“The Liturgy Has Been Dismantled”: Portland Archbishop Robert Dwyer’s Assessment in 1971

Robert Joseph Dwyer (1908-76)

Those who read the works of Michael Davies will come across quotations from a wide variety of sources, and will sometimes wonder just who these people are, and what their full views might be (since Davies, like any author, seldom quotes more than a few sentences). One such figure is the American Robert Joseph Dwyer (1908-76), who was the second bishop of Reno, Nevada from 1952-66 (and in this capacity participated in all four sessions of the Council), and the fifth Archbishop of Portland, Oregon from 1966 to 1974.

Dwyer was a prolific writer, as the fine collection recently published by Arouca Press, Ecclesiastes: The Book of Archbishop Robert Dwyer—A Selection of His Writings, edited by Albert J. Steiss, makes plain: we find articles on European history and American history, lives of major Catholic figures, a fairly detailed account of his time at the Council (deserving to be mined: see pages 131–206), apologetics on behalf of the Faith, critiques of liturgical reform, reflections on the fine arts, pastoral letters, and bagatelles. In fact, he’s like a quieter version of Archbishop Fulton Sheen.

Where he differs decisively from Sheen is in his increasingly outspoken critiques of the liturgical reform. The famous quotes are those shared by Michael Davies:

The great mistake of the Council Fathers was to allow the implementation of the Constitution to fall into the hands of men who were either unscrupulous or incompetent. This is the so-called Liturgical Establishment, a Sacred Cow which acts more like a white elephant as it tramples the shards of a shattered liturgy with ponderous abandon.

And:

Who dreamed on that day that within a few years, far less than a decade, the Latin past of the Church would be all but expunged, that it would be reduced to a memory fading into the middle distance? The thought of it would have horrified us, but it seemed so far beyond the realm of the possible as to be ridiculous. So we laughed it off.

Could a bishop really have written such things? Or might this be a case of mistaken attribution or misquotation?

For the first quotation, Davies cites The Tidings of July 9, 1971 (see Pope Paul’s New Mass [Kansas City, MO: Angelus Press, 2009], 651). For the second, he cites the Twin Circle, October 26, 1973 (see Liturgical Timebombs in Vatican II [Rockford, IL: TAN Books, 2003], 65). In order to hunt the original articles down, I did what any sensible person would do: I hired Sharon Kabel as my research assistant!

Sure enough, she located both articles, and since our searching online indicates that these have never been transcribed and made available, I took the time to type them out, while attaching the originals below. If only we had a few more bold bishops like this today! (And can you imagine the newspaper of the archdiocese of Los Angeles—or any Catholic diocesan newspaper—publishing something like this today?) A piece like this, from 1971, counts as good evidence that at least some public figures were willing to state the obvious: the Catholic liturgy had, in fact, been dismantled past recognition, and this was an evil deed. Moreover, this bishop’s presence at all four sessions of the Council makes his claims about what the Council Fathers intended—at least to the extent that any on-the-ground participant could know the mens patrum from conversations, meetings, and documents—credible.

In any case, enjoy the crisp and piquant style of the good archbishop.
 

(Click to enlarge)

The Liturgy Has Been Dismantled
Archbishop Robert Dwyer
The Tidings (Catholic Newspaper of Los Angeles)
July 9, 1971

In the remote caverns of memory the image flickers in the candlelight: Marius on the Ruins of Carthage. What somber text of Ancient History this was designed to illustrate we have long forgotten, but the figure of the Roman general, triumphant at last over the Punic power, contemplating the wreckage of war, meditating upon the Dead Sea fruits of victory, has never quite faded.

The other day the image was refreshed by a re-telling of the familiar jest at the expense of a gun-and-camera tourist: “Mrs. C. Humphrey Jones on the Ruins of Carthage (the ruins are to the left).”

But another image, alas, overlays that of the baffled conqueror in our contemporary illustration. It is that of Mother Church seated amid the ruins of the liturgy. No less disconsolate is she, no less sorrowfully pensive.

Some six years ago she had reached that point in her Renewal where it seemed beyond question or cavil that she could summon to her aid, in her monumental task of re-interpreting the Christian message to the modern world, all the services of liturgical art and drama, all the treasures of biblical science and patristic lore, all the riches of music and sacred literature, to enhance the supreme act of divine worship, the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass. Surely that was the confident expectation of the Council Fathers when they hailed with overwhelming affirmation the Constitution on the Liturgy.

In the euphoria of that moment cankerous doubt and cantankerous misgivings were cavalierly set aside. All would be well, we assured ourselves, and all things would be well, as Blessed Juliana of Norwich had so calmly predicted. All that was needed was a touch of genius to muster all the arts of expression and exposition to achieve the perfect rendering of the liturgy in every language under the sun, and for every living culture known to man. We all devoutly made our act of faith in the immediate availability of that touch of genius.

Documents Insipid

Wherein, under the blessing of hindsight undoubtedly we made our first mistake. For there are times and seasons in man’s history, the history of his culture, when genius touches the liturgy, and times, alack, when it simply does not. It is as though the lines of communication, faithfully relaying its messages, were abruptly to be cut off.

It is not necessary, in our reading of the liturgical texts which have been foisted upon us, to suspect the poisoned pen of the heretic or the velvet glove covering the mailed fist of the Communist conspiracy working through the channels of the Sacred Congregation for Divine Worship. It is enough to note that the touch of genius has so far absented itself from these documents which reach us with such monotonous regularity and insipidity, as to suggest a total substitution of dross for gold.

It was not so in ages past when Basil and John Chrysostom and Gregory formulated the texts and set the patterns for the prayer of the Church, East and West. It was not so when those unknown masters of rhythmic melody devised and developed the liturgical chant, the noblest music man has ever sung, nor was it so when the flowering of polyphony enriched the musical treasury of the liturgy with works of classic dignity and grace.

The Renaissance and Trent hardened the liturgy into molds perhaps too rigid and ungiving, but the authentic note of dignity and greatness was by no means wanting. With the Baroque the liturgy left the austere confines of the sanctuary to mingle with the multitudes crowding the nave and aisles, to undergo, at least in some aspects, a process of vulgarization, but however much the liturgy stood in need of refurbishing and reform as our day approached, it was still recognizable as an original work of religious genius. It was by no means a shambles.

