Monthly Archives: March 2010

Some Observations on the Dialogues of Suplicius Severus

The Dialogues of Sulpicius Severus are a fairly little-known work by one of the more obscure Western Fathers. Nevertheless, he forms an important part of the flow of information and theology of the early monastic movement from East to West. When we think Gaulish monastic father figures these days, John Cassian springs to mind; however, Sulpicius Severus played a complementary role.

More needs to be said about Sulpicius than what I will say now, but a few items must be mentioned to give a proper context for these notes.

First, while Cassian used the dialogue form for the purpose of teaching ascetical practice, spirituality, and theology, Sulpicius preferred to describe lives and events that focused upon proofs rather than techniques. That is, his works tended to be stories about Martin of Tours (his main work being the principal Life of St Martin) and other monks but while Cassian used stories to identify practices or to make an ascetic point, Sulpicius preferred tales of the miraculous to confirm the efficacy of the monastic way of life. (If I had to offer one theory as to why modern students of Christian spirituality know Cassian and not Sulpicius it would be  the modern disdain for miraculous elements that strain the bounds of credibility.  Sulpicius tends not to strain the bounds of credibility, rather he blows past them at a tremendous speed…)

Second, Sulpicius stood in conscious literary relationship with Jerome. This deserves an examination in its own right—there are some very interesting passages in the Dialogues that wrestle with Jerome as a teacher and author where Sulpicius both attempts to cast himself in direct relationship with Jerome but also attempts to supplant him literarily.  In any event, Sulpicius was very much a student of Jerome’s writings and if Sulpicius tended to the miraculous, it was a technique he learned from Jerome and his three monastic lives: the Life of Paul, the Life of Hilarion, and the first monastic novella, the Life of Malchus the Captive Monk.

In the literature from the desert there are a number of fairly common topoi that serve as miraculous confirmation of ascetic practices. These include clairvoyance, miraculous healings, ascetics appearing in dreams, vivid encounters with demons, vivid encounters with angels, supernatural feeding, ascetics exhibiting angelic properties, and honor shown to holy men by wild and vicious creatures. Jerome especially picks up the last in his two more imaginative lives, the Life of Paul and the Life of Malchus. In the Life of Paul, Antony is given directions to Paul’s cave first by a centaur (VP 7), then by a satyr (VP 8), and finally by a wolf whom he sees entering Paul’s dwelling (VP 9). During their conversation, a raven brings them bread (VP 10). Likewise, in the Life of Malchus, the centerpiece of the dramatic escape of Malchus and his chaste wife comes when they take refuge in a desert cave that turns out to be a lions’ den and their pursuers are killed by the fierce beasts but the chaste couple are left unharmed.

So—these are the literary models from which Sulpicius is drawing. The whole point of the Dialogues is similar to that of Cassian’s Conferences, namely, how can the life and piety of the Eastern monks be translated into religious life in the West? Sulpicius seeks to establish that this translation has successfully occurred in the preeminent person of Martin of Tours. Indeed, Martin has so successfully accomplished this feat that his signs and wonders surpass those of the Eastern monks.

To make his point, he casts a first-person narrative where a far-traveling friend, Postumianus, returns from a voyage East and regales Sulpicius and his companion “the Gaul” with tales of the Eastern monks. This occurs in the first book of the Dialogues; the second and third books are the rejoinder where Sulpicius, the Gaul and a host of other eyewitnesses describe tales of Martin of Tours and his mighty miracles.

Stepping back from the particulars, Sulpicius seems to be working with a particular problem of place and social location. The lure of the desert is bound up with the solitary life, the pure life. Even the Eastern monastics who lived in communities were living away from the rest of sinful humanity. How, then, could Martin have the same kind of holiness without the physical remove from society? Furthermore, one of the wonders of the Egyptian monks in these early days was their refusal to distinguish between persons based on their status. A bishop would receive the same reception as a peasant; rulers and prelates came to them in the desert. In the West, it was Martin who was traveling to see the royal and the powerful. How could these be explained without compromise?

Sulpicius begins by focusing his first book on three miraculous topoi in particular: supernatural feeding, ascetics with angelic properties and the reception of ascetics by vicious beasts. I’m going to suggest that he selects these for a very particular reason and that in doing so, he is communicating one of the theologies at the root of the early Eastern monastic movement: the return to Eden. That is, the solitary monk through the ascetic process can conditionally recover elements of the Edenic state where, like Adam, he dwells in constant communion with God, enjoys an angelic state of being, the little food he requires is supplied without toil by nature itself, and he lives in harmony with the wild beasts.

As the character Postumanius narrates his trip through Egypt, we see this theme playing out in a number of ways. Section 1.13 gives us a solitary who, through the help of an ox and a well has created a garden paradise in the desert:

There was also a garden there full of a variety of vegetables. This, too, was contrary to what might have been expected in the desert where, all things being dry and burnt up by the fierce rays of the sun produce not even the slenderest root of any plant. But the labor which in common with his ox, the monk performed, as well as his own special industry, produced such a happy state of things to the holy man; for the frequent irrigation in which he engaged imparted such a fertility to the sand that we saw the vegetables in his garden flourishing and coming to maturity in a wonderful manner. On these, then, the ox lived as well as its master; and from the abundance thus supplied, the holy man provided us also with a dinner.

Further, even the desert provides this holy man with the fruits he needs complete with a requisite vicious beast:

Then after dinner, when the evening was coming on, our host invites us to a palm-tree, the fruit of which he was accustomed to use, and which was at a distance of about two miles. For that is the only kind of tree found in the desert, and even these are rare, though they do occur. I am not sure whether this is owing to the wise foresight of former ages, or whether the soil naturally produces them. It may indeed be that God, knowing beforehand that the desert was one day to be inhabited by the saints, prepared these things for his servants. For those who settle within these solitudes live for the most part on the fruit of such trees, since no other kinds of plants thrive in these quarters. Well, when we came up to that tree to which the kindness of our host conducted us, we there met with a lion; and on seeing it, both my guide and myself began to tremble; but the holy man went up to it without delay, while we, though in great terror, followed him. As if commanded by God, the beast modestly withdrew and stood gazing at us, while our friend, the monk, plucked some fruit hanging within easy reach on the lower branches. And, on his holding out his hand filled with dates, the monster ran up to him and received them as readily as any domestic animal could have done; and having eaten them, it departed. We, beholding these things, and being still under the influence of fear, could not but perceive how great was the power of faith in his case, and how weak it was in ourselves.

