Well, good people, I'm lamenting the fact that it's December already, and that I have an "oral proficiency" exam to take for my French class tomorrow. That sounds stereotypically Frenchie and dirty, but it has to happen.




Today it looks like Mr. Richard Rice published a Gregorian setting of the "long-lost" Sequence of Christmas online: Laetabundus (click here to see the .pdf). Many of you are already aware that by the Late Middle Ages and Renaissance, most feast days had great hymns called "sequences" sung in between the Alleluia and the Gospel at Mass. The 1570 Tridentine Missal of Saint Pius V (the foundation of the Tridentine Latin Mass) suppressed all of these for various reasons, except for four which the council fathers believed were the most beautiful and worthy of retaining: the Dies Irae, the Veni Sancte Spiritus, the Victimae Paschali Laudes, and the Lauda Sion.

Laetabundus got the sack, unfortunately.... but it continued to be used in the Dominican Rite for the Third Mass of Christmas (midday), as well as Candlemas. I've also read that it's sometimes used among Anglo-Catholic communities.

There are some interesting arguments as to whether or not the pre-Tridentine sequences can be used in the Ordinary Form Mass in their proper place, but it surely can at least be used as an extra Offertory or Communion hymn at any Mass.


Here's a translation. Lyrics attributed to Saint Bernard of Clairveaux.

Laetabundus exsultet fidelis chorus, alleluia, regem regum intactae profudit thorus, res miranda.		Joyfully the faithful chorus rejoices, alleluia, the King of Kings is brought forth from the womb of the immaculate one, a wondrous thing!
Angelus consilii natus est de virgine, sol de stella, sol occasum nesciens, stella semper rutilans, semper clarans.		The angel of counsel is born of a virgin, sun from a star, sun knowing no setting, star forever shining, forever bright.
Sicut sidus radium, profert virgo filium pari forma: neque sidus radio, neque mater filio, fit corrupta.		As the star its ray, the virgin brings forth the son in like manner: neither star by its ray nor mother by her son is blemished.
Cedrus alta Libani conformatur hysopo valle nostra; verbum mens altissimi, corporari passum est carne sumpta.		The tall cedar of Lebanon is likened to hyssop in our valley; the word, spirit of the most high, underwent incarnation, taking on flesh.
Isaias cecinit, synagoga meminit, numquam tamen desinit esse caeca si non suis vatibus, credat vel gentilibus sibyllinis versibus haec praedicta.		Isaiah sang it, the synagogue remembers, yet will never cease to be blind if it believes not its own prophecies, nor the those of the sayings of the sibyls.
Infelix propera crede vel vetera cur damnaberis, gens misera? Quem docet litera, natum considera; ipsum genuit puerpera. Amen.		Wretched one, believe the ancient truth, why would you be damned, miserable people? Consider the son, whom scripture teaches; the very one the childbearer bore. Amen.

I currently don't have the Internets at home, so I've been delinquent in blogging. Instead of making my planned post on Christmas traditions in France, therefore, I'm going to have to just relate my weird dream from two days ago:

So, in the dream, I was Batman, and the Joker had synthesized a nanovirus which caused all ants to grow five times their original size. Just imagine the havoc it would cause if your ants were bigger than your dog! At any rate, I defeated the Joker, created the antidote, and in return for my services, I was elected by popular acclaim as Archbishop of Gotham City (yes, early medieval-style). The Pope confirmed my election and I was installed in Gotham Cathedral with my episcopal vestments and pallium right over my Batman cape and cowl. It was delightfully absurd.

You know, I've never really seen a convincing argument made by traditional Catholics against Communion in both kinds. Ever. I mean, aside from the obvious fact that it's not currently permitted by the rubrics of the EF Mass, but in terms of other forms or rites, or as an idea that could be re-introduced into the EF Mass, I just haven't heard one.


Possible argument 1.) Communion in both kinds needs EMHC's (that is, lay Extraordinary Ministers of Holy Communion).

