The Orientation of Ancient Churches

We continue with the second part of Luisella Scrosati’s series on the orientation of Christian worship, “L’orientamento delle chiese antiche”, published in Italian on November 16 in La Nuova Bussola Quotidiana, and reproduced here in translation with the kind permission of the editors. (Read Part 1.)

Prayer directed towards the east. The altar oriented towards the east. The priest standing before the divine Majesty, positioned in front of the altar and facing east.

Martin Wallraff, a Protestant professor of ancient church history at Ludwig-Maximilians University in Munich, in his monograph Christus verus sol. Sonnenverehrung und Christentum in der Spätantike [Christ, the True Sun. Sun Worship and Christianity in Late Antiquity, 2001] summarized the importance of the orientation of prayer in the early centuries of Christianity:

Christians pray facing east. This principle was taken for granted throughout the early Church. Evidence of this is widely scattered throughout time and space. Nowhere is there any trace of Christianity without this tradition or with the custom of praying in a different direction.

This characteristic, so evident, which structures both personal and collective prayer, and so universally widespread, could not fail to determine the criterion of orientation in the construction of churches, which had to favor and almost embody this posture.

And in fact, the churches of antiquity, whatever their shape, were built on an east-west axis, so that the apse, near which the altar was placed, was usually located to the east. Sometimes, the apse could be placed to the west, but even in this case, the priest still celebrated facing east, thus turning his gaze in front of him, towards the facade of the church.

Problems in applying this fundamental orientation could arise especially when churches were built in urban contexts where existing streets “forced” the orientation of the building, or when secular buildings were converted into Christian places of worship. In these situations, it is quite obvious and understandable that the east-west orientation was not strictly adhered to. However, these are exceptions to the rule, due to contingent and insurmountable causes.

Baptisteries also followed the east-west axis, with the apse (when present) mainly facing east. In this case, the orientation served not so much for prayer as for the confession of faith. Before receiving the sacramental baptism, the catechumen had to confess his faith facing Christ (east), leaving behind the decadent world (west) of sin and paganism.

The eastward facing baptistery of St John in the Lateran in Rome, photographed by William Henry Goodyear (1846-1923); from the Brooklyn Museum archives via Wikimedia Commons.

Monsignor Stefan Heid (Altar and Church. Principles of Liturgy from Early Christianity, 2023) presents a broad overview of churches in different geographical areas of ancient Christianity, focusing precisely on their orientation. When we look at the Byzantine world, and more generally at the Eastern world, including the churches of Syria, Palestine, and Transjordan, the evidence that the church and prayer faced east is overwhelming.

In general, the buildings were structured in such a way that the faithful were already oriented towards the east, while the bishop’s chair and the presbyters’ seats were adjacent to the apse, thus facing west. This location has misled many, leading them to believe that the celebration took place facing the people. But this is a rather gross misunderstanding. In reality, the chair and seats were oriented towards the ambo or bema, which was usually located near the presbytery, in the center.

The building was therefore structured as follows: moving from west (entrance) to east, we find the nave, the ambo (which was not a simple lectern but a structure with steps), the presbytery with the altar, the apse with the episcopal chair and the seats of the presbyters. Therefore, during the singing of the pericopes taken from the Holy Scriptures, the bishop and priests faced the ambo (and therefore also looked towards the nave); but when the sacrificial part of the Divine Liturgy began, they descended to the altar, placing themselves in front of it, on its western side, and looked towards the apse, to the east.

It is interesting to note that there is evidence that, at this moment, the deacon exhorted the faithful to stand up and look to the east. This would give rise to the introductory dialogue of the Preface, in which we are urged to lift up our hearts (and therefore to stand upright) and turn them ad Dóminum, to the Lord, which in the liturgical context undoubtedly means towards the east. The exhortation to stand up was addressed to everyone, while the exhortation to turn towards the east was mainly addressed to those who, during the singing of the Word of God, sat along the perimeter walls, thus looking towards the interior of the nave. From that moment on, every member of the congregation, together with the sacred ministers and the bishop, had to look towards Christ—that is, towards the east.

Confirming this, many churches have a rather narrow space between the altar and the apse, while the space between the altar and the iconostasis is wider. Also noteworthy is the presence of a cross in the apse dome, indicating the point of orientation of the celebrant’s gaze, or the presence of a slab on the floor, on the west side of the altar, indicating the site of the celebrant while he was at the altar, or a mosaic carpet that was to be seen from west to east. However, there is no archaeological evidence for celebration towards the people.

Archaeological evidence is rarer in Western churches, due to the fact that there are few examples of altars dating back to the early centuries of the Church. However, where such evidence does exist, as in the church of Santa Maria delle Grazie in Grado or in that of San Vitale in Ravenna, it attests to the apse being located to the east and the altar being placed very close to the apse wall, a sign that the celebrant was located on the opposite side of the altar, which was more spacious, facing the apse.

No less significant than archaeological evidence is St. Ambrose’s commentary on Psalm 118, in which he compares the Christian to a sacred building and states:

If, therefore, you have the building of God within you and your windows are always open to the east, behold, the Word comes. Behold, it stands upright behind that wall [...], behold, it looks inside, through your windows. (Commentary on Psalm 118, Vau, 19)

Ambrose is suggesting a spiritual interpretation based on an established fact and common experience: in the church, the windows are open to the east so that the eyes of the rising Sun, Christ the Lord, can look through them and meet the eyes of his faithful, who are oriented toward him.

The Age of the O Antiphons

Since today is the first day of the great O antiphons of Advent, I happened to look at the Wikipedia article about them, and read the following statement in the introductory paragraph: “They likely date to sixth-century Italy, when Boethius refers to the text in The Consolation of Philosophy.” I particularly noticed this because there was recently a discussion about this very topic, the date of composition of the O’s, in a Facebook group about the Divine Office which I moderate.

I followed the footnote linked to that statement on Wikipedia, and discovered something very interesting. The source of this claim that they date to the sixth century is an article by J. Allen Cabaniss (1911-97), who taught history at the Univ. of Mississippi, published in Speculum, the Univ. of Chicago’s journal of medieval studies, in July of 1947. (“A note on the date of the great Advent antiphons”; vol. 22, no. 3; pp. 440-2). The author purported to identify a passage of Boethius’ Consolation of Philosophy (III, 12) as a citation of the first O antiphon, O Sapientia.

Here is the relevant statement from Cabaniss’ article; the emphases in bold are his, the translations in parentheses are mine.

“ ‘Est igitur summum, inquit [Philosophia], bonum quod regit cuncta fortiter, suaviterque disponit.’ (It is therefore, says [Philosophy], the highest good, which rules mightily over all things, and sweetly orders them.)

Compare with this the text of O Sapientia following: ‘O Sapientia, quae ex ore Altissimi prodiisti, attingens a fine usque ad finem, fortiter suaviterque disponens omnia: Veni ad docendum nos viam prudentiae.’ (O Wisdom, that comest from the mouth of the Most High, that reachest from one end to another, mightily and sweetly ordering all things, come and teach us the way of prudence.)”

Boethius died in 524, so this would mean that the O’s must have already existed in his time. A little research on Google books reveals that this claim about their dating has been repeated as an established fact by a great many authors since then. One could also reasonably extrapolate that they are even older, and might well go back to the 5th century, as some authors have in fact done.