The lion not only does not eat the ascetic but has returned to the vegetarian state of the garden.

Similarly, section 1.14 gives us a she-wolf who eats bread from an ascetic’s hand and who apologizes in canine form when she takes two biscuits one night instead of her accustomed one. In 1.15 a lioness beseeches healing from an ascetic for her five cubs born blind. He heals them and she brings him the skin of a rare animal as a cloak as thanks. In 1.16, an ascetic new to the desert ate poisonous roots which put him in torment. Accordingly, an ibex came and taught him which roots were safe and which were dangerous.

Section 1.17 makes a deliberate connection with the two great (literary) monastic exemplars, Antony and Paul. Within this same section, connected as it were to these figures, is the preeminent Edenic anchorite:

I saw the Red Sea and the ridges of Mount Sinai, the top of which almost touches heaven, and cannot, by any human effort, be reached. An anchorite was said to live somewhere within its recesses: and I sought long and much to see him, but was unable to do so. He had for nearly fifty years been removed from all human fellowship, and used no clothes, but was covered with bristles growing on his own body, while, by Divine gift, he knew not of his own nakedness. As often as any pious men desired to visit him, making hastily for the pathless wilderness, he shunned all meeting with his kind. To one man only, about five years before my visit, he was said to have granted an interview; and I believe that man obtained the favor through the power of his faith. Amid much talk which the two had together, the recluse is said to have replied to the question why he shunned so assiduously all human beings, that the man who was frequently visited by mortals like himself, could not often be visited by angels. From this, not without reason, the report had spread, and was accepted by multitudes, that that holy man enjoyed angelic fellowship.

Like (the pre-Eve) Adam, the anchorite was entirely solitary, he held converse with angels and, like both prelapsarian humans, was naked yet not ashamed.  While Postumanius goes on to describe some marvels in a monastery, he then goes on to recount ascetics who failed. Though he continues on for several more sections, it becomes evident that the nameless ascetic of Sinai is the pinnacle of the Eastern monastic exemplars.

After Postumanius finishes, the Gaul begins to hold forth on Martin. The central thesis of the Dialogues is laid out in 1.24 thusly:

Indeed, Postumianus, replied I [Sulpicius], while I was listening attentively, all this time, to you talking about the excellences of the saints, in my secret thoughts I had my mind turned to my friend Martin, observing on the best of grounds that all those things which different individuals had done separately, were easily and entirely accomplished by that one man alone. For, although you certainly related lofty deeds, I really heard nothing from your lips (may I say it, without offense to these holy men), in which Martin was inferior to any one of them. And while I hold that the excellence of no one of these is ever to be compared with the merits of that man, still this point ought to be attended to, that it is unfair he should be compared, on the same terms, with the recluses of the desert, or even with the anchorites. For they, at freedom from every hindrance, with heaven only and the angels as witnesses, were clearly instructed to perform admirable deeds; he, on the other hand, in the midst of crowds and intercourse with human beings— among quarrelsome clerics, and among furious bishops, while he was harassed with almost daily scandals on all sides, nevertheless stood absolutely firm with unconquerable virtue against all these things, and performed such wonders as not even those accomplished of whom we have heard that they are, or at one time were, in the wilderness.

The holiness of the Eastern ascetics cannot only be matched but entirely surpassed. While their virtues and miracles were spread amongst many men, all of these virtues and miracles can be found in Martin himself. By extension, therefore, if Martin can surpass the Eastern ascetics, there is no good reason why western ascetics (especially through the intercessions of Martin) cannot thereby equal or surpass them as well.

I’ll not go through Dialogues books 2 and 3 in detail here but will make some pointed observations in regard to the foregoing section. Two items in particular seem to occupy the attention of Sulpicius. First, can the active life of a bishop be as virtuous as the monastic life? Second, Can the more active life impart virtues and benefits that the solitary life cannot?

In regard to the first, Sulpicius makes acknowledgment that the purely contemplative life is more perfect. He is, after all, an ascetic writing for ascetics. This point is made most specifically in section 2.4 in the words of the Gaul:

I have often noticed this, Sulpitius, that Martin was accustomed to say to you, that such an abundance of power was by no means granted him while he was a bishop, as he remembered to have possessed before he obtained that office. Now, if this be true, or rather since it is true, we may imagine how great those things were which, while still a monk, he accomplished, and which, without any witness, he effected apart by himself; since we have seen that, while a bishop, he performed so great wonders before the eyes of all. Many, no doubt, of his former achievements were known to the world, and could not be hid, but those are said to have been innumerable which, while he avoided boastfulness, he kept concealed and did not allow to come to the knowledge of mankind; for, inasmuch as he transcended the capabilities of mere man, in a consciousness of his own eminence, and trampling upon worldly glory, he was content simply to have heaven as a witness of his deeds. That this is true we can judge even from these things which are well known to us, and could not be hid; since e.g. before he became a bishop he restored two dead men to life, facts of which your book has treated pretty fully, but, while he was bishop, he raised up only one, a point which I am surprised you have not noticed.

Thus, Martin the monk raised two people from the dead while Martin the bishop restored only one. (This is Sulpicius’s idea of “less power” when it comes to extolling his patron!)

What I’d like to focus on, though is the second point. Martin orders around some domestic animals—a possessed cow in 2.9 (compare the possessed camel in the Life of Hilarion)—but Sulpicius makes a deliberate transfer of the “domesticating” power of ascesis.

