Lost in Translation #103
Like the Credo, the Gloria in excelsis has a Trinitarian structure, proceeding from the Father to the Son to the Holy Spirit. The Creed is primarily a doctrinal statement intended to define orthodox belief and reject the infection of heresy, where everything, as we will see later, hangs on the smallest letter of the Greek alphabet; only secondarily does it become a hymn of praise and thanksgiving, put to music and sung with joy (as in the Mass).
The Greater Doxology or Gloria in excelsis, on the other hand, is primarily a rhapsodic love poem; when it affirms dogma, it does so in the spirit of an Old Testament psalm that is unafraid to step on the toes of logic for the sake of the dance.
God the Father and God the Holy Spirit
As we have seen earlier, the portions dedicated to the Father focus mostly on His glory. The Holy Spirit is also given a brief but sufficient acknowledgement of His glory in the final verse. Saint Basil the Great, who is on our mind as we pray this hymn, has a memorable description of the “Spirit-fighters” who deny the glory of the Paraclete. They are, as we might put it today, devotees of fast-fashion who foolishly latch on to the latest fads:
Those who are steadfast prefer the august ways of old to novelty, and those who keep the tradition authentic to the Fathers, whether in the country or the city, use this expression [“with whom”]. They are the ones who have had enough of customs, who disparage the old ways as out of date, and who have taken on the attitude of revolutionaries. They are like worldly persons who esteem constant variation in clothing over common dress. [1]
God the Son
Beginning in the tenth verse of the Greater Doxology, our attention turns to the Person of Jesus Christ. The invocations affirm Him, contra the Arian heretics, as the only-begotten Son of God; as the Lamb of God who, according to St. John the Baptist, takes away the sins of the world; and as the Messiah who, upon His Ascension, sits in glory at the right hand of the Father.
But our rational sensibilities may bristle at the concluding praises of the God-man.
Quoniam tu solus Sanctus.Tu solus Dóminus.Tu solus Altíssimus, Jesu Christe.Cum Sancto Spíritu In gloria Dei Patris. Amen.
Which I and many others translate as:
For Thou alone art the Holy One,Thou alone art the Lord,Thou alone art the Most High, Jesus Christ,with the Holy Spirit, in the glory of God the Father. Amen.
If Jesus Christ alone is the Holy One (Sanctus), and if He alone is the Lord (Dominus), then:
- Why do we also call the Paraclete “Holy” only three verses later?
- Why do we also call the Mother of God and all the Saints holy? And why does the Creed list “holy” as one of the four marks of the true Church?
- Finally, why in the same Creed do we also call the Holy Spirit “Lord”? And why would addressing God the Father as “Lord” not raise an eyebrow?
One way to think about these issues is to appreciate the difference between logic and grammar. The early Church was tasked not only with articulating her core beliefs (a task that often involved the use of logic, that is, clear thinking) but with forging a grammar of assent, a shared manner of thinking and talking about the divine mysteries. In this Christian grammar, it is customary to associate the title “Lord” with Jesus Christ as a way of reinforcing His social reign over us and our fealty to Him.
To say “Jesus is Lord,” then, is not to deny the lordship of the Father and Holy Spirit but to deny the absolute lordship of all the throngs of earthly lords. St. Thomas Aquinas' Prayer before Holy Communion has an interesting choice of words when it refers to the Lamb of God not as the Lord of lords (Dominus dominorum) but as the Dominus dominantium, the Lord over those who lord it over others.
