There is a bit of a stir online this week over comments made by Cardinal Robert Sarah, the prefect of the Congregation for Divine Worship and Discipline of the Sacraments, last month (I know, but the Vatican news cycle is weird that way). He clarified that no pastor is obligated to include women in the foot-washing rite on Holy Thursday, and “that every bishop or priest ‘has to decide in accord with his own conscience, and according to the purpose for which the Lord instituted this feast.’”
Per the revised text, that is clearly correct. There is no requirement that the group include both sexes. I said as much in a blog post when the reform was first announced.
I also wrote, “One big difference I would note between this and the announcement that females are permitted to be altar servers is that this time there is (so far as I know) no hand-wringing letter from the CDW about how confusing it could be to the faithful, about how they will need it to be carefully explained to them if their bishop or pastor should choose to include women.” Even now, in his clarification, Cardinal Sarah is not going out of his way to make any argument in favor of the men-only practice. I would have liked him to also point out that, per the revised text, no pastor is obliged to include any males in his foot-washing rite, but we can’t have everything.
What we’re seeing now—the pushback, or “concerns,” Sarah is responding to—is what always happens when women are granted some new ability to participate fully in the liturgy, on the same footing (so to speak) as men: maneuvering to protect the privileged space that was formerly reserved to men. It’s a broader social phenomenon not restricted to the church: a minority or disadvantaged group is allowed greater representation or participation, and reactionary forces in the majority group move to oppose or limit that extension of privilege. For example:
In 1970, as part of the liturgical reforms that followed the Second Vatican Council, laypeople were given the right to read from the Scriptures (but not the Gospel) at Mass. The document announcing those changes, Liturgicae instaurationes, says, “The conferences of bishops are to give specific directions on the place best suited for women to read the word of God in the liturgical assembly.” Translated, this means: Yes, you can still keep women out of the sanctuary if you like.
When the Congregation for Divine Worship finally affirmed that women and girls could be altar servers, it took care to point out that this did not restrict the prerogative of any priest to refuse to allow them and reserve the role to boys and men alone, at his discretion.
So, when the pope approved a revision to the rites for the Mass of the Lord’s Supper spelling out that the group chosen for washing "may include men and women," I knew the loophole of “may, not must” would be seized on by liturgical conservatives. Yes, the decree explicitly says that now “pastors may choose a group of faithful representing the variety and unity of every part of the People of God.” So the intent is pretty clear. And it would have been strange to mandate the presence of women in the process of undoing an irrelevant gender restriction. And, let’s posit that there may be some communities where an all-male group is representative: a seminary, a monastery, etc. But, by that same token, there are also communities where an all- or largely female group would be representative. Now such a community will not have to scramble for gentlemen to press into service, as was the case at a nursing home where I used to work, where the population was mostly female, the home was run by nuns, and the foot-washing ritual, in conformity with the letter of the law, was sadly sparse.
Let’s also remember that it could well be the case in certain communities known to Cardinal Sarah that a man, even a priest acting in persona Christi, touching a woman in this way would be considered improper. That’s structural sexism, obviously, but like all sexism it has to be undone gradually. In such a culture, if such a culture exists, a mandated change in practice that would overshadow the meaning of the rite itself is perhaps best avoided for now.
But we do not live in such a culture, which is why in this country the “viri selecti” of the Missal has been interpreted as referring to men and women for many years now. Still, if the CDW won’t speak up for the male-privilege dead-enders, there are those who will! Diane Montagna quotes Joseph Fessio, SJ, reminding her that “this is a permission, not a requirement.” And he’s not above sowing doubt as to the legitimacy of this so-called permission. “As canon law now stands,” he says, “duodecim viri (not duodecim homines) is specified.” This is the same Fr. Fessio who said, in 2008, “I have it on authority of a Roman canonist who has been involved that even to this day, technically, female altar servers are not permitted by the Code of Canon Law.” Now, as then, I would be interested to know why the decision of the CDW is not authoritative enough for him.
So: by the letter of the law, a pastor may still restrict his or her foot-washing group to men alone. The question now must be: why would he? In a parish context, where the people he serves are male and female, young and old, etc., why would he ignore the instruction that directs him to wash the feet of a group that represents the community in its diversity? To preserve male privilege is the only answer I can think of. It’s the only answer Fr. Fessio can think of, too, though he doesn’t put it in quite those words. To insist on a now officially marginalized interpretation of the rite as having to do primarily with ordination, or to insist on the sex of the apostles as binding in this one situation, amounts to the same thing. It’s the same reason one might consider erecting a second-class ambo from which the Scriptures will be proclaimed when women's voices are doing the proclaiming, or worry about protecting a priest's right to keep girls away from the altar while calling boys forward.
