As I described in an article last year, Vespers of Easter Sunday and the days within the octave was celebrated in the Middle Ages according to a special form used only in that period. There were many variations to the ceremony; my article was based on the Use of Sarum, simply because the rubrics of Sarum liturgical books are more thorough than those of most other medieval Uses. When the See of Paris passed over from its Neo-Gallican Use to the Roman books in 1871, a special indult was granted to continue the celebration of Vespers in this form, and this is still done at the church of St Eugène. Here is the video of the full ceremony celebrated four days ago, from the YouTube channel of our dear friends of the Schola Sainte-Cécile; you can follow along in this pdf booklet in Latin and French: https://schola-sainte-cecile.com/programmes/Vepres-stationnales.pdf.
Thursday, April 09, 2026
Wednesday, April 08, 2026
Potent New Work Defends Intuition Behind Summorum Pontificum and Critiques Violence of Traditionis Custodes
As Kevin Tierney has pointed out more than once, there are many indications that Traditionis Custodes has been a tremendous failure in its overt mission of ridding the Church once for all of the dreaded Tridentine rite.
For sure, its implementation (like that of Sacrosanctum Concilium) has led to damages, divisions, and dismay in far too many places, but worldwide there has been little attempt to suppress the old rite altogether, which continues to flourish in or adjacent to parishes and in certain fortunate dioceses. Pope Leo XIV himself has signaled that this policy is no longer a priority and has urged making room for diverse “sensibilities.” Whether he will dismantle or modify his predecessor’s legislation on this point is difficult to say.
All the same, Traditionis Custodes looks like an act of violence in comparison with the pacific intentions of Summorum Pontificum, and it is well for us to reflect on the deeper theological and pastoral issues at stake, in order (ideally) to move away from the violence towards peaceful coexistence and even, dare one say, mutual enrichment – at least of communities, if not of rites.
Fortunately a new book has been published that serves exactly this purpose, and does so with brilliant insightfulness. I cannot recommend it too highly. The title is Liturgical Peace, Liturgical War: Benedict XVI’s “Summorum Pontificum” and Its Critics (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2026; also available at Amazon), and its author is Tomasz Dekert, a professor at the Jesuit University Ignatianum in Krakow, Poland, who has written it in English.
The book advances the thesis that the motu proprio Summorum Pontificum of Benedict XVI initiated a genuine – though long-term and demanding – process of leading the Catholic Church out of the postwar “liturgical conflict,” whereas the subsequent Traditionis Custodes interrupted this process and intensified existing tensions.
The author argues that the roots of the conflict lie not merely in opposing preferences (tradition vs. reform), but in a deeper problem: a flawed understanding of the nature of liturgy as ritual, structured by abstract and functionalist assumptions, which came to dominate approaches to liturgy in the context of postwar liturgical reforms. In particular, he criticizes approaches that subordinate ritual form to theological or cultural constructs, rather than recognizing its primary, “self-evident” character – that is, its sensibly apprehensible, performative, and socially constitutive nature.
An important component of the book is its polemic with critics of Summorum Pontificum, who view it as a threat to the unity of the Church, an expression of nostalgia, or an ideological project. The author argues that such criticism rests on the same reductionist understanding of liturgy that underpinned the postwar reform, treating it as an instrument for expressing or shaping doctrine and identity, rather than as a constitutive practice that is prior to them.
Drawing on the ritual theory of Roy A. Rappaport, the author demonstrates that the stability and repetitiveness of ritual form are conditions for the functioning of a religious community. Consequently, the radical and top-down liturgical reform following the Second Vatican Council – intervening in the entirety of the ritual’s “canonical” layer – necessarily led to a profound crisis within the Church, affecting not only liturgy, but also its structure of meaning and its unity.
Against this background, Summorum Pontificum appears as an attempt to restore ritual continuity by permitting the coexistence of liturgical forms and creating the conditions for their organic interaction, as well as for a gradual and patient healing of the situation. By contrast, Traditionis Custodes, grounded in the same problematic vision of liturgy as that of the critics of Summorum Pontificum, abandons this path and seeks an administrative resolution to the conflict, which – according to the author – leads to its escalation and entrenchment.
Ultimately, the book argues that overcoming the “liturgical war” cannot be achieved at the level of legal decisions or theoretical disputes, but requires a fundamental revision of the theological understanding of liturgy: namely, the recognition of its ontological and social role as a constitutive practice, and the restoration of its continuity as a condition for the unity of the Church.
With regard to the Novus Ordo, Dekert’s book makes essentially one claim – but a fundamental one with extensive ramifications, namely, that its introduction was a mistake because of the sheer scale of the change it brought about, a change which, precisely for that reason, could not help but act in a profoundly destructive way upon the Catholic system.
One wonders to what extent this kind of approach – far more anthropological than theological – can or will be taken seriously by contemporary theologians, that is, by those who operate primarily in the world of words, concepts, and ideas. This is a world in which, and with which, a mind sufficiently skilled in dialectics and interpretation can do almost anything. One can, for example, “prove” that although adding two apples to another two gives us four apples, “in reality” recognizing that there are seven will make us richer! When reading today’s mainstream liturgical writers, one often feels as if their defense of the post-conciliar liturgical reform amounts to something along these lines. The argument takes place at the level of ideas, not at the level of actual practice and its impact on real people.
This cuts both ways: if you want to understand why the traditional rite is so powerful and attractive, you must not stop at the level of ideas, but pay close attention to the way in which living it, participating in it according to its own rhythm and symbology, profoundly shapes consciousness and worldview.
One other tremendous strength in Dekert’s book is his thrilling treatment of the involvement and significance of papal authority in the process of reform and the implications this carried, both for Catholics within the Church and for ecumenical relations, especially with the East.