The first page of a later 14th-century manuscript of Boethius’ Consolation of Philosophy, showing him as a teacher of philosophy above, and in prison below.

With all due respect to the late Dr Cabaniss, this is very weak sauce for a variety of reasons. We cannot even trace Advent itself as a liturgical season of the Roman Rite back to the early 6th century. Among the sermons of Pope St Leo I (440-61), there are nine “on the fast of the tenth month”, i.e. the December Ember days (the first of which is also today this year). None of these refers to the period as a time of preparation for the upcoming feast of Christ’s birth. The so-called Leonine Sacramentary, a collection of Masses used in Rome in the mid-to-later 6th century, has none for Advent. (I emphasize that this is not a dispositive point, since the collection is so irregular.) Our earliest patristic references to Advent in Rome are the sermons which Pope St Gregory the Great (590-604) preached on the Gospels of the 2nd, 3rd and 4th Sundays, and our earliest liturgical sources are the list of epistles in the Wurzburg lectionary, ca. 650, and the Masses in the Old Gelasian Sacramentary, ca. 700.

I now make a digression, as a way of steel-manning Cabaniss’ argument for him, with his own words. In another article which he wrote about the O’s nearly 30 years later, he contended that they were not in fact written for Advent at all, which would make the preceding point moot. But the only evidence for this which he adduces is an episode from the life of the great scholar of the Carolingian era, Alcuin of York, which he explains as follows, citing the text of his biography in the Patrologia Latina vol. C, 104D – 105B.

“In his last months he prayed that his death would occur on the feast of Pentecost. He therefore directed the brothers to sing at vespers after he died, ‘O Clavis David,’ as the antiphon on the Magnificat. Falling ill on Ascension day (9 May), 804, he was unable to speak until 17 May. On that day he rallied and sang the antiphon with some other verses before he relapsed. His pious wish was fulfilled when he died in the early hours of Pentecost (19 May.)”

This is, to put it very mildly, an astonishing misreading of the text. What it really says is that Alcuin himself, knowing that he would die fairly soon, and wishing for it happen on Pentecost, sang the fourth of the O antiphons, which the anonymous author cites in full. “O key of David and scepter of the house of Israel, who openest and no man shutteth, shuttest and no man openeth, come and lead the prisoners from the prison house, that sit in darkness and the shadow of death.” This would make it his prayer for a good death and safe passage to “the place of refreshment, light and peace.”

But the very next paragraph says that he celebrated Lent “most worthily”, as he had been wont to do, and then fell ill “while the solemnity of the Resurrection was going on.” (The context makes it clear that this means Eastertide, not Easter week.) Which is say, Alcuin sang the antiphon O clavis David as a prayer for a happy death when it occurred in its regular place in the liturgical year, in Advent. The author makes note of this fact because Alcuin then sang it again, himself, on the third day before he died. Nothing about the text suggests in any way that he was asking anyone else to sing it for him; a fortiori, nothing about it suggests that there was any kind of custom of singing the O’s whenever the person in charge of the liturgy decided.

The article from which this comes was published in July of 1975 in The Jewish Quarterly Review (“A Jewish Provenience of the Advent Antiphons?”; new series, vol. 66, no. 1, pp. 39-56), and makes the bizarre proposal that the O antiphons were “developed in a Messianist community probably, but by no means certainly, Christian (my emphasis), which was either natively Semitic (Judaic) or, if Gentile, strongly Judaized.” His argument for this is a model of specious reasoning, namely, that nothing about these texts explicitly refers to either the Trinity or Jesus by name, and they contain lots of references to the Old Testament. This, as if it were not the whole point of Advent to proclaim that the one who is prophesied in the Old Testament is revealed in His Incarnation and birth, and then makes known to us the worship of the Holy Trinity.

But what makes this even more bizarre is that Cabaniss himself had recognized in his 1947 article that the words of the first O antiphon, “mightily and sweetly ordering all things”, are an unmistakable reference to Wisdom 8, 1. “Attingit ergo a fine usque ad finem fortiter, et disponit omnia suaviter. – Therefore She (i.e. Wisdom) reacheth from end to end mightily, and ordereth all things sweetly.” This is a very improbable choice of citation for a putatively Jewish author, who would not regard the deuterocanonical book of Wisdom as Scripture.

A icon of Holy Wisdom, 1860

The main thrust of his argument, then, is that Boethius very often refers to Scripture in the Consolation, but never quotes it directly. “It would be remarkable if this were the only exact citation from the Bible in a book so definitely influenced by Scriptural teaching and filled with so many opportunities for appropriate quotation. I therefore believe that Boethius’ words are a reminiscence of the Great Antiphon and only indirectly from the Bible by way of the antiphon.”

I believe that Cabaniss went wrong in 1947 at least in part, perhaps, because he did not have what has become an essential tool for the study of Scriptural citations in Patristic writings. This would be the exhaustive critical edition of the “Vetus Latina” (Old Latin), the collective name for the Latin versions of the Bible which are not in the Vulgate, and which for the most part predate St Jerome. The apposite volume on the book of Wisdom was published in eight different fascicles from 1977 to 1985. (Verlag Herder, Freiburg im Breisgau)

These volumes provide the Old Latin version of the Scriptural text, with a critical apparatus documenting the variations in the different manuscripts, and then a second apparatus of quotations of the relevant verses, whether direct or indirect, in ancient Christian writings. On most pages, the first part takes up about 20% of the space, and the two apparatuses take up about 40% each.

Had he been able to consult it, Cabaniss would have seen that Wisdom 8, 1 is cited by so many Christian authors, almost all of whom predate Boethius, that the citations take up the equivalent of about 2½ pages of very small type. The first Latin adverb, “fortiter”, is in the citation apparatus more than 70 times. Any verse which is cited so often would certainly be well-known to an author as widely read as Boethius, and there is no reason to suppose that he might not have gotten it into his head, as it were, from its frequent use in other authors, rather than from the antiphon specifically. In other words, this constitutes no proof whatsoever that the antiphon existed in Boethius’ time, and the whole argument for dating the O’s to the sixth century falls apart.

O Sapientia and the beginning of O Adonai in a Dominican antiphonary ca. 1300. (Bibliothèque nationale de France, département Musique, RES-1531)

Finally, for no reason I can discern, Cabaniss seems to take it for granted that if similar words appear in the liturgical text and the Consolation, then the latter must be citing it from the former. But laying all other considerations aside, there is no reason why the influence should not have gone the other way, and the composer of the antiphon been inspired by Boethius.

