Good Friday

The Sacred Triduum continued yesterday at St James's with the most moving Good Friday liturgy that many of us had experienced.  It was, of course, very familiar, but the depth of the ceremonies was tremendous, not least to those of us experiencing Good Friday for the first time as Catholics.

Taking account of the speed in which St James's filled up on Thursday evening, I arrived almost half an hour before the liturgy began, to find that the front half of church was pretty much already full, with the back half filling up gradually.   More impressive than that was the total silence, even with all those people present, a silence that was fully maintained.

Yesterday was mostly sunny and light, as this picture taken on my way to St James's shows.  However, inside the church, there were no lights on at all, and this effect, coupled with several well-timed passing clouds lessening what sunlight was coming in, made for the perfect sombre setting.  On account of the lighting, there are no photos of the inside to share today.

The liturgy began in utter silence at 3pm, with all four of the parish clergy following the servers in and prostrating themselves before the altar, as around 500 people knelt down in the body of the church.  It was very powerful. 

Before the Passion, we all sat in silence as the choir sang this motet by Anerio.  The way the music appears to die, but then pushes on after the first "usque at mortem" is a homily in itself.



Following the beautiful singing of the Passion by three choir members (including the Byrd setting for the choral parts, which was new to me), Fr Colven gave a homily that addressed two main points.  First, in John's Gospel, where no textual detail is merely padding, that Pilate's order that INRI be written in Greek, Hebrew and Latin was a sign that what happened on Good Friday was part of something that was for everyone and would change existence for everyone, there was a universality to it.  Second, that what changed is that, as the Catechism says, death is not to be feared, and this is for all who put their trust in Christ.

The Solemn Prayers had a particular resonance and logic to new Catholics, the prayers for separated brethren in particular.

Perhaps the most striking part of the liturgy was the Procession of the Cross (with Fr Irwin singing the Ecce Lignum Crucis rather well) and the Veneration.  The Veneration must have taken around half an hour, purely on account of the number of people present. 

During the Veneration, the choir sang several motets and hymns.  The question raised on the famous New Liturgical Movement website a couple of weeks ago was answered at Spanish Place with the beautiful setting by Victoria.



Among the hymns, the popular but moving When I Survey was included.  This verse in particular never fails to pull heartstrings.

Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast,
Save in the death of Christ my God!
All the vain things that charm me most,
I sacrifice them to His blood.



As we returned to our seats following Veneration, we were each handed a card with a prayer of Blessed John Henry Newman :

....shine through me and be so in me that every soul I come in contact with may feel Thy Presence in my soul; let them look up, and see no longer me - but only Jesus.

This text tied in perfectly with the Holy Father's Chrism Mass homily, which has been so widely covered elsewhere, but which talked about sacrifice of self and dedication.

We wait for tonight's vigil and the resurrection with the rest of the Church.

Lenten Sundays Begin

The servers at St James's must breath a sigh of relief when Lent arrives.  No longer the mad dash between the end of the 0930 Extraordinary Form Mass and the 1030 Solemn Latin (OF) Mass to change everything from purple into green.  For a good few weeks (and with a couple of days of exception), it is purple all the way.  Here is how the sanctuary looked yesterday immediately after the crowds for the EF had dispersed (but before the 1030 congregation had arrived), and how it can remain for some time.  Notice the calm in the sanctuary.

We were pleased to welcome an old friend from Bourne St, still Anglican, to join us both for Mass and for a drink afterwards.  He very much enjoyed his visit, and revealed that not only had he been with us on 3 September 2011 (for our Reception Mass), as we already knew, but that he had also from time to time attended the 0930 Extraordinary Form Mass at St James's.  His visit recalls this earlier post of ours, when two friends from our earlier Anglican days joined us at St James's.

Now might be a good time to mention two sets of Lenten talks, with different themes, that might be of interest to those in and around London this Lent. 

The first is the series being organised by the Ordinariate, taking place on Monday evenings at 7pm at St George's Cathedral, Southwark.  More details can be found here.  The talks sound like they are ideally suited for those who, while not new to the Catholic faith, are new to the Catholic Church. 

The other series of talks are being held at St James's, and are labelled Perspectives in Healthcare, with various medical professionals coming to talk about their role.  St James's is situated in Marylebone, where there are many hospitals and clinics (including those in the famous Harley Street).  At the time of writing, more details can be found here.  The talks are held on Wednesdays in Lent at 6pm, the first one being given by Professor Roy Sanders.