The price tag of the book is very high, as is the strange custom of academic publishers, but we may hope that it will eventually go down, as occurred with U. Michael Lang’s book on the Roman Rite, which eventually came out in a paperback edition as well. But if you or an institution you work for can afford Dekert’s book now, take my word for it: the book is worth every penny. It is one of the most insightful critiques of the liturgical reform I’ve ever read.
For sure, its implementation (like that of Sacrosanctum Concilium) has led to damages, divisions, and dismay in far too many places, but worldwide there has been little attempt to suppress the old rite altogether, which continues to flourish in or adjacent to parishes and in certain fortunate dioceses. Pope Leo XIV himself has signaled that this policy is no longer a priority and has urged making room for diverse “sensibilities.” Whether he will dismantle or modify his predecessor’s legislation on this point is difficult to say.
All the same, Traditionis Custodes looks like an act of violence in comparison with the pacific intentions of Summorum Pontificum, and it is well for us to reflect on the deeper theological and pastoral issues at stake, in order (ideally) to move away from the violence towards peaceful coexistence and even, dare one say, mutual enrichment – at least of communities, if not of rites.
Fortunately a new book has been published that serves exactly this purpose, and does so with brilliant insightfulness. I cannot recommend it too highly. The title is Liturgical Peace, Liturgical War: Benedict XVI’s “Summorum Pontificum” and Its Critics (London: Bloomsbury T&T Clark, 2026; also available at Amazon), and its author is Tomasz Dekert, a professor at the Jesuit University Ignatianum in Krakow, Poland, who has written it in English.
The author argues that the roots of the conflict lie not merely in opposing preferences (tradition vs. reform), but in a deeper problem: a flawed understanding of the nature of liturgy as ritual, structured by abstract and functionalist assumptions, which came to dominate approaches to liturgy in the context of postwar liturgical reforms. In particular, he criticizes approaches that subordinate ritual form to theological or cultural constructs, rather than recognizing its primary, “self-evident” character – that is, its sensibly apprehensible, performative, and socially constitutive nature.
An important component of the book is its polemic with critics of Summorum Pontificum, who view it as a threat to the unity of the Church, an expression of nostalgia, or an ideological project. The author argues that such criticism rests on the same reductionist understanding of liturgy that underpinned the postwar reform, treating it as an instrument for expressing or shaping doctrine and identity, rather than as a constitutive practice that is prior to them.
Drawing on the ritual theory of Roy A. Rappaport, the author demonstrates that the stability and repetitiveness of ritual form are conditions for the functioning of a religious community. Consequently, the radical and top-down liturgical reform following the Second Vatican Council – intervening in the entirety of the ritual’s “canonical” layer – necessarily led to a profound crisis within the Church, affecting not only liturgy, but also its structure of meaning and its unity.
Against this background, Summorum Pontificum appears as an attempt to restore ritual continuity by permitting the coexistence of liturgical forms and creating the conditions for their organic interaction, as well as for a gradual and patient healing of the situation. By contrast, Traditionis Custodes, grounded in the same problematic vision of liturgy as that of the critics of Summorum Pontificum, abandons this path and seeks an administrative resolution to the conflict, which – according to the author – leads to its escalation and entrenchment.
Ultimately, the book argues that overcoming the “liturgical war” cannot be achieved at the level of legal decisions or theoretical disputes, but requires a fundamental revision of the theological understanding of liturgy: namely, the recognition of its ontological and social role as a constitutive practice, and the restoration of its continuity as a condition for the unity of the Church.
With regard to the Novus Ordo, Dekert’s book makes essentially one claim – but a fundamental one with extensive ramifications, namely, that its introduction was a mistake because of the sheer scale of the change it brought about, a change which, precisely for that reason, could not help but act in a profoundly destructive way upon the Catholic system.
One wonders to what extent this kind of approach – far more anthropological than theological – can or will be taken seriously by contemporary theologians, that is, by those who operate primarily in the world of words, concepts, and ideas. This is a world in which, and with which, a mind sufficiently skilled in dialectics and interpretation can do almost anything. One can, for example, “prove” that although adding two apples to another two gives us four apples, “in reality” recognizing that there are seven will make us richer! When reading today’s mainstream liturgical writers, one often feels as if their defense of the post-conciliar liturgical reform amounts to something along these lines. The argument takes place at the level of ideas, not at the level of actual practice and its impact on real people.
This cuts both ways: if you want to understand why the traditional rite is so powerful and attractive, you must not stop at the level of ideas, but pay close attention to the way in which living it, participating in it according to its own rhythm and symbology, profoundly shapes consciousness and worldview.
One other tremendous strength in Dekert’s book is his thrilling treatment of the involvement and significance of papal authority in the process of reform and the implications this carried, both for Catholics within the Church and for ecumenical relations, especially with the East.
The price tag of the book is very high, as is the strange custom of academic publishers, but we may hope that it will eventually go down, as occurred with U. Michael Lang’s book on the Roman Rite, which eventually came out in a paperback edition as well. But if you or an institution you work for can afford Dekert’s book now, take my word for it: the book is worth every penny. It is one of the most insightful critiques of the liturgical reform I’ve ever read.
The Station Churches of the Easter Octave (Part 2)
The first part of this series, covering the Sunday and Monday of Easter, was published two days ago.
The Introit of Tuesday’s Mass also clearly refers to the Saint at whose church the station is kept. As the Pope comes to the tomb of St. Paul, the “vessel of election, to carry (Jesus’) name before the gentiles, and kings, and the children of Israel”, the Church sings “He gave them the water of wisdom to drink, alleluia; he shall be made strong in them, and he shall not be moved, alleluia: he shall exalt them forever, alleluia, alleluia.”
In the Epistle from Acts 13, St. Paul preaches the Resurrection in the synagogue at Antioch of Pisidia.
