many continued to be used by the older religious orders, and churches which maintained their own proper Offices, but the newer orders, in the spirit of the Tridentine reform, preferred to base their proper Offices on Scriptural quotations. Thus, for example, the five antiphons used by the Oratorians at Lauds of St. Philip Neri are all quotations from the Bible, while the proper hymns are all written in thoroughly classical meter. (The Jesuits, unsurprisingly, do not even have a proper Office for St. Ignatius.)

The disfavor into which rhymed offices fell is also a by-product of the increasingly common habit in the Tridentine period of reciting the Office in choir recto tono, i.e. singing everything on a single note, rather than with its longer, proper notation. This manner of saying the Office makes the sing-song quality of the medieval rhyme schemes far more obvious; most people would agree that the “Dies irae”, for example, sounds much better when sung then when read. This recording of the Miraculous Responsory shows very nicely how the proper musical notation transcends the rhyme scheme.

The Feast of the Sacred Heart 2026

Consider thou also, o man that art redeemed, Who it is that hangeth for Thee upon the Cross, how great He is and what is His nature, Whose death giveth life to the dead, at whose passing both heaven and earth mourn, and the very stones are cloven as if it were in their nature to suffer. O for the heart of man, that art harder than the hardness of any stone, if at the memory of so great an atonement thou art not struck with terror, nor moved to compassion, nor rent unto remorse, not softened with devotion!

The Crucifixion, by Taddeo Gaddi, ca 1360; from the Sacristy of the church of the Holy Cross in Florence.

Moreover, that the Church might be formed from the side of Christ as He slept, and the Scripture fulfilled that saith, “They shall look upon Him that they pierced,” it was granted by a divine command that one of the soldiers should pierce the side of that holy body, so that, as blood came forth with water, the price of our salvation might be poured forth. And so this blood, being shed from this hidden source, namely, His Heart, might give to the Sacraments of the Church their power to confer the life of grace, and for those that now live in Christ, be the drought of the living fountain that springeth up unto eternal life. (From St Bonaventure’s Book on the Tree of Life; the second part of this is read in the third nocturn of the Office of the Sacred Heart promulgated by Pope Pius XI in 1928.)

The Rubrics of the Per ipsum

Lost in Translation #161

We gratefully resume our series on the Latin of the Ordinary of the traditional Mass. In our last essay on the subject, we examined the language of the concluding doxology of the Roman Canon, the Per ipsum. Here, we examine the rubrics accompanying the prayer.

After saying the Per quem, the priest takes the Host with his right hand, and with his left he holds the knob of the chalice. He makes the sign of the cross with the Host over the chalice three times, saying: Per ipsum ✠, et cum ipso ✠, et in ipso ✠; then, still holding the chalice in the same manner, he makes the sign of the cross with the Host between himself and the chalice as he says est tibi Deo Patri ✠ omnipotenti, in unitate Spiritus ✠ Sancti. He then holds the Host over the chalice upright and elevates the Host and chalice together a few inches above the altar as he says omnis honor et gloria.

Although the story of how these rubrics came to be is a long and complicated one, [1] the end result is an example of what Rudolf Otto calls a mysterium fascinans – a fascinating mystery that piques our interest and draws us into a reality greater than ourselves. What do all these gestures mean?

According to Fr. Nicholas Gihr, “The accompanying rite harmonizes magnificently with the text of the prayer.” [2] The first three signs of the cross are about Jesus Christ, and hence it is appropriate that the Host is placed over the Precious Blood. The next two signs of the cross are made in reference to the Father and the Holy Spirit, and hence it is appropriate that they be made outside the chalice, for it was Christ and Christ alone who suffered and shed His Blood for us. [3] Finally, the elevation of the Host and chalice are made appropriately at the words “all honor and glory,” for honor and glory are elevated things, so to speak: as we saw in an earlier post, glory is especially linked to Heaven. 

The actions are also ripe for allegorical interpretation. St. Thomas Aquinas contends that while the three signs of the cross made at the Per quem signify the three prayers that Christ made on the Cross, [4] the three signs of the cross here signify His three hours on the Cross while the two signs of the Cross made over the corporal represent the separation of Christ’s soul from His body. [5] William Durandus sees an additional meaning in making these signs of the Cross from the edges of the chalice to the edge of the altar, as an allusion to Christ extending His arms on the Cross. [6] Durandus also construes the uncovering of the chalice at the beginning of the rite as a type for the Temple veil rending in two when Our Lord gave up the ghost; [7] while St. Peter Damien interprets the covering of the chalice at the end of the rite as a symbol of the great stone that covered the entrance to the tomb.

