Showing posts with label Easter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Easter. Show all posts

Monday, February 13, 2017

Farewell to Alleluia


For reasons beyond my understanding, there's been a significant uptick of interest this year in the curious (and commendable) ceremony of the depositio: the "burying of the Alleluia". In those places which observe pre-Lent (such as traditional Latin Mass communities and, now, the "Anglican" Ordinariates), the hallowed word "alleluia" disappears from the liturgy from Septuagesima Sunday until its glorious return at the vigil of Easter. In the post-Vatican II calendar, this is carried over to Fat Tuesday.

The final alleluias of Vespers the evening before Septuagesima, as given by the Liber Usualis, give a foretaste of Easter in their melody.
The word "alleluia" is, of course, derived from the Hebrew expression in the Old Testament, meaning "praise Yah(weh)!" Outside of Lent and Advent, we sing this before the Gospel reading at Mass. During the Easter season, we go above and beyond by ending all sorts of antiphons with a double-alleluia. However, during the penitential seasons of Advent and Lent, we temporarily set this word aside to give a sense of restraint. Pope Alexander II (the same pope who gave William the Conqueror his blessing for an invasion of England) ordered a simple rite of dismissal for the Alleluia in Rome. The end of First Vespers on the evening before Septuagesima was punctuated with two final alleluias as though to get it fully out of one's system before the great season of penance was to begin. But in the northern countries, these rites grew to ever-more-splendid lengths of ceremonial. In an article from 2010 on the New Liturgical Movement, Matthew Alderman writes:
"Special antiphons marked this event in some places, as well as the singing of the hymn Alleluia, Dulce Carmen. At Auxerre twenty-eight separate Alleluias were troped into the mass text. A procession, with the word Alleluia inscribed on a banner or plaque, might be conducted round the church, with the Alleluia inscription solemnly entombed at the end, the plaque sometimes having the shape of a coffin. In some parts of France, the Alleluia might even be burned in effigy in the churchyard!"

He goes on to remark that the rites were typically done by choirboys, rather like the old enthroning of the boy bishop--which made me think of how jovial, almost child-like the ceremony can be, and what power it has to captivate the imagination of a young student at a Catholic grade school where it's performed, such as the school attached to my former parish: the Atonement Academy. My old pastor described the effect that this custom had in an old blog post:
"The students in our parish school get ready for this every year, and take it very seriously.  In fact, a few years ago just after Lent had begun, one of our very young students asked if he could see me because he had to tell me something “very, very important.”  When he came to me, he wanted to tell me what one of the other boys had done earlier that day.  It sounded serious, so I encouraged him to tell me about it. In a half-whispered voice the offence was reported: "He said the 'A' word!""

A friend recently asked me if I could furnish him a rite for burying the Alleluia so his own community could use it this weekend, so I sent him the one used by Atonement. It goes:
Alleluia, abide with us today, and tomorrow thou shalt set forth, Alleluia ; and when the day shall have risen, thou shalt proceed on thy way, Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia. 
May the good angel of the Lord accompany thee, Alleluia, and give thee a good journey, that thou mayst come back to us in joy, Alleluia. 
May Alleluia, that sacred and joyful word, resound to God's praise from the lips of all people. 
May this word, which expresses glory as chanted by the choirs of angels, be sweet as sung by the voices of believers. 
And may that which noiselessly gleams in the citizens of heaven, yield fruit in our hearts by ever growing love. 
May the Lord's good angel go with thee, Alleluia ; and prepare all good things for thy journey. And again come back to us with joy, Alleluia. 
Let us pray. O Lord, we beseech thee favourably to hear the prayers of thy people; that we, who are justly punished for our offences, may be mercifully delivered by thy goodness, for the glory of thy Name; through Jesus Christ our Saviour, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the Holy Ghost ever, one God, world without end. Amen.

There are, I'm sure, many other worthy variations out there! Rites like this could even be adapted for use in the domestic Church. If you have one, feel free to share it as a comment so I have more ideas for when my children are old enough.

The Alleluia chest at my old parish, Our Lady of the Atonement. After the schoolchildren lay their alleluia sheets into the chest, the chest is put away until Easter.

Sunday, April 3, 2016

Quasimodo Sunday and the eyes of Notre-Dame


I have a semi-frequently observed tradition of watching Disney's The Hunchback of Notre Dame every year on the first Sunday after Easter (also called Low Sunday, the second Sunday of Easter, the Octave Day of Easter, Dominica in albis, etc., etc.). What on earth does Easter have to do with a Disney cartoon, you may ask? The answer lies in the traditional Introit chant for this day, also called Quasimodo Sunday:

Quasimodo geniti infantes, alleluia: rationabiles, sine dolo lac concupiscite, alleluia, alleluia, alleluia. 
As newborn babes, alleluia: desire the rational milk without guile, alleluia, alleluia, alleluia. (1 Peter 2:2)

Today's header picture, featuring the text of today's Introit in a finely illuminated form on a manuscript, was taken from the video recording below.