Martin does not dwell in the deserts; he is in the cities. As a result, his power isn’t over the savage animals of the wastes but over the nobility. While desert ascetics have the power to tame creatures, Martin is given power over kings and queens. Furthermore, while the desert ascetics can only save themselves and their comrades from beasts, Martin’s effect upon the nobility has the potential for much wider social change.

The Gaul presents an extended  narrative that lays the foundation for this. First, he shows the hostility against which Martin contended:

Well, just about the time when he first became a bishop, a necessity arose for his visiting the imperial court. Valentinian, the elder, then was at the head of affairs. When he came to know that Martin was asking for things which he did not incline to grant, he ordered him to be kept from entering the doors of the palace. Besides his own unkind and haughty temper, his wife Arriana had urged him to this course, and had wholly alienated him from the holy man, so that he should not show him the regard which was due to him. (2.5)

Mere royalty, however, are no match for Martin:

Martin, accordingly, when he had once and again endeavored to procure an interview with the haughty prince, had recourse to his well-known weapons— he clothes himself in sackcloth, scatters ashes upon his person, abstains from food and drink, and gives himself, night and day, to continuous prayer. On the seventh day, an angel appeared to him, and tells him to go with confidence to the palace, for that the royal doors, although closed against him, would open of their own accord, and that the haughty spirit of the emperor would be softened. Martin, therefore, being encouraged by the address of the angel who thus appeared to him, and trusting to his assistance, went to the palace. The doors stood open, and no one opposed his entrance; so that, going in, he came at last into the presence of the king, without any one seeking to hinder him. The king, however, seeing him at a distance as he approached, and gnashing his teeth that he had been admitted, did not, by any means, condescend to rise up as Martin advanced, until fire covered the royal seat, and until the flames seized on a part of the royal person. In this way the haughty monarch is driven from his throne, and, much against his will, rises up to receive Martin. He even gave many embraces to the man whom he had formerly determined to despise, and, coming to a better frame of mind, he confessed that he perceived the exercise of Divine power; without waiting even to listen to the requests of Martin, he granted all he desired before being asked. Afterwards the king often invited the holy man both to conferences and entertainments; and, in the end, when he was about to depart, offered him many presents, which, however, the blessed man, jealously maintaining his own poverty, totally refused, as he did on all similar occasions.

But that’s not all… Section 2.6 describes in servile detail how the queen, wife of Maximus, used to serve Martin hand and foot:

[Maximus] frequently sent for Martin, received him into the palace, and treated him with honor; his whole speech with him was concerning things present, things to come, the glory of the faithful, and the immortality of the saints; while, in the meantime, the queen hung upon the lips of Martin, and not inferior to her mentioned in the Gospel, washed the feet of the holy man with tears and wiped them with the hairs of her head. Martin, though no woman had hitherto touched him, could not escape her assiduity, or rather her servile attentions. She did not think of the wealth of the kingdom, the dignity of the empire, the crown, or the purple; only stretched upon the ground, she could not be torn away from the feet of Martin. At last she begs of her husband (saying that both of them should constrain Martin to agree) that all other attendants should be removed from the holy man, and that she alone should wait upon him at meals.

And it goes on like that for a while. The point Sulpicius is making is that Martin has totally domesticated one of the most dangerous creature in his environment, a woman who was royalty. Some of the ascetics of the desert would not so much as look at a women (see Historia Monachorum in Aegypto, 1.4-9) let alone allow themselves to be touched by one. Sulpicius uses this opportunity for scandal to reveal Martin’s greater power than the ascetics. Not only can he be safely touched by a woman, he is able to use it for godly ends. When Postumanius expresses wonder at a woman touching Martin, the Gaul responds:

Why do you not notice, as grammarians are wont to teach us, the place, the time, and the person? For only set before your eyes the picture of one kept in the palace of the emperor importuned by prayers, constrained by the faith of the queen, and bound by the necessities of the time, to do his utmost that he might set free those shut up in prison, might restore those who had been sent into exile, and might recover goods that had been taken away—of how much importance do you think that these things should have appeared to a bishop, so as to lead him, in order to the accomplishment of them all, to abate not a little of the rigor of his general scheme of life? (2.7)

Implicit is the revelation of Martin’s greater power. Due to his power over the king and queen, he is able to have profound effects upon the actions and policy of those in government.

The theme of the domestication of beasts is set forth explicitly in the description of Martin’s dealings with a nobleman named Avtianus, described in Book 3:

You knew the too barbarous and, beyond measure, bloody ferocity of Avitianus, a former courtier. He enters the city of the Turones with a furious spirit, while rows of people, laden with chains, followed him with melancholy looks, orders various kinds of punishments to be got ready for slaying them; and to the grave amazement of the city, he arranges them for the sad work on the following day. When this became known to Martin, he set out all alone, a little before midnight, for the palace of that beast (ad praetorium bestiae). (3.4)

Martin torments Avitianus in his sleep, he awakes, finds Martin there, and sets all of his prisoners free, departing from the city. Avitianus comes up later in the book as well:

But to return to Avitianus: while at every other place, and in all other cities, he displayed marks of horrible cruelty, at Tours alone he did no harm. Yes, that beast (illa bestia), which was nourished by human blood, and by the slaughter of unfortunate creatures, showed himself meek and peaceable in the presence of the blessed man. I remember that Martin one day came to him, and having entered his private apartment, he saw a demon of marvelous size sitting behind his back. Blowing upon him from a distance (if I may, as a matter of necessity, make use of a word which is hardly Latin , Avitianus thought that he was blowing at him, and exclaimed, ‘Why, you holy man, do you treat me thus?’ But then Martin said, ‘It is not at you, but at him who, in all his terribleness, leans over your neck.’ The devil gave way, and left his familiar seat; and it is well known that, ever after that day, Avitianus was milder, whether because he now understood that he had always been doing the will of the devil sitting by him, or because the unclean spirit, driven from his seat by Martin, was deprived of the power of attacking him; while the servant was ashamed of his master, and the master did not force on his servant.