Progressive liturgists were not pleased with the rubrics of the Per ipsum. For Father H.A. Reinhold, author of Bringing the Mass to the People, the introduction of the Major Elevation after the consecration of the Host and Precious Blood had the unfortunate effect of dwarfing the Minor Elevation. According to him, the Major Elevation is the product of a debate among scholastics at the University of Paris in the thirteenth century as to whether the bread becomes the Body of Christ after the words “This is My Body” or whether it becomes so only after both species have been consecrated. The double elevation, he alleges, was instituted to show that each species is transubstantiated immediately after the relevant words are said over it. “The twofold elevation,” Reinhold concludes,

is therefore a remnant of a controversy long settled [read: and no longer necessary]. Its retention is an illustration of a French proverb: Ce n’est que le provisoire qui reste (“What is of temporary value stubbornly stays on”). [8]

Reinhold also does not like that the twofold elevation encourages devotion among the congregants. Eucharistic devotion, he opines, is better confined to the feast of Corpus Christi, Exposition, Adoration, and in processions, but not during the Canon. [9]

Reinhold recommends omitting the Major Elevation altogether “or, if retained, ring[ing] [the] bell only once, at the actual elevations.” [10] As for the Minor Elevation, it should be restored to “the ancient and more traditional Great Doxology,” namely, raising both species so they can “be seen by the ministers and the congregation.” [11] This claim about an “ancient” elevation that was meant to be seen by the faithful was a common assumption at the time Reinhold was writing, but as we shall see shortly, it is dubious.

Among the liturgists who agreed with Fr. Reinhold was Fr. Pius Parsch, who called the Minor Elevation “much more appropriate” than the Major and who even urged “his fellow-priests not to let this elevation remain the mere suggestion, which it now is, but to make it higher and slower, and thus also more impressive,” even though the rubrics at the time stated that the Host and chalice should only be elevated “a little bit” (aliquantulum). [12]

The more eminent liturgical scholar Josef Jungmann, on the hand, has a different assessment. For Jungmann, it is only natural that the faithful should adore their Lord the moment after He becomes sacramentally present on the altar. In the East, this adoration takes the form of a profession of Faith (like the “Memorial Acclamations” inserted into all the Eucharistic Prayers of the Novus Ordo). In comparison with the Eastern Rites, Jungmann states, “we must confess that the Roman liturgy of the first millenary lacked the impulse to direct the attention at once to the completion of the sacramental process, or to draw ritual deductions from it.” [13]

But beginning in the eleventh century, “an increased care for everything connected with the Sacrament” began to emerge; at the Abbey of Cluny, for example, the priests began observing the custom of canonical digits. And in the twelfth century, “the people entered to dominate the scene,” seeking “to look at the sacred species with their bodily eyes” as soon as possible. [14] In 1210, the Bishop of Paris ordered that the priest should lift the consecrated Host high enough to be seen by all, the first known rubric of its kind. The custom then spread rapidly across Europe.

The elevation of the chalice took longer to develop. There was concern that the Precious Blood might be spilled, and it was logistically more difficult, for in the Middle Ages, “the chalice used to be covered with the back part of the corporal folded up over it.” [15] Most of all, it was objected that one does not actually see the Precious Blood but only the chalice that contains it. Consequently, not even the Roman Missals of 1500, 1507, and 1526 mention it. Nevertheless, the 1570 Missal of Pope St. Pius V includes this second elevation.

Josef Andres Jungmann, S.J.