That incipit, a compound of the Latin quasi and modo, has been reduced to as mere "as" in the English translation; but a more literal take might be "as if, in a way" or "almost the standard of measure". Thus, in Victor Hugo's 1831 novel Notre-Dame de Paris ("The Hunchback of Notre Dame"), when Claude Frollo discovers a misshapen baby abandoned on the steps of the cathedral, he bestows the name Quasimodo with a twofold meaning: first for having been found on the Sunday after Easter, but also for appearing "as if, in a way", a human being...

The opening sequence of the Disney version, like the rest of the film, is so different from the book that there's barely any resemblance, but that in no way stops it from being a masterpiece of song and animation. In the movie, Frollo is not the archdeacon but a secular magistrate, while the archdeacon is made into a separate, more benevolent character. This Frollo slays a Gypsy woman on the steps of the cathedral in pursuit and is about to toss her baby into a nearby well until:
"for one time in his life of power and control,
Frollo felt a twinge of fear for his immortal soul."
When Hugo wrote the novel, his readers, unless they were very old, had to imagine what the "eyes of Notre Dame" looked like because most of the statues had been destroyed by the plebeian vandals of the French Revolution. Indeed, this was precisely the reason the book was written in the first place: to bring a sense of cultural awareness to Notre-Dame's value at a time when the civil authorities were thinking of having the grand old (disrepaired) edifice torn down entirely. The statues we see resting on the western facade today are, thanks in part to Hugo's efforts, restorations made by Viollet-le-Duc, the famed restorer of the Sainte-Chapelle.

Some of the statues, refashioned in the mid-19th century by Gothic revivalist Eugene Viollet-le-Duc, will be shown in Disneyfied form below....

"You can lie to yourself and your minions; you can claim that you haven't a qualm.
But you never can run from nor hide what you've done from the eyes: the very eyes of Notre Dame" (Kyrie eleison)

These are from the Gallery of Kings: 28 kings of Israel and Judah, representing Christ's and our Lady's royal ancestors through the line of David. They were commonly assumed by the people, however, to be ancient kings of France, so they were all decapitated and buried during the Revolution.



One of many representations of the Virgin and Child throughout the cathedral. This one stands outside in front of the rose window.
An excellent photo of the Viollet-le-Duc restoration as found on this site.

And, of course, you owe this post a viewing of the film's opening sequence, if you've never seen it before....


Thursday, April 9, 2015

The Paschal candle

 
 
The Paschal candle, made afresh every year and inscribed with the date and the symbols alpha and omega, is a sign that Easter remains with us: not just for one day, or forty days, but all year long. After Pentecost, the Paschal candle is moved from its place in or around the sanctuary to the baptistery, where it stands beside to be burned whenever a christening is to take place. There's not much I can add to this which you can't read about in the Catholic Encyclopedia, but I wonder if any of you noticed how much larger the candles appear to be in those Exultet scrolls from yesterday's post? I highlight one passage from the Encyclopedia's article below:
"Naturally the medieval tendency was to glorify the paschal candle by making it bigger and bigger. At Durham we are told of a magnificent erection with dragons and shields and seven branches, which was so big that it had to stand in the centre of the choir. The Sarum Processional of 1517 directs that the paschal candle, no doubt that of Salisbury cathedral, is to be thirty-six feet in height, while we learn from Machyn's diary that in 1558, under Queen Mary, three hundred weight of wax was used for the paschal candle of Westminster Abbey. In England these great candles, after they had been used for the last time in blessing the font on Whitsun Eve, were generally melted down and made into tapers to be used gratuitously at the funerals of the poor (see Wilkins, "Concilia", I, 571, and II, 298)"
 

Monday, April 6, 2015

Terra tremuit!



The schola at our diocesan traditional Latin Mass sang this antiphon, which is appointed for the Offertory rite on the Mass of Easter Sunday. 

Terra tremuit et quievit * dum resurgeret in judicio Deus, alleluia.
The earth trembled and was still * when God arose in judgment, alleluia.

Listen here while reading the rest of this post!

Offertory antiphon and verses of Easter Sunday: Terra tremuit



The chant is from Psalm 75 (76 in the KJV-style numbering). On Easter, the phrase "the earth trembled" evokes the medieval image of Christ harrowing hell and, of course, the earthquake in Matthew's account of the Resurrection:

"And in the end of the sabbath, when it began to dawn towards the first day of the week, came Mary Magdalen and the other Mary, to see the sepulchre. And behold there was a great earthquake. For an angel of the Lord descended from heaven, and coming, rolled back the stone, and sat upon it." (Matthew 28:1-2)

The Douai-Reims translation is one of very few that uses the phrase "the earth trembled" for the psalm. Other translations, such as the King James, use "the earth feared". If this version were sung in an English adaptation of the traditional Offertory antiphon, the rationale behind its use would be lost to modern listeners. No, I think "the earth trembles" is the way to go.