The malady must be reported of the rendering of the liturgy into the vernacular. To focus exclusively here upon our English experience, it is commonly recognized that only once or twice in a millennium have we any right to expect a translator of such power as Thomas Cranmer. Whatever his other merits or demerits, he possessed the gift of noble expression and haunting phrase, so as to mold the language our forebears have spoken these 400 years and more. And while he had no Catholic rivals to contest his mastery, he set a standard to which they must needs approximate or publicly confess their inadequacy.

Liturgists Incompetent

And for the most part, those commissioned or inspired to render the liturgy into the vernacular for the English-speaking Catholic world had done a commendable if not a brilliant job. [1] Why their work, present and available, was ignored and set aside, and even spoken of with contumely by the current generation of Martin Mar-Texts [2] is a mystery beyond our ken.

The liturgy needed reform by 1965; there was no call for dismantling it. It was intended that the vernacular would enhance the Latin, not supplant it. It was not, emphatically, the mind of the Council Fathers to jettison Gregorian Chant, or to encourage the banal secularization of Church music, so as now to surpass in crudity the worst aberrations of the Howling Pentecostals.

It was anticipated that the liturgical texts, along with the Biblical readings for the Mass and the Divine Office, would be so translated as to reflect the beauty and suppleness of our tongue in the praise and worship of God. If any Council Father—for this we can vouch—leaving the aula of St. Peter’s on that day when the Constitution on the Liturgy was proclaimed, had seen in vision the liturgical calamities which have befallen us in this short span of time, it is conceivable that he would have had a heart attack, then and there.

The first mistake, then, was dependence upon the Dabitur Vobis [3], a brash confidence that the touch of genius would not be lacking. The second, in uncomfortably close alliance, was to allow the interpretation and implementation of the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy to fall into the hands of men who were either unscrupulous or incompetent. This is the so-called “Liturgical Establishment,” a Sacred Cow which acts more like a White Elephant as it tramples the shards of a shattered liturgy with ponderous abandon. [4]

The third mistake, fully as destructive as either of the foregoing, was the genial supposition that widespread “experimentation” could be sanctioned, with any hope of holding the line thereafter. This is not to condemn experimentation; it is useful and necessary from time to time, under certain controlled circumstances.

But the broad permissiveness granted or even encouraged by the Sacred Congregation and by various Episcopal Conference committees, has led to what must be described, without exaggeration, as a state of chaos. Everyman is now his own liturgist, just as he is his own pope; the Parish Liturgical Commission, made up, for the most part, of good and well-meaning folk whose liturgical competence is on the kindergarten level, legislates for all the world as though it were the Sacred Congregation itself. Or perhaps, what is by no means unthinkable, with far greater assurance and authority.

How long, do you suppose, will it take for another Hercules to clean up these Augean Stables?

Next week, we will publish the transcription of His Exellency’s 1973 article. 

NOTES

[1] Dwyer is referring here to the first translations from the 1960s, which were all replaced by the tawdry claptrap of ICEL when the Novus Ordo was rolled out. He may also be referring to the many translations that existed in hand missals for many decades prior to the Council.

[2] This seems to be a reference to “Martin Mar-prelate,” “the name used by the anonymous author or authors of the seven Marprelate tracts that circulated illegally in England in the years 1588 and 1589. Their principal focus was an attack on the episcopacy of the Anglican Church” (source).

[3] See Luke 11, 9: “Petite, et dabitur vobis” (Ask, and it shall be given).

[4] This is the paragraph quoted by Davies, with some minor differences that do not alter the meaning.

A young Dwyer holding a model of a church (backstory unknown)

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Liturgical Notes on the Feasts of the Seven Sorrows

From 1814 until 1960, the General Calendar of the Roman Rite contained two different feasts of the Seven Sorrows of the Virgin Mary. The older of these is the one long celebrated on the Friday of Passion week; the latter is now fixed to September 15th, but was originally a movable feast. The Offices of these two feasts have only a few elements in common, but the Masses are almost identical. This doubling of the feast is not, therefore, a case like Corpus Christi, which emphasizes one particular aspect of what the Church celebrates on Holy Thursday, nor is one a “secondary” feast like the Apparition of St Michael or the Conversion of St Paul.

The Seven Sorrows Polyptych by Albrecht Dürer, ca. 1500. The seven sorrows shown here are slightly different from those of the Servite Rosary shown below; counterclockwise from the upper left, they are the Circumcision (considered a sorrow because of the shedding of Christ’s blood,) the Flight into Egypt, the Loss of the Child Jesus in the Temple, the Carrying of the Cross, the Nailing to the Cross, the Crucifixion, and the Deposition of Christ’s Body.

The Passiontide feast emerged in German-speaking lands in the early 15th-century, partly as a response to the iconoclasm of the Hussites, and partly out of the universal popular devotion to every aspect of Christ’s Passion, including the presence of His Mother, and thence to Her grief over the Passion. It was known by several different titles, and kept on a wide variety of dates; Cologne, where it was first instituted, had it on the 3rd Friday after Easter until the end of the 18th century. Before the name “Seven Sorrows” became common, it was most often called “the feast of the Virgin’s Compassion”, which is to say, of Her suffering together with Christ as She beheld the Passion. This title was retained by the Dominicans well into the 20th century; they also had an Office for it which was quite different from the Roman one, although the Mass was the same. It appears in many missals of the 15th to 17th centuries only as a votive Mass, with no corresponding feast; this was the case at Sarum, where it is called “Compassionis sive Lamentationis B.M.V.” (The Sarum Missal also has a highly irregular sequence for this Mass, 128 lines long, more than twice as many as the Stabat Mater in the Roman Mass.)

It was also occasionally known as the “Transfixio”, in reference to Simeon’s prophecy to the Virgin (Luke 2, 35) that “a sword shall pierce Thy heart.” For this reason, the Collect of the feast states that “we remember with veneration (her) Transfixing and Passion.” The Preface of the Virgin Mary contains the phrase “et te in *** Beatae Virginis semper Virginis collaudare, benedicere et praedicare – and to praise, bless and preach Thee in the *** of the Blessed Mary ever Virgin.” The name of the feast (Assumption, Nativity etc.) is said where the stars are, but on the feast of the Seven Sorrows, “transfixione” is said in that place. (The Dominicans said “compassione.”)