And when they had fulfilled all things that were written of Him, taking Him down from the tree, they laid Him in a sepulcher. But God raised Him up from the dead the third day: Who was seen for many days, by them who came up with Him from Galilee to Jerusalem, who to this present (day) are His witnesses to the people. And we declare unto you, that the promise which was made to our fathers, this same God hath fulfilled to our children, raising up Jesus Christ, our Lord.Each day of the Easter octave, the first part of the Gradual is the same verse of Psalm 117, “This is the day which the Lord hath made: let us be glad and rejoice therein.” The verse, however, changes daily, and on this day is taken from Psalm 106: “Let them say so that have been redeemed by the Lord, whom He hath redeemed from the hand of the enemy, and gathered out of the countries.” St. Paul himself was such a one, redeemed from the hand of the enemy whose purposes he served when he persecuted the Church; and by his work, many were gathered from the nations of the world.
The Alleluia verse that follows looks back to the first words of the Epistle cited above, “The Lord hath risen from the sepulcher, even He who for us hung upon the tree.”
The Communion antiphon then cites the Epistle of St. Paul which is sung at the Mass of the Easter vigil: “If you be risen with Christ, seek the things that are above; where Christ is sitting at the right hand of God, alleluia: mind the things that are above, alleluia.” (Colossians 3, 1-2)
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| Detail of Michelangelo’s Conversion of Saul in the Capella Farnese, Vatican City (1542-5) |
These words are spoken by Christ in Matthew 25 to those who practice the corporal works of mercy, doing to Him whatever they do to even the least of His brethren. This was indeed the work of St. Lawrence, who was placed in charge of the Roman church’s charitable funds by Pope St. Sixtus II in the mid-3rd century. When ordered to hand over to the Romans the riches of the Church, Lawrence distributed everything at his disposal to the poor, whom he then brought to the house of the city prefect, saying, “These are the riches of the Church.”
In this same Mass, St. Peter also figures prominently once again. The Epistle is taken from the speech which he makes to the crowds after healing the paralytic at the Beautiful Gate, (Acts 3, 13-15 and 17-19), the Alleluia repeats the words of the Communion antiphon of Monday, cited above, and the Gospel, John 21, 1-14, tells of the appearance of the Lord to Peter and several of the other Apostles at the sea of Tiberias. The liturgy appropriately celebrates the witness of the first Pope to the Resurrection at the tomb of a martyr who served so nobly under a successor of Peter in the see of Rome.
On Thursday, the church commemorates the whole of the “glorious choir of the Apostles” at the basilica dedicated to them, also the station church of the four Ember Fridays. It was originally dedicated only to Ss. Philip and James, whose relics are kept in the large crypt beneath the main altar. The Apostle Philip was often confused with the deacon Philip (Acts 6, 5) who evangelized Samaria and converted the eunuch of the Queen of Ethiopia, (Acts 8, 5-14 and 26-40); as we find, for example, in book 3, 31 of Eusebius’ Ecclesiastical History. This is certainly part of the reason why the story of Philip and the Ethiopian eunuch is read at this Mass. It is also a reminder that the Apostles instituted the diaconate under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, to help their evangelizing mission, and that the true preachers of the Gospel are those sent by them and their successors, the bishops of the Catholic Church.
The Introit of this Mass is taken from the tenth chapter of the book of Wisdom, commenting on the Exodus: “They praised with one accord thy victorious hand, o Lord, alleluia; for wisdom opened the mouth of the dumb, and made the tongues of infants eloquent, alleluia, alleluia.”
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| Detail of Fra Angelico’s St. Lawrence Distributing Alms in the Capella Niccolina, Vatican City (1447-9) |
On Thursday, the church commemorates the whole of the “glorious choir of the Apostles” at the basilica dedicated to them, also the station church of the four Ember Fridays. It was originally dedicated only to Ss. Philip and James, whose relics are kept in the large crypt beneath the main altar. The Apostle Philip was often confused with the deacon Philip (Acts 6, 5) who evangelized Samaria and converted the eunuch of the Queen of Ethiopia, (Acts 8, 5-14 and 26-40); as we find, for example, in book 3, 31 of Eusebius’ Ecclesiastical History. This is certainly part of the reason why the story of Philip and the Ethiopian eunuch is read at this Mass. It is also a reminder that the Apostles instituted the diaconate under the guidance of the Holy Spirit, to help their evangelizing mission, and that the true preachers of the Gospel are those sent by them and their successors, the bishops of the Catholic Church.
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Philip the Deacon Catechizes the Ethiopian Eunuch, from a illustrated Bible by Jean de Tournes père, Lyons, 1558. Image courtesy of the Pitts Theological Library, Candler School of Theology at Emory University.
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On Monday, the Church has sung of Baptism as the new Exodus, and Peter as the new Moses; today, she celebrates the unified witness to the Resurrection of all the Apostles together, whose “sound hath gone forth into all the earth, and their words unto the ends of the world.” (Psalm 18) The “tongues of the dumb” here are those of the Apostles, which at the time of His Passion kept silent and betrayed Him, though they swore they would die with Him; in the Resurrection and the coming of the Holy Spirit, they are made eloquent before all nations in their fearless preaching, for the sake of which they were all eventually martyred. The Offertory of this Mass also looks back to the Mass of Monday, partly repeating the words of its Introit, “On the day of your solemnity, sayeth the Lord, I will being you into the land that floweth with milk and honey, alleluia.”