Here the topos is made explicit. The beast is tamed by the holy man.

Thus, in Sulpicius’s writings about Martin, he both envisions and responds to the role of the holy ascetic in Western culture explicitly different from the Eastern model. In the East, the monk inhabits the deserts. He is a solitary. In his solitude, he can recapture the peace of Eden. In the West, though, the holy ascetic is no less a man of prayer, but is one who acts upon the whole social structure by means of his relations at the top. Through the moderating influence of holiness upon the nobles, a “peaceable kingdom” may be achieved.

In a sense, Suplicius tries to pull off quite a number of things here, some of which should probably give us pause. Not only does he translate Eastern piety into Western culture but in doing so, he reverses the monastic approach to the Constantinian state of the Church. While the monks reacted by retreating from it, Sulpicius fully embraces it. Martin by no means holds himself apart but actively engages the machinery of the state at its highest levels, using his influence to moderate the vicious state of the State.

The Daily Office in Holy Week

Initial Considerations

The disposition of the Daily Office in Holy Week is perhaps the single most complex area where the current shape of the ’79 BCP must be reconciled with the practices of the historic Western liturgy. Three major factors are in play here:

  1. The simplifying principles of the BCPs and post-conciliar liturgies in general
  2. The shifting of Passion Sunday from Lent 5 to Lent 6
  3. The renewed emphasis upon Triduum in post-conciliar liturgies

The Offices of Holy Week in the Tridentine breviary are some of the most unusual and irregular of the year. On one hand, it reverts back to a more primitive shape of the Office that drops a number of usual features, most notably the Opening Versicles and the Invitatory. On the other, it adds a new layer of liturgy and ceremonial appropriate to the events of Triduum. The “Tenebrae” services celebrated in many mainline protestant churches involving a set of readings and a progressive extinguishing of candles is an adaptation of these offices wherein Vespers was dropped and Matins and Lauds were anticipated on the evening before.

Due to the simplifications of the previous Books of Common Prayer, the changes and elaborate ceremonial involving the hearse (a triangular wooden candelabrum containing 15 candles) were dropped. Furthermore, the Ordinary Form of the Roman Rite with its simplification of the Liturgy of the Hours has left these liturgies in an ambiguous state. The General Instructions on the Liturgy of the Hours (GILH) directs that Evening Prayer not be said on Maundy Thursday or Good Friday by those who participate in the proper liturgies of these days (GILH 209). It advocates a public celebration of the Office of Readings and Morning Prayer (GILH 210). Exactly how or if the ceremonial of the older form is retained is left to the discretion of the celebrant. One method is described in Appendix Seven of +Elliott’s Ceremonies of the Liturgical Year.

Perhaps the more significant issue is the reversion to a primitive form. Part of the simplification of the Books of Common Prayer is that they maintain a constant form of the Office that does not change. Thus, occasional reversions to primitive forms as in this case are silently removed for the sake of simplicity. That having been said, not all Anglicans have retained this simplicity and have chosen to cleave more closely to primitive practice; Ritual Notes, 11th ed. provides a model for adapting the 1662 Office to historic liturgical norms while the Order of the Holy Cross’s A Monastic Breviary offers a contemporary adaptation based on the precursors to the ’79 BCP.

The second issue regards the movement of Passion Sunday. Under the previous perspective where Lent had been seen as a tiered period of increasing penitence, the shift into Passiontide adds an additional grade up with Holy Week and Triduum providing the final steps before Easter. The leveling of Lent included the shift of Passion Sunday off Lent 5 and combining it with Lent 6/Palm Sunday. There is a useful pastoral rationale here, namely that those who do not or cannot attend mid-week public services do not go straight from the Triumphal Entry to the Empty Tomb thereby skipping the passion, death, and burial of Christ. This shift impacts the Office as a few reversions to the primitive form had historically occurred on Passion Sunday. Specifically, the Gloria Patri was removed in some places—the Opening Versicles, the Responsary Prayers, and the Invitatory—but not others—it was still said following the psalms and canticles.

The third issue reflects the intention of the Liturgical Renewal Movement concerning the importance of Triduum. This emphasis suggests that changes to the liturgy to highlight this time would be appropriate and in line with the priorities of the ’79 BCP.

Triduum Recommendations

Based on the core principle of using the ’79 BCP in continuity with the historic Western liturgy, I think that it would be most appropriate to abridge the Offices during Triduum for the sake of contituity. The alterations suggested by A Monastic Breviary serve as my main model, being a respectful attempt to incorporate the historic patterns into the contemporary Offices.

Therefore, in Triduum:

  • Offices begin with the Psalms (and antiphons if used) except for Compline; Compline begins with the Confession and Absolution, then jumps to the Psalms.
  • All Gloria Patris are omitted.
  • A penitential responsory replaces the 1st canticle at Morning and Evening Prayer
  • All hymns are omitted
  • The Offices conclude early. After the Gospel/second canticle of Morning and Evening Prayer, the Lord’s Prayer and the Collect of the Day are said at which point the Office ends. At Noon Prayer the Lord’s Prayer and Collect of the Day complete the Office immediately after the Psalm(s). At Compline, the Nunc Dimittis without Antiphon follows the Psalms, then the Lord’s Prayer and Collect conclude the hour.

It would also be my recommendation to omit the Gloria Patris during the first four days of Holy Week as well.

Fore-Office

The Angelus, should you use it, is said through Wednesday in Holy Week.

Two Opening Sentences are provided for Morning Prayer in Holy Week. Presumably the first is for the first four days and the second is for Triduum. If Opening Sentences are omitted during Triduum, however, either may be used.

The Confession of Sin should be used on the first four days of Holy Week. If opening matter is omitted during Triduum, this should be omitted as well.

The Invitatory and Psalter

“Alleluia” after the opening versicle is not said when the Versicle is used.