Fessio and others have pointed out that the foot-washing rite itself is optional. If a priest really can’t stomach the idea of allowing women to participate, and is just self-aware enough to know that excluding them will be difficult for him to defend, he can skip the rite entirely. It would impoverish the liturgies of Holy Week, yes, but would it be more detrimental than a public demonstration of his desire to go on excluding women? For such a priest, as Cardinal Sarah suggests, this Holy Week may well be an opportunity for an examination of conscience.
I woke up this morning to the very welcome news that Pope Francis has revised the Holy Thursday rite to include women as well as men in the ritual of the washing of the feet. Or, as the Vatican Radio headline so wonderfully puts it: "Pope changes Holy Thursday decree to include all people of God."
Until now the rubrics for the Mandatum -- the foot-washing ritual, which takes place after the Gospel and homily at Mass on Holy Thursday -- specified that the people whose feet were washed were "men." And that's not the English "men" that sometimes (in a totally not sexist way, as many a mansplainer will tell you) is supposed to mean "men and women"; it's the Latin "men" that means "males." Many bishops, priests, and parishes had been including women anyway, not least, as you are probably well aware, Pope Francis himself. But those who preferred an all-male lineup had the letter of the law on their side. No more: the revised text approved by Francis refers not to the "men" whose feet are washed, but to “those chosen from among the People of God.”
I've seen three basic reactions to this news in my travels online. The first is my own: Hooray! It's about time! The second: Wait, you mean washing women's feet was against the rules before? And the third, well:
Some people are displeased.
I've long argued that if you really believe that the church's refusal to consider ordaining women to the priesthood is a matter of being bound by Tradition, and definitely not just long-entrenched sexism, then you should welcome any opportunity to involve women in the life of the church. An announcement like this, like the inclusion of both females and males as altar servers, should be good news to everyone. But it doesn't always seem to work that way, in part because those most committed to preserving and defending the all-male priesthood are often those least likely to celebrate any elevation of the "people of God." If you see altar servers mainly as priests-in-training and foot-washing mainly as part of Jesus's Last Supper ordination ceremony, then those things should be limited to men, too, to protect the privileges of the priesthood. But the Mandatum isn't only or chiefly about ordination; it's about Jesus's commandment to his disciples -- and thus to all of us -- to love one another as He loved us, and to express that love in humble service. It makes no more sense to exclude women from that rite than it does to exclude them from the Communion line (when Jesus commanded, "Do this in memory of me," did he mean only men?). Pope Francis's letter explains that he changed the rite “so that it might express more fully the meaning of Jesus’ gesture in the Last Supper, His giving of Himself unto the end for the salvation of the world, His limitless charity” ("la sua carità senza confini").
So, yes, it's overdue. And yes, it is a big deal, at least if you're a practicing Catholic who thinks how we celebrate the Eucharist is important.
"But it's still just a suggestion, right?" is another reaction I've seen in a few places. "The priest doesn't HAVE to include women."
One big difference I would note between this and the announcement that females are permitted to be altar servers is that this time there is (so far as I know) no hand-wringing letter from the CDW about how confusing it could be to the faithful, about how they will need it to be carefully explained to them if their bishop or pastor should choose to include women. (Instead, there is this from the pope: " I also recommend that an adequate explanation of the rite itself be provided to those who are chosen." An opportunity for catechesis!) And there is no language carefully preserving the priest's right to go on excluding women if he so chooses. Sure, it's technically still possible, as far as I can tell, for a priest to decide that in the case of his community a group of men alone is most appropriate. He could also now opt for only women, at least as I read the rubrics. But let's remember that the liturgy is the work of the people of God -- to use a phrase Pope Francis is bringing back into vogue -- and not a performance put on by the priest for an audience of laypeople. Your parish priest could decide to ignore Francis's desire that the Holy Thursday Mass more fully express the limitless love of Christ. But why would he? And why, now that the stickler-for-the-rules excuse has been removed, would the people of God put up with it?
Everyone's got a hot take on the Pope this week. The Washington Post's George Will went full Thomas Nast in fearful preparation for Francis's arrival. ("Francis's seeming sympathy for medieval stasis...against modernity, rationality, science.") All he needed was a cartoon with mitres shaped like alligator heads attacking financiers on Wall Street.
By contrast, the New York Times's David Gelles offered a playful, well-reported piece on the front page of the business section (!) about the sharkskin-suit-wearing concert producer behind the scenes of the big show. ("The bishops," the producer said, "aren't showbiz guys.")
What's a scholar to do? What's my take?
I scooped them all.