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| In a number of early Christian sarcophagi, the Apostles are shown standing together around the Chi-Rho monogram, the symbol of Christ’s victory, and offering crowns in homage; the two soldiers kneeling before it are the symbol of His triumph over death and the devil. (Arles, later 4th century) |
Tuesday, April 07, 2026
A Papal Latinist Comments on the Victimae Paschali
A friend on social media recently shared this link to a recording of Fr Reginald Foster OCD, one of the great Latin scholars of our age, commenting on the Latinity of the Easter sequence Victimae Paschali. This was originally broadcast on Vatican Radio as part of a program in which he regularly participated called The Latin Lover. The link is one of dozens hosted on a website run by Fr Gary Coulter; the program was originally broadcast on Good Friday of 2007.
https://www.frcoulter.com/latin/latinlover/latin_04_06_07.mp3Fr Foster was a American priest of the Discalced Carmelite Order who worked at the Vatican for 41 years (1968-2009) in the office that produces the official Latin text of all kinds of ecclesiastical documents. For most of that period, also taught Latin at the Gregorian University during the regular academic year, and offered a summer intensive course (8 weeks, 6 days a week, plus excursions on most Sundays) that was frequented by students from all over the world. The breadth and depth of his knowledge of Latin were truly astonishing, and he was one of the most talented, generous and patient teachers one could ever hope to meet. His health declined quite badly in his later years, but he continued to teach as much as he could for as long as he could, until he passed away on Christmas day of 2020. Gaudeat in Paschate sempiterno!
Art, Beauty, Creativity and Inspiration #2: Inspiration and Creativity
A Christian Understanding
This is the second in a four-part series in which I explore the nature of art and beauty, and their place in Christian life and culture. Last week, I asked the foundational question: What is art? – and argued that good art is the product of a creative act ordered toward beauty and a good purpose, and that it can be Christian even without an explicitly religious subject. This week, I go deeper, examining how, if all good art is inspired by God, we know inspiration when it comes. I discuss where good ideas come from, how the imagination and memory shape the creative act, and why copying the masters is not mere imitation but genuine formation. I will also look at the distinction between figurative, abstract, and decorative art, and then turn to the most important question of all – what does beauty actually do to us, and why does it always point us beyond itself toward God? In the posts that follow, I will take up the harder questions: how we know what is beautiful, why tradition is our surest guide, and whether beauty is really just a luxury we can’t afford.
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| St Luke paints Our Lady and Our Lord, Guercino, Italian, 16th century. Note how his muse, that is, his personal angelic messenger, passes on God’s inspiration to him. |
The Traditional Process of Art Creation
Because I am a painter and painting is what I know best, these discussions will focus, for the most part, on visual art – paintings, sculptures, and mosaics, for example, which are created to engage and appeal to us through their visual appearance. For such words of art, if they are good and Christian, their beauty is intrinsic to their purpose and to the reason for their creation by a good artist. For example, an icon might be painted to direct our thoughts to contemplation of a saint’s life during prayer, but if it is not beautiful, it will not fulfill this purpose effectively.
The beauty of such objects can arise from a number of different things, as we shall discuss shortly, but typically we call a work of art beautiful when we delight in its appearance because we recognize the skill used by the artist, the grace and beauty he employs in its creation, the goodness of any message it communicates to us, the goodness of its overall purpose, and how well it fulfills that purpose.
The traditional understanding of the process by which a good work of art is created is as follows: The original idea arises in the mind of the artisan or artist—that is, the one who makes art—and, deciding that he has good reason to do so, he fashions matter at his disposal in conformity to that idea.
In this sense, all art is representative, as it represents an idea or image that first occurs in the artist’s imagination or in his mind’s eye.
Where do good ideas come from? The primary source of the idea is information derived from the senses, usually something the artist has already seen and remembered, or something viewed directly. This might be a landscape that he is looking at as he paints, or another image or painting that he is copying. But the aspect of the imagination is never absent from the production of art. Even when a painting is based on reality—for example, a portrait or a landscape—the final product will be an integration of the reality before the artist and memories of similar experiences and images, presented through the artist’s imagination. The way images from memory are integrated into the painting shapes their individual style. Therefore, in traditional artist training, when the goal is to form an artist to paint in a particular tradition, say iconography, copying the works of past masters is always part of the program of study. The intention is to fill the student’s memory with images deemed artistically desirable or useful and to influence the imagination.
Figurative, Abstract, and Decorative Art
We have said that all art must represent an idea or image that existed first in the artist’s mind. Sometimes this idea is based on a prototype, a material entity that we would recognize instantly, such as a man or a landscape. We might call this figurative art. Sometimes, however, the art may be more abstract and can manifest ideas of spiritual or non-material truths through symbolism and signs.
There is a longstanding tradition of Christian ‘abstract’ art that is highly decorative and beautiful, containing a carefully worked-out symbolic language. An example of this is the geometric-patterned art on a Gothic church floor. Such geometric patterns embody mathematical symbolism that, for example, speaks to the prototypes of scripture. An octagon, for example, can symbolize Christ as the ‘eighth day’ of Creation.
Not all abstract art is so symbolic. Even non-figurative decorative art, intended to delight through its beauty and without explicit symbolic content, directs us to God simply because it is beautiful. The beauty of this decorative art arises from its resemblance, through the combination of shapes and colors, to the beauty of the cosmos.
Beautiful Christian decorative art is ‘abstract’ in the true sense of the word. It manifests the underlying order of the cosmos, which has been abstracted, that is, drawn out from the matter in which the order was observed, and represented in some other way in the design of the art.
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| Above: a ‘quincunx’ floor design in Santa Croce, Rome. The central circle represents Christ, while the four peripheral circles represent the four evangelists who take the Word to the four corners of the world. [This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.] |
More about Beauty: Beauty is the Light of Christ, and It is a Sign of Him
Beauty is a quality that calls us to itself and then beyond to the source of all beauty, who is God. In this sense, it wounds us by creating a desire for something we cannot have. When we observe a beautiful sunset, we admire it, but part of us remains dissatisfied, wanting more. We become aware in some sense that something is missing, something that is even more noble and beautiful than the sunset.