Holy Week does not receive its own Invitatory Antiphon. You may either use the text provided for Lent or omit the antiphon altogether.

The Daily Office Lectionary appoints Psalm 95 as the Invitatory for Good Friday and Holy Saturday in place of the Venite.

When “Alleluia” appears in the psalter during Holy Week it is omitted.

The Gloria Patri may be omitted during Holy Week at your discretion.

The Lessons

Palm Sunday and Good Friday use the almost the same lessons in both years. Four readings are appointed; two are designated for Morning Prayer and two for Evening Prayer. For the Palm Sunday Texts, the first two are “Palm” readings and the second two are “Passion” readings, mirroring the division in the prayer book’s Palm/Passion Sunday liturgy. The morning’s Zechariah text contains the prophecy of the king of Zion riding triumphant, victorious, and humble on a donkey rather than a war-horse and presents the paradox of a large prosperous nation without weapons. The second lesson from 1 Timothy includes one of the few instances of Paul appealing directly to a Jesus narrative, reminding Timothy of Jesus’s confession before Pilate. The evening lessons carry a darker tone, presenting another prophecy from Zechariah concerning “him whom they have pierced” and describing the weeping and mourning of Jerusalem. The second reading alternates by year between Matthew and Luke’s rendering of the Cleansing of the Temple which, in the Synoptic timeline, follows upon the morning’s palm procession.

Four readings should be used on Good Friday but five options are given. The preferred morning first reading is from the Book of Wisdom which describes the wicked speaking together, plotting against the righteous one, with heavily prophetic overtones. For those with allergies to the Apocrypha, the other option is the typological sacrifice of Isaac from Genesis 22. The second reading for the morning is Peter’s insistence to Jesus that he will remain faithful and Jesus informing him that he will deny three times before the cock’s crow. The first reading for Evening Prayer comes from 1 Peter and speaks of the sufferings of Christ, exhorting the faithful to obedience and holiness. The second reading is from John describing the giving of Christ’s body to Joseph of Arimathea.

For the rest of the week, Year One retains the use of Jeremiah, following medieval tradition, and uses the second half of Philippians until Triduum. The Gospel is from John, following his account of the triumphal entry and the following dying seed discourse with the Last Supper/High Priestly Prayer for Maundy Thursday. Year Two uses Lamentations, which in medieval tradition was read over Triduum, and provides the opening portions of 2 Corinthians until Triduum. The Gospel follows Mark’s narration of the entry and last days including his Last Supper account for Maundy Thursday. Holy Saturday appoints Hebrews 4 for the morning on account of its description of God’s rest on the seventh day; Romans 8 is appointed for the evening foreshadowing the Vigil.

If first canticles are used, the Kyrie Pantokrator is most appropriate with the Gospel Canticles for the second.

The Prayers

The American 1928 BCP appoints the Collect for Palm Sunday to be read following the Collect of the Day from until Good Friday. While this option is not mentioned in the ‘79 BCP, it seems a good practice in keeping with this book’s heightened emphasis on the seasons of the liturgical year.

The Marian Anthem is used Through Wednesday of Holy Week.

On Transferences and “Open Days”

There was a discussion a little earlier concerning the feasts transferred due to occurrence with Sundays or Privileged Octaves like Holy Week and Easter Week. Here’s a brief historical note which some may find of interest.

While browsing through the Ordinale Sarum for Primum E (one of the earliest possible dates for Easter) I noted the following entries:

  • After March 16th (Palm Sunday) it states: “Festa Sanctorum Edwardi, Cuthberti, et Benedicti differantur vsque ad eorum translationes” (The feasts of Sts Edward [3/18], Cuthbert [3/20], and Benedict [3/21] should be delayed until [the feast of their] their translations [which celebrate the moving of their relics and which fall respectively on 6/20, 9/4, and 7/11]). (St Joseph isn’t on March 19th in the old Sarum kalendar—he won’t show up for a while…)
  • After March 23rd (Easter Sunday) it states: “Festum Annunciationis differatur in terciam feriam post octaua Pasce.” (The Feast of the Annunciation should be delayed until Tuesday after the Octave of Easter.)

I find the first very interesting as it explains a few feasts that I’d noticed but not understood such as the Feast of the Ordination of Gregory the Great on September 3rd.  (As ordination dates for popes aren’t typically feted.) Gregory’s usual Sarum feast day is March 12th. Thus, it’s one of the days that will always fall within Lent (March 10th-21st). These unusual extras allow for a full celebration of these Lenten saints who might otherwise get suppressed altogether.

The second confirms that the English 1662 BCP’s Rule 1 on transferring bumped feasts to Tuesdays and Thursdays does seem to be a continuation of medieval practice.

Evening Prayer and Smokey Mary

I’ve been involved in all manner of business over the past few weeks and it’ll be continuing for the next several as well. In lieu of thoughtful content, I’ll offer up a little gem off the hard-drive. Back when I was dwelling/squatting in New York and attending Smokey Mary almost daily for Evening Prayer and Mass, I took some brief notes on how Evening Prayer was conducted there. I’ve turned to this a couple of times recently for persons interested in the public recitation of the Offices, and have been considering posting it here.

Which I am.

So, if you’d like to see how one parish celebrates public evening prayer, here is: StMV Evening Prayer.

So Nice…

M and I really haven’t been thrilled with the Lenten midweek programs in our area (see below on the “Celtic” thing…). Admittedly, we qualify as a Tough Crowd. We’re aware of that; we have high standards when it comes to Christian formation.

I tried another area mid-week program last night at the Church of the Advent—this one turned out to be “how to do a close reading of the Gospels.” I loved it! The evening started with Stations of the Cross and Solemn Benediction, then a great dinner (where I had the opportunity to chat with John) and a solid non-fluffy presentation on attending to the text of the New Testament. It was such a delight to see clergy so familiar with and passionate about the Gospels. Too, their whole line-up of sessions is a back-to-basics set of topics that look closely at the bedrock of Anglican spiritual practice: the Daily Office, Confession, the catechism, etc. Take note, local clergy, this is what a Lenten program ought to look like!