And to say “Jesus is Lord” is to affirm that Jesus is our Lord, that we pledge our loyalty to and take our orders from Him above all others. Significantly, when Judas Iscariot betrayed Jesus in the garden with a kiss, he said, “Hail, Rabbi!” (Mt 26,49) The traitor could acknowledge Jesus as a teacher, but he could not bring himself to call Him his Lord and Master. Saint Peter, by contrast, affirms not only Jesus' Lordship but also proclaims another title that we find in the Greater Doxology. After the Bread of Life discourse, Simon bar Jonah addresses Jesus as Lord and concludes: “Thou art the Holy One of God.” (Jn 6,70)[2]
Like Tu solus Dominus, “Thou alone art the Holy One” (Tu solus Sanctus) is a product of Christian grammar, and like Tu solus Dominus, it is meant to contrast the Son of God with the human race rather than contrast the Son of God with the other two Divine Persons. As Blessed Columba Marmion, OSB explains:
To say that Jesus Christ is alone holy is not to say that the Father and the Paraclete are not holy, nor is it to say that the Blessed Virgin Mary and the Saints are not holy. It is to say that, in the economy of salvation, Jesus Christ is the efficient cause of all grace and all holiness in His creatures. His reflections are worth quoting in full: All the holiness He [the Father] has destined for each soul, God has placed in Christ, and it is of Hos fullness that we all must receive the graces which will make us holy. Christus factus est nobis sapientia a Deo, et justitia, et sanctificatio et redemptio. If Christ possesses all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge and holiness, it is that we may share in them. He came that we might have divine life in us and might have it in abundance: Veni ut vitam haberent et abundantiam haberent. By His passion and death, He re-opened the source of divine life to all, but never forget that this source is in Him and not outside Him and that it is from Him it flows into us: grace, the principle of supernatural life, only comes through Him. [3]
“Never forget,” this holy sage reminds us, “that this source [of holiness] is in Him and not outside Him and that it is from Him it flows into us: grace, the principle of supernatural life, only comes through Him.” In Christ’s unique holiness, we are made holy.
Performance and Deprecation
The Gloria in excelsis during Mass is not simply said or sung but performed: the meanings to which the words point are so profound and metanoic that they promote (in the traditional rite, but not as much in the new) a bodily response. Such a reaction is in itself incarnational: after the Word becomes flesh and dwells among us, the flesh can’t help but by moved by certain phrases that remind it of its redemption.
The rubrics of the 1962 Missale Romanum call for a physical reaction to four parts of the Gloria in excelsis:
- The priest, at the beginning of the hymn, lifts his eyes to Heaven (who dwells in excelsis) and bows at the mention of God (the Father);
- He and others bow during the verse Adoramus te, We adore Thee. Ad-orem literally means “to the mouth.” In pagan Rome passersby would kiss their hand and then touch the statue of a god or goddess. Christians repurposed the custom as an act of affection for images of Christ and His beloved Saints, for holy relics, etc. The principle of continuity is the theme of affection: calling someone “affectionate” usually implies that he or she is physically demonstrative in expressing love. During the Gloria, the bow at Adoramus te signifies both affection and supplication and thereby demonstrates and accentuates the meaning of the verse.
- Two verses later, we bow at “We give Thee thanks.” Here my mind drifts not to ancient Rome but to cultures where the giver bows when he gives a gift to the recipient. We bow to Our Lord when we give our “thanks” to Him here and at other parts of the Mass.
- The name of Jesus Christ appears twice in the hymn, and each time we hear it, we bow. At the name of Jesus, Saint Paul writes, every knee should bow. (Phil 2,10) The Roman Rite adapts this directive by bowing the head at the name of Jesus and saving the bow of the knee (genuflection) for references to or instances of the Incarnation.[4]
- Finally, we bow at the verse Suscipe deprecationem nostram, or “Receive our prayer.” We are again giving God something, and so we make the appropriate gesture for giving. But “prayer” does not quite capture the meaning of the Latin deprecatio. A prayer can be a communication of joy, contrition, petition, complaint, etc. A deprecation is more specific: as its root words suggest (de and precor), it is “a praying away” or “a warding off or averting by prayer.”[5] Hence, when we have a deprecatio, there is an anxiety, worry, or evil that is weighing on our minds which we wish to cast off. One way to think about the bow during the Suscipe deprecationem nostram is that it begins as a symbol of this oppression but is quickly transformed into a gesture of trusting supplication, a sort of “Into Thy hands, O Lord, I commend my spirit.” And we can imagine the answer to our prayer symbolized by our rising from the bow, relieved from our burden and standing tall.
Notes
[1] St Basil the Great, On the Holy Spirit 7.36.
[2] Oddly, the Vulgate and Douay Rheims translate Hagios tou Theou as Christus Filius Dei, "Christ, the Son of God."
[3] Blessed Columba Marmion, Christ the Life of the Soul, trans. Nun of Tyburn Convent (Angelico Press, 2012), 75-76.
[4] See genuflecting during the Creed, the Last Gospel, the Angelus, and genuflecting while passing the Blessed Sacrament.
[5] "Deprecatio," Lewis and Short Latin Dictionary; see Sr. Mary Pierre Ellebracht, Remarks on the Vocabulary of the Ancient Orations in the Missale Romanum (Nijmegen: Dekker & Van de Vegt, 1963), 115.