This desire for something more is, in its purest expression, a desire for God which has been awakened in us by the beauty of the created world. Recall our picture of the gradually darkening rings of light in the mandorla in our discussion of the Transfiguration icon in a previous post, (see The Icon of the Transfiguration as the Symbol of Cultural Transformation). The rings of the mandorla encircle Christ like the concentric layers of an onion. All that is beautiful, but which is not Christ himself, sits, figuratively speaking, somewhere on one of these rings and directs our attention inwards towards Christ, who either created or inspired this beauty. A beautiful work of art, by virtue of its beauty, always directs us to Christ, the Beautiful One. Even if a work of art is not an image of Christ Himself, it directs us to Christ if it is beautiful, because Christ is the perfection of that beauty. For example, a painting might draw us to the beauty of the cosmos by depicting a landscape, and, in turn, reflecting on it, we might be moved to praise the Creator who made it.
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| Mosaic of the Transfiguration in the Monastery of St Catherine on Mt Sinai, 6th century. |
Beauty always speaks to us of another world and another time, and simultaneously, of all time and all worlds, for it speaks of heaven and eternity. It is a perceptible sign of the invisible God.
Monday, April 06, 2026
The Station Churches of the Easter Octave (Part 1)
For the newly baptized Christians of the church of Rome, the octave of Easter was the culmination of both their baptismal preparation, and of the seven-week long series of stational visits that brought them and the Pope to most of the important churches of the city.
The station of the Easter vigil is of course at the cathedral of Rome, the Archbasilica of the Most Holy Savior, where the Popes also resided from the time of the Emperor Constantine until the beginning of the 14th century. The city’s main baptistery, dedicated to St. John the Baptist, still stands behind the church where Constantine first built it, one of the few surviving parts of the once very large complex of structures that surrounded the Lateran Basilica. (Like the cathedral itself, it has been rebuilt and renovated several times.) After hearing their final set lessons from the Old Testament, the twelve prophecies sung after the Exsultet, the catechumens would process with the Pope and clergy to the baptistery; there the waters of the font were blessed, and the catechumens finally received the sacrament by which they were “buried together with (Christ) into death; that as Christ is risen from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we also may walk in newness of life”. (Romans 6, 4) As a symbol of the new life into which they had just entered, they were then clothed in white garments; they would wear these at Mass each day of the Easter octave, and at Vespers, which they attended daily at the Lateran.
Having begun the celebration of Easter at a church dedicated to the Savior, the six stations that follow form a hierarchical itinerary of visits to the Roman churches of the most important Saints. In other seasons, the stations are often determined by the liturgical texts, particularly the scriptural lessons, which in many cases were part of the lectionary well before the legalization of Christianity and the building of public churches. In the case of Easter and its octave, the hierarchical nature of this itinerary established the order of the stations, and many of the liturgical texts were then chosen in reference to them.
On Easter Sunday, the Mass is held at St. Mary Major, the Virgin’s most ancient Roman church, a short distance from the Lateran; the Mass is wholly occupied with the Resurrection, and contains no reference to the Queen of all the Saints. This silence is fitting, for the Gospels themselves do not tell us when the risen Christ first appeared to Her. Over the next three days, the newly-baptized were brought to the tombs of Rome’s three principal patron Saints, the Apostles Peter and Paul, and the martyr St. Lawrence; the three churches that keep their sacred relics are also grouped together in the stational observances of Septuagesima, the very beginning of that part of the temporal cycle which is formed around Easter.
The Mass of Easter Monday contains several references to St. Peter, the first being the Introit, from Exodus 13: “The Lord has brought you into a land that floweth with milk and honey, alleluia, that also the law of the Lord may be always in your mouth, alleluia, alleluia.”
In their original context, these words are spoken by Moses to the children of Israel, who have been delivered from the land of slavery and bondage. The Exodus from Egypt and the crossing of the Red Sea have been understood by the Church from the earliest times as symbols of the soul’s delivery from sin and death in the sacrament of Baptism. In the New Testament, St. Peter is the first to preach and exhort the people to receive Baptism, at the very first Pentecost (Acts 2, 37-41); in early Christian art, therefore, he is often depicted as the new Moses, and shown making water run from a rock as Moses did in the desert. The “law of the Lord… always in your mouth” refers to the new Law given to the Church by Christ to replace the Mosaic Law; this is the basis of another common scene in early Christian art in which St. Peter also figures prominently, the “traditio Legis – handing down of the Law.”The station of the Easter vigil is of course at the cathedral of Rome, the Archbasilica of the Most Holy Savior, where the Popes also resided from the time of the Emperor Constantine until the beginning of the 14th century. The city’s main baptistery, dedicated to St. John the Baptist, still stands behind the church where Constantine first built it, one of the few surviving parts of the once very large complex of structures that surrounded the Lateran Basilica. (Like the cathedral itself, it has been rebuilt and renovated several times.) After hearing their final set lessons from the Old Testament, the twelve prophecies sung after the Exsultet, the catechumens would process with the Pope and clergy to the baptistery; there the waters of the font were blessed, and the catechumens finally received the sacrament by which they were “buried together with (Christ) into death; that as Christ is risen from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we also may walk in newness of life”. (Romans 6, 4) As a symbol of the new life into which they had just entered, they were then clothed in white garments; they would wear these at Mass each day of the Easter octave, and at Vespers, which they attended daily at the Lateran.