The corresponding Office has a number of interesting features. The Seven Sorrows is the only feast of the Virgin which has special psalms at Vespers and Matins, those of the former being the same which are sung on Holy Thursday and Good Friday. The Stabat Mater is divided into three parts and sung as the hymn of Vespers, Matins and Lauds, with simpler music than that of the same text when it is sung as the Sequence at Mass. (In Italy, this simpler form is still often sung at the Stations of the Cross.) The responsories of Matins all refer to the Passion of Christ; the fourth is the most famous of the Tenebrae responsories from Good Friday, Tenebrae factae sunt, with the verse changed: “What dost Thou feel, o Virgin, when Thou beholdest such things?”

The sequence version of the Stabat Mater

The readings of the first nocturn are the famous prophecy of the Suffering Servant, Isaiah 53, which is also read at the Mass of Spy Wednesday, when the Lenten station is kept at St Mary Major. In the second nocturn, they are taken from a well-known sermon of St Bernard of Clairvaux, in which he demonstrates that it is indeed proper to refer to the “martyrdom” of the Virgin, and addressing Her directly, says “Therefore, the force of grief passed through Thy soul, so that we may rightly preach that Thou are even more than a martyr, in whom the affection of compassion exceeded even the sense of bodily passion. … Wonder not, brethren, that Mary is called a martyr in spirit. Let him wonder (at this) who remembereth not that he has heard Paul say, when he recalls the greatest crimes of the pagans, that they were ‘without affection.’ Far was this from Mary’s senses, and far be it from her servants.”

The Pazzi Crucifixion, by Pietro Perugino, 1496, in the convent of St Maria Maddalena dei Pazzi in Florence. St Bernard of Clarivaux and the Virgin Mary are on the left, St John the Evangelist and St Benedict on the right.

In the wake of the Protestant reformation, the feast continued to grow in popularity, spreading though southern Europe, and most often fixed to the Friday of Passion week. It was extended to the universal Church on that day by Pope Benedict XIII with the title “the feast of the Seven Sorrows”, although none of the various enumerations of the Virgin’s sorrows is referred to it anywhere in the liturgy itself.

The second feast of the Seven Sorrows was promulgated in 1668 as the Patronal feast of the Servite Order, which was founded in the mid-13th century by seven Florentine noblemen, and soon spread all over Europe. (St Philip Benizi, who stands in their history as St Bernard does in that of the Cistercians, not their founder, but their most famous member, was almost elected Pope in 1271.) This order had always nourished a strong devotion to the Mother of Sorrows, and has its own rosary of the Seven Sorrows, which are as follows.

1. The Prophecy of Simeon.
2. The Flight into Egypt.
3. The Loss of the Child Jesus in the Temple.
4. The Meeting of Mary and Jesus as He Carries the Cross.
5. The Crucifixion.
6. The Removal of Christ’s Body from the Cross.
7. The Burial of Christ.

A Servite Rosary, also known as the Crown of the Seven Sorrows, one of which is depicted on each of the oval medals between the beads. Only seven Hail Marys are said per sorrow; on the beads that lead to the Cross, three more are added in honor of the tears which the Virgin shed as She stood by the Cross. This example was made in the 19th century; it has more recently been the custom to make them with only black beads, the color of the Servite habit. (Courtesy of Mr Forrest Alverson.)

Since the Servite version of this devotion is not focused entirely on the Passion of Christ, but contains three events from His childhood, a number of changes were made to the corresponding liturgical texts for the second feast. The words of the Collect “we remember with veneration (her) Transfixing and Passion” are changed to “we remember with veneration (her) Sorrows”; however, “transfixione” is still said in the Preface. In the Office, the regular psalms of the Virgin’s other Offices are said at Vespers, but not at Matins; three different hymns, all very much in the classicizing style in vogue in the 17th century, replace the three parts of the Stabat Mater. The responsories of Matins are completely different, each referring in order to one of the mysteries of the Servite rosary given above. An eighth one is added to complete the series, a very beautiful exhortation: “In all thy heart, forget not the groans of Thy Mother, that propitiation and blessing may be perfected. Hail, most noble woman, that art the first rose of the martyrs, and lily of the virgins!” The readings of the first nocturn are taken from the Book of Lamentations, which is otherwise read only at Tenebrae, and the lessons of the second are the same passage from St Bernard read on the other feast. (This passage was also read in the Dominican Office of the Compassion.)

Michelangelo’s Pietà in St Peter’s Basilica.

This Servite version of the feast was added to the general calendar by Pope Pius VII in 1814, after he returned from the exile in France shamefully visited upon him by Napoleon. Part of the Pope’s reason for doing would certainly have been to ask the Virgin’s intercession and protection for the Church in the midst of the many horrors visited upon it by the French revolution and the subsequent wars. It was originally kept on the Third Sunday of September, as it had been first by the Servites, but when Pope St Pius X abolished the custom of fixing feasts to Sundays, it was placed on September 15th, the day after the Exaltation of the Cross. While the connection between the Sorrows of the Virgin and the Crucifixion is essential, the Seven Sorrows was of higher rank at the time, and its new placement therefore had the unfortunate effect of cancelling Second Vespers of the much older feast of the Exaltation. This defect was remedied by the Breviary reform of 1960, but at the cost of a much more serious general defect, the abolition of First Vespers from all but the highest grade of feasts. At the same time, the older Passiontide feast was reduced to a commemoration.

Venetian Miracles of the Holy Cross

In the days of the Venetian Republic, one of the most important aspects of the city’s religious life was a group of large and prestigious confraternities known as the “scuole grandi – the great schools.” These associations engaged in a wide variety of devotional and charitable activities, and each of them had a large hall on which these activities were centered.