In an article for Yahoo's page about the papal visit, I explain the "breaking news" about the Pope's concluding Mass in Philadelphia.
Detailed study of an advance, partial script of the worship service shows that the theme of income inequality will be dramatically emphasized.
With rhetorical flourish and prophetic fervor, the Mass will call for the “rich” to “weep and wail” over “impending miseries.” More specifically, the issue of wages will be explicitly addressed: “Behold, the wages you withheld from the workers” are “crying aloud.” The plight of migrant “harvesters,” undercompensated by absentee landlords, will feature as an example.
Did I use my Jesuit connections to secure an advance copy of the Pope's remarks? I wish. No collar, no embargoed remarks.
Instead, I checked the lectionary. It turns out that some of the strongest language in the Bible against income inequality (James 5:1-6) happens to appear in this Sunday's Mass. Pope Francis's emphasis on systematic exploitation of workers and migrants is, as Bible-readers know, deeply biblical. On Sunday this theme will be on display for all, and I imagine Pope Francis will take the opportunity to preach on it.
It remains to be seen whether and how he incorporates this reading with the Gospel for the day. But thanks to the lectionary, millions of people will at least hear how central to the scriptures is the cry of the poor.
(You can read the rest right here.)
We've posted two new stories to the homepage.
First, Robert Mickens reports in his weekly letter from Rome that Cardinal Luis Antonio Tagle of Manila will replace Honduran Cardinal Óscar Rodríguez Maradiaga as president of Caritas Internationalis,"the church’s leading advocate of Catholic social teaching and human development in the international arena."
And, provoking “volcanic enthusiasm” from leading women in Rome, Pope Francis has been confronting historical gender bias and economic discrimination against women during his Wednesday audiences.
...what is sure to surprise some, [the pope] refused to blame the crisis of marriage on the women’s liberation movement, though he didn’t use those exact words. “Many people hold that the changes these past decades were put into motion by the emancipation of women. But this argument is not valid, either. It’s an insult!” he said, again to loud applause. “It’s a form of machismo, which always tries to dominate women.”
Read the entire "Letter from Rome" here.
Second, the editors comment on the pope’s ousting of Bishop Robert Finn of Kansas City-St. Joseph, who was convicted of failing to report child abuse in 2012 and how it might mean that the era of “tolerating bishops who fail to protect the most vulnerable under their care has come to an end. This pope will hold them to account.” Some have criticized Francis for taking too long to remove Finn, but:
Francis is running a church with five thousand bishops. In order to educate himself about the controversy in Kansas City, a diocese of about 133,000 in a country he’s never visited, Francis initiated an investigation last September. He allowed that process to run its course, despite increasingly strenuous calls to sack Finn. The pope’s favored methods of listening and deliberation—most evident in the Synod on the Family—are themselves instruments of justice.
Read the entire editorial, “Held to Account,” here.
This week, during the bishop of Rome's annual meeting with his priests, Francis delivered a talk on homiletics, after which he took questions. A couple of his responses raised eyebrows. First the pope announced that the question of married priests "is on my agenda." Asked whether priests who married could receive a dispensation to celebrate Mass, Francis said that the Congregation for Clergy is looking into it, but that "it is a problem that does not have an easy solution." Pope Francis's openness to a married clergy is not in itself big news. Before he was elected pope, he acknowledged that clerical celibacy is matter of tradition, not a doctrine: "It can change." And last May Francis gave a bishop the impression that he was open to changing that tradition. Just a few months ago, the Vatican finally relaxed the rule barring Eastern Rite bishops from ordaining married men who minister outside their native countries. So it's not terribly surprising that he would say the issue is on his agenda.
What did surprise was Pope Francis's comments on the Latin Mass--or, as it was known after Benedict XVI approved its wider use in 2007, the Extraordinary Form. Francis called that decision "a couragous hand to Lefebvrists and traditionalists"--neither of whom seem terribly taken with Benedict's successor. Zenit reports:
The Pope noted that there are priests and bishops who speak of a "reform of the reform." Some of them are "saints" and speak "in good faith." But this "is mistaken", the Holy Father said. He then referred to the case of some bishops who accepted "traditionalist" seminarians who were kicked out of other dioceses, without finding out information on them, because "they presented themselves very well, very devout." They were then ordained, but these were later revealed to have "psychological and moral problems."
The so-called reform of the reform was, of course, one of Benedict's signature issues. American reformers of the reform were delighted when Benedict dispensed with the English translation of the Roman Missal and in 2011 forced the U.S. church to accept a new version--one that slavishly adheres to the original Latin--that its priests still haven't warmed to.