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| A view of the Lateran Baptistery from within the colonnade that surrounds the font in the center, showing the various phases of its building and restoration. The colonnade itself was made in the fifth century of ancient materials despoiled from various structures; the window shows the crest of Pope Urban VIII Barberini, (1623-44), who also restored the lantern; next to it on the left is a portrait of Carlo Card. Rezzonico, Archpriest of the Lateran Basilica from 1780-81, and nephew of Pope Clement XIII; the paintings above are modern copies of originals by Andrea Sacchi (1599-1661). Photograph courtesy of Fr. Lawrence Lew, O.P. |
On Easter Sunday, the Mass is held at St. Mary Major, the Virgin’s most ancient Roman church, a short distance from the Lateran; the Mass is wholly occupied with the Resurrection, and contains no reference to the Queen of all the Saints. This silence is fitting, for the Gospels themselves do not tell us when the risen Christ first appeared to Her. Over the next three days, the newly-baptized were brought to the tombs of Rome’s three principal patron Saints, the Apostles Peter and Paul, and the martyr St. Lawrence; the three churches that keep their sacred relics are also grouped together in the stational observances of Septuagesima, the very beginning of that part of the temporal cycle which is formed around Easter.
The Mass of Easter Monday contains several references to St. Peter, the first being the Introit, from Exodus 13: “The Lord has brought you into a land that floweth with milk and honey, alleluia, that also the law of the Lord may be always in your mouth, alleluia, alleluia.”
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The “traditio Legis” scene depicted on a sarcophagus in the Vatican Museums’ Pio-Christian collection; note the streams of water flowing from the rock between Peter and Paul.
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Sunday, April 05, 2026
Easter Sunday 2026
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| The Resurrection, by Titian (Tiziano Vecellio), 1542-44 |
When the Lord had clothed Himself with humanity, and had suffered for the sake of the sufferer, and had been bound for the sake of the imprisoned, and had been judged for the sake of the condemned, and buried for the sake of the one who was buried, He rose up from the dead, and cried aloud with this voice: “Who is he that contends with me? Let him stand in opposition to me. I set the condemned man free; I gave the dead man life; I raised up the one who had been entombed. Who is my opponent? I, He says, am the Christ. I am the one who destroyed death, and triumphed over the enemy, and trampled Hades under foot, and bound the strong one, and carried off man to the heights of heaven; I, He says, am the Christ.
Therefore, come, all families of men, you who have been befouled with sins, and receive forgiveness for your sins. I am your forgiveness, I am the passover of your salvation, I am the lamb which was sacrificed for you, I am your ransom, I am your light, I am your Savior, I am your resurrection, I am your king. I am leading you up to the heights of heaven, I will show you the eternal Father, I will raise you up by My right hand.”
This is the One who made the heavens and the earth, and who in the beginning created man, who was proclaimed through the law and prophets, who became a man through the Virgin, who was hanged upon a tree, who was buried in the earth, who was resurrected from the dead, and who ascended to the heights of heaven, who sits at the right hand of the Father, who has authority to judge and to save everything, through whom the Father created everything from the beginning of the world to the end of the age.
This is the alpha and the omega. This is the beginning and the end – an indescribable beginning and an incomprehensible end. This is the Christ. This is the king. This is Jesus. This is the leader. This is the Lord. This is the one who rose up from the dead. This is the one who sits at the right hand of the Father. He bears the Father and is borne by the Father, to whom be the glory and the power forever. Amen. (The conclusion of the Paschal Homily of St Melito of Sardis, the oldest surviving homily on Easter, ca. 165 A.D.)
TO all our readers, to your friends and families, we wish you an Easter filled with every joy and blessing in the Risen Lord - He is truly risen!
Therefore, come, all families of men, you who have been befouled with sins, and receive forgiveness for your sins. I am your forgiveness, I am the passover of your salvation, I am the lamb which was sacrificed for you, I am your ransom, I am your light, I am your Savior, I am your resurrection, I am your king. I am leading you up to the heights of heaven, I will show you the eternal Father, I will raise you up by My right hand.”
This is the One who made the heavens and the earth, and who in the beginning created man, who was proclaimed through the law and prophets, who became a man through the Virgin, who was hanged upon a tree, who was buried in the earth, who was resurrected from the dead, and who ascended to the heights of heaven, who sits at the right hand of the Father, who has authority to judge and to save everything, through whom the Father created everything from the beginning of the world to the end of the age.
This is the alpha and the omega. This is the beginning and the end – an indescribable beginning and an incomprehensible end. This is the Christ. This is the king. This is Jesus. This is the leader. This is the Lord. This is the one who rose up from the dead. This is the one who sits at the right hand of the Father. He bears the Father and is borne by the Father, to whom be the glory and the power forever. Amen. (The conclusion of the Paschal Homily of St Melito of Sardis, the oldest surviving homily on Easter, ca. 165 A.D.)
TO all our readers, to your friends and families, we wish you an Easter filled with every joy and blessing in the Risen Lord - He is truly risen!
Saturday, April 04, 2026
The Vigil of the Resurrection
And in the evening of the sabbath, as it began to dawn toward the first day of the week, came Mary Magdalene and the other Mary to see the sepulcher, alleluia. (The Magnificat antiphon of Vespers at the end of the Easter vigil, also sung with the Nunc dimittis at Compline, as it is in this recording.)
Aña Véspere autem sábbati * quae lucescit in prima sábbati, venit María Magdaléne, et áltera María, vidére sepulcrum, allelúja.
A truly splendid polyphonic setting by the Slovene composer Jacob Handl (1550-91), also known as Jacobus Gallus.
Holy Saturday 2026
When Joseph saw that the sun had hidden its rays, and the veil of the temple was rent at the death of the Savior, he went to Pilate and besought him: “Give me this stranger, who from infancy has been as a stranger, a sojourner in the world. Give me this stranger, whom His own race has hated and delivered unto death as a stranger. Give me this stranger, whose death I am astonished to behold. Give me this stranger, who knew how received the poor and the strangers. Give me this stranger, whom the Hebrews from envy estranged from the world. Give me this stranger, that I may hide him in a tomb, who as a stranger hath no place to lay His head. Give me this stranger, whose Mother seeing Him put to death cried out, ‘O my Son and my God, though I am sorely wounded within me and my heart is rent, seeing Thee as one dead, I do yet take courage in Thy Resurrection and magnify Thee.’ And entreating Pilate with these words, the noble Joseph receives the body of the Savior, which with fear he wrapped in a shroud with myrrh, and laid in a tomb, even Him Who bestows upon all eternal life and great mercy.” (A Byzantine hymn for Holy Saturday.)