As for the Minor or “Little” Elevation, Jungmann rejects the idea that it is “the remnant of a larger one,” for the intention was never to show the holy gifts to the people but to offer them to God as an oblation. [16] Father Adrian Fortescue also notes that the wording of the prayer, est tibi . . . omnis honor et gloria, “suggests lifting the holy things to God rather than showing them to the people.” [17] And in his recent study of the Mass, Michael Fiedrowicz concludes that “the consecrated offerings… are not shown here for the veneration of the people but are rather raised up for the glorification of God.” [18]

Perhaps the modern temptation to read the Minor Elevation as a “showing to the people” comes from a comparison with Eastern Rites, which do have an elevation that shows the sacred species to the people at the words, “The holy things for the holy.” But the purpose of the Eastern elevation is to prepare the faithful for Holy Communion, which happens almost immediately after. Thus, the Roman equivalent of the Eastern elevation is not the Minor Elevation at the end of the Canon but the presentation of the Host at the Domine non sum dignus.

Despite being a consultor for the Consilium that created the Novus Ordo, Jungmann’s view was eclipsed, at least partially, by those of Reinhold and company.

Annibale Bugnini reports that in 1967, when the Consilium was creating new Eucharistic Prayers, it also wanted to introduce “the Alexandrian anaphora of St. Basil into the Roman liturgy.” [19] One way to do that was to replace the Minor Elevation with the Major Elevation. The study group was asked to vote on the following resolution:

2. Where is the elevation to be placed?

Response: It would be best to locate the showing and adoring of the sacred species at the end of the Eucharistic Prayer, because in the anaphoras of this Eastern tradition the full expression of the Church’s intention in using the words of Christ is not complete until that point…. The location of the elevation at the end would make it clearer that the intention of the Church in using Christ’s words (the same words it uses in the Roman Canon) is expressed in the total prayer of which the words of consecration are an inseparable part. [20]

Because the resolution barely failed to garner the necessary votes, the decision was left to the Holy Father. Apparently, Pope St. Paul VI decided on a compromise: the Major Elevation would stay, and the Minor Elevation would become, for lack of a better formulation, less minor. But the details regarding the latter’s promotion are surprisingly thin. The 2002 GIRM merely states:

At the end of the Eucharistic Prayer, the priest takes the paten with the host and the chalice and elevates them both while alone singing or saying the doxology, Per ipsum (Through him). No. 151.

Note that the height of the elevation is not stipulated, nor the position of the Host and chalice, that is, whether the Host should be above the chalice as before or held at the same altitude. Possibly because of this paucity of instruction, “many priests,” observes Fr. Dennis Smolarski, “are still under the impression the height formerly prescribed in the Tridentine Missal (a few inches) should be continued now.” But, Smolarski is quick to add, “the contrary is true,” for “evidence suggests that the doxology is the time for the grand gesture of lifting high the gifts towards heaven for all to see.” [21] Unfortunately, the author does not tell us what evidence he has in mind.

In his monumental Ceremonies of the Modern Roman Rite, then-Monsignor Peter J. Elliott offers the following advice:

The celebrant raises the chalice in his right hand, the paten in his left hand. He does not rest a Host upright on the paten, as this gesture is meant to signify sacrificial offering rather than “showing” to the assembly. It seems preferable to hold the vessels out directly over the corporal rather than separating them widely. They should be raised high, at least above eye-level, so that the gesture is strong and significant. [22]

Yi Wang, “Bishop Elliott and Lady Jacqueline”

In making these recommendations, Elliott is teasing out the implications of the changes to the rite and possibly drawing from the pre-conciliar arguments of figures like Reinhold and Parsch. Still, it bears mention that this “showing to the assembly” and this rejection of “sacrificial offering” is a novelty in the Roman liturgical tradition, as Jungmann had already demonstrated in 1948. In that tradition, the Minor Elevation beautifully completes the holy oblation, when the priest offers to God what is already His. Regardless of whether the congregation can see it or not, this gesture to me seems to be the stronger and more significant.

Michael Foley is the author of Lost in Translation: Meditating on the Orations of the Traditional Roman Rite (Angelico Press, 2023).

Notes

[1] Josef Jungmann, S.J., The Mass of the Roman Rite: Its Origins and Development, vol. 2 (New York: Benzinger Brothers, 1951), 266-270.

[2] Nicholas Gihr, The Holy Sacrifice of the Mass: Dogmatically, Liturgically and Ascetically Explained, 5th ed., (St. Louis, Missouri: Herder, 1918), 692.

[3] Pope Benedict XIV, De Sacrosancta Missae Sacrificio (Mainz: Franz Kirkheim, 1879), L.ii.c.xviii.n. 15.