To conclude this short post, a comment on yesterday's music.  For the mass setting, we had a Palestrina Mass setting that I didn't know, the Emendemus, very appropriate for the season of course.   It was wonderful, especially the Sanctus.  Not being able to find it on youtube, here is the no less wonderful Agnus Dei from the Palestrina Missa Brevis.



The communion motet was one of my favourite Byrd motets Civitas Sancti Tui.  In this youtube version, sung by the Hilliard Ensemble, it is correctly placed as the second half of a longer piece, following Ne Irascaris Domine.  Having said that, Civitas Sancti Tui more than stands up on its own, the Sion Deserta and Ierusalem section of the piece is immensely powerful.

Souviens-toi que tu es poussière

Having made it out of the office at a reasonable hour for once, I managed to attend the 7pm Mass at S Pierre de Chaillot in Paris this evening.  It is a splendid 1930s building, with an interesting parish history.  If your French is up to it, you can read about the church and about Chaillot, one of the villages that were subsumed into Paris as it grew, on the parish website. 

We mentioned on this blog yesterday that the Celebrant of the Mass discussed in that post, Monsignor Guy Thomazeau, had been a parish priest of St Pierre de Chaillot in the 1980s, before being elevated to the episcopacy.  Another famous churchman with a connection to St Pierre de Chaillot was Pope John XXIII, who as Monsignor Roncalli was Apostolic Nuncio to France from 1944 to 1953.  The Paris Nunciature is situated in the parish of St Pierre de Chaillot, and the future Pope was a frequent visitor to this great building.  The parish's other claim to fame is that it was in its predecessor building that the Requiem Mass for Marcel Proust was held in 1922. 

Here you can see the church pictured earlier this evening, and then a picture taken by a much more able photographer, found on the internet.

Arriving tonight around ten minutes before Mass began, the church seemed respectably busy but far from full, as the photo below, taken from my vantage point relatively near the front, makes clear.  As the clock struck seven, people appeared as if from nowhere and took their places : there were probably 200-300 in church.  Having heard reports from an Anglican friend of the Marylebone Group who attended the 1230 Mass at St James's today that there were around 300 in attendance there, almost all of whom arrived in the five minutes before Mass started, I should not have been surprised.

The architecture of the building is said to be a typical 1930s rendering of Byzantine influences : perhaps so, architecture is not my field, but I must confess that it always reminds me of Armenia (see this earlier blogpost), especially the tall bell tower that can be seen from various nearby parts of Paris.  Sadly, the photo above does not show my favourite part of the internal architecture, the Byzantine-style frescoes that adorn the walls.  Around the view you can see above is a massive arch, withOur Lord above, surrounded by various saints, then below on the left hand side early popes and the Council of Nicaea, and below on the right hand side Pope Leo XIII, Pope Pius X and Pope Benedict XV alongside the Vatican Council (or, as we might now say, Vatican I).

The music was the very typical French style chant that one expects to hear, accompanied on the fine chamber organ (rescued from St Eustache) rather than on the very fine grandes orgues built in 1994, blessed by Cardinal Lustiger himself and financed by the City of Paris. 

The Homily was very good.  It started by reminding us that the Lenten regime we are asked to follow now is very different from and much lighter than the one that existed until the second half of the twentieth century.  It is perhaps physically less challenging, but this does not mean that we should not take Lent seriously: we should not let Lent pass by without any acknowledgement.

Instead of then moving on to the usual "give up something" or "take up something" approach, Fr Marc Guelfucci took a broader line of attack.  We must do something that "costs us" in Lent.  If giving up something, it must be something we will miss.  If taking up something, it must be something that will impact us.  It is about sacrifice, which comes from sacer (or sacrum) facere, being to make something holy, to make something special, to set something apart.  He made a special appeal for people to consider whether they might give more to the poor this Lent, something that he felt, in this economic environment, was more needed than ever, and was more sure to impact upon us than ever.  He also urged us not to look for excuses, not to decide against giving those ten euros to charity because we worry that it might spend too much on administration, or because we're not sure about every little thing they do : if we make the sacrifice with the best of intentions, then we have done what we can.

One thing that struck me was noticing a phenomenon that others mention having seen.  Those who were keener on bowing, kneeling, crossing themselves - I suppose we can steal Betjeman's phrase all the inessentials of the Faith - were under 40.  As I am - just - still the right side of 40, I was more than happy to follow the approach of the youth. 

