Surrexit Christus Spes Mea!

A very blessed and holy Easter to you all! 

I am posting rather a long video today- the Exultet from Easter Vigil. I came across this particular recording of it last night, and fell in love with it. It is not merely that the priest has a grand voice for chanting, but because he looks so utterly joyous in it. There is almost a wide-eyed wonder to him, as he sings, that I find utterly contagious:

I came across this article recently, regarding the poem Easter Wings by Renaissance poet, George Herbert.  It is a beautiful poem of itself, made even more so by being printed like this:

Image from WikiCommons.

Easter Wings

BY GEORGE HERBERT

Lord, who createdst man in wealth and store, 

      Though foolishly he lost the same, 

            Decaying more and more, 

                  Till he became 

                        Most poore: 

                        With thee 

                  O let me rise 

            As larks, harmoniously, 

      And sing this day thy victories: 

Then shall the fall further the flight in me. 

My tender age in sorrow did beginne 

      And still with sicknesses and shame. 

            Thou didst so punish sinne, 

                  That I became 

                        Most thinne. 

                        With thee 

                  Let me combine, 

            And feel thy victorie: 

         For, if I imp my wing on thine, 

Affliction shall advance the flight in me. 

And lastly, I crave your indulgence to allow for the posting of a small work, from a poet of considerably less stature (of indeed, no stature at all). In short, a little thing I wrote yesterday:

MILES CHRISTUS

My Christ, in knightly Chivalry, 

In kingliness and charity,

Marks not my iniquity.

My guilt and grief, my hidden fear,

He knows, and knowing, only sees,

My brokeness and frailty,

Nor all the wounds He took from me.

The Greatheart Knight, the Paladin,

The Hero Christ, in errantry,

Rides to rescue and redeem,

My self, from selfmade slavery.

The Healer's hands are red with scars.

My Christ, with healsome sovreignty,

Binds up my wounds with comfrey,

With myrrh and with sanguinary*.

Sets all my emnity at naught,

But for erstwhile fidelity

My fickleness and peccancy,

Forgives-- and for His trust in me,

Pledged my sword and follow Him. 

And with that, I go to Mass!

*These herbs were used medicinally in the Middle Ages. Myrrh was an antiseptic. Sanguinary is another name for Yarrow, which has long been associated with the healing of wounds-- particularly of battle wounds. 

A Christmas Chronicle

I very seldom buy things on a whim. Generally, if I am spending money on something, it is because I need it, or (after a good deal of thought) have decided that I would like to own the thing. Books are one of the few exceptions to this - especially of they are selling for a good price. A Christmas Chronicle by Aloysius Horn was one such impulse buy. It was for sale for $7.00 and I figured it was worth that to have some Christmas reading. It was an excellent investment - a rather delightful mishmash of legends, traditions, and historical tidbits about the celebration of Christmas, from the early days of Christendom, to fairly modern times. They are all short little articles - seldom more than a page, often merely a few paragraphs, but they make for fascinating reading. One of the little stories concerned a certain Saint Romanus the Melodist. (First of all - the Melodist?!? How cool a title is that? How can you not like Saint Romanus right off, with that title attached to the end of his name?) I shall give the story in full: 

To the last part of the 5th century and the first part of the 6th belongs St. Romanus the Melodist, who has been called the greatest of the Greek hymn writrs. 80 of his hymns have survived to our day. He was a Syrian Jew who when quite young, converted to the Christian faith. Later, he became a decon in the church of Beirut, and during the reign of  Emperor Anastasius I (491-518) he moved to Constantinople. It was here on Christmas Eve that Our Lady appeared to St. Romanus in his sleep and gave him a roll of paper, saying, "Take this paper and eat it." From what the saint could later recall, it seemed to him that he did what h had been directed to do. Then he awoke and in great exaltation of spirit went to the Church of the All-Holy Mother of God to assist in the Christmas Liturgy. When the Gospel-book was about to be carried solemnly into the sanctuary, he went up into the deacon's ambo or pulpit and extemporaneously recited his new Christmas hymn:

This hymn, said to be the first of its kind, is still sung in the Christmas Offices of the Byzantine rite, and until the 12th century, it was solemnly sung on this festival at the banquet in the imperial palace by the combined choirs of the greatest churches in Constantinople, Santa Sophia and the Holy Apostles.

I can only imagine how incredible that must have sounded, and what a beautiful tradition that was. There is something delightful about hearing a song of such antiquity, composed as it was, in a fever of inspiration, and with such a tradition associated with it, and knowing that it is still sung at Christmas Mass.