[4] They are: “Father, forgive them”; “My God, My God, why hast Thou forsaken Me?” and “Father, into Thy hands I commend My spirit.”

[5] Summa Theologiae III.83.5.ad 3.

[6] William Durandus, Rationale Divinorum Officionorum IV.46.15.

[7] Ibid., IV.46.10.

[8] H.A. Reinhold, Bringing the Mass to the People (Baltimore: Helicon Press, 1950), 67.

[9] Ibid., 69.

[10] Ibid., 65.

[11] Ibid., 70-71.

[12] Pius Parsch, The Liturgy of the Mass, trans. Frederic C. Eckhoff (St. Louis, Missouri: Herder, 1940), 255.

[13] Jungmann, 205. In other words, according to this logic, the Major Elevation has the same function as a Memorial Acclamation, and therefore a Memorial Acclamation in the Roman Rite is redundant.

[14] Ibid., 206.

[15] Ibid., 208.

[16] Ibid., 266.

[17] Adrian Fortescue, The Mass: A Study of the Roman Liturgy (London: Longmans, Green, and Co., 1912), 360.

[18] Michael Fiedrowicz, The Traditional Mass: History, Form, & Theology of the Classical Roman Rite, trans. Rose Pfeifer (Brooklyn: Angelico Press, 2020), 106.

[19] Annibale Bugnini, The Reform of the Roman Liturgy: 1948-1975, trans. Matthew J. O’Connell (Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press, 1990), 458.

[20] Ibid., 460.

[21] Dennis C. Smolarski, SJ, How Not to Say Mass: A Guidebook on Liturgical Principles and the Roman Missal, Revised Edition (Paulist Press, 2003), 87-88.

[22] Peter J. Elliott, Ceremonies of the Modern Roman Rite (San Francisco: Ignatius Press, 2005), no. 318.

A Legend about St Thomas’ Office of Corpus Christi

O sacrum convivium, in quo Christus súmitur: recólitur memoria passiónis ejus, mens implétur gratia, et futúrae gloriae nobis pignus datur, allelúja. (The Magnificat antiphon for Second Vespers of Corpus Christi.)

O sacred banquet, in which Christ is received; the memory of His passion is recalled, the mind is filled with grace, and the pledge of future glory is given to us, alleluia.

The Office and Mass which St Thomas Aquinas wrote for the feast of Corpus Christ at the behest of Pope Urban IV (1261-4) are universally recognized to be among the finest liturgical compositions of the Middle Ages. There is a famous legend of how this came to be, which tells that the pope proposed a contest between Thomas and his friend St Bonaventure, who was at that time serving as the 7th Minister General of the Franciscan Order. Each would write an Office and Mass for the feast, which would then be read to the papal court, and the better of the two chosen. On the day of the contest, Thomas was allowed to read his first; as soon as he had finished, Bonaventure tore his own manuscript to pieces (or threw it in the fire), recognizing that Thomas’ work was far superior to his own.

Painful as it is to impugn such a charming story, it has to be acknowledged that it has no basis in fact. Among other things, we know enough about St Bonaventure’s doings and whereabouts in that period to say that he was not in Orvieto, the town where the papal court resided for most of Pope Urban’s reign, long enough for such a contest to have happened. There are no written attestations of the story before the later decades of the 15th century, over 200 years after it supposedly took place; even in the mid-15th century, Dominican writers known for their enthusiasm for these kinds of tales about the glories of their early confreres (e.g. St Antoninus of Florence) make no mention of it.

However, there is an artistic depiction of the story, or something like it, earlier than this, a painting by the Sienese artist Taddeo di Bartolo (ca. 1363 - 1422), likely made for the Dominican church of his native city around 1403-5. 

St Thomas is shown kneeling before the pope, presenting his liturgical texts, while a cardinal holds a host and chalice above him. (This is, of course, purely symbolic.) At the far right is a Franciscan cardinal who seems rather taken aback by what’s happening, while the Dominican next to him points toward the host, and the cardinal sitting with his back to the viewer gestures towards the Franciscan, as if to say, “You can stop now.” However, this painting cannot be treated as any kind of proof of the legend’s historical accuracy, since St Bonaventure was not made a cardinal until 1273, while Pope Urban died in 1264.

My thanks to Dr Donald Prudlo, an old friend and occasional guest contributor to NLM, for information which he provided me for this article.