The Golden Mass of Ember Wednesday

When examined as a group, the Gospels for the Masses of Advent may seem to be ordered in a rather peculiar way. They are in fact arranged chronologically backwards. On the First Sunday of Advent, the Church reads from St Luke Christ’s account of the signs that will precede His return in glory at the end of the world. (21, 25-33) This sets a theological note that will be repeated throughout the season; the first coming of Christ to redeem the world is often contrasted to the second coming, when He shall return to judge it. On the Second Sunday, John the Baptist, imprisoned by King Herod, sends his disciples to ask Christ if He is indeed the Redeemer whose coming the world has long awaited. His answer is that the signs of the first coming are already happening, as foretold in the prophets. (Matthew11, 2-10). The Gospel of the Third Sunday recounts an episode from the early days of John’s ministry, before his imprisonment. When men were moved to ask him if he was the Messiah, John confessed that he was but the Forerunner of another who stood in their midst; Christ Himself does not appear or speak in this Gospel. (John 1) The Gospel of the Fourth Sunday is the very beginning of John’s mission, St Luke speaks once again, and draws us further back in time, to the prophets who foretold not only the coming of Christ, but also that of the Forerunner. This is the only Gospel of the liturgical year in which Christ Himself makes no appearance at all. (3, 1-6) (Pictured right: St John the Baptist, from the St Bavo altarpiece by Jan van Eyck, 1430-32)

If we were to consider only the Sunday Gospels, it would almost appear that Christ is drawing away from us as we come closer to the day of His Nativity. However, this backwards motion from the end of the world to the days of the Old Testament places in even greater relief the importance of today’s Mass, the Ember Wednesday of the Advent season. On this day, the Church reads the Gospel of the Annunciation (Luke 1, 26-38), at which point, the beginning of mankind’s redemption, the story begins to move forward. On Friday, there follows the Gospel of the Visitation. (Luke 1, 39-47) In the Breviary homily of that day, St Ambrose calls to our attention the first meeting of the Word Incarnate with His Forerunner, while both are still in their mothers’ wombs; “We must consider the fact that the greater one comes to the lesser, that the lesser may be aided: Mary to Elisabeth, Christ to John.” Having announced the mysteries of the Incarnation and the Visitation, the Church then anticipates on Ember Saturday the Gospel of the followed day, the Fourth Sunday of Advent. In the three Ember Day Gospels together, therefore, God becomes Incarnate, goes to the last of His prophets, and sends him forth “to prepare His way.”

The “Missa Aurea – Golden Mass”, as it was often called, no longer enjoys the prominence which it once held; even Dom Guéranger, the founder of the original Liturgical Movement, does not include the text of the Mass in his “Liturgical Year” because it was so rarely celebrated in his time. The Breviary and Missal of St. Pius V permitted more or less any feast to impede it, but in the Middle Ages, it was very often the custom to transfer feasts away from it. This custom was partially restored (for a very brief time) by the rubrical reform of 1960.

In the traditional Roman Missal, all four sets of Ember Days have the same stations appointed at major Roman churches. On Wednesday, the station is at Saint Mary Major, on Friday at the church of the Twelve Apostles, and on Saturday at St. Peter’s Basilica. This last was originally the traditional day for ordinations in the church of Rome; the seven readings (five prophecies, Epistle and Gospel) correspond to the seven orders. The medieval liturgical writer Rupert of Tuy (1075-1129) offers this beautiful commentary on the choice of Mary Major for this day.

“On the first day of the (Ember) fast, the station is fittingly appointed at Mary Major; for it is clear that the whole office of that day, properly belongs to that temple of the Lord… in which God entire, dwelling for nine month, deigned to become man. Indeed, from the Gospel is recited the Annunciation or Incarnation of the Lord, that was proclaimed beforehand by the trumpets of the prophets, brought to be present by the Angel, received by the faith of the blessed Virgin, completed and brought forth by Her incorrupt womb.”

Rupert also notes how all of the texts of the Mass are chosen in reference to the Gospel. The Introit is the famous text Rorate caeli, from the forty-fifth chapter of Isaiah, sung in several different places in the liturgy of Advent. These words prophesy the coming of the Angel Gabriel to Mary, the belief of the Virgin, and Her reception of the Word Incarnate. The two Epistles (Isaiah 2, 2-5 and 7, 10-15), chosen for their traditional association with the Virgin Mary, “doubly refresh the souls of those who are fasting.”

In non-Roman Western rites, it was the custom to celebrate the feast of the Annunciation shortly before Christmas; the Ambrosian liturgy keeps the last Sunday of Advent as the “feast of the Incarnation”, while the Mozarabs fix the Annunciation to December 18th. In a similar vein, some churches in the Middle Ages used white vestments for the Ember Wednesday Mass instead of violet, with the deacon and subdeacon in dalmatic and tunicle, the vestments of joy, rather than the penitential folded chasubles. This manner of treating the day almost as a second feast of the Annunciation was observed at Paris, for example, well-known for its strong devotion to Our Lady; it was retained in the neo-Gallican revision of the Parisian liturgy, and continued in use until Paris adopted the Roman liturgy in 1873.

In many places, it was also the custom to sing the Gospel with special solemnity on this day. Mario Righetti notes in his Storia Liturgica that at Bayeux, the Gospel was sung by a priest (rather than a deacon) wearing a white cope, holding a palm branch in his hand. It was also a common custom to ring the Angelus bell during the singing of the Gospel.

The Annunciation, the central panel of the Mérode Altarpiece, by Robert Campin, ca 1425

In the use of Sarum, the reading of the Gospel and Homily at Matins was the subject of a particularly beautiful ritual. “The deacon proceeds with the subdeacon, (both) dressed in white,…bearing a palm from the Holy Land in his hand, with the thurifers and torch-bearers…and he incenses the altar. And so he proceeds through the middle of the Choir to the pulpit, to proclaim the Exposition of the Gospel, …with the torch-bearers standing to either side of (him), …and he holds the palm in his hand while he reads the lesson.” The Sarum Rite further underlines the festive quality of the day by omitting most of the penitential features of the Divine Office at Lauds, such as the ferial prayers and the prostrations. Some art historians believe that the dress of the Angel Gabriel as represented in paintings of the Annunciation reflects the local liturgical use observed in the celebration of the “Missa aurea.”

The Gospel of the Annunciation is not, of course, entirely absent from the traditional texts of Advent before the Mass of Ember Wednesday. It is read as the Matins lessons of the Little Office of Our Lady throughout the season, and it provides the text of many of the antiphons and responsories from the very first day of Advent. When the Church began to celebrate the daily Office and Mass of the Virgin, a special version of both was used in many places for the Advent season, and most of the texts for the Mass of the Blessed Virgin in Advent are borrowed from the “Missa aurea.” Several places retain the custom of celebrating this “Rorate” Mass early in the morning, and by candlelight if possible. King Sigmund the First of Poland loved the Rorate Mass so much that in the year 1540, he built a special Lady Chapel within the Cathedral of Krakow, in which it would be celebrated every day, regardless of the season. (pictured right, exterior view) The choristers of this chapel were called “Rorantists,” and were also responsible for singing the Gloria in excelsis at the principal Mass of the main choir. A similar custom prevails to this day at the Holy House of Loreto, in which all Masses, public and private are the votive Mass of the Annunciation.

Did St Pius V Mandate That All Masses Be Celebrated in the Morning?

The short answer is, No, he did not.

A friend recently sent me a question about an old article of mine (the best way to flatter an author’s vanity!), titled “Vespers in the Morning?”, in which among other things, I explained the very ancient custom by which Mass was traditionally celebrated after either Terce, Sext or None, according to the quality of the liturgical day: after Terce on Sundays and greater feasts, after Sext on ferias and lesser feasts, and after None on vigils and fast days.