The entrance to the Scuola Grande of St John the Evangelist. (Image from Wikimedia Commons by Didier Descouens, CC BY-SA 4.0)

The interior of the upper hall, constructed in 1544. (Image from Wikimedia Commons by Jean-Pierre Dalbéra, CC BY 2.0)

In 1369, the scuola grande of St John the Evangelist, one of the oldest in the city, was given a relic of the True Cross, which soon became known for the miracles it effected. At the end of the 15th century, the confraternity commissioned a group of painters to make a series of panels celebrating nine of these miracles, which were to be displayed in the large hall where the relic was kept. One of these, a work by Raphael’s teacher Perugino (1446-1523), has been lost, but the other eight survive. Three were painted by Gentile Bellini (1429 ca. - 1507), scion of a family of painters who had long been among the most successful in the city; the rest are by artists who were in various ways his students or associates, who also assisted Bellini to varying degrees with his own canvases. (It is no small testament to the prestige which Perugino enjoyed throughout Italy in the late 15th century that he was invited to participate in this project.) In 1797, the arch-criminal Napoleon, enemy of God and the Faith, overthrew the Republic and closed the scuole, whose properties were then plundered and dispersed; since 1820, the paintings have been displayed at the Galleria dell’ Accademia.

1. The Miraculous Healing of a Madman at the Rialto Bridge, ca. 1495, by Vittore Carpaccio (1460/65 - 1525 ca.) The principal scene, in the upper left part of the painting, shows the healing of a madman by the relic of the True Cross, which is held by Francesco Querini, Patriarch of Grado (1367-72) when the relic came to Venice. (From the time of its foundation in 774, the see of Venice was suffragan to the Patriarchate of Grado, a town roughly 55 miles to the east along the edge of the Adriatic. In 1451, shortly after St Lawrence Giustiniani was appointed bishop of Venice, the pope transferred the title of the patriarchate to his see.) This takes place on the loggia of a palace near the famous Rialto Bridge; most of the painting is taken up with the view of the surrounding area, a very busy scene very much to the taste of the times in Venice, as also seen in the remaining paintings. (The wooden bridge seen here collapsed in 1524; the central section of this older structure was movable so that taller ships could get up the canal.)

2. The Miracle in the Campo San Lio, ca. 1495, by Giovanni Mansueti (flor. 1485-1527). During the funeral procession of a member of the confraternity who had been but little devoted to the Holy Cross, the relic suddenly became too heavy to carry, until it was handed over to the parish priest.

3. The Relic of the True Cross is Given to the Scuola Grande of St John the Evangelist, ca. 1495, by Lazzaro Bastiani (1429-1512). This picture is an important record of the appearance of the confraternity’s complex before a number of subsequent renovations. The relic had previously belonged to a French Carmelite named Pierre de Thomas (1305-66), who was the papal legate to “the churches of the East” from 1357 until his death. When he died on the island of Cyprus, it passed to Philippe de Mézières, the chancellor of the Kingdom of Cyprus and Jerusalem, the successor state to the crusader kingdom of Jerusalem; it was de Mézières who in turn gave it to the confraternity.

4. A Miracle During the Procession on St Mark’s Day, 1496, by Gentile Bellini. On April 25th, the feast of Venice’s Patron Saint, the Evangelist Mark, the scuole grandi and many other pious associations would participate in a grand procession in front of the famous basilica that houses his relics. (In the days of the Republic, San Marco was not the cathedral of Venice, but the chapel of the doge and his court.) The members of the Scuola Grande of St John are seen in the lower middle of the painting, carrying the relic under a baldachin. Underneath the relic, a plaque is mounted into the pavement of the piazza, which commemorates the procession of 1444, during which a merchant from Brescia named Jacop de’ Salis knelt down and prayed before the relic, and his gravely injured son was immediately healed. This painting is also an important historical record of the mosaics on the façade of the basilica, and the older brick pavement of the piazza.

Continue Reading this Article. . .

Music for First Vespers of the Exaltation of the Cross

O Crux, splendidior cunctis astris, mundo celebris, hominibus multum amabilis, sanctior universis: quae sola fuisti digna portare talentum mundi: dulce lignum, dulces clavos, dulcia ferens pondera: salva praesentem catervam in tuis hodie laudibus congregatam. (Antiphon of the Magnificat at First Vespers of the Exaltation of the Cross.)

“O Cross, more splendid than all the stars, renowned in the world, much beloved of all men, holier than all things, who only were worthy to bear the Price of the world: o sweet wood, that bearest the sweet nails, the sweet burdens; save the present company, gathered this day in praise of thee.”

This is not, of course, the Gregorian version of this text for use as an antiphon, but a polyphonic motet made from it by the Netherlandish composer Adrian Willaert, (ca. 1490-1562), and sung by the ensemble Henry’s Eight. (They are named for King Henry VIII, the founder of Trinity College, Cambridge, where they originally formed in 1992.)

The Exaltation of the Cross also provides an opportunity to sing once again at Vespers the famous Passiontide hymn Vexilla Regis, one of the masterpieces of the 6th century writer St Venantius Fortunatus. Here the ensemble AdOriente (which is correct Italian, not Latin) alternates the classic Gregorian melody with an unnamed polyphonic setting.

The alternation of Gregorian and polyphony was a popular way of setting hymns especially in the Counter-Reformation, and some of the best examples are those of Spanish composer Tomás Luis de Victória. This version is particularly interesting for two reasons; the melody of the Gregorian parts is quite different from the Roman one, and the text of the hymn is that used before it was revised by Pope Urban VIII, (given here with Spanish translation.)

In the Byzantine Rite, the Exaltation of the Cross is one of the few days on which the Trisagion, “Holy God, Holy Mighty, Holy Immortal, have mercy on us!” is replaced by a different text, “We adore Thy Cross, o Lord, and we glorify Thy holy Resurrection.” (The Trisagion is sung between the kontakia, the variable hymn of the Sunday or Saint’s feast, and the Prokimen which introduces the Epistle.) The latter text is also sung the 3rd Sunday of Lent, the Sunday of the Veneration of the Cross, as seen here in the Orthodox cathedral of Kropyvnytskyi in central Ukraine.