Answer.) There is really no correlation between the two. The Chalice can easily be administered by another priest, or even better, a deacon. The deacon has historically been considered the guardian of the Chalice and has a special symbolic relationship to it.

The method of intinction (that is, dipping the Host into the Precious Blood) is one way of further simplifying things. The picture I posted above is of an intinction set, a sort of ciborium which has a mini-Chalice in the center for holding small amounts of the Blood. Thus you only need one sacred minister to administer both kinds. Intinction also appears to be the way Christ fed Judas at the Last Supper in the gospel.


Possible argument 2.) Communion in both kinds runs the risk of spilling the Precious Blood.

Answer.) There is a small risk, yes. But there is also a risk of dropping the Host. The Church, at this point in time, has decided that the risk is acceptable in order to bring the Sacrament to the people. But before the reform of Saint Pius X in 1903, it was typical for the faithful to only receive the Host once a year, during the Easter season. I'd say that if the risk of dropping or spilling is that much of a concern, it would be best to discontinue the people's Communion altogether.


Possible argument 3.) There's no point, since the Host is just as much the Body and Blood of Christ as the Chalice.

Answer.) That is true. But if there is "no point", then there was no point for Christ to institute two species in the first place. Yet the priest is required to consume both. In truth, Catholics aren't called to think about what's "needed" in the liturgy, as if it were an act of utilitarian worship. Catholics should always keep in mind what's ideal. This is why it can be definitively said that the solemn Mass is superior to the low Mass, even though both validly fulfill the Sunday obligation. In the same way, receiving Communion in both kinds is a fuller expression of the sacrament than one.

... was this massive remodeling of my room at home. I had in mind to remake it in the style of a medieval Gothic painted church, but it arguably ended up more like a French whorehouse. Well, you live and learn.

Here's the guided tour.


What you see when you first walk in:



Next to the foot of the bed is my personal altar, which conveniently faces East. The frontal was made with vestment fabric that I cut up and sewed various things onto. To be honest, this red/black Normandy cross combo is probably not used by any Catholic clergy out there (maybe it goes on some Protestant "bishop's" cassock), but it looks cool.

The phrase is my personal motto, which means "the zeal of thine house hath eaten me up".



This was before I pinned the super-frontal, but it shows the framed picture of the murder of Saint Thomas Becket to the right.



Directly above the bookstand is a print of Saint Thomas More by Hans Holbein, and the right of him is the legendary sword Narsil, shattered by Sauron until it was reforged by Aragorn.



I hung a dungeon-ish lamp above the lightswitch, but it's pretty easy for people to hit their heads on it. I have to fix about 132 more fleur-de-lis plaster moldings to cover the entire ceiling. I can only cast maybe 2 per hour. Argh.

Also note the Rev. Father Donald Kloster having marked the blessing of the "three kings" (Kaspar, Melchior, and Balthazar) over the door.



The very mundane doors for the closet have been replaced by sliding mirrors, to make the room appear much bigger than it really is. It's also handy for shaving and dressing.



My Norman coasters, incense burner, and handy books for schola practice which immediately preceded this photo.



A friend of mine's brother-in-law made this sweet Victorianesque frame and pedestal for my computer monitor. The lamp is supported by the "Three Knights of Courage".




Another view of the monitor.



Fromt he back, you can see the cross and grille, in the event that I ever turn the monitor versus populum.





I would be remiss if I didn't explain this grandiose oil painting of yours truly. I got a photo of myself taken, then emailed it to a company in China to turn it into a giant painting. The frame actually cost more than the painting itself.



This is probably a better view of the painting.



I purchased another picture, which I'm still trying to figure out how to hang, of Dicksee's "The Two Crowns". It features a medieval king processing in glory with women adoring him all around, but in the corner of his eye he sees another King with a crown, suspended on the cross. A good reminder of how all worldly glory passes.




A picture from my birthday party, including my faithful hound, Lord Snugglesworth.



This last photo wraps up today's presentation. Happy birthday, me.

Today marked several "firsts" for the schola. It was the first time we sang at the cathedral; the first time we sang at a Mass with the archbishop; and the first time we sang on live TV! Hopefully this'll be a great boon for the great chant crusade here in SA-town.