Naturally, traditionalists are not pleased with Pope Francis's reported criticism of the "reform of the reform," not that many of them could have been surprised. He's the first pope whose ordination followed Vatican II--and his liturgical preferences show it. These comments only confirm what had been obvious since his election: Pope Francis is not terribly interested in the pet issues of liturgical traditionalists. But what he said about the "psychological and moral problems" of some traditionalist seminarians really struck a nerve.Read more
Altar servers are in the news once again as a priest in the neighboring Archdiocese of San Francisco has decided to eliminate female altar servers. This follows a recent interview with Cardinal Burke where he suggested that female altar servers have contributed to a loss in priestly vocations.
While it’s possible that a decline in altar serving among young men has played a role in the decline in vocations, it is almost certainly dwarfed by other causes: widening professional opportunities for Catholic men, smaller families, a shifting sexual culture, secularism, and the rise of an active and engaged laity to name just a few.
More fundamentally, however, Vatican II’s reform of the liturgy changed the role of the server in ways that make it harder to play the role as a seedbed for vocations that it played in the past. In the pre-conciliar liturgy, servers actually had a fair bit to do. They prayed certain prayers after the priest (ostensibly on behalf of “the people”), rang bells during the consecration, and held a paten under a communicant’s chin to catch fragments of the host. Most masses--even daily Masses--had at least one server and the work of the server required fairly close collaboration with the priest throughout the Mass.
In most parishes where I’ve attended Mass during my life, however, the servers usually have a much more limited role. They usually bear the candles (and sometimes the processional cross) during the entrance and the offertory; hold the Missal during the collects; and assist the priest during the lavabo. In cases where the parish still rings bells at the elevation, this is also one of the server’s duties. Very rarely have I seen servers prepare the altar.Read more
In November 2003, Joseph Martino attended his first meeting of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops after succeeding James Timlin as bishop of Scranton, Pennsylvania. During the weeks following his October 1 installation Mass, Martino had been briefed on the scandal Timlin brought to the diocese in 1997 when he allowed the Society of St. John, a band of traditionalist clerics looking for a home, to set up shop in Scranton. As Martino walked down the aisle of the USCCB convention hall, flanked by nearly all the nation’s bishops, he turned to his auxiliary bishop, John Dougherty, and said, “I think we need to suppress that group.”
But Dougherty wasn’t convinced. Canonically suppressing the Society of St. John, he worried, might put Martino “in the position of attempting to undo an administrative act of his predecessor,” he wrote to a canon lawyer in early 2003. The “administrative act” Dougherty had in mind was Bishop Timlin’s decision to approve the Society of St. John as a “public association of the faithful,” which afforded the group certain rights under canon law—including the right to appeal to the Vatican.
Timlin’s “Decree of the Erection of the Society of St. John” was issued just a year after he met the group, then led by Fr. Carlos Urrutigoity—a native of Argentina. In the spring of 1997, Urrutigoity and his followers were ousted from the Society of St. Pius X—a schismatic organization that rejects the reforms of Vatican II—after it was discovered that they planned to establish a more spiritually rigorous group within the SSPX. Urrutigoity convinced Bishop Timlin that SSJ priests and deacons wanted to return to the Catholic Church in order to promote the old Latin Mass. Timlin was known as a friend to those who preferred the pre-Vatican II liturgy. Urrutigoity claimed that his fondest hope was to establish a seminary, a liberal-arts college, and a Catholic village. None of that would come to pass, as the Society’s efforts became mired in allegations of financial and sexual misfeasance.
Without running background checks on SSJ members, Bishop Timlin secured their reconciliation with Rome and made them priests of the Diocese of Scranton. But a year later, in 1999, Timlin learned that Urrutigoity had been accused of fondling a seminarian before arriving in Scranton. Urrutigoity denied the allegation. Even though three diocesan investigators told the bishop they found the accusation “credible,” Timlin did not sanction Urrutigoity. Later, when Society members were accused of sharing their beds with, and providing alcohol to, high-school boys, Urrutigoity promised that nothing immoral had transpired. Timlin just told SSJ members to stop such practices. The bishop did not discipline any SSJs until 2002, when a federal lawsuit alleged that Fr. Eric Ensey, a member of the Society of St. John, had sexually assaulted the plaintiff—and that Urrutigoity had fondled the young man while he slept. Timlin suspended the priests. Both of them denied the accusations under oath, and the lawsuit settled in 2005 for nearly half a million dollars. (Ensey, Urrutigoity, and Timlin could not be reached for comment.)