Oremus and Oratio

Lost in Translation #104

After the priest says Dominus vobiscum and hears the reply Et cum spiritu tuo, he bows his head towards the altar cross, extends and joins his hands, and says Oremus or “Let us pray.” The priest’s actions highlight the nature of prayer. Bowing, as we noted earlier, is customary when offering a gift, and prayer is a gift to God, be it of adoration, petition, contrition, or thanksgiving. Bowing is also an expression of humility: when the priest bows to the cross, he is humbly acknowledging His crucified Lord. As for the motion of the priest’s hands, Fr. Nicholas Gihr writes:

The extending of the hands expresses the ardent longing and the earnest desire of the priest, that the blessing he invokes may be bestowed; the joining of the hands signifies that the priest humbly mistrusts his own strength and confidently abandons himself to the Lord. [1]

It makes sense that the priest uses the verb orare to call the people to prayer, for what follows the word Oremus is an Oratio (in this case, the Collect), one of the proper prayers of the Mass. The Roman Missal uses Oratio for the Collect, Secreta for the Secret, and Postcommunio for the Postcommunion Prayer, but all three are also generically referred to as orations.

What is more difficult to understand is the use of orare and oratio for prayer in the first place, since in classical Latin these words have no denotation or connotation of speech addressed to God. Oratio can mean any mode of discourse or a particular language, but it is usually used to signify “formal language, artificial discourse, [a] set speech” as opposed to ordinary speech or conversational language, which is indicated by the word sermo [2]. And of course, orare and oratio are associated with oratory and law; an oratio perpetua, for example, was not an interminable prayer but a continuous disquisition common in court trials. And the great Roman orators were known for their moving speeches to an audience, not their imprecations to God.

A Roman Orator

Nevertheless, the Vulgate often uses oratio for prayer [3], and so did the early Church. One theory for this choice is that the word “had almost disappeared from the common language” and could thus be more easily repurposed for Christian use [4]. But this theory does not explain how there was a perceived need to repurpose it all since Latin has other words for praying like precor and obsecro, and Christians had no qualms in using these as well.

Dirigatur oratio mea sicut incensum in conspectu tuo (Ps. 140, 2)

Perhaps the Latin Church liked two aspects of the classical sense of oratio: its formality and its public nature. Although an oration can be extemporaneous (as in the case of an oratio subita), it is more often associated with a fixed or prepared speech, and this association aligns well with the Church’s transition in her liturgy from impromptu to formulaic prayer. The orations of the Roman Rite are indeed examples of oratio accurata et polita—of meticulous and polished oratory. [5]

Second, both oratory and liturgy are public affairs (even when a Mass is celebrated privately), and the orations are especially ordered towards the public, that is, the congregation. As Gihr writes,

The Collect is is not merely a private prayer of the priest, but a liturgical one, that is, a public prayer which the celebrant recites in the name and by the commission, as well as according to the ordinance of the Church, and with a special intention for the welfare of the whole Christian people. [6]

Indeed, we may go so far as to suggest that the Christian co-opting of oratio is analogous to the Christian co-opting of “liturgy.” Leitourgia in classical Greek refers to a public office performed by a designated official on behalf of the populace, but Christian authors stole it from the polis and transferred it to the Church. And just as an office of the body politic was applied to the Church’s worship, so too was the polis’ main organ of persuasion (oratory) applied to the Church’s liturgical prayer. The language of the earthly city has been taken up by the city of God to demonstrate which city is more important.

Finally, at least judging from later commentators, Christians appreciated the possible etymology of orare and oratio. St. Thomas Aquinas quotes with approval Cassiodorus’ claim that “prayer [oratio] is said to be a kind of oral reasoning [oris ratio].” [7] Cassiodorus was probably drawing from a long tradition of speculation that links the word oration with the Latin word for mouth: Oro ab ore, writes Varro, “I orate from the mouth.” [8] But for Aquinas, the ratio in oratio is especially significant, for it means that prayer is an intelligent activity rather than something that dumb or superstitious people do. And this perfectly rational activity is also at one and the same time “properly an act of religion” (oratio est proprie religionis actus) [9]. Intelligent minds recognize the need to pray, and so they do.

Notes

[1] Rev. Nicholas Gihr, The Holy Sacrifice of the Mass: Dogmatically, Liturgically and Ascetically Explained (Herder, 1902), 411.

[2] “Oratio, orationis,” II, Lewis and Short Latin Dictionary (Clarendon Press, 1879), 1275.

[3] See 3 Kings 8,28; 2 Macc. 10,16; Luke 6,12; Acts 1,14; Col. 4,2.

[4] Sr. Mary Pierre Ellebracht, Remarks on the Vocabulary of the Ancient Orations in the Missale Romanum (Dekker & Van de Vegt, 1963), 117.

[5] See Cicero, Brutus 95.326.

[6] Gihr, 409.

[7] Summa Theologiae II-II.83.1.

[8] Varro, De lingua latina 6, § 76 Müller.

[9] Summa Theologiae II-II.83.3. 

A New Booklet with the Office of the Dead, from Canticum Salomonis

Our good friends at Canticum Salomonis are pleased to announce the publication of a pocket-sized (4” x 6”) edition of the traditional Roman Office of the Dead, featuring the full Office (Vespers, Matins, and Lauds) according to the 1568 Roman Breviary. This edition includes the Latin text with a facing English translation, along with the additional orations from the 1614 Roman Ritual. The English translation of the psalms follows the original Douay-Rheims version with modernized spelling. The booklet also features a meditation on the mystical significance of the Office, drawn from Dom Prosper Guéranger’s The Liturgical Year, and a section for recording prayer intentions.

The Most Holy Name of Mary

Whosoever thou art that knowest thyself to be here not so much walking upon firm ground, as battered to and fro by the gales and storms of this life’s ocean, if thou wouldst not be overwhelmed by the tempest, keep thine eyes fixed upon this star’s clear shining. If the winds of temptation rise against thee, or thou run upon the rocks of trouble, look to the star, call on Mary. If thou art tossed by the waves of pride, or ambition, or slander, or envy, look to the star, call on Mary. If anger or avarice or the enticements of the flesh beat against thy soul’s barque, look to Mary. If the enormity of thy sins trouble thee, if the foulness of thy conscience confound thee, if the dread of judgment appall thee, if thou begin to slip into the deep of despondency, into the pit of despair, think of Mary.

The Apparition of the Virgin Mary to St Bernard, 1486 by Fra Filippo Lippi (1457-1504); public domain image from Wikimedia Commons.