Folio 1v of the Gellone Sacramentary, ca 780 AD., with the rubric before the Mass of Christmas Eve, “On the vigil of the birth of the Lord, at the ninth hour, (station) at St Mary (Major.)” In the ancient liturgical books of the Roman Rite, the year begins with Christmas Eve, and ends with Advent. (Bibliothèque nationale de France. Département des Manuscrits. Latin 12048)

I should add first that this is now a strictly historical question, since this discipline no longer obtains in any form in the Roman Rite. Furthermore, what is said here applies to conventual and solemn Masses, but not to private Masses. Regarding the latter, the rubric in the Roman Missal “on the hour of celebrating Mass” stated they had to be celebrated after the recitation of Matins and Lauds, anytime from one hour before dawn until noon. (Noon was the latest permitted starting time, so ending by about 1 p.m. at the latest.)

My friend’s question was, Why did St Pius V impose noon as the latest starting time for the Easter Vigil? to which I replied that I was not aware that he had made any such imposition. He then directed me to some articles which made this claim, citing the bull Sanctissimus, issued on March 29, 1566. (Cherubini, Magnum Bullarium Romanum, vol. 2, p. 178; Lyon, 1682.) But it is a misinterpretation to assert that this bull mandates that all Masses be celebrated before noon. It does not. What it does is revoke a privilege by which some Masses were celebrated in the evening, which is not the same thing.

It must be borne in mind that curial documents of all sorts, not just bulls, were written by canon lawyers trained to be very precise in their language, and they must therefore be read very precisely. If something is not mentioned by a document, then that document is not relevant to it. One cannot treat the admission as accidental, or extrapolate from the text beyond the strict bounds of its letter to apply it to something to which it does not expressly refer.

Portrait of St Pius V, by the Venetian painter Iacopo Negretti, generally known Palma il Giovane (1548/50-1628).

That being said, Sanctissimus begins by explaining that some rectors and superiors of various kinds of churches have obtained permissions to celebrate the midnight and dawn Masses of Christmas, the Mass of Easter morning, “and perhaps (the Masses) of other festivities… late (de sero), perhaps also around sunset of the vigils of these same feasts.”

Note that the only Masses which are specifically mentioned here are those of feasts, specifically, those of Christmas and Easter, “perhaps” some others. In the first place, therefore, this bull is relevant only to the hour at which feasts are celebrated. It has nothing to do with those of ferias, vigils and fast days, including Holy Saturday, the occasion for my friend’s question.

Secondly, the bull declares that all such permissions are permanently revoked, and must no longer be used as a pretext to celebrate Masses “vespertino tempore – in the evening.” But the sixth hour, after which the Masses of lesser feasts and ferias are celebrated, is not in the evening; it is at noon. Likewise, the ninth hour, after which the Masses of vigils and fast days are celebrated, is also not in the evening; it is in the mid-afternoon. So even if the restriction were applied to such Masses other than those of major feasts, it would not prohibit their celebration after noon or around 3 p.m.

Third, that is the end of what the bull orders; the rest is a standard legal “anything to the contrary notwithstanding” formula, and the decree for promulgation. The bull makes no mention of a positive mandate to say all Masses in the morning hours, contrary to the letter of the pertinent rubric in the Missal itself (which, by the way, was promulgated after the bull, by the very same authority.) Therefore, as I stated in the article linked above, a religious community of any sort was always free to observe the ancient discipline on Holy Saturday and other fast days, that is, to say None, Mass and Vespers at the appropriate time in the afternoon.

The papal chancery in Rome, in an engraving by the Italian artist Giuseppe Vasi (1710-82); in St Pius V’s time, official documents of the Holy See were often formally promulgated by affixing a copy of them to the doors of this and various other buildings.

In passing, I note that less than five months later, in the bull Providentia, St Pius V also permanently (“perpetuo”) revoked all faculties for clerics of the Roman Rite to celebrate the Byzantine Rite, and vice versa, using very similar language. (A good portion of this bull is copied word-for-word from Sanctissimus.) It would obviously be rash to claim on the basis of this one document that no such faculties were or could ever be granted again. One should always be very careful and precise in treating all such documents.

The Orientation of Prayer

Luisella Scrosati is one of the finest Catholic journalists in Italy at this time. She often writes articles of considerable interest on liturgical topics. With the permission of La Nuova Bussola Quotidiana, we offer NLM readers the following translation of her article series on the topic of spiritual, architectural, and liturgical orientation, beginning today with “L’orientamento della preghiera”, originally published in Italian on November 9 of this year.

No religious man, whether pagan, Jewish, or Christian, neglected the posture of the body in prayer, and especially in the presentation of offerings to the deity. In particular, three aspects appear especially well documented in writings and visual representations: standing posture, raised and open hands, and eyes turned toward the sky—characteristics that were common to both the faithful who presented offerings and prayers and the priest who sacrificed them to the deity.

These bodily attitudes express a clear aspect: prayer and the offering of sacrifices are performed in the presence of God; the body is called to present itself before the deity, adopting appropriate postures, while orienting the deep intention of the heart. This participation of the body in prayer is a typically and exquisitely human characteristic: when we address a person with respect, we also turn physically towards them, we seek their gaze with our eyes, we assume a suitable posture.

But there is another significant aspect that marks the orientation of prayer. In pagan cults, images of idols played the role of focus of orientation. The person praying turned toward the image and stretched out their hands in that direction. The same was true for sacrifice: the offerer and the priest were oriented toward the image.

This led to an interesting fact: the altar had a direction, that is, it had a front and a back, so that the priest offering the sacrifice stood in front of it, oriented toward the image of the deity. Stefan Heid (Altar and Church, pp. 236-237) points out that, according to the Roman architect Marcus Vitruvius Pollio, the altar had to be located outdoors on the western side of the temple, facing east, so that the priest could offer the sacrifice with his gaze turned towards the sky, in an easterly direction, in front of the image of the idol. Clement of Alexandria also confirms this orientation: “This is why even the most ancient temples faced west, so that those who stood in front of the statues of the gods would be led to turn towards the east” (Stromata, VII, 43, 7).

In Judaism, too, orientation was fundamental. The prohibition against making images of Yahweh prevented there being statues and representations similar to those of the pagans, but this prohibition did not cancel out the importance of the correct orientation of prayer and sacrifice. Referring to the sacrificial offering, God commands Moses: “This is the perpetual burnt offering for your generations, at the entrance of the tent of meeting, in the presence of the Lord, where I will meet with you to speak with you” (Ex. 29, 42). The sacrifice of animals took place on the bronze altar, inside the sacred enclosure, but outside the Holy Place. The sacrifice had to be offered by the priests “in the presence of the Lord,” that is, facing the Holy of Holies. The sacrifice of incense also had to be offered “before the Lord”: “He shall burn it at sunset, when Aaron fills the lamps: a perpetual incense before the Lord for your generations” (Ex. 30, 8). Every sacrifice offered by the king and the people was offered “before the Lord” (cf. 1 Kings 8, 62).

This expression is found in many passages of the Old Testament to indicate not so much an inner attitude as a physical orientation, closely linked to the orientation of the altars. No Levite would ever have offered a sacrifice standing between the Holy of Holies and the altar, and no Jew would ever have prayed with his back to the Temple—something expressly condemned by the Lord through the prophet Ezekiel (cf. Ezek 8, 16).