For Unto Us A Child Is Born

So... I really and truly meant to put up the O Antiphons each day, but I only managed about half of them. What can I say? Life has a way of interfering with the most well-meaning intentions, and bringing them to naught. There is always next year. Moving on:

It's Christmas Day! Or rather Christmas Evening. It has been a nice day - we even had enough snow to qualify for a white Christmas! - but I am tired from Midnight Mass last night, followed by the 5 am rising this morning. I came home from the folk's house, and played Carols on the pipes (I hope my neighbours appreciate me) and now I am sitting in a living room, lit only by Christmas tree and candlelight, sipping wassail, and nibbling honey bourbon peanuts, whilst listening to music:

Since I was not able to get all the posts done that I wanted earlier this week, I am finishing off with this timely video of Puer Natus in Bethlehem, sung heartily and with fine, manly vigour by.... La Ermita de San Jose. I think that is what they call themselves. That is what shows up on the title at the beginning at any rate. My Spanish is weak - the Hermits of St. Joseph? I don't know, but it is good, and it makes me very happy. 

Merry Christmas to all of you.

Easter Week

Oh joy! Oh bliss! Oh happy day! Easter is come! Christ has risen from the dead, and crabbed Lent is gone and past! There is chocolate in my life again, and coffee too, which is cause for great rejoicing. But quite apart from that, I simply love Easter. I feel like this during Easter Time:

 

I also currently have the Easter sequence,  Victimae Paschali Laudes, going round and about my head. This is what it sounds like:

And here is the translation. I cannot say that it is my absolute favourite piece of liturgical music, but it is close. It is, after all, a glorious and magnificent bit of poetry:

  

Forth to the Paschal Victim, Christians, bring

Your sacrifice of praise:

The Lamb redeems the sheep;

And Christ, the sinless One,

Hath to the Father sinners reconciled.

Together death and life

In strange conflict strove.

The Prince of Life, who died,

Now lives and reigns.

What thou sawest, Mary, say,

As thou wentest on the way.

"I saw the tomb wherein the living One had lain,

I saw His glory as He rose again;

Napkin and linen cloths, and angels twain:

Yea, Christ has risen, my hope, and He

Will go before you into Galilee."

We know that Christ has risen from the grave:

Hail, Thou, King of Victory,

Have mercy Lord, and save.

 Amen. Alleluia.

Hosanna Filio David!

Today is Palm Sunday, and the beginning of Holy Week. This is my favourite time during the Church's year, because the liturgy for this week is absolutely beautiful. During the Mass today, St. Mark's account of the Passion will be recited. If you are fortunate enough to be able to attend a High Mass (which, alas, we are not), it will be sung - with voices taking the part of Christ, of St. Peter, of Pilate, and of the crowd. It is long, but it is extremely moving. The Mass of Palm Sunday is full of beautiful antiphons, including Hosanna Filio David:

The translation is as follows: Hosanna to the Son of David. Blessed is He that cometh in the name of the Lord. King of Israel! Hosanna to the Son of David. It is, in fact, the words with which the crowd saluted Jesus, as they lay palms before Him as he rode into Jerusalem.


We might have had to make do with minimal singing, but we all received palms to hold during the Last Gospel, and to take home with us afterward. I have a particular fondness for palms. There is something of a heady glory about the imagery of Palm Sunday - Jesus Christ riding upon a donkey, triumphantly, while people hail His as King, and strew His way with palm branches and flowers, singing Hosannas as He passes through their midst. And there is a corresponding glory to all the picture and statutes of early confessors and martyrs who won their own palms by dying for the King of Glory Who had died for them. I brave and inspired when I get my palms.

This year, I am going to do fancy things with my palms. I am going to braid them, and make crosses and crowns of thorns of them. There is a very handy Italian website, featuring tutorials of some of the more common palm weaving patterns. If my efforts turn out well, I just might post pictures of them within the next couple days.

And now... Holy Week!

Corpus Christi

... Was actually yesterday, so I am a day late on this post. However, I meant to do a post, and was excited about the post I meant to do, so you are getting it today instead. I present to you, The Corpus Christi Carol. Hayley Westenra sings this on her Christmas album, and that is where first I heard it. Obviously, it is not really a Christmas carol, even though the word carol is almost exclusively associated with Christmas these days.

Lulley, lully, lulley, lully,

The faucon hath born my mak away.

He bare hym up, he bare hym down,

He bare hym into an orchard brown.