In dangers, in difficulties, in doubts, think of Mary, call upon Mary. Let Her not be away from thy mouth or from thine heart, and that thou may obtain the succour of Her prayers, turn not aside from the example of Her conversation. If thou follow Her, thou wilt never go astray; if thou pray to Her, thou wilt never despair; if thou keep Her in mind, thou wilt never wander. If She hold thee, thou wilt never fall; if She lead thee, thou wilt never be weary; if She help thee, thou wilt reach home safe, and so prove in thyself how rightly it was said, “And the Virgin’s name was Mary.” (From the sermon of St Bernard of Clairvaux in the Office of the Most Holy Name of Mary.)

Review of a New Reprint of an Old Edition of the Vulgate: Guest Article by Mr Sean Pilcher

Our thanks to Mr Sean Pilcher for sharing with us review of a new reprint of a very beautiful edition of the Clementine Vulgate. He is the director of Sacra: Relics of the Saints (sacrarelics.org), an apostolate that promotes education about relics, and works to repair, research, and document relics for religious houses and dioceses; last year we published a three-part article by him on that subject.

St Jerome’s Latin Vulgate Bible stands with St Benedict’s Rule and the Roman Missal as one of the most copied and circulated texts in the Christian tradition. It is surely a sign of the times, then, when the number of affordable editions of our canonical Scriptures wanes and the text accordingly loses its place in our daily lives. If we can wince at the scarcity of editions of these books, then we can also be encouraged when they return to print in useful, affordable, sometimes rather fine editions.

The Vulgate is the basis for most of our liturgical books, and is a locus of prayer, meditation, and commentary for so many saints and Fathers of the Church. It is the constant source of reference, and a primary text for lectio divina. In more recent decades, one of the most widely-purchased editions of the Latin Bible is the German Bible Society’s big green Bible.

This version is useful for scholars of manuscript variants and text history, but is not the common, ‘catholic’ Vulgate text. It contains many critical notes of variant readings, and can seem more like a car or computer manual than the inspired Word of God. It is perhaps not the kind of thing one would normally take up for devotional reading, and its physical presentation and strain on the eye do not encourage it. The text also lacks punctuation, as the oldest manuscripts of the Bible itself do. A new copy costs around $100, not an impossible price for a Bible, but considering its limited usability, I suggest another edition.

A more accessible edition for Catholics is the so-called Colunga-Turrado, named for the two principal editors, published by Biblioteca de Autores Cristianos (BAC): a workhorse that can be had relatively cheaply ($40-$90). The text is the Clementine Vulgate, the version used in the liturgical books. Earlier editions (bound nicely in cloth) can be found ‘used’ for an even more reasonable price, and some include helpful illustrations.

This Bible contains prefaces, some relevant decrees of the magisterium, and has a helpful index–all in Latin. I recommend this edition to students and people interested in having a reliable Bible for daily reference and reading. The notes are simple and not distracting, noting where one book references another, or where Our Lord or one of the apostles quote the Old Testament. They are helpful for study but easily ignored during quick reading or meditation. There are some spelling errors, but we shall notice this in most Bibles if we actually read them.

Most recently, Church Latin Publishing Company has reprinted a very nice edition of the same official Clementine Text, originally typeset and designed by Desclée and The Society St John the Evangelist in 1901. This book, even more than the BAC version, looks like a Catholic book. It contains clear, devotional line art very much in the tradition of older liturgical books; in other words, it looks like a prayer book, not a critical monograph. Each book or group of books of the Bible begins with an illustration of its author or principal figure, and each chapter has a very nice drop-cap letter to focus the eye.

St Jerome’s original prefaces are included at the beginning of the volume, which ends with some additional texts and indices. I emphasize that the book looks Catholic because so much of modern biblical study, and even publishing, follow protestant conventions. Biblical scholarship can certainly be undertaken by parties outside the Church, but if the way we treat the Sacred Scriptures, the names we have for the books, the critical methods we use, and even the physical books we print all resemble those used by protestants, we may be perhaps inclined to perceive the Bible as a ‘stand-alone’ or ‘independent’ text equally used by any ecclesial body.

The reason that the Bible should look and feel like a Catholic book is because it is a Catholic book–loved, preserved, copied, read, studied, and proclaimed by Holy Mother Church throughout the centuries.

Church Latin Publishing Company’s ‘resurrected’ edition of the Vulgate is a serious contribution to the shockingly small pool of editions currently in print, and as such, a good sign of renewal. Its appearance and construction inspire reverence for the written Word of God, and echo the text’s shared place in the Missal or the Breviary. Its competitive price ($100) and devotional character make it ideal as a gift or as a Bible for daily reading and meditation. The text, while ornamental, and if perhaps on the small side, is still suitable for study, and wide margins leave room for annotations or marking if desired.

Of course, having nice (or many) editions of the Bible does not do us any good if we do not make them familiar objects of study and prayer. We would do well to take up such a beautiful book and put it to use.

“Crebrius lege et disce quam plurima. Tenenti codicem somnus obrepat et cadentem faciem pagina sancta suscipiat. – Read often and learn all you can. Let sleep find you holding your book, and when your head nods let it be resting on the sacred page.” St Jerome, letter to Eustochium.

St Jerome in His Study, 1442, by the workshop of the Netherlandish painter Jan van Eyck (1390 ca. - 1441; public domain image from Wikimedia Commons.)

The Feast of St Louis at the Oratory of Ss Gregory and Augustine

We are very glad to share these pictures from the Oratory of Ss Gregory and Augustine in St Louis, Missouri, of the celebrations of the city’s patron Saint at the end of August: solemn Vespers on the eve of the feast, and solemn Mass on the day itself, followed by a procession to the statue of St Louis in Forest Park. Once, again, we can see that these young people have no time for nostalgia; they are too busy building the city of God and evangelizing through beauty - Feliciter! And many thanks to Kiera Petrick for sharing her lovely photos with us.

First Vespers and Benediction

Continue Reading this Article. . .

The Church of the New Liturgy and the New Ecclesiology (Part 2)

This it the second part of an article which our founding editor, Mr Shawn Tribe, has graciously shared with us from his site Liturgical Arts Journal, his translation of an article originally written in French by Abbé Grégoire Celier. It forms a very illuminating collection of citations from protagonists and proponents of the post-Conciliar reform, some well-known, some less well-known, which demonstrate why they believed that the reform required old church buildings to be modified, and new ones to be built differently. The first part was published last week. The first two photographs in this part were selected by Mr Tribe, the rest by myself. – NLM editor.