For Christians, too, the exercise of the priesthood is synonymous with standing in the presence of God, standing before God, standing before his face, presenting oneself before the eyes of the divine Majesty. In conspectu Dei stare, coram oculis Dei, astare coram te, adstantes ante tuam Maiestatem, are expressions that are found in abundance in ancient liturgical texts and in those of the Fathers. Expressions that, once again, are not intended to express mere inner recollection, but a concrete bodily orientation: the priest stands before God because he stands at the front of the altar (ante altare stans), facing the image of Christ and the East—a cardinal point also present in pagan cults, which takes on a new meaning for Christians.

The priest who sacrifices and the faithful who offer are “on the same side,” in front of the altar, and they stand before God, looking at Him, represented in an image, as seen in numerous mosaics and apse frescoes; or simply towards the East, the cardinal point considered most noble by nature, an expression in creation of the Sun of righteousness (Mal 4, 2), the rising Sun (Luke 1, 78), Jesus Christ our Lord.

There are countless texts of the Fathers that indicate this custom of praying facing the East, that is, oriented, as coming directly from the Apostles. St. John Damascene, after explaining the reasons for this orientation, writes that “this tradition of the Apostles is not written; in fact, they have handed down to us many things that are not written” (The Orthodox Faith, IV, 12). St. Basil the Great gives as an obvious and established fact that prayer rises by turning to the East, although few now remember the reason: “This is why we all look to the East when we pray; but few know that we are searching for our original homeland, the paradise that God planted in Eden, in the East” (The Holy Spirit, XXVII, 66, 60).

In prayer and sacrifice, Christians and priests therefore face the East, often looking at an image of Christ. The altar is also oriented in this direction. It is important, in this regard, to clear up a misunderstanding: the oriented altar has often been confused with the “wall” altar, i.e., the altar that has only three sides free and is set in a more complex structure; the altar free on all four sides has been considered a sign of free orientation, imagining that the priest could stand facing the faithful. However, this is not the case: the altar was always oriented, i.e., it had a front and a back, and the priest stood at the front [i.e., the western side, facing east], even when the altar was free on all four sides.

This theme of the orientation of prayer introduces us to another important question, that of the orientation of sacred buildings. We will discuss this in the next installment.

A Legend of Pope St Sergius I

On this day in the year 687, St Sergius I was elected to the papacy; he would reign for nearly 14 years. He is a prominent figure in the history of the liturgy, since he added the last of the fixed chants to become part of the Roman Ordo Missae, the Agnus Dei. I have described elsewhere how this was part of the Roman church’s response to the so-called Quinisext Council, which was called by the Byzantine emperor Justinian II, and which pretended to legislate for the whole Church, including the Western patriarchate. One of its canons had forbidden any representation of the Lord as an animal, and therefore Pope Sergius placed images of the Lamb of God in various Roman churches, and added the invocation of Him to be said during the fraction of the Mass.

Sergius’ other major contribution to the liturgy was the adoption from the Byzantine Rite of the first four feasts of the Virgin Mary: that of Her Birth on September 8th, the Annunciation on March 25th, the Purification on February 2nd, and the Assumption on August 15th. He died on the first of these, Sept. 8, in the year 701.

Towards the end of his reign, St Lambert, the bishop of Maastricht (now in the Netherlands), was assassinated; the precise circumstances of the murder have been the subject of a great deal of scholarly debate. Sergius therefore figures in a medieval legend of how Lambert’s successor, St Hubert, was chosen. The story goes that Hubert was on pilgrimage to Rome when the murder took place; that same night, an angel appeared to the Pope in a dream to tell him what had happened, giving him Lambert’s miter and crook to pass on to Hubert, and thus designating him as the successor to his see. On waking, Sergius found these items in his bedroom, and thus knew the dream to be true; Hubert was duly consecrated and sent back to Maastricht as its new bishop. He would later transfer both the body of St Lambert and his see to Liège; the new cathedral, dedicated to the Virgin Mary and the new martyr, was essentially the foundation of that city.

In the late 1430s, the painter Rogier van der Weyden (ca. 1400 – 1464) depicted this legend on a wing of an altarpiece of St Hubert for the church of St Gudule in Brussels. Following the convention of the times, the Pope is shown sleeping in his best cope and miter. It is particularly interesting to see here how a northern European artist represents some of the monuments of the Eternal City which he has never seen in person. The Castel Sant’Angelo on the right is shown as a perfectly cylindrical structure, while the old St Peter’s basilica is proportionally much taller than it really was, in the manner of a northern Gothic church. The obelisk which now stands in the middle of the Piazza San Pietro is shown next to the church, as it was at the time, but is much slimmer than it is in reality. (Click to enlarge. A darker version of the image can be seen in extreme close-up on the website of the Getty Museum, which owns the panel.)

A Catechesis on and Examination of the Use and Construction of Altar Rails in the Novus Ordo Missae

The following article is written by a diocesan priest. The mounting attack on altar rails throughout the Church, renewing the iconoclasm of the 1970s, is a cause of deep concern to every serious Catholic. For this reason it behooves us to understand that even according to the rules that govern the Novus Ordo, there is absolutely no basis for a bishop to oppose the use or the construction of altar rails in churches. – Dr. Kwasniewski

There are many elements in our Catholic faith that can easily be thought of as superfluous due to their lack of effecting certain actions ­– which does not make them invalid or illicit. However, this minimalistic approach is the opposite of what we are as Catholics. We do not love certain elements because we think they make us holier in and of themselves. Rather, we love them because they express to us the reality of Him who is holy. In loving these elements, we do not subject ourselves to a form of separation from sincere affection. On the contrary, our innermost beings are drawn into a deep charity that cannot be described. In other words, we encounter the living God. Devotion is not fanaticism. Devotion is a form of expressing the soul’s inner longing for union with the Divine. The spiritual becoming tangible.

This document has three set purposes. The first is to inform the reader about the historical, theological, and liturgical uses regarding the altar rails. The second is to instill in the reader a richer understanding of the nature of this tradition, and to deepen his love for such things. The third is to examine the legality of liturgical furnishings that belong to this category, the category of the “superfluous” or “not necessary”, and answer the question of whether they may be used, and whether they may be banned. By the end of this document, the reader will understand that altar rails have a basis in the historical and theological dimensions of the Mass, and may be utilized and even promoted, in light of recent legislation.

1. Historical Basis

Our best early resources regarding details in the liturgy come from the fourth century. It was after the Edict of Milan in 313 and the Edict of Thessalonica in 380 that the early Christian witnesses address the liturgy that had emerged into the public eye. Along with this, we still have much evidence of the architecture of the early Christian Church.

A universal constant from this period through the present day was a barrier between the sanctuary and the people. The theological significance of this barrier is to distinguish the Holy of Holies from the inner court, as was done in the tabernacle, and later, the Temple. Our forefathers saw the Mass as the re-presentation of Calvary, and Calvary as the fulfillment of Temple worship. Hence, elements of vesture and architecture, such as the barrier, carried over from our Jewish forbears.

In the East, this took the form of the iconostasis, a barrier at the entrance of the sanctuary. Only clerics and acolytes are permitted to pass through the iconostasis. The priest emerges at Communion to give communion to the faithful there present.