Some quick thoughts on today's liturgy:

-The best thing about Mass with the archbishop is Archbishop Gomez himself. He's pretty straightforward and by-the-book. I've actually attended Mass at my parish where he's celebrated the OF entirely in Latin.

-The liturgy planning committee gave the schola a fairly wide latitude as far as what we could or couldn't sing. The two big restrictions were that we had to use a cheesy vernacular Ordinary setting, and use a Responsorial Psalm. Otherwise, we sang full Gregorian Propers, plus the solemn tone of the Salve Regina as a Communion hymn.

-Unfortunately, it seems the cathedral ceremonies are very poorly planned. There was apparently a shortage of servers (how is that even possible for a cathedral church?), so incense was omitted at the last minute.... even though there was a deacon and three concelebrants.

-The worst mistake was that as soon as the processional hymn was done, His Grace began with "In the name of the Father..." before we could start the Introit; therefore, we had to just skip it. If it was an ordinary priest celebrating, I would have suggested to the schola that we just start singing, anyway.... but cutting the Archbishop off mid-sentence is surely a recipe for disaster, plus I'm sure it was just an accident. Next time we sing at the cathedral, I think I'm going to strongly recommend that there be no processional hymn, and that the schola just start with the Introit as the ministers process down the nave, medieval-style.

Nevertheless, today was a great victory for the liturgical movement and, I dare say, Our Lord Himself. May we continue to sing His praises in a manner which pleases Him the most.


On a side note, does anyone else think that San Fernando's stained glass windows are too small? The one above the altar is a pathetic excuse for a rose window, if you ask me. I know it's the thought that counts and all, but come on....

I was just getting out of the FastFrame custom framing store near Northwoods Theater when a kind lady who introduced herself as "Mrs. Thrillkill" (I'm sure I misspelled the name, but it sounds exactly like that) just randomly asked me, "are you the Wanton Papist!?"

The ensuing discussion on the status of Gregorian chant in this city and various other ecclesiastical subjects mentioned on this blog made me late for school, but it's reassuring to know that there are actually people out there reading. So, thanks a lot. For those of you out there who are local, please write to St. Pius X parish in support of the Gregorian chant program.


Also, "Mrs. Thrillkill", I'll teach all your kids how to sing Gregorian chant if you help pay for the picture I needed to get framed but couldn't afford.

I was recently reading this essay for someone's senior thesis about the role that religion played among the pirates of the 17th and 18th centuries.

Eyes on God and Gold: The Importance of Religion during the Golden Age of Caribbean Piracy, by Emily Collins.

The following excerpt is based on the memoirs of a Father Pere Labat, a Dominican priest who ministered to pirates:

Labat’s memoirs describe an instance when Captain Daniels and his crew kidnapped and ransomed a group of settlers, including Pere Lucien, a cure of Saints (i.e. a person of spiritual faith). Daniels did not wish harm to his captives. He only ransomed them in order to obtain food for him and his men. Once he obtained food and drink for his vessel, Daniels requested the cure to say Mass for them. The request of Mass alone illustrates Daniels’ religious nature, yet what happened after Mass continues to confirm the importance of Christ to the captain.

If there were more men like Captain Daniels in this world, I'm afraid few priests would be alive today.

Yesterday on All Saints, also a Sunday, I got to assist in two back-to-back Masses. I started serving at the chapel Mass with Father Kloster at University Hospital, then drove straight to the Atonement church to begin working on chants for the Mass of All Saints in the evening.

The hospital chapel is, as you might imagine, a bit of a postmodern travesty. But it was a very reverent and humble low Mass; or as low as one can get with the Ordinary Form. It was very strange to see Father Kloster, who up until now I've only seen celebrate the Tridentine/EF Mass (he's one of two priests who regularly says the TLM at St. Pius X parish), say the OF; but it worked out. Somehow he gets away with saying it ad Orientem with a fiddleback chasuble and maniple, and even uses a little Latin here and there. Very cool; though I imagine if someone complained, it's not like anyone could do anything about it. Unfortunately, even as the sole acolyte, I had absolutely nothing to do except bring the cruets for the offertory, lavabo and ablutions. Pretty lame. Hopefully next time I'll have a bell to ring.