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| An embroidered cloth icon of the Burial of Christ, known as an “ἐπιτάφιος (epitafios)” in Greek, an adjective meaning “above the tomb”; in Church Slavonic, it is called “плащаница (plashchanitsa) – the shroud.” At Vespers of Good Friday, this is laid on the altar, and at the end of the ceremony, brought down into the nave and set on a special table, which becomes the focal point of much of the liturgy until Easter night, when it is brought back to the altar, and covered with a white cloth, remaining there until the Easter season is over. Around the inner border are written the tropars of the Sunday of the Myrrh-bearing woman. (1682, from the Benaki Museum in Athens. Public domain image from Wikimedia Commons.) |
Sung by the monks of the Vatopedia monastery on Mt Athos
This extraordinary hymn is based on a homily on the burial of Christ traditionally attributed to the Church Father St Epiphanius of Salamis (ca. 310/20 - 403), but now recognized to be from at least 150 years later. In the classic style of later Byzantine rhetoric, the homily itself has eight more sentences which begin with the words “Give me this stranger”, for a total of fifteen. Most of the modern liturgical books that I consult, both Greek and Slavonic, do not include it at all. Among the Slavs, however, it is often sung in a different and much shorter recension, after Vespers of Good Friday and Matins of Holy Saturday, as people come up to the epitaphios table to venerate the shroud. The setting by the Ukrainian composer Dmitry Bortniansky (1751-1825) is deservedly the most famous.
Come, let us bless Joseph of eternal memory, who came by night to Pilate and begged for the life of all: “Give me this stranger, Who has no place to lay His head. Give me this stranger Whom an evil disciple betrayed to death. Give me this stranger Whom His mother saw hanging upon the cross, and with a mother’s sorrow cried, weeping: Woe is me, O my child, light of my eyes and beloved of my bosom! For what Simeon foretold in the temple now has come to pass: A sword has pierced my heart, but change my grief to gladness by Your Resurrection!” We worship Your Passion, O Christ! We worship Your Passion, O Christ! We worship Your Passion, O Christ and Your holy Resurrection!
Friday, April 03, 2026
Good Friday 2026
O Lord, I have heard Thy report and was afraid: I have considered Thy works and trembled. V. In the midst of two living beings Thou shalt be made known: when the years shall draw nigh Thou shalt be known: when the time shall come, Thou shalt be manifested. V. When my soul shall be in trouble, Thou wilt remember mercy, even in Thy wrath. V. God will come from Libanus, and the Holy One from the shady and thickly covered mountain. V. His majesty covered the heavens: and the earth is full of His praise. (The first Tract of the Mass of the Presanctified on Good Friday.)
Dómine, audívi audítum tuum, et timui: considerávi ópera tua, et expávi. V. In medio duórum animalium innotescéris: dum appropinquáverint anni, cognoscéris: dum advénerit tempus, ostendéris. V. In eo, dum conturbáta fúerit ánima mea, in ira, misericordiae memor eris. V. Deus a Líbano veniet, et Sanctus de monte umbróso et condenso. V. Opéruit caelos majestas ejus, et laudis ejus plena est terra.
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| Christ on the Cross between the two Thieves, by Peter Paul Rubens, 1619 |
The Paschal Lamb: Fish or Bait?
In the New Testament, Jesus Christ is compared to several animals: He is the Lamb of God (John 1, 29), the Lion of Judah (Rev. 5, 5), a mother hen (Mt 23, 37), and so forth. Although it is understandable to focus on Our Lord’s relation to the Passover Lamb during the Triduum and Easter, Christians over the centuries have also understood the Pascal Mystery in piscatorial terms – that is, in terms of fish and fishing.
The Mysterious ICHTHUS
In the early Church, the greatest artistic symbol of Christ was a drawing of a fish (or sometimes a dolphin, one of man’s best friends in the sea). Specifically, the first generations of Christians saw the fish as a symbol of Jesus present in the sacraments of the Eucharist and Baptism. Already in the Book of Tobias, early Christians saw a foreshadowing of the Messiah. Like Christ in the Eucharist, the fish that Raphael caught is food for the pilgrim, a repellent of demons, and enlightenment for the blind. In the New Testament, Jesus multiplies fishes along with loaves of bread, miracles that anticipates the miracle of bread and wine turning into Christ’s Body and Blood. And after the Resurrection, the Risen Lord provides fish and bread, the fish symbolizing His humanity and bread His divinity. It is Christ’s humanity that enabled Him to be raked across the coals, so to speak, during His passion and death; or as the Church Fathers more eloquently put it, the Messiah is the Fish taken from living water and immolated on the altar of the Cross by the fire of His love, who feeds His own with His own substance. [1] And Jesus Christ is also fully divine, or as He describes Himself, “the Living Bread descended from Heaven” (John 6, 51). “He who was able, as a man, to be grilled like a fish,” proclaims Pope Gregory the Great, “restores us with bread as God.” An epitaph written in the second century on the tomb of a Christian named Abercius uses similar imagery for Holy Communion. Describing his travels from one end of Christendom to the other, he writes:
No wonder that the early Church interpreted the Greek word for fish, ichthus, as an acrostic for Iesous Christos Theou Uios Soter: Jesus (I), Christ (Ch), God’s (Th) Son (U), Savior (S). Christians used drawings of a fish as a secret code during the Roman persecutions, enabling them to recognize Christian safe places and centers of worship (they are all over the catacombs). In fact, it is said that after the Cross the fish is the second most popular symbol of Christianity.