In the West, this initially took the form of a sectioned-off wall, known as a balustrade, which would veil the actions in the sanctuary from the congregation. As time progressed, this barrier would eventually become the rood screen, which was far more common in the West. This screen, while still separating the nave from the sanctuary, served as a mystical meeting point between God’s dwelling place, the new Sancta Sanctorum, and the outer holy place, where God’s elect dwelt. The faithful approached and received the Body of Christ at the roodscreen.

In the medieval era, as Eucharistic theology developed, so did Eucharistic piety. Throughout the West, essentially from the time of the Cluniac Reforms and through the thirteenth century, canon law moved to only allowing the priest, with consecrated hands, to handle the Sacred Species, except by indult. At the same time, already by the nineth century, a combination of popular piety and ecclesiastical legislation brought about the standardization of reception of Holy Communion kneeling on the tongue.

The more modern architecture of the altar rail come into vogue during the Counter-Reformation. To combat Protestant accusations of mystification, artisans made the sanctuary more visible by putting up a rail rather than a rood screen. This became the standard in Christendom for the next 400 years. The rail stood as a culmination of centuries of theological and liturgical development. It still separated the sanctuary from the nave, and allowed a simple and traditional method of distribution of Holy Communion, while also fostering Eucharistic piety and active participation, since the faithful in said churches were able more clearly to observe the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.

Figure 1: The Ballustrade of S. Maria in Cosmedin, Rome
(source: Liturgical Arts Journal)

Figure 2: The layout of the Temple
(source: Wikimedia Commons)

2. The GIRM and Altar Rails

The General Instruction of the Roman Missal, which governs all things pertaining to the Novus Ordo Mass, explicitly allows for the erection of the altar rail. Following the perennial tradition of the Church, paragraph 295 states that the sanctuary “should be marked off from the body of the church either by its being somewhat elevated or by a particular structure and ornamentation.” In practice, this “or” is inclusive, and sanctuaries are often constructed with a fixed elevation and some structure and ornamentation.

Reading this in light of the tradition, we can only interpret this “structure” as the altar rail. In ecclesial legislation, grants are to be applied broadly in the law, and lower authorities than the Universal Law cannot restrict a grant (Can. 36 §1.). Since it is permitted in the General Instruction, it cannot be forbidden that priests choose to mark their sanctuaries by the use of the rail.

The GIRM also specifies that in the arrangement of the Church there should be easy access when it comes to the reception of Holy Communion. It instructs us as follows: “moreover, benches or seating should be so arranged, especially in newly built churches, that the faithful can easily take up the bodily postures required for the different parts of the celebration and can have easy access for the reception of Holy Communion” (GIRM #311).

Although there is no explicit mention on the usage of the rails themselves in these latter norms, the altar rail is still a traditional means by which these norms may be fulfilled. They provide a literal “easy access” to the Sacrament, whether one is standing or kneeling to receive Communion.

Finally, in practical terms, distribution of Holy Communion via this “easy access” at altar rails only speeds up the distribution of Communion. When the congregation lines up at the rails, the distributor may go from person to person without much loss of time in between people. With this in mind, the more common form of distribution seems to provide less “easy access” for the faithful to receive Communion. Many, especially old people, struggle to very quickly kneel to receive without delaying the rest of the line. It is within their right to receive in this manner. Yet, “easy access” is oftentimes not given at a standard parish for the faithful to receive in this way.

In sum, altar rails fulfills the requirements of the GIRM in a traditional and arguably fuller way that is not in contradiction to the law of the Church. It is an erroneous opinion that they are harmful, or even in contradiction to the law of the Church.

3. Altar Rails in Light of Redemptionis Sacramentum

At this point, the rubrics have not given any explicit statement as to whether the altar rails may be utilized. They have also not specified whether reception at the altar rail is something altogether prohibited, or whether it can be prohibited by the bishop.

This brings us to Redemptionis Sacramentum, written by Cardinal Arinze of the CDW (now known as the DDW) in 2004, during the reign of St John Paul II, written in the wake of the 2003 encyclical titled Ecclesia de Eucharistia, which called for instruction on liturgical norms.

In paragraph 4 of RS, the CDW promptly states one of the greatest reasons for issuing said instruction:

In this regard it is not possible to be silent about… abuses, even quite grave ones, against the nature of the Liturgy and the Sacraments as well as the tradition and the authority of the Church, which in our day not infrequently plague liturgical celebrations in one ecclesial environment or another. In some places the perpetration of liturgical abuses has become almost habitual, a fact which obviously cannot be allowed and must cease” (RS, 4).

The point in the promulgation of this document, as stated above is to root out liturgical abuses from the preceding decades. It further seeks to restore liturgical celebrations to the “tradition and authority” of the Church, as opposed to the innovations which had been introduced since the promulgation of the New Mass in 1969, often by priest celebrants.

Within the same instruction the CDW includes a section that is directed towards bishops. This section, and the following, are crucial, because the whole document is focused on proper liturgical norms being implemented, keeping in mind the Church’s orthopraxical tradition. In paragraph 19, the CDW states, “The diocesan bishop, the first steward of the mysteries of God in the particular Church entrusted to him, is the moderator, promoter and guardian of her whole liturgical life” (RS, 19). The bishop is the protector of the diocese’s liturgical life.

Moving forward, the CDW states:

It pertains to the diocesan bishop, then, ‘within the limits of his competence, to set forth liturgical norms in his diocese, by which all are bound.’ Still, the bishop must take care not to allow the removal of that liberty foreseen by the norms of the liturgical books so that the celebration may be adapted in an intelligent manner to the Church building, or to the group of the faithful who are present, or to particular pastoral circumstances in such a way that the universal sacred rite is truly accommodated to human understanding. The bishop governs the particular Church entrusted to him, and it is his task to regulate, to direct, to encourage, and sometimes also to reprove; this is a sacred task that he has received through episcopal ordination, which he fulfills in order to build up his flock in truth and holiness (RS, 21-22).

It is within the rights of the bishop to create liturgical norms for his diocese. These liturgical norms are for the accomplishment of the same task laid out in Redemptionis Sacramentum itself, that is, to stop liturgical abuses and to educate. Many abuses occur out of “ignorance, in that they involve a rejection of those elements whose deeper meaning is not understood and whose antiquity is not recognized” (RS, 9).

Yet, the above quotation puts a limit on the bishop’s authority, for “the bishop must take care not to allow the removal of that liberty foreseen by the norms of the liturgical books so that the celebration may be adapted in an intelligent manner to the Church building, or to the group of the faithful who are present, or to particular pastoral circumstances.” Thus, the bishop cannot encroach in his liturgical norms upon certain liberties given to the laity and priests alike.

Obviously, this could be taken in an anarchical way that completely contradicts the spirit of the document, by which one claims that everything is an “adaptation… to a particular pastoral” circumstance. In terms, then, of authentic interpretation, what is this liberty “foreseen by the norms of the liturgical books”?