At Mass, we also added one of the fantastical verses from the 1935 Offertoriale compiled by Karl Ott. Here are all the verses as used by Ensemble Organum is the wonderful recording above. You'll notice that the structure is responsorial, rather than antiphonal. After the antiphon, one or two cantors sing an elaborate verse which continues the psalm; in this case, Psalm 75; and then the rest of the choir repeats the last section of the antiphon. These Offertory verses seem to have fallen out of fashion by the 13th century, perhaps thanks in part to the low Mass's influence on high Mass; namely, the omission of all but the most essential texts of the propers in the Missal. Still, a final vestige can be seen in the Requiem Mass's famous Offertory antiphon, with its verse and the repetition of quam olim Abrahae.

(And, of course, since this is an Easter chant, the word alleluia is liberally attached to the end of every verse. This is a happy chant!)

1. Notus in Judea Deus in Israel magnum nomen eius, alleluia *
dum resurgeret in iudicio Deus, alleluia.

2. Et factus est in pace locus eius et habitatio eius in Sion, alleluia *
dum resurgeret in iudicio Deus, alleluia.

3. Ibi confregit cornua arcum, scutum, gladium et bellum, iluminans tu mirabiliter a montibus aeternis, alleluia.
1. In Judah is God known: His name is great in Israel, alleluia, *
when God arose in judgment, alleluia.

2. His dwelling is in peace and in repose, and in Sion is His habitation, alleluia, *
when God arose in judgment, alleluia.

3. There He broke bow arrows, shield, sword, and war weapons, you are glorious, more wonderful than eternal mountains, alleluia.

The harrowing of hell


Friday, April 3, 2015

The Easter sepulchre

Augustus Welby Pugin's Easter sepulchre at Saint Giles, Cheadle. The shields below it show the instruments of the Passion in heraldic form.
Last night in Catholic churches around the world, the tabernacles were emptied and the Eucharist was carried in procession to another altar, called the altar of repose, there to remain until the "Mass of the Presanctified" on Good Friday. Before the Reformation, however, and most especially in England, a second shrine was set up during Holy Week to reserve the sacrament: the Easter sepulchre.
After the Good Friday ceremonies and the "creeping to the cross", which commemorate the ultimate sacrifice of Christ's crucifixion, the crucifix which the whole congregation in these "superstitious" days was then wrapped in linen, as though it were a burial shroud, and then carried in procession to a niche, a wall recess in the north side of the church, which was designed just to appear like a tomb. There, after the priest and deacon removed their vestments and shoes, the crucifix was "entombed" in a chest, along with a pyx carrying a Host that had been consecrated on Maundy Thursday.
The priest intoned:
"I am counted as one of them that go down into the pit: I have been even as a man that hath no strength, free among the dead."
 And the people responded:
"Thou hast laid me in the lowest pit, in a place of Darkness and in the Deep. There have I been."
With Christ's real presence entombed, decorated with velvet hangings, and candles lit all around this Easter sepulchre, a watch was appointed to keep guard over the sepulchre at all hours until just before daybreak on Easter Sunday. (So, it seems, even if the Vigil of Easter was celebrated on Saturday morning, the devotions surrounding the Easter sepulchre ignored it.)
The best surviving examples of Easter sepulchers range from the 14th to 16th centuries. See below:
Marvelous decorated Gothic: the sepulchre at Saint Andrew's, Heckington
The sepulchre at Lincoln Cathedral, complete with sleeping guards
This sepulchre at Holcombe Burnell, Devon, was made in the 16th century, at the eve of the Reformation, and hints at the arrival of the Renaissance style on England's shores.
After Henry VIII declared himself Head of the Church of England, he still attempted to preserve the sepulchers, his convocation declaring:
"On Good Friday is prepared, and well adorned, the Sepulchre in remembrance of Christ's sepulchre, wherein is laid the image of the Cross with the Most Blessed Sacrament to signify that there was buried no corpse or body that could be corrupted but the pure and undefiled Body of Christ without spot or stain, which was never separated from the Godhead."
Nonetheless, Cranmer, archbishop of Canterbury, secretly despised the sepulchres and all similar displays of religion, so shortly after the boy king Edward VI acceded the throne, Cranmer and his lackeys passed laws ordering their destruction. We have surviving records of how vicars sold their wooden chests used for the sepulchre to profane use. One, for example, used the coffer to store his clothes; another, to serve as a dish rack. Queen Mary's brief restoration heralded the return of the sepulchres, but with her sister Elizabeth, they once again went into abeyance.
Augustus Welby Pugin was the first designer of the modern age to build Easter sepulchers in his churches. As you saw at the top of the post, his sepulchre at Saint Giles, Cheadle, as with the rest of the church, stunned all who glanced upon it. It seems to have never caught on even in Pugin's own lifetime, for he routinely complained that the priests who took over his churches didn't know what to do with them: "The truth is the churches I build do little or no good for want of men who know how to use them. Dudley is a complete facsimile after an Old English parish church and nobody seems to know how to use it.". (A.W.N. Pugin: Master of Gothic Revival, page 57)
The one thing we can be thankful for, perhaps, is that the successors of Pugin's churches were so completely ignorant of the customs surrounding their furnishings that when the iconoclasms of the 1960's came around, few of Pugin's sepulchres were destroyed because no one knew what they were for in the first place.
Pugin's sepulchre at Our Lady and Saint Wilfrid's.