The canonical cover Timlin helped to provide for the Society of St. John would make it difficult for his successor to discipline the group. Adding to that difficulty was a letter of support for the SSJ that Timlin wrote in 2007, which found its way to the Vatican. Timlin’s efforts on behalf of the SSJs may have helped pave the way for their reappearance after Martino finally suppressed them in 2004. Ten years after Martino issued that decree, Urrutigoity would be named second in command of the Diocese of Ciudad del Este in Paraguay. Last September, amid public outcry over the promotion of Urrutigoity, Pope Francis removed Bishop Rogelio Ricardo Livieres Plano, the man who reestablished the SSJ in South America, where several members still reside.Read more
..Mexican Bishop Felipe Arizmendi Esquivel announced that after a 14 year church-ordered suspension of the rite, indigenous deacons would again be ordained in the Diocese of San Cristóbal de Las Casas, Chiapas—where the local church serves a largely Maya population....As a result of the dismissal of sympathetic hierarchs and the dismantling of progressive wings of the institution conducted in a climate of suspicion, liberation theology came to be understood as a failed vision, while the Vatican continued to pronounce it a false one. Before a gathering of Brazilian bishops in December 2009, Pope Benedict XVI declared liberation theology “deceitful.” After almost three decades of systematic Vatican suppression, liberation theology appeared to be dying.When Francis welcomed [liberation theology founder] Gustavo Gutierrez to the Vatican last year, it appeared no more than a simple gesture of respect for the beloved and aging patriarch of liberation theology. But Pope Francis’ revitalization of the diaconal ministry in Chiapas indicates a deeper level of support.
SAN DIEGO -- At the Catholic Theological Society of America meeting on Saturday, Archbishop John R. Quinn, emeritus of San Franciscio, responded to critiques of his 2013 book on reforning structures of church governance, Ever Ancient, Ever New. Quinn, who served as president of the U.S. bishops conference from 1977 to 1980, previewed that volume's arguments in a talk he delivered at Stanford last year. "Media reports dealing with reform tend to focus on clerical celibacy and on the ordination of women and on the reform of the Curia," he said. "These are important topics, but it would be a mistake to stop there."
The reform he urges involves decentralizing papal authority and increasing the authority of local bishops conferences. In order to achieve those goals, Quinn argued, the church has to establsh regional bishops conferences and episcopal synods that would carry out the administration of the local church (e.g., appointing bishops, handling liturgical issues, etc.). These reforms were called for by the bishops at Vatican II, according to Quinn. After Pope John Paul II asked for recommendations on reforming the papacy in Ut Unum Sint, Quinn published a book about these issues called The Reform of the Papacy (1999). Yet throughout his ponificate, John Paul continued to centralize authority in the office of the pope. Local bishops conferences lost authority. "To date," Quinn told the Stanford audience, "fifty years after the council, no deliberative synod has ever been held." His latest book is an attempt to reignite the conversation he began nearly twenty-five years ago.
The first respondent to Quinn's book was Amanda Osheim of Loras College, and the second was Joseph Komonchak (who requires no introduction here). I've collected my tweets of the session below, so remember: you may find some typos; unless you see quotation marks, I'm paraphrasing; and owing to the density and speed of the remarks, I may not have captured the speakers' intent with total clarity. The tweet parade begins after the jump.Read more
At the Pray Tell blog, Nathan Chase has a practical question: what do you do when your worship space is "too big" for the number of people gathered to worship in it?
His question takes for granted that it is desirable to have the members of the assembly at Mass sit (or stand) reasonably close together, and I think he's right about that. I like a little elbow room as much as the next Catholic, but it has certainly been my experience that I feel most connected to my fellow Massgoers when they are within reach. And I think being connected to each other is a crucial dimension of the liturgy. It also seems to encourage vocal participation (singing, answering prayers, etc.). If the sign of peace comes and I can't reach a single person (outside of my family) to shake hands, I wonder, am I really part of an intentional assembly, or are we just a lot of strangers who happened to show up in the same place at the same time for Mass?
Becoming aware of that dynamic has encouraged me to make a conscious effort, when I go to Mass, to get closer to the people I'm praying with. It seems to me we should relate to fellow parishioners differently than we relate to random strangers we encounter in public. So, I've tried to overcome my inclination to steer well clear of others, as if I were choosing a seat in a doctor's waiting room, and instead opt for, say, a pew near the front that already has a couple of people in it instead of an empty one near the back. I'm not getting so close that it makes people uncomfortable. Just close enough that I can't forget they're there, too.
I also try not to park myself on the aisle, blocking easy access to the rest of an otherwise empty pew. I'm always astonished at how many people do exactly that. Commuters know it's poor etiquette on the train or bus to force other people to ask your permission to sit in the seat you've blocked. Some people still do it, but when the train is full enough, people will ask them to move, because it's less awkward than having to stand (which, on a rush-hour train, always makes me wonder, Why bother with the passive-aggressive seat-hog act in the first place? But I digress). Since churches seldom fill to capacity, people (at least in my experience) seldom ask the aisle-seat-takers to move, and the result is a lot of pews left mostly empty but for the very ends, all the way back.