On the most fundamental level, it is that which is printed within the Missal and the GIRM that gives a priest or a member of the lay faithful an option. For example, the priest is given the option to announce the Sign of Peace (Missale Romanum, 128). The lay faithful are given the option to receive Communion kneeling or standing; on the hand (unless there is “a risk of profanation”) or on the tongue (RS, 90). Hence, “it is not licit to deny Holy Communion to any of Christ’s faithful solely on the grounds… that the person wishes to receive the Eucharist kneeling or standing” (RS, 91). These options, which are printed in the rubrics, are liberties that the bishop cannot remove.

But the document does not stop here. It also allows “that the celebration may be adapted in an intelligent manner to the Church building, or to the group of the faithful who are present, or to particular pastoral circumstances in such a way that the universal sacred rite is truly accommodated to human understanding.” Here, we must understand these rubrics within the mindset of its legislator. Again, the point in this clause is not to allow anarchy within the liturgy—far from it! Rather, the mind of the legislator points solely to the traditional practices within the liturgy. This is where altar rails come back into the discussion.

Many church buildings, especially those which have been built in a traditional manner, have retained, restored, or constructed, an altar rail. Is this outside of the purview of the Novus Ordo or Redemptionis Sacramentum? Absolutely not. RS was written for the restoration of tradition within the Sacred Liturgy. The CDW notes, quite explicitly that “the structures and forms of the sacred celebrations according to each of the Rites of both East and West are in harmony with the practice of the universal Church also as regards practices received universally from apostolic and unbroken tradition, which it is the Church’s task to transmit faithfully and carefully to future generations” (RS, 9).

Notably, the CDW is not referring to the perennial Tradition, in terms of doctrine, but tradition, in terms of liturgical customs. RS mentions “tradition” 23 times throughout the whole document. The abuses addressed in RS are against, “against the nature of the Liturgy and the Sacraments as well as the tradition and the authority of the Church” (RS, 4).

With this in mind, reception of Holy Communion at the altar rail, even in the Novus Ordo, is something hardly spoken of in the rubrics, and thus afforded liberty. It is an appropriate adaptation to the liturgy, with the interior of the church in mind. It is an appropriate adaptation to the lay faithful who desire to receive Communion at the rail. Thus, it is not within the purview of the bishop to ban this or any other traditional practice, not explicitly forbidden in the rubrics. The Church’s judgment in these matters has always been on the side of upholding the tradition. The use of the altar rail is a laudable expression of that tradition.

Conclusion

Considering the history, theology, and instructions regarding altar rails, we can now clearly state that these liturgical furnishings are not only permitted, but also a laudatory and traditional enhancement to the sanctuary. They are a gate to the “altar of God, to God my exceeding joy” (Ps. 42). Truly, from the author’s experience, the faithful view the altar rail as an altar for their own sacrifice of their lives, and a place where heaven and Earth meet. In fine, the view, not only of the faithful and clergy, but more importantly of Holy Mother Church, is reiterated by Pope Benedict XVI, “What earlier generations held as sacred, remains sacred and great for us too, and it cannot be all of a sudden entirely forbidden or even considered harmful.”

Gaudete Sunday 2025

Behold, the Lord shall appear upon a white cloud, * and with Him thousands of the Saints; and He shall have written upon His garment and on His thigh, ‘King of kings, and Lord of lords.’ ℣. He shall appear at the end, and not lie; if He tarry, wait for Him, because He will surely come. And with Him... (The first responsory at Matins of Gaudete Sunday.) 

An illustration of the 19th chapter of the Apocalypse, from which the text of this responsory is drawn, ca. 1255-60, by an unknown English artist. (Ms. Ludwig III 1 (83.MC.72), fol. 40; public domain image from the website of the Getty Museum.)

℟. Ecce apparébit Dóminus super nubem cándidam, * Et cum eo Sanctórum millia: et habébit in vestimento, et in fémore suo scriptum: Rex regum, et Dóminus dominantium. ℣. Apparébit in finem, et non mentiétur; si moram fécerit, exspecta eum, quia veniens veniet. Et cum eo...

From the commentary on the Apocalypse by St Bede the Venerable (book 3): “And He hath upon His garment and on his thigh written, King of kings and Lord of lords.” This is the name that none of the proud knows, but it is inscribed upon the Church, not with ink, but with the spirit of the living God. (2 Cor. 3, 3) For by the thigh is signified the descent of one’s offspring; whence also Abraham, lest his descent be mixed with strangers, adduced his thigh as a testimony between himself and his servant. (Gen. 24, 2.) Of this the Apostle writes as one raising up a descent to his deceased brother (Deut. 25, 5), “For in Christ Jesus I have begotten you through the Gospel.” This can also be understood to mean that the Church by serving rules in Christ, and lords over lords. The same name is also written upon the garment, because in the mystery of His nativity, and in the work of His passion, His majesty and kingdom are opened to us. (This last sentence refers to the very ancient interpretation of Isaiah 63, 1-7, that the “garment” of Christ is the human body which He took on in the Incarnation, and in which He was born, died and rose.) 

The Cathedral of St Stephen and the Assumption in Pavia, Italy.

Earlier this week, I posted Nicola’s photographs of the tomb of St Syrus, the first bishop of Pavia, a small town in northern Italy, located about 22 south of Milan; another one of the city’s churches, San Pietro in Ciel d’Oro, houses the relics of St Augustine and St Severinus, better known as the philosopher Boethius. A very late tradition has it that Syrus was the boy who offered to Our Lord the loaves and fishes which He multiplied, as recounted in the Gospel of St John, 6, 1-15. His tomb is located within the cathedral of Pavia, which is dedicated jointly to St Stephen the First-martyr and to the Assumption. This joint dedication arises from the fact that like Milan, Pavia originally had two separate cathedrals with these two separate titles, the larger of which, St Stephen, was used in the summer, and the smaller, St Mary, in the winter. In Milan, however, the two cathedral were completely separated from each other, and faced each other across a large open space, with a baptistery between them, whereas at Pavia, they stood next to each other, and were not wholly separated from each other internally.  

The current single building results from a project to rebuild them as a single structure which began in the late 15th century, and is still technically not completed; the walls are solid, and the building functions, but the marble revetements that should have covered the exposed brickwork seen here has never been done. Construction was repeatedly halted not only because of the expense involved in procuring marble from a distance, since there is little to be had in the area, but also because of significant structural problems. The cupola, such as it stands, was not finished until 1882-85, the façade, still without revetement, in 1895-98, and the last phase, the two arms of the transept, in 1930-33.

The back of the apse and the belltower.

Even in its incomplete state, the building is impressively in its size. At nearly 320 feet externally (302 internally), the dome is the fourth highest in Italy, after those of St Peter’s basilica, the Pantheon, and the duomo of Florence.

The choir area behind the altar was the first part of the new cathedral to be completed, and for a long time, the only really usable part of it, to the point where serious thought was given to abandoning the project and returning to the use of the still-standing part of the old building.

Continue Reading this Article. . .