We were all ashed, and indeed communicated, very quickly and efficiently.  The ashing was copious, but when I eventually got to see it in a mirror, I cannot say that it looked much like a cross, it was more of a black daub.  Still, I can take comfort from the Gospel reading of the day, in that I avoided making an ostentatious, pharisaic display: I simply looked as if I had had a nasty accident. 

One last photo, proving that not all of Paris is taking on a more sober appearance for Lent.  Here is a picture of the Eiffel Tower, as seen en route from S Pierre back to my flat.

To conclude, after all that talk of France, we must have a piece of very English Lenten choral music.  Here is William Byrd's setting of the Matins responsory for the first Sunday in Lent, Emendemus in Melius.

Let us amend for the better in those things in which we have sinned through ignorance;
lest suddenly overtaken by the day of death,
we seek space for repentance, and are not able to find it.
Hearken, O Lord, and have mercy:
for we have sinned against thee.
Help us, O God of our salvation,
and for the honour of thy name deliver us.

Domine, salvam fac reginam nostram Elizabeth

I don't think that we could say anything better than this.  Here is Fr Colven's parish note for this week.  We did indeed sing the chant to Domine Salvam Fac Reginam Nostram Elizabeth at the end of Mass yesterday, and what a treat it was.  Fr Colven's introduction gives us an excuse to include a picture of His Late Majesty King Edward VII, as well as of Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II.  If you continue reading all the way to the end of this past, you will see how it also gives us an excuse to mention the Emperor Napoleon.

On 8th February 1908 a Requiem Mass was celebrated here at Saint James’s for the assassinated King of Portugal, Don Carlos, and Crown Prince Manuel, “in the presence of Edward VII and Queen Alexandra and other members of the Royal Family. The King, dressed as a Portuguese Colonel, became the first British monarch to officially attend a Catholic Mass since James 11”. Thus Spanish Place had a small but not insignificant part to play in the re- emergence of Catholicism into the national life of this country - a process furthered by the acceptance by Queen Elizabeth II of an invitation from Cardinal Hume (“my Cardinal”) to attend Vespers at Westminster Cathedral in 1995. St Paul writing to his disciple Timothy says; “there should be prayers offered for everyone – petitions, intercessions and thanksgivings – and especially for kings and others in authority, so that we may be able to live religious and reverent lives in peace and quiet” (2:2): we have a clear duty of intercession for the leaders of civil society, for, as the Catechism reminds us (in rather quaint language): ”the love and service of one’s country follow from the duty of gratitude and belong to the order of charity. Submission to legitimate authorities and service of the common good requires citizens to fulfil their roles in the life of the political community”.

Monday (6th February) marks the 60th Anniversary of the Queen’s Accession and the 6pm Mass will be offered for her intention. It is clear that Elizabeth II is motivated by a deep Christian faith (which was expressed very clearly in her most recent Christmas broadcast) and that the anointing she received at her coronation has, in her own mind, established a sacramental bond of lifelong service to Britain and the nations of the Commonwealth. It would be naive though to gloss over the sensitivities which are still felt by some over the chequered history between the British monarchy and the Catholic Church – and the realisation that the Catholic constituency (through new waves of immigration) has a complex view of national loyalties. In this context, the symbolic value of last year’s state visit to Ireland cannot be overemphasised; the part that the Queen has played in the healing of memories should be recognised and applauded. Until 1964 it was the proud custom in English Catholic churches to sing the "Domine salvum fac" at the end of the principal Mass on a Sunday (something that we will revive for this Sunday closest to the date of the Accession): this prayer for the reigning monarch would seem to trace its history back to Louis XIV of France and the chapel at Versailles – and was often set to glorious music - but, by a strange quirk, in 1759 the Catholics of Quebec began to substitute the name of the then British king George III for Louis XV and the rest, as they say, is history.

Love for country and a right respect for its leaders must not though be confused with a narrow nationalism or blind acceptance of whatever rulers or governments may determine. The Catechism reminds us: “The Church, because of her commission and competence, is not to be confused in any way with the political community. She is both the sign and the safeguard of the transcendent character of the human person”. We must neverforget that although we are called to share in building the Kingdom here on earth – and this hopefully will involve many lay Catholics in the political process for the betterment of society - its completion is more than the fruit of human imagination. “There is no eternal city for us in this life, but we look for one in the life to come. (Hebrews 13:14): souls and bodies both need feeding, and it is the Church’s task to hold that delicate balance between the things of this life while proclaiming those of the next. Every time we pray "thy Kingdom come" we are asking for justice in this life in the expectation of its promised fulfilment in the eternity of God.
Christopher Colven

Domine, salvam fac reginam nostram Elizabeth
Et exaudi nos in die, qua invocaverimus te.