What can be done to avoid antisocial seating patterns at what ought to be a reasonably social celebration? Chase mentions a few ideas. The best solution, I suppose, is for people who attend the same Mass regularly to get to know each other -- if Massgoers are not strangers, they're less likely to behave like they are. But that's a long-term project, and of course there will always be visitors. Another possibility: have someone get up, before Mass starts, and invite people to move in closer to the altar and to each other. This kind of thing has to be done right -- it has to be genuinely welcoming, not scolding (nothing like this). The goal is not making people feel bad about the seat they've chosen, but inviting them to take an even better one. The only place I've seen this done was in Florence, Italy, at the Duomo. This happened twice, on two different visits three years apart: a sacristan -- the same fellow, both times -- came out before the Sunday Mass began to welcome us all and ask us to please move in closer. He did this in Italian, but his warm manner made his meaning clear. I ended up sitting inside the rail that encloses the altar (visible here), next to the credence table, and close enough to offer the sign of peace to tourists from a number of different countries. The experience of intimacy was not at all what I'd expected from Mass in such a venerable and cavernous space, especially as a tourist, but I've never forgotten it, and I've often wished more churches could pull it off.
What's it like at your parish? How would you fix this problem? Or do you prefer to maintain a decorous football field's distance between you and the next sinner?
It’s Holy Thursday. The Paschal Triduum is about to begin this evening with the Mass of the Lord’s Supper. For Catholics these are our “high holy days,” a single celebration of the Paschal Mystery spread out over three days, the center and high point of which is the Easter Vigil.
How important is it to get to the three great Triduum liturgies? For a lot of Catholics, it’s getting harder and harder, because of work.Read more
Since the controversy about (and subsequent veto of) Arizona's SB 1062, a pointed debate in newspapers and blogs has ensued about civil rights vs. religious liberty. Ross Douthat's New York Times column expressed frustration that religious dissenters are not being permitted to "negotiate terms of surrender" in a culture "war."
What makes this response particularly instructive is that such bills have been seen, in the past, as a way for religious conservatives to negotiate surrender — to accept same-sex marriage’s inevitability while carving out protections for dissent. But now, apparently, the official line is that you bigots don’t get to negotiate anymore.
But is this best construed as a war, or does a less threatening metaphor suffice? Perhaps we're not fighting an apocalyptic war of religion vs. secularism, but instead tinkering with our delicate balance of Constitutional rights.Read more
On a thread initiated by Fr. Robert Imbelli earlier this month (“The Whole Christ” February 7), a question arose about praying with the psalms. I mentioned a couple of essays on this subject that I have found helpful, and Bob, seconded by Tom Blackburn, kindly invited me to share some insights from these works. I wrote a bit at that time, but other duties intervened and I was unable to finish. Thinking (rightly or wrongly) that others too might be interested in these ideas about the psalms, and given the fact that the older thread is now unlikely to be visited by any but the most obsessive blog followers, I’m posting some of this material here, in two parts.Read more
On a bright, sunny morning in central Jerusalem, two friends and I approached a domed house of worship. A sign outside the door asked us to remove our shoes, so we slipped off our sandals and walked inside, where elaborate carpets covered the floors. A woman wearing a long floral skirt and a sweeping white headscarf bowed and prostrated in prayer, her forehead and lips touching the ground. These images and practices were ones I was used to encountering in Muslim communities, both in the United States and the Middle East. If it weren’t for the icons and crucifixes on the walls, I would have thought I was visiting a mosque.
But this place was an Ethiopian Orthodox church, a Christian sanctuary. Many of its features—a shrouded altar for consecration, images of Mary and St. George, and twisting crosses that reminded me of Celtic ones—gave away its Christian affiliation. But other qualities, like the practices and attire of those who prayed there, to me were reminiscent of Islam.Read more
I have remarked in years past of my Christmastide ritual of listening to Bach's Christmas Oratorio.The Oratorio comprises six cantatas for the various days of the season, culminating in tomorrow's Feast of the Epiphany.
More and more I find listening attentively, with text in hand, a form of lectio. And it makes me appreciate more Bach's own careful lectio of the text.
Thus, in the Cantata for the Epiphany, in the simple recitative of the Evangelist, intoning Herod's words to the Magi, "bring me word that I may come and worship him also," Bach adds a slight trill to the final syllable of "worship," hinting at Herod's hypocrisy. And in the answering recitative by the soprano, Bach provides a striking dissonance on "falsches Herz," – "deceitful heart."