The Status Quo Ante Not Feasible

As the celebration according to the new liturgical norms depended on an architectural environment suited to it, it was not possible to leave things as they were. Indeed, Father [Joseph] Gélineau notes “the all too obvious difficulty encountered in trying to inscribe post-Vatican II liturgy in spaces and volumes designed for a very different type of liturgy” (Joseph Gélineau, Demain la liturgie, Cerf, 1976, p. 29).

But these liturgists would not give up: “It should also be emphasized that priests are invited to continue fitting their churches according to the requirements of the [new] liturgy. In particular, they are advised to place the Blessed Sacrament in a chapel separate from the main vessel of the church, and to give a new place to treasures of sacred art if they need to be removed from their present location.” (“L’instruction sur le culte eucharistique montre que la mise en œuvre de la réforme est fermement poursuivie”, Informations catholiques internationales 290, June 15 1967, p. 8).

It was therefore necessary to consider modifying the layout of churches, wherever necessary and possible, to adapt them to the new liturgy. It should be noted that, from the outset, some layouts were deemed more favourable than others. “A semicircular church, where everyone can see each other and feel connected, certainly allows for better implementation of the post-conciliar reform than an elongated nave built according to other aesthetic and religious canons” (Jean-Claude Crivelli, Des assemblées qui célèbrent : une pratique des signes du salut, Commission suisse de liturgie, 1980, p. 11). 

The Necessary Changes

But since this [semi-circular arrangement] was often not the case, they needed to think about “transforming the interior layout of churches throughout the world, with a view to renewing the celebration of the Eucharist” (Pierre Jounel, “Le missel de Paul VI”, La Maison Dieu 103, 3rd quarter 1970, p. 32). The altar had to face the people, an ambo had to be set up, the tabernacle had to be relocated, and the seating had to be changed. “This spirit pushes us even further: the choice of pews rather than chairs (to avoid the turning movements and noise they entail), the elimination of kneelers (the faithful remaining standing or seated during the liturgical action)” (Thierry Maertens and Robert Gantoy, La nouvelle célébration liturgique et ses implications, Publications de Saint-André-Biblica, 1965, p. 21).

In short, the general layout of the domus ecclesiae needed to be reconsidered. “The severe prescription with regard to minor altars [i.e., their removal] applies a fortiori to the many devotional objects that still so often dot the walls and columns of our churches: the Stations of the Cross, statues, indiscreet confessionals, etc. If they have a place in the interior of churches, they must be removed. If they have their place in chapels separated from the main space of the church, they disperse the assembly when the latter, in the Eucharist, is called upon to give a sign of unity” (Thierry Maertens and Robert Gantoy, La nouvelle célébration liturgique et ses implications, Publications de Saint-André-Biblica, 1965, p. 21).

“Churches, in fact, even when listed, are only secondarily museums. First and foremost, they fulfill a specific religious function. So it’s only natural that their layout and furnishings should meet the needs of the liturgy, and particularly the liturgy of the moment. However, the latter implies new ways of gathering; it requires truly transitory furniture; it leads to the abandonment of the use of certain liturgical objects; by grouping parishes together, it leaves churches unused. All this has important practical consequences, and it has to be recognized that old churches do not always lend themselves to the desired adaptations” (Philippe Boitel, ‘Une église peut-elle être un musée?’, Informations catholiques internationales 402, February 15 1972, p. 4).

“The reform requires new creations: the layout of churches, with the altar turned towards the faithful, the place where the Word of God is celebrated, the celebrant’s seat, the Blessed Sacrament chapel, a new conception of the confessional“ (“Interview with Cardinal Knox”, La Documentation catholique 1674, April 20, 1975, p. 368).

(photograph from Wikimedia Commons by Martin Geisler)

Modifications of Churches To Express a New Ecclesiology

“In modifying the rite, will the reform also involve a new conception of the structure of our churches? Yes, and in different ways. Firstly, by insisting on the communal meaning of the Mass as an assembly of the people of God, the reform requires that everyone be able to follow the rite taking place at the altar. On the one hand, therefore, it aims to eliminate all screens (columns, pillars, etc.) that prevent a clear view of the altar, something made possible today by the evolution of architectural techniques. On the other hand, it puts the altar back to the centre, not geometrically, but ideally, and prefers it to be decisively and rightly turned towards the people. In addition, by emphasizing the role of the congregation, the reform makes it necessary to find suitable locations for the celebrant, his ministers, readers, ambo, etc. For the same reason, it reduces the space required for the altar. For the same reason, it reduces the number of minor altars, which are detrimental to the unity of the congregation, and simplifies the ornaments that used to overwhelm the altar” (Cardinal Giacomo Lercaro, ‘Nouvelle étape de la réforme liturgique : le pourquoi du comment’, Informations catholiques internationales 235, March 1, 1965, p. 26).

This need for architectural redesign should come as no surprise, for if the external form influences the content, the content must in turn react to the external form. “The post-conciliar Church is undergoing profound change, and it is only natural that the church-building should suffer the effects” (Philippe Boitel, ‘Quelles églises pour demain?’, Informations catholiques internationales 388, July 15 1971, p. 22). Indeed, “the liturgical reform imposes on many a new layout for places of worship” (“Dimanche et mission pastorale dans un monde paganisé”, Notes de pastorale liturgique 57, August 1965, p. 10).

“That [the renewal of the liturgy] should have an impact on places of worship, and that these should find themselves partially unsuited as a result of the evolution undergone within the liturgy, no one should be surprised. Insofar as sacred actions have been modified, insofar as the emphasis has been placed on a more total participation of the faithful, buildings built in other times and with a different outlook will also have to be adapted to suit their new purpose” (Guy Oury, ‘L’aménagement des églises - Un aspect du renouveau liturgique’, L’Ami du clergé 6, February 10 1966, p. 89).

Recent embellishments to the church of the Holy Name, the principal Jesuit church of Rome.