Lord, save Elizabeth, our Queen
And heed us when we call on Thee

Almighty God, we pray for your servant Elizabeth our Queen, now by your mercy reigning over us. Adorn her yet more with every virtue and remove all evil from her path: that with her consort and all the royal family she may come at last in grace to you, who are the way, the truth and the life. Through Christ our Lord. Amen

To follow Fr Colven's text, the most obvious piece of music to include is the very popular O Lord, Make Thy Servant Elizabeth, by William Byrd. 

Having included that loyal piece of music, it is probably just about permissible to include something that might otherwise lead one to be sent to the Tower, at least on a day like today.  Fr Colven's text referred to the Domine Salvum Fac having had a particular association with the French court before the Catholics of Québec had the bright idea of amending it to pray for King George III.  It was indeed sung at the end of every liturgy in the French Chapel Royal, as fine settings such as those by Couperin and Lully demonstrate (clicking on those links will take you to a youtube performance of those composers' settings).

Long-time readers of this blog might just remember that discussion of Doctor Chartres, Anglican Bishop of London, once led us to talk of the Emperor Napoleon.  Therefore, it seems just about excusable to include the Gounod setting of Domine Salvum Fac, being Domine Salvum Fac Imperatorem Nostrum Napoleonem.  It's a rather fun piece.



Despite that sortie into matters French, happy Accession Day one and all, and best wishes for this Jubilee Year.

Candlemas

Today is the Feast of the Presentation of the Lord, to use its official modern title, commonly known as Candlemas.  This is one of the most ancient feasts of the Church, and indeed one of its most important.  Traditionally, the date was seen as the end of Christmas, falling 40 days after Christmas Day.  The fortieth day after a birth was when Jewish custom decreed that a mother should come to the Temple for a ritual of purification after childbirth, and that a first born should be presented in the Temple. 

In a broader context, the idea of any kind of uncleanliness requiring cleansing is so misunderstood by our age that this blog is not even going to begin to approach it.  We leave that to others with greater knowledge and greater patience.  The modern approach is to say that we are all perfectly good and never do any wrong, so we have nothing to be cleansed for and nothing to repent.  That approach is rather far removed from, for example, the Catholic approach, which is to say that we, every single one of us, do all sorts of things wrong, and we are all in need of God's forgiveness, which He will lovingly and willingly give us if only we ask it. 

The concept of the Presentation is perhaps more readily understood.  The Jewish law, contained in the Old Testament, held that all firstborns belonged to God, although happily firstborn children were redeemed by their parents from the Temple.  This reminds us, as does the Proclamation of the Nativity discussed at Christmas, that the Incarnation occurred at a particular time in a particular place, among the Jews in first century Palestine, and that God took on our human form and lived in every way the life that people at that time in that place knew.

Here, Christmas ends, the child born of a Virgin, whose existence has been revealed to the Jews, and in the Epiphany to the world, now comes to his own Temple.  God had become truly present among us and, through giving his incarnate self back to us through his ritually redeemed Son, continued the redemption of all his people.

Given the importance of today's feast, it is no surprise that there is much fine music that has been written for use at services today.   The first piece is a real example of Anglican Patrimony, a setting of the Nunc Dimittis by Stanford.  Stanford sets the bass soloist the words contained in Luke's Gospel, spoken by the old man Simeon, who had been told that he would not see death before seeing the Lord's Christ. 



Another piece, very well known in the Church of England, although perhaps, like the Cornelius anthem we mentioned recently, seeming to be more Anglican Patrimony than it truly is, is the setting by Johannes Eccard of Maria Wallt zum Heiligtum, usually known in England as When to the temple Mary went.



The third piece I would like to include is the Alleluia set for Mass today, Senex Puerum Portabat.  This is the setting included by Byrd in his Gradualia.



There is also a very fine setting of Senex Puerum Portabat by Victoria, which you could hear if you were to be going to the London Oratory tonight.  However, I am more than sure that all Ordinariate supporters free in London tonight will want to be at St James's for the 6pm mass this evening, in order to welcome Scott Anderson to the Catholic Church.  Please gather at the back of church before Mass begins in order to participate in the candle ceremonies and procession.

I shall be in France, although I fear that I shall not be enjoying the French custom of making crepes on Candlemas, La Chandeleur. 

A most blessed feast day to you all.