But, most impressive for me, is the concluding Chorale of the cantata. Here, joyful trumpets herald the salvation Christ has gained us: "humankind has been raised to the side of God." Our celebration of our salvation, however, is tempered by the recognition of its cost. The melody of the joyous outburst is that of the Passion hymn, "O Sacred Head, pierced by crown of thorns." Bach is both musical genius and profound theologian.
John Eliot Gardiner's new book, Bach: Music in the Castle of Heaven," makes for excellent lectio during long Winter nights.
I love the list of names in the Gospel today, Matthew’s Genealogy of Jesus.
The list was the subject of a wonderful homily once given by the great Dominican theologian, Herbert McCabe which concludes with a memorable Advent meditation: “Well, that is the Book of the Generation of Jesus Christ. The moral is too obvious to labour: Jesus did not belong to the nice clean world of Angela McNamara or Mary Whitehouse, or to the honest, reasonable, sincere world of the Observer or the Irish Times. He belonged to a family of murderers, cheats, cowards, adulterers and liars—He belonged to us and came to help us. No wonder He came to a bad end, and gave us some hope.”
The homily, along with many other splendid things, can be found in Father McCabe’s book, God Matters. Blessed Advent.
It's one thing to hear "The Lord Is Blessing Me Right Now". It's another to see it sung by the Hands of Praise Deaf Choir from Canaan Baptist Church in Flint, MI.
Last week, here in Amman, we celebrated the feast of St. Francis of Assisi and the pope who bears his name. Parishes held large Masses, and the Franciscans friars at the well-known Catholic school Terra Sancta College performed their annual ritual commemorating the life and work of their patron. The Jordanian Catholic television channel Noursat/Telelumiere (Light TV) live-streamed Francis’s visit to Assisi and provided immediate Arabic translation of his remarks.
The most important event was a Mass in honor of the pope hosted by Apostalic Nuncio Giorgio Lingua, the Vatican’s ambassador to Jordan. Though the Mass was an elaborate affair with many non-Catholic guests, a large youth choir, posters of the pope, and a post-Mass reception, it has not yet been covered in English-language news outlets.
This post isn’t an attempt to cover the event from a journalist’s perspective. Instead, because I was in attendance as a worshipper, I hope to share some of my own reflections on the significance of the service. The Mass reflected ways in which the spirit of the two Francises is alive and well the Catholic Church in Jordan, and it illustrates what the global church can learn from the church in the Holy Land.
Nuns on a bus
Many of those in attendance at the Mass, which was held outside Amman at Our Lady of Peace Center, a Catholic-run complex that serves individuals with special needs, were nuns. Nuns from numerous orders and nationalities live in Jordan, including the Comboni Sisters who work in Amman’s Italian hospital. I met these sisters, who hail from Italy, Egypt, Syria, Poland, and Singapore, on the bus ride to the service, and I continue to see them at morning Masses at Amman’s Jesuit Center. Their humble ministry reflects two of the values promoted by Pope Francis and his namesake: simplicity and accompaniment. These sisters left their home countries to live and work among the sick of Jordan. These nuns are a reminder that the church is not just one in service of the poor, but of the poor.
What Christian unity looks like
The Mass was not just a celebration by Catholics, but by leaders of other faiths in this religiously diverse area. Representatives from Orthodox and Coptic Churches were easily noticeable from their distinctive garb. Other Eastern leaders entered alongside dozens of Roman Catholic priests as the Mass began, including Ecumenical Patriarch Bartholomew, who sat beside the Catholic leaders on the altar, beneath a large icon of Jesus the Good Shepherd.
In his homily, Archbishop Fouad Twal, head of the Archdiocese of Jerusalem, which includes Jordan, Israel and the Palestinian territories, and Cyprus, spoke about the unifying nature of Pope Francis’s papacy: “His Holiness is a source of pride for us, because during the short time of his papacy, not more than seven months, the pope has been able to seize the hearts of many people, enthrall them with his goodness and simplicity and angelic smile, whether they be Christians or non-Christians.”Read more
Many have been noting how Pope Francis has emphasized from day one his role as the Bishop of ROME. Another storyline has focused on his preference for simpler vestments and regalia, and this has been seen as a break with tradition.
But the photo captured here, during his recent trip to Lampedusa, shows that Francis may be going for the most traditional Roman look of all -- that of an ancient Roman pontifex. When he pulls his pellegrina up over his head like that, presumably to block the sun, the classicist in me sees an ancient Roman priest (e.g., click gallery below for a photo of the Augusto di via Labicana statue).