I’ll definitely be back for more…

Couple Brief Thoughts on Celtic Spirituality

I cleverly managed to delete my post on the Daily Office in Holy Week… That’ll be coming once I get the time to reconstruct it.

I’ve been taking part in a Lenten program that bills itself as Celtic Spirituality. I was interested in seeing what was being said. It’s pretty much what I figured it would be, contemporary Liberal Protestant with a lot of feeling and a thin veneer that occasionally references some historical materials, some of which are “Celtic” (and some aren’t—unless the Victorines are Celtic and no one bothered to inform me…).

I took the chance recently to reacquaint myself with the Celtic Spirituality volume in the Classics of Western Spirituality series. It’s hard to screw up primary sources, however how you contextualize them and how you select them is open to a certain amount of fiddling. I found the introduction interesting as it I finally “got” the agenda here; they’re looking for a non-Roman Christianity, one that hasn’t been “spoiled” by the Church Fathers and classical culture. Here are a few significant quotes:

It has perhaps been the fate of Celts and the Celtic more than any other ethnic category to engage the imaginations of other cultures and to be taken up into agendas and narratives quite removed from the social realities of the insular world during the early Middle Ages. (pg. 8 )

(Hmm. You don’t say…)

Indeed, the early Welsh were keen to stress their historical links with the old Roman civilization and with the religion that it had introduced, and it is worth noting that the very term Welsh is an early English word that means “Romanized Celt.” (pg. 21)

This is news. In the Old English that I know wealh, wealas has two interconnected meanings: foreigner and slave. Did you mean Romanized or Romanticized?

Where things start getting hard and heavy is the final section of the introduction  entitled “Toward a Celtic Spirituality.”

The reconstruction of the spirituality of medieval Christians is not an easy task. In the first place, it requires an understanding of a cultural world that was very different from our own. But it is precisely the “otherness” of early medieval Celtic Christianity that makes it attractive to us, for it seems to contain perspectives that must have originated in the religious disposition of tribal peoples virtually untouched by the classical tradition.

. . .

It may be that an ancient form of Christianity survived much longer on the western margins of Europe, where there was, for instance, a relative absence of urban centers, than it did elsewhere.

. . .

Whatever the strengths of the classical Christian perspective that became the norm in most parts of western Christendom, many in the world today have become generally skeptical of a number of its key presuppositions. [summarizing here: primacy of males, reason over imagination, absence of nature, alienation from the body] A number of the Christian texts included in the present volume offer—albeit tentatively in some instances—the outline of alternative paradigms. (pgs. 23-24)

Ok—I see in here a Rousseauean “noble savage” conceit nurtured by latent nationalism and an appeal to the primitive church over-and-against “classical” (read “Roman [Catholic]”) developments. Interesting indeed…

I was also amused by this section that introduced the saints’ lives in the volume:

This latter point [that hagiography is about depicting sanctity to a culture] is of considerable importance, since there is a marked tendency among Celtic hagiographers to signal Christian sanctity by the use of motifs that appear to belong to the iconography of an earlier and pre-Christian age or, alternatively, to that of a surviving paganism. These are magical in kind and stress the Christian saint’s access to power. The Lives of Celtic saints are notoriously amoral in that the power of the saint can often be manifest in destructive ways that sit uneasily with the ethical values of the Christian gospel. (pg. 27)

So this is a uniquely Celtic trait? So you haven’t read either the Life of Martin or the Dialogues of Sulpicius Severus? Or the monastic Lives of Jerome? Or the Lives of the Desert Fathers? Because the same exact things happen there. Or, perhaps, would you rather have us believe that we’re getting in touch with a way more cool Pre-Christian and possible pagan element than to suggest that they were borrowing stock topoi that were an expected part of the genre that they were copying from the broader Church…

Of course, perhaps Jerome was Celtic and I just hadn’t picked up on that before now.

Ok—I am being a little harsh here, I admit it. There are some helpful and important things that are drawn out in the introduction but I feel that they only mumble that which I would shout from the rooftops:

To some extent what we will find in these texts is a type of Christianity that was characteristic of the patristic period, prior to the rise of Benedictine monasticism on the Continent and the centralizing, regulating, influence of the papacy, and which survived in the Celtic margins. (pg. 12)

. . .

The Irish monks who from the sixth century traveled across the continent of Europe were following in the footsteps of ancient Irish traders, and the great monastic foundations of Southern Gaul, such as Marmoutier and Lerins, were seedbeds of monasticism that undoubtedly left their mark on the early Irish Church. (pg. 17)

. . .

The spiritual inspiration for the early Welsh Church seems to have come in the main from the monks of the Middle East through their counterparts in Southern Gaul. The Lives of the early Welsh saints are full of references and allusions to the monasticism of the desert, and the Eastern monastic ascetic ideal evidently proved a powerful role model in Wales, as it did in other Celtic lands. (pg. 22).

There we go—that’s what I’m talking about.

This ht me hardest when reading through the Welsh poem “Praise to the Trinity” which contains this epithet, “The God of Paul and Anthony.” The Paul and Anthony are Paul of Thebes and Anthony the Great and right there any notion of pristine, primitive, non-classically influenced Christianity is blown out of the water by a clear off-hand reference to the writings of Jerome and Athanasius…

Here’s the bottom line for me. If all you know about patristic Christianity is the treatises of St Augustine and all you know about medieval Christianity is Thomas’s Summa, then yes, “Celtic spirituality” can look like quite the refreshing surprise. And, given what gets taught in seminaries these days, some (many?) clergy are in this position, let alone lay people.