The so-called Fish Hook Theory can also be found in other Church Fathers, such as St. Gregory Nazianzen:
Faith everywhere led me forward, and everywhere provided as my food a fish of exceeding great size, and perfect, which a holy Virgin drew with her hands from a Fount and this it [Faith] ever gives to its friends to eat, it having wine of great virtue, and giving it mingled with bread. [2]
Jesus as Bait
Jesus Christ is our Ichthus or Fish, but He is also the bait. According to St. Rufinus of Aquileia (d. 411), when the Word of God became flesh and dwelt among us, it was as if God were fishing for the Devil. Christ’s divinity was the sharp hook, cleverly concealed by His humanity, the bait. Christ offered His flesh as a bait, Rufinus explains, so that “His divinity underneath might catch [the Devil] and hold him fast with its hook, through the shedding of His immaculate Blood.” And sure enough, the Devil took the bait, conspiring in all sorts of ways to have Jesus of Nazareth persecuted and rejoicing when He was crucified. But the Devil did not know that this holy man was also the Second Person of the Trinity, and that only the Precious Blood of this God-man could pay the price of our redemption. As Rufinus puts it:
If a fish seizes a baited hook, not only does it not take the bait off the hook, but it is drawn out of the water to be itself food for others. So too, he who had the power of death seized the Body of Jesus in death, not being aware of the hook of divinity enclosed within it; and having swallowed it, he was caught immediately, and the bars of Hell was burst asunder, and he was drawn forth, as it were, from the abyss to become food for others.[3]
It may sound strange to think of the Devil as food for others, but this is not the rich nourishment that Our Lord the Ichthus provides in Word and Eucharist. Rather, the Devil is a nasty river dragon whose flesh becomes a kind of fodder for beasts and carrion. Rufinus cites Ezechiel 29:3-5 in support of his interpretation, when God is speaking to Egypt and calling it a “great dragon”:
I will put a bridle in thy jaws… and I will draw thee out of the midst of thy rivers… And I will cast thee forth into the desert…I have given thee for meat to the beasts of the earth, and to the fowls of the air.
[I]t was not in the nature of the opposing power to come in contact with the undiluted presence of God, and to undergo His unclouded manifestation. Therefore, in order to secure that the ransom on our behalf might be easily accepted by him who required it, the Deity was hidden under the veil of our nature, that so, as with ravenous fish, the hook of the Deity might be gulped down along with the bait of flesh, and thus, life being introduced into the house of death, and light shining in darkness, that which is diametrically opposed to light and life might vanish; for it is not in the nature of darkness to remain when light is present, or of death to exist when life is active.[4]
St. Maximus the Confessor makes a clever connection between this atonement model and Psalm 21,7:
“I am a worm and not a man.” (Ps. 21:7, LXX) He truly became, and was thus called, a worm because He assumed the flesh without being conceived by human seed. For, just as the worm is not born through copulation or sexual procreation, so too our Lord was not born in the flesh through sexual procreation. Moreover, the Lord mounted His flesh on the fish-hook of His divinity as bait for the devil’s deceit, so that, as the insatiable serpent, the devil would take His flesh into his mouth (since its nature is easily overcome) and quiver convulsively on the hook of the Lord’s divinity, and, by virtue of the sacred flesh of the Logos, completely vomit the Lord’s human nature once he swallowed it. As a result, just as the devil formerly baited man with the hope of divinity, and swallowed him, so too the devil himself would be baited precisely with humanity’s fleshly garb; and afterward he would vomit man, who had been deceived by the expectation of becoming divine, the devil himself having been deceived by the expectation of becoming human. The transcendence of God’s power would then manifest itself through the weakness of our inferior human nature, which would vanquish the strength of its conqueror. As well, it would be shown that it is God Who, by using the flesh as bait, conquers the devil, rather than the devil conquering man by promising him a divine nature.[5]
And finally, St. John Damascene:
Since our Lord Jesus Christ was without sin (for He committed no sin, He Who took away the sin of the world, nor was there any deceit found in His mouth). He was not subject to death, since death came into the world through sin. (Rom. 5:12) He dies, therefore, because He took on Himself death on our behalf, and He makes Himself an offering to the Father for our sakes. For we had sinned against Him, and it was meet that He should receive the ransom for us, and that we should thus be delivered from the condemnation. God forbid that the blood of the Lord should have been offered to the tyrant. Wherefore death approaches, and swallowing up the body as a bait is transfixed on the hook of divinity, and after tasting of a sinless and life-giving body, perishes, and brings up again all whom of old he swallowed up. For just as darkness disappears on the introduction of light, so is death repulsed before the assault of life, and brings life to all, but death to the destroyer.[6]
No wonder that in places such as Costa Rica, Holy Saturday is a time for bromas or practical jokes, like stealing your neighbors’ furniture and rearranging it in the town plaza. The association of Holy Saturday with practical jokes makes sense, since it was during the Paschal Mystery that the biggest joke of all was played on the Enemy.
Notes
[1] St. Paulinus of Nola, Epistle 13; St. Augustine, Confessions 13.23.34; St. Ambrose, the hymn Ad coenam Agni providi.
[2] See H. Leclerq, “Inscription of Abercius,” Catholic Encyclopedia, (New York: Robert Appleton Company, 1914).
[3] Commentary on the Apostles’ Creed 16, trans. W.H. Fremantle, in Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers, Second Series, vol. 3, eds. Philip Schaff and Henry Wace (Buffalo, NY: Christian Literature Publishing Co., 1892).
[4] Great Catechism 24.
[5] Ad Thalassium 64: On the Prophet Jonah and the Economy of Salvation.
[6] An Exact Exposition of the Orthodox Faith 3.27.