The Feast of St Lucy

Truly is is fitting and just, right and profitable to salvation, that we should give Thee thanks always and everywhere, o Lord, Holy Father, almighty and eternal God; Who by Thy grace gave to the Blessed Lucy in the contest of her martyrdom the strength of unconquerable faith, by which she defied and steadfastly overcame the pains of fire and sword, and happily triumphed over the savagery of the tyrant Paschasius. O God, how wondrous and incomprehensible is Thy might! Who made her, though still but a girl, of the fragile sex, victorious in her tortures, and when she had entered the door of the heavenly kingdom, crowned her with a double crown for the double victory of her virginity and martyrdom. Through Christ our Lord. Through whom the Angels praise, the Archangels venerate, the Thrones, Dominations, Virtues, Principalities, Powers adore Thy majesty, whom also the Cherubim and Seraphim, praise with voices united; among whom we beseech that Thou also command our voices to be admitted, saying with humble confession. Holy... (The Ambrosian Preface for the feast of St Lucy.)

St Lucy before the Prefect Paschasius, by Lorenzo Lotto, 1532

Vere quia dignum et justum est ... Qui Beátae Luciae, in sui agóne martyrii, inexpugnábilis fidei fortitúdinem tua gratia praestitisti: per quam contemptas incendii, et gladii poenas constanter súperans, de Paschasii tyranni saevitia felíciter triumphavit. O mira, et incomprehensíbilis tua, Domine, potentia! qui ipsam adhuc juvénculam, in sexu frágili, victrícem in suppliciis reddidisti: et ingressam regni caelestis jánuam, pro gémina virginitátis et martyrii victoria, dúplici lauréola coronasti. Per Christum Dóminum nostrum. Per quem...

Several of the words and expressions in this Preface (“contest”, “unconquerable”, “steadfastly overcame”, etc.) come from a very ancient tradition by which the Christians adopted the language of gladiatorial combats to the trials and sufferings of their martyrs. In the case of St Lucy, they also refer to a specific episode of her legend: when she had spoken of the virtue of chastity to Paschasius, the prefect of her native city of Syracuse, he ordered her to be dragged off to a brothel. However, the men charged with bringing her there found it absolutely impossible to move her, an episode which is twice commemorated in the proper texts of her Office. The antiphon of the Benedictus reads “Thou art an immovable column, o Lucy, bride of Christ: for all the people await thee, that Thou may receive the crown of life, alleluja.” That of the Magnificat at Second Vespers reads “With such great weight did the Holy Spirit fix her fast that the Virgin of Christ remained unmovable.” Inspired by these texts, Lotto makes her the brightest figure in the painting, and shows her standing perfectly upright, while the figures around her are bent in one direction or another in the struggle to move her.

In the panel below, the work of an anonymous Flemish painter from Bruges known as the Master of the St Lucy Legend (active ca. 1480-1510), the Saint is shown on the left with her mother, whom she had taken to the shrine of St Agatha to heal her from an issue of blood. In the center, she is tried before Paschasius; on the right, she remains completely unmovable, even when oxen are tied to her in an attempt to drag her away. (The work has also been attributed to a painter from Bruges called François vanden Pitte, but this attribution does not seem to be accepted universally. It is still displayed there in the church of St James.)

Liturgical and Spiritual Resources on New Online Platform

Readers may have noticed that I’ve been absent from NLM the past few months. That's only temporary. The explanation is simple enough: I’ve been totally absorbed, along with about a dozen other people, in the creation of Pelican+, a comprehensive traditional Catholic digital platform that combines a writers’ forum (e.g., it’s the new home of Tradition & Sanity where I publish most of my online writing), a podcast network, ebook, audiobook, and music libraries, a vault of classic prayers, family-friendly programs, documentaries, and more. All designed to be orthodox and beautiful, without any advertising, secular agendas, or hidden algorithms driving it.

Of particular interests to NLM readers, Pelican+ offers users an array of liturgical and spiritual resources to explore. I’ll share some screen shots below.

The Prayer App is the section of most obvious relevance (click on any image to enlarge — bearing in mind that on the Pelican+ app itself, all of these pages would be dynamic, allowing you to click on any of the buttons):

The categories are Prayers to Our Lord (the options go further down, but I'm limited in how much I can show in one picture):

Eucharistic prayers:

Prayers for Mass:

Prayers to Our Lady (there are a lot of these, including many versions of the Rosary):

Continue Reading this Article. . .

St. Francis of Assisi’s Canticle of the Sun: Brother Sun

Lost in Translation #151

After devoting two stanzas in his Canticle of the Sun to God and man (which we have traced in our series of article  here and here), Francis devotes the rest of his composition to God and material creation. He moves more or less altitudinally, from the highest thing in the physical universe on down. For him, that means starting with the sun:

Laudato sie, mi Signore cum tucte le Tue creature,

spetialmente messor lo frate Sole,

lo qual è iorno, et allumini noi per lui.

Et ellu è bellu e radiante cum grande splendore:

de Te, Altissimo, porta significatione.

Which I translate as:

Be praised, my Lord, through all Your creatures,

especially Sir Brother Sun,

who is the day, and who enlightens us through him.

And he is beautiful and radiant with great splendor!

He brings meaning about You, O Most High.

The stanza initiates a pattern that is common throughout the Canticle: it commands God to be praised by one of his creatures, whom Francis identifies as a brother or sister. This stanza, however, is unique in two ways. First, this is the only time that Francis addresses a creature with a title of respect: he calls the sun not simply a brother but “Sir Brother.” Such deference points to the prominence of the sun in the order of creation. The sun enlightens us, and it is beautiful and radiant with great splendor.

Second, this is the only time that Francis says that a creature discloses something about God. The verse de Te, Altissimo, porta significatione is difficult to translate, but it indicates that the sun carries within itself some meaningful information about God. Of course, that is true of every creature. As Pope Benedict XVI once said, “All Creation speaks of God and is praise of God.” Francis is not denying that every created things speaks of God; he is singling out the sun for being especially indicative of God.

So what is it that the sun and God have in common, or rather, what does the sun tell us about God? Francis mentions three attributes: the sun enlightens us, it is beautiful, and it radiates.

Regarding enlightenment, in the Prologue to the Gospel according to Saint John, the Son of God is described as “the true light, which enlighteneth every man that cometh into this world” (1, 9), and the same can be said of the other two Persons of the Holy Trinity as well. One can even toy with aligning each Person of the Trinity with some solar quality, as does St. Ambrose in one of his hymns:

O Splendor of the Father’s glory,

Bringing forth light from light,

Light of light and Font of light,

Illuminating the days of days.

And true Sun, flow on,

Glittering with everlasting brilliance;

And the radiance of the Holy Spirit,

Pour fourth onto our senses.

Second, the sun’s beauty reminds us of God’s, not only because both are splendid but because both are in a way the cause of beauty in other things. The sun is the “cause” of beauty in visible things insofar as we could not see their beauty without the sun. And it is much more the case that God is the cause of beauty in all things, for He made all things good, and the good is beautiful.

Third, just as the sun’s radiance is the chief source of warmth on earth, so too is God’s love the chief source of spiritual warmth in our lives. In Revelation 12, 1 (not to mention the image of Our Lady of Guadalupe, whose feast we celebrate today), the Blessed Virgin Mary is depicted as a “woman clothed with the sun, and the moon under her feet, and on her head a crown of twelve stars.” Mary, full of grace, is basking in God’s love, and so was Saint Francis when he wrote this Canticle.

This article appeared as “Sir Brother Sun” in the Messenger of St. Anthony 127:4, international edition (April 2025), p. 37. Many thanks to its editors for allowing its publication here.