Myriad Creative Concepts, a little group which specializes in altar cards, has just announced their newest product: an altar card for the Latin Ordinary Form Mass. Here's the link.

Obviously, there aren't matching framed cards for the Last Gospel and Lavabo like in the Extraordinary Form/Tridentine, though the site is selling a separate laminated card for the mixing of the wine and washing of fingers. I guess this could lay flat on the altar or be held by an acolyte. Though I wonder if it is possible for the priest to habitually pray the Last Gospel as a devotion immediately following the OF Mass, as it was so often done by priests in the era before it was officially codified by Pope Pius V in the Missal of 1570. In the culture of medieval piety, it was popular for the faithful to ask a priest to read the Last Gospel over them as a blessing. Eventually, priests apparently got the idea to knock a lot of birds down with one stone by just reading it over everyone at the conclusion of Mass. There is no reason, then, why priests saying the OF Mass couldn't resume this practice today. And by extension, you could, in fact, see three framed cards resting on the altar during an OF Mass. HMMMM.....

In any case, this is an interesting development, although I'm told that certain churches such as the Brompton Oratory in London have already used altar cards in the OF Mass for a long time. I've also heard that a few were made back when the Novus Ordo was first rolled out in 1970, when certain liturgists were naively under the impression that Latin and ad Orientem were still going to be the norm for the new Mass. LOLZ.

One of the things I like about my parish church is its role in promoting fine sacred music. Every year, Our Lady of the Atonement has a "music series" typically consisting of several organ recitals, a Service of nine Lessons and Carols, a Palm Sunday concert, an orchestral Requiem, and similar events. I attended an organ recital last Friday evening, featuring a Mr. Clive Driskill-Smith (see his website here). As he explained to me during the reception afterward, he is the "Sub-organist" of Christ Church Cathedral, Oxford. In reality, this means he actually plays the organ while the official "Organist" directs the choir.

If you look at the banner on top of Christ Church Cathedral's website, you'll notice a coat of arms with a cardinal's galero over it. The shield bears, among other symbols, the rose of Lancaster and the lion of Pope Leo X. This is indeed the coat of arms of Thomas Cardinal Wolsey. He was the founder of the college, centuries ago when it was called "Cardinal College". After his fall from the King's grace, the school's name was changed to King's College, and then Christ Church... but the coat of arms remained. The musical program of the cathedral also operates under the same statutes as it did in Wolsey's time. The first Organist of Christ Church was John Taverner, the most prominent composer in England until Thomas Tallis. And no, I don't know why every guy in Tudor England was named either John or Thomas.


Back to the subject of my parish's music series program, there's a little blurb on one of the pamphlets for the series which says:

"The Church of Our Lady of the Atonement is pleased to announce its Music Series for the coming season. Now in its third year, the Music Series has hosted artists of local, national and international distinction. It represents an important apostolate of Our Lady of the Atonement Church, placing this parish among those religious institutions that, for centuries, have placed the arts under their patronage. The historical linkage between art and religion is unmistakable. It can be found in the paintings of Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel, and in the music of Palestrina. The rich treasury of sacred music is a witness to the way in which the Chrisian faith promotes culture. It is a reflection of the Church's primary role in preserving and promoting art which lifts the human soul in praise of the Triune God."

I don't know who wrote that, but it's pretty spot-on. I don't know why all parishes don't do the same thing. My only complaint is that I was one of very few people who showed up to this event, who didn't have grey hair. Actually, I have a sneaking suspicion that most people who attend these events are actually elderly members of the surrounding Episcopal churches who naturally have that good old high church Anglican taste, but whose churches have fallen victim to Common Worship or something. That's cool, but I hope it doesn't mean that (non-Anglo-) Catholics are troglodytes.