This whole new ecclesiological vision naturally expresses itself in this new structuring of the sacred space. “It is clear that liturgical reform cannot be limited to a few changes in the content of the texts read by ministers, or in the gestures of the celebrants (...) It transforms the relationship between the celebrant and the faithful. It distributes the respective functions of the celebrant, the ministers, the schola and the people in a way that is new to us, yet profoundly traditional. It follows that it calls for an arrangement of the places of celebration that is quite different from what it has been until now” (Commission épiscopale de liturgie, ‘Le renouveau liturgique et la disposition des églises’, Notes de pastorale liturgique 58, October 1965, p. 41, or La liturgie, Documents conciliaires V, Centurion, 1966, p. 201).

The Resulting New Arrangements

“[The] construction and layout of churches today can be carried out in the light of a much more complete and elaborate conception of liturgical space” (Frédéric Debuyst, “Quelques réflexions au sujet de la construction d’espaces liturgiques”, Communautés et Liturgies 4, September 1981, p. 285).

Father Roguet, a shrewd judge, had discerned early on the inevitable result of this particular manifestation of the renewal. “Certain reforms, which had seemed to concern only arrangements of texts and rites, will inevitably modify certain accessories of our churches and even some of their architectural structures” (A.M. Roguet, ‘Le signe du vin’, Notes de pastorale liturgique 66, February 1967, p. 43). This is what everyone would come to understand a little later. “The liturgical reform aims with all its might at the full and active participation of all the people. For this to be possible, an appropriate architecture is needed. (...) Liturgical renewal and the way in which the Church situates itself in the world call for a new type of architecture” (F. Agnus, ‘Architecture et renouveau liturgique’, Notes de pastorale liturgique 76, October 1968, p. 46).

New Church Constructions: Transitory and Provisionary

“The monumental and definitive character of what we build does not lend itself well to the present mobility, noticeable in the Church itself: the problems, often insoluble, posed by the adaptation of old churches to current needs, if only to the new forms of liturgical celebration, are likely to arise, in five or ten years' time, for the churches we have just built (...) In the present conditions, it would seem normal to conceive this meeting place, in the image of the community’s activities, as a multifunctional place, usable for purposes other than liturgical ceremonies alone. A domus ecclesiae, for example, could be set on one or two floors of a large building, and would include, in addition to a few small rooms (one of which could be converted into an oratory for private prayer and visits to the Blessed Sacrament) and the offices of the permanent staff, a large room that could be fitted out for various uses (conferences, meetings, parties, receptions, liturgy, etc.) using truly mobile furniture” (Pierre Antoine, ‘L’église est-elle un lieu sacré?’, Études, March 1967, pp. 442-444).

For “it is clear that today we must abandon the more or less pagan and triumphalist concept of the temple, where elements of monumentality and sacred space predominate, in favour of the Christian concept of the assembly, where values of humility, interiority and personalizing relationships predominate. Churches would then once again become house-churches rather than sanctuaries of the Most High” (Dieudonné Dufrasne, ‘Contribution à une spiritualité du samedi saint’, Paroisse et Liturgie 2, March-April 1972, p. 115).

“We must sound a warning. Today’s liturgy is in a melting pot; we cannot say what the forms of worship will be in the future. For this reason, we cannot plan churches solely on the basis of today's conception of liturgy, without running the risk of seeing them outdated by the time they are completed. As the liturgical movement advances, new ideas about worship are born (...). In the final analysis, religious buildings must be modern buildings for modern man” (J. G. Davies, ‘La tendance de l’architecture moderne et l’appréciation des édifices religieux’, in Espace sacré et architecture moderne, Cerf, 1971, p. 94, 95 and 99). “This assumes that a religious building is, by vocation, unfinished: not so much perfectible as evolving, available, at least to a certain extent. (...) Should we not be prepared for unforeseeable changes and redesigns within the probable lifespan of our buildings?” (Denis Aubert, ‘De l’église à tout faire à la maison d’église - Expériences à Taizé’ in Espace sacré et architecture moderne, Cerf, 1971, p. 110 and 112).

Constant change in the cathedral of Berlin, Germany: the original interior, photographed in 1886.

The interior as remodeled after World War 2.

A proposed further wreckovation.

The Church Called to Constant Change

Indeed, “if the Constitution [on the liturgy] is observed in letter and spirit, the liturgy will no longer risk becoming fixed and immobilized. Like a tree that has strong roots and whose sap is nourishing, it will bear on branches that live and spread, new flowers and new fruits” (Msgr. H. Jenny, ‘Introduction’ in La liturgie, Centurion, 1966, p. 41).

Cardinal Lercaro, then president of the Consilium was also moving in this same direction in his message to the artists’ symposium held in Cologne on February 28, 1968. “Without a doubt,” he said, “one thing is quite clear: the architectural structures of churches must change as rapidly as people’s living conditions and homes are changing today. Even when building a place of worship, we need to bear in mind the extremely transitory nature of these material structures, whose entire function is one of service to humankind. In this way, we can prevent future generations from being conditioned by churches that we consider avant-garde today, but which they risk seeing as nothing more than outdated edifices. Today, for our part, we experience this conditioning: we feel the difficulty with which the marvellous churches of the past adapt to our religious sensibility, and the force of inertia with which they oppose the indispensable reforms of liturgical action (...). ) So let us not pretend to build churches for centuries to come, but be content to make modest, functional churches that suit our needs and before which our sons feel free to rethink new ones, abandon them or modify them as their time and religious sensibility suggest”  (Giacomo Lercaro, ‘Message to the artists’ symposium held in Cologne on February 28, 1968, La Maison Dieu 97, 1st trim. 1969, pp. 16-17, or in Espace sacré et architecture moderne, Cerf, 1971, pp. 25-26).

This reflection by its president corresponded perfectly with the aims of the Consilium and its secretary, Msgr. [Annibale] Bugnini, as evidenced by the two texts of its official review, on which we shall conclude. “The work of liturgical reform is not finished and, in the spirit of the Council, must never end. The liturgy, like the Church in its human aspect, is inevitably subject to continual reform, born of ecclesial life, so that the Church is truly adapted to the present time, to today’s culture and to the historical moment” (Anschaire J. Chupungco, “Costituzione conciliare sulla sacra liturgia. 15th anniversario”, Notitiæ 149, December 1978, p. 580): ‘Liturgical reform will continue without limit of time, space, initiative and person, modality and rite, so that the liturgy may remain alive for people of all times and generations’ (“Rinnovamento nell’ordine”, Notitiæ 61, February 1971, p. 52). ?