My perspective, though, is entirely different. I see these documents in the context of the Monastic Pipeline West which flows from Jerome and John Cassian to Sulpicius Severus and Caesarius of Arles and through Gaul to the Insular world. These Celtic writings are not discontinuous from “established Christianity” but represent a development of a particular strand of it as the West sought to assimilate and inculturate the ideals of the monastic movement. For me, they’re part and parcel of early medieval monasticism. Yes, Celtic hymns and poems are quite beautiful and astounding—especially if you’ve never heard of Paulinus of Nola or Venantius Fortunatus and have no clue about the hymnwriters and poets working contemporaneously.

Is that to say that there’s nothing distinctive about the particularly “Celtic” instantiation of early medieval monasticism? No—but what it is is more difficult to isolate and define than what it’s made out to be.

The Kalendar in Holy Week

Overview

Holy Week is the week beginning with Palm/Passion Sunday and ending at the Eucharist of the Easter Vigil on Holy Saturday. While it falls within Lent, it represents an intensification of Lent and includes the Triduum, the Three Great Days.

Triduum is not a term used by the ’79 BCP. Nevertheless, attention to Triduum is perhaps one of the major differences between the ’79 BCP and all other Books of Common Prayer. Specific liturgies for Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and Holy Saturday including an Easter Vigil particularly focus attention around this greatest festival of Christ’s self-giving, death, and resurrection.

Every day in Holy Week is an officially named holy day in the BCP. Holy Week begins with “The Sunday of the Passion: Palm Sunday,” extends from “Monday in Holy Week” through “Wednesday in Holy Week” before arriving at “Maundy Thursday,” “Good Friday,” and “Holy Saturday.”

Holy Week may start as early as March 15th or end as late as April 24th—giving a 40 day span within which these seven days may be located.

Historical Treatment

Under the early 20th century Pian rules, the first three weekdays of Holy Week are privileged ferias. Doubles of the First or Second Class were transferred until after the Easter octave; lesser feasts were commemorated at Vespers and Lauds. No commemorations were allowed during the Triduum.

Under the rules immediately before Vatican II, all the days in Holy Week were ferias of the first class. Feasts of the first class would be transferred until after the Easter octave; any lesser feasts would be omitted for the year without commemoration.

Thus the temporal days within Lent fell into the following categories; rank/order of precedence is per Ritual Notes:

Rank Class Days
2 Feria, 1st Class The last three days in Holy Week (Triduum)
6 Sunday, 1st Class Palm Sunday
7 Feria, 1st Class The first three days in Holy Week

Within the “Rules to Order the Service” in the English 1662 BCP, rules 1 through 3 address, among other things, occurrence with the days of Holy Week. Rule 1 states that:

When some other greater Holy Day falls on…Palm Sunday or one of the fourteen days following…it shall be transferred as appropriate to the Tuesday after Easter 1…: except that if Easter Day falls on April 22nd, 24th or 25th, the festival of St. Philip and St. James shall be observed on the Tuesday of the week following Easter 1, and the festival of St. Mark shall be observed on the Thursday of that week.

Thus, Holy Days are transferred after the Octave of Easter and special rules are in force when said transference might interfere with other Holy Days.

Rule 2 prohibits a greater Holy Day from superseding Palm Sunday.

Rule 3 states, “A lesser Holy Day shall lapse if it falls…on Palm Sunday or any of the fourteen days following.”

The Table of Precedence in the American 1928 BCP follows the same principle, giving “All the days of Holy Week” precedence and transferring Holy Days to the next open day after the Octave of Easter.

Current Status

The ’79 BCP agrees with both the classical Anglican and modern Roman rules. While the days of Holy Week are not ranked in the BCP’s minimalist system, a note under Holy Days clarifies their place:

Feasts appointed on fixed days in the calendar are not observed on the days of Holy Week or of Easter Week. Major Feasts falling in these weeks are transferred to the week following the Second Sunday of Easter, in the order of their occurrence. (p. 17)

Otherwise, only Good Friday is identified alongside Ash Wednesday as the other “Fast” under Class 3 Holy Days.

General Norms for the Liturgical Year (GNLY) gives all the weekdays of Holy Week “precedence over all other celebrations” (GNLY 16.1). While the ’79 BCP does not define the term Triduum, the GNLY does:

Christ redeemed humankind and gave perfect glory to God principally through his paschal mystery: dying he destroyed our death and rising he restored our life. Therefore the Easter triduum of the passion and resurrection of the Lord is the culmination of the entire liturgical year.  Thus the solemnity of Easter has the same kind of preeminence in the liturgical year that Sunday has in the week.

The Easter triduum of the passion and resurrection of the Lord begins with the Evening Mass of the Lordʼs Supper, reaches its high point in the Easter Vigil, and closes with Evening Prayer on Easter Sunday, the Sunday of the Lordʼs resurrection.

On Good Friday and, if possible, also on Holy Saturday until the Easter Vigil, the Easter fast is observed everywhere.

The Easter Vigil, during the holy night when the Lord rose from the dead, ranks as the “mother of all holy vigils.” Keeping watch, the Church awaits Christʼs resurrection and celebrates it in the sacraments. Accordingly, the entire celebration of this vigil should take place at night, that is, it should either begin after nightfall or end before the dawn of Sunday. (GNLY 18-21)

Thus, the Roman reckoning of Triduum extends through Holy Week proper, encompassing the Sunday of the Resurrection as well as the preceding days.

The order of precedence established in the GNLY 59 is:

Rank Class Days
1 I Easter triduum of the Lordʼs passion and resurrection
2b I Palm Sunday
2c I Weekdays of Holy Week from Monday to Thursday inclusive

Liturgical Days within Holy Week

Holy Days

There are 2 Holy Days that may fall within Holy Week:

Date Class Feast DL Notes
Mar 19 Major Feast (3b) St Joseph A
Mar 25 Feast of our Lord (3a) The Annunciation g

In each case, the feast is transferred outside of both Holy Week and the Octave of Easter as stated in the BCP: “Major Feasts falling in [this week] are transferred to the week following the Second Sunday of Easter, in the order of their occurrence” (p. 17). Given that the fall in quick succession, both feasts are often transferred. If this is the case, the feast of St Joseph should be placed on the Tuesday and the Annunciation on the Thursday after Easter 2 in order that the Eves of both feasts may be duly celebrated without concurrence with one another.