Thanks to the BBC for a great photo.
Don't tell the kids, but it's almost time for Christmas! That is, if you live in Armenia.
One of the lesser known facts about Christian history is how little concern there was -- for the first few hundred years -- about determining, much less celebrating, the date on which Jesus was born. The first extant record of proposed dates for the Nativity comes from Clement of Alexandria, about the turn of the 2nd to 3rd century:
There are those who have determined not only the year of our Lords birth, but also the day; and they say that it took place in the 28th year of Augustus, and in the 25th day of [the Egyptian month] Pachon [May 20 in our calendar]. (Stromateis 1.21.145)
Missing from this earliest evidence is either of the two dates that came to be celebrated later: December 25 (in the Western parts of the Roman Empire) or January 6 (in the Eastern parts). How did these dates arise? And why is Armenia a stalwart, still celebrating Nativity on January 6?
To these questions, professor Andrew McGowan of Trinity College at the University of Melbourne has provided a well-researched and accessibly written response: "How December 25 Became Christmas." After laying out the basic evidence, McGowan does a great service by providing a compelling alternative to a common explanation of the origin of the Christmas date. First, the oft-repeated one:
The most loudly touted theory about the origins of the Christmas date(s) is that it was borrowed from pagan celebrations. The Romans had their mid-winter Saturnalia festival in late December; barbarian peoples of northern and western Europe kept holidays at similar times. To top it off, in 274 C.E., the Roman emperor Aurelian established a feast of the birth of Sol Invictus (the Unconquered Sun), on December 25. Christmas, the argument goes, is really a spin-off from these pagan solar festivals. According to this theory, early Christians deliberately chose these dates to encourage the spread of Christmas and Christianity throughout the Roman world: If Christmas looked like a pagan holiday, more pagans would be open to both the holiday and the God whose birth it celebrated.
This explanation has been anthologized by standard coursebooks on the history of Christianity -- yet it has scant evidence to commend it.
McGowan admits, to be sure, that many of Christmas's modern customs and symbols (e.g., the tree) were appropriated through cultural interaction with non-Christian peoples in Europe. Such obvious borrowing of customs and symbols has led scholars to believe -- probably falsely -- that the date of Christmas was also borrowed from non-Christian ritual practice.To the contrary, McGowan proposes the following: "Strange as it may seem, the key to dating Jesus birth may lie in the dating of Jesus death at Passover."
Around 200 C.E. Tertullian of Carthage reported the calculation that the 14th of Nisan (the day of the crucifixion according to the Gospel of John) in the year Jesus died was equivalent to March 25 in the Roman (solar) calendar. March 25 is, of course, nine months before December 25; it was later recognized as the Feast of the Annunciation -- the commemoration of Jesus conception. Thus, Jesus was believed to have been conceived and crucified on the same day of the year. Exactly nine months later, Jesus was born, on December 25.
The first reference to the exact date of December 25 comes in the Philocalian calendar (354) from Rome, but no reason is given there for the dating.
In the East, too, the dates of Jesus conception and death were linked. But instead of working from the 14th of Nisan in the Hebrew calendar, the easterners used the 14th of the first spring month (Artemisios) in their local Greek calendar -- April 6 to us. April 6 is, of course, exactly nine months before January 6 -- the eastern date for Christmas. ... Thus, we have Christians in two parts of the world calculating Jesus birth on the basis that his death and conception took place on the same day (March 25 or April 6) and coming up with two close but different results (December 25 and January 6).
The notion that the Incarnation and Passion of Jesus ought to have occurred on the same day of the year expresses well the cyclical theological orientation of the ancient and medieval worldview. The Paschal mystery recapitulates creation.
The Armenians hold fast to the date of January 6, which was defended at length by the 7th-century Armenian mathematician, Anania of Shirak, in "A Discourse upon the Epiphany of Our Lord and Savior." In the course of that defense, he quotes from a letter about liturgical issues written by Macarius, Bishop of Jerusalem, to the Armenians in the year 335. It is furthermore clear in that letter -- which is the best extant evidence of Christian liturgy in Jerusalem before Cyril of Jerusalem, Egeria's travel diary, et al. -- that Macarius considered the date of the Nativity to be the same as the date of the Epiphany (Baptism).*
So while we complete our "Twelve Days of Christmas" in the West and prepare for our Epiphany to the Magi and "Three Kings' Day" celebrations, let us not forget the Armenians, who honor a tradition of equal antiquity.
* Terian, Abraham. Macarius of Jerusalem: Letter to the Armenians (A.D. 335). Introduction, Text, Translation, and Commentary. Crestwood, NY: St. Vladimir's Seminary Press, 2008.
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