In that orchard ther was an hall,

That was hanged with purpill and pall.

And in that hall ther was a bede,

Hit was hangid with gold so rede.

And yn that bede ther lythe a knyght,

His wowndes bledyng day and nyght.

By that bedes side ther kneleth a may,

And she wepeth both nyght and day.

And by that bedes side ther stondith a ston,

"Corpus Christi" wretyn theron.

The medieval imagery is intensely allegorical. Most obviously are the symbols of the Wounded Knight, Who is a figure of Christ Crucified, and the weeping may (maiden) who is a figure of His most holy Mother. The barren, brown orchard is open to numerous interpretations: the desolation of the world after the fall of Adam; the emptiness of a soul in sin; death itself, perhaps. The colours too suggest meanings. Purple is the liturgical colour for Lent, and days of penance. Red is used for feasts of martyrs and symbolises blood. Gold is used for high feasts, such as Easter. The word mak here, is an old word for mate, or more specifically, love. The phrase itself is ambiguous, and lends itself to numerous interpretations, but it reminiscent of Mary Magdalene's cry, "They have taken away my Lord; and I do not know where they have laid Him".

The figure of Christ as a knight, or a warrior was very common in medieval allegory. So does he appear in the Old English poem, The Dream of the Rood. In The Vision of Piers Plowman, He appears as a knight, jousting for men's souls. There is a very old poem by William Herbert, Quis est iste qui uenit de Edom contains the line 'what is he, this lordling, that cometh in from the fight?' The imagery is particularly vivid - the Young Hero who dies love - and ties in very beautifully with the Sleeping King/Sleeping Hero myths that abound in mythology.

Our Lady of the Snows

Today is a rather unique feast day in honour of our Lady - Our Lady of the Snows. It is an odd title, and it is even odder to be celebrating such a feast day during the high summer days of August. There is a very good reason for it, though, for it commemorates a miraculous fall of snow, which marked the location upon which Santa Maria Maggiore, one of the principle churches in Rome, was to be built. The legend of our Lady of the Snows runs like this: In the 4th century, during the reign of Pope Liberius, a holy man named John and his wife, being childless, made a vow to leave their earthly possessions to our Lady, and prayed that she would inspire them how best to dispose of their wealth in her honour. In answer to their prayer, she appeared to the holy couple, in a dream, and to the Holy Father as well, requesting that they build a church in her name upon the Esquiline Hill, and that she would give them a sign to show where the exact location was to be. The following morning, they all went in procession to the Esquiline Hill, to discover that a heavy snow had fallen during the night, to mark the location of Our Lady's church.

The Basilica of Santa Maria Maggiore is one of the oldest churches in the world to be dedicated to our Lady. It contains two very special relics, relating to her motherhood: a very ancient painting of the Madonna and Child, which is attributed to St. Luke; and the Crib of our Lord. It is the possession of that Crib that gives the Basilica its secondary title of Santa Maria del Presepe - St. Mary of the Crib.

On the feast of Our Lady of the Snows each year, a shower of white rose petals are dropped from the roof during Mass, to commemorate the miraculous snow that marked the church's foundation. Here is a clip of it:

Happy Easter

A clip of the Gloria from Easter Vigil, which is probably the most exciting moment in the whole liturgical year.

Good Friday*

The traditional Catholic Holy Week ceremonies are among the most beautiful of the whole liturgical year. During the Holy Tridiuum - which is Holy Thursday, Good Friday and Holy Saturday - the recitation of the Divine Office is replaced by the office of Tenebrae, a very solomn series of psalms and antiphones deeply lamenting the death of Christ and His betrayal at the hands of His friends, mitigated by exaultant passage, rejoicing in the triumph of Christ. Tenebrae for Good Friday is particularly dynamic. At the beginning of the service, there is a lighted candleabra before the altar, which is gradually extiguished between the chanting of the office, which focuses primarily on the Passion and Death of Christ. The last candle is extinguished to coincide with the reading of the Death, leaving the church in darkness.... then, in imitation of the earthquake that happened on the first Good Friday, the congregation knocks on the back of the pews, and stomping on the floor. It is incredibly stirring. Here is a video of it on youtube. It is bit on the long side, running to nine minutes or so, but if you skip forward to about 7:45 - 8:00 minutes, you can hear the earthquake.) I have only ever had the chance to attend all of the Holy Week services, including Tenebrae, one time in my life, but it made a tremendous impression on me, and gave me a life long devotion for the Catholic liturgy.



* with apoligies for being late.