Days of Optional Observance

Days of Optional Observance that fall within Holy Week should lapse for the year.

Random Service Music Note

Don’t ask me why I’m standing here on a rainy Saturday morning flipping through Galley’s The Ceremonies of the Eucharist, a book with which I normally have little to do.

In any case, I am, and I stumbled across this little gem in his discussion of the music for the Ordinary of the Mass:

It is sometimes asserted that Episcopal congregations are required to limit their repertory of music for the ordinary to settings included in the official hymnal. Such an assertion fails to take into account the fact that the only part of the hymnal that is set forth by authority is the words. The Episcopal Church does not legislate in the matter of musical settings. Clergy and musicians, working together, are free to make use of the settings in the hymnal (whether of hymns or of the texts of the ordinary) as are appropriate to particular congregations; and to select, compose, or commission such other settings as may be desired. (p. 49)

How interesting…

A Guiding Ideology of the Liturgical Renewal Movement

I was working up a post on the Kalendar in Holy Week when I encountered a concept that really deserves a post of its own. In thinking through the changes to Triduum (Maundy Thursday through Holy Saturday including the Vigil), I put some pieces together. This is one of those odd insights where the pieces have been in plain view the whole time and stating it out loud is an absolute no-brainer—it’s just never clicked to the degree that it has now…

One of the central—if not the central—ideology of the Liturgical Renewal Movement (LRM) was to shift the liturgical churches from a eucharistic piety to a sacramental piety. That is, instead of focusing on and primarily referencing the Eucharist as the central sacrament of the Church, they sought to focus on the two chief sacraments, placing Baptism alongside the Eucharist. I would suggest that many of the liturgical and theological differences between the Church of the ’28 BCP and the Church of the ’79 BCP can be directly attributed to this shift.

From the perspective of the Church of the ’79 BCP, the Church of the ’28 and its piety focus on the Eucharist in fundamental relation to the events of the Passion. Note, for a moment, the piety captured in this collect, variants of which had wide circulation in the Anglican world of the early 20th century:

O Lord, who in a wonderful Sacrament hast left us a memorial of thy passion, grant us so to venerate the sacred mysteries of thy body and blood that we may evermore perceive within ourselves the fruits of thy redemption through Jesus Christ…

Here the Eucharist is pre-eminently a memorial of the Passion and also a participation within Christ. The reverse is also true: the events of the Passion are understood eucharistically.

Again, from the perspective of the Church of the ’79 BCP, the anthropology of the Church of the ’28 is eucharistically derived with a focus on unworthiness, particularly an unworthiness to receive the Eucharist. The Prayer of Humble Access is typically People’s Exhibit A in prosecuting this line of thought:

We do not presume to come to this thy Table, O merciful Lord, trusting in our own righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much as to gather up the crumbs under thy Table. But thou art the same Lord, whose property is always to have mercy: Grant us therefore, gracious Lord, so to eat the flesh of thy dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink his blood, that our sinful bodies may be made clean by his Body, and our souls washed through his most precious Blood, and that we may evermore dwell in him, and he in us. Amen.

Note in particular the theological function of the bit of this prayer that was edited out of the ’79 BCP’s Prayer of Humble Access: “that our sinful bodies may be made clean by his Body, and our souls washed through his most precious Blood.” I suggest that this change was made for three fundamental reasons. The first was to remove the separation of bodies and souls which the ’79 editors saw as too dualistic (see Hatchett), the second was to remove the suggestion that the body/bread effected one thing and the blood/wine effected another, but the third—and the pertinent one here—is that “washing” is connected to the Eucharist rather than Baptism.

The epicenter of this theological Change was expressed liturgically in the restructuring the Triduum. The centerpiece is the Easter Vigil as the great Baptismal Feast of the Church.This recapturing enabled the reorientation of Lent as a preparation for Baptism which takes the previous penitential character of the season and recasts it. We’re no longer just heading towards the Cross; we’re also heading towards the font.

Another noticeable change is the emphasis on the foot-washing on Maundy Thursday. While foot-washing has always been part of this day, I think that the LRM gave it a new emphasis and importance as a type of Baptism performed by Jesus on the apostles.This emphasis places Baptism as equal in importance to the Eucharist at the Last Supper, a uniquely momentous point in the Church’s consciousness.

The underlying point of these changes is the make the central festivals of the year, the liturgies of Triduum and Easter, to be centrally about both Eucharist and Baptism, then to portray the Easter Vigil as the paradigmatic act of Christian worship to which all Sunday Eucharists point. From there, the LRM and the ’79 BCP derive an anthropological shift. The sacramental center of this theological anthropology is not the Eucharist and our unworthiness to receive it, rather it is Baptism and our worthiness as members of Christ.  It is from this anthropology that a host of other changes have resulted.

(On a side note, I hypothesize that it would be very instructive to look at the exegesis of John 19:34 through the 20th century. This is the verse where the mingled blood and water flow from the side of Jesus. My guess is that at the beginning of the century, most liturgical exegetes would interpret this theologically as a reference to the Eucharist—see the number of depictions where this flow is caught by a chalice. As the LRM made headway, however, I think you’ll see a shift towards seeing it as a sign of Baptism which is how it was presented to me at seminary…)

In short, then, I think that one of the most profound theological differences between the Church of the ’79 BCP and the Church of the ’28 BCP can be traced to the impact of the LRM. Obviously there are other theological and cultural factors in play here too but I’d argue that this is how those factors were expressed liturgically. The reshaping of Triduum , the pre-eminence of the Easter Vigil, and the representation of all other Sundays as a reflection of the vigil serve to reinforce a sacramental anthropology that plays down a penitentially-rooted eucharistic anthropology in favor of a “higher” baptismal anthropology.