Birthday, Confession and First Communion

Again my birthday has rolled around, my forty-second; I seem to recall that "42" was alleged in a sci-fi novel to be 'the answer' to life, the universe and everything, which raised the issue of what the question was in the first place! 

Today being Saturday, I had a nice sleep-in after a pleasant eve-of-birthday dinner with family at the local Chinese restaurant last night; then it was off to Confession at Apostles as is my weekly custom… I had hoped to be early enough to be first in line (I believe strongly in being as quick and to the point as possible when confessing), and arrived just before the priest at 10 am, but as it was I was fourth, and didn't get out of the box till twenty past. At least I had time to say Mattins and pray a little more whilst waiting.

Then I had to drive as fast as lawfully allowed to Glengarry, where (at the little country church of St Canice – "in-the-fields", as Fr Allan used to say) I was expected to sing at a special Missa cantata for the First Communion of the daughter of some friends of mine. I was also bringing the Mass booklets for the congregation, the music for the rest of the choir, the altar cards and the altar missal! 

Luckily, after I arrived, I found that Mass wasn't going to start strictly on time after all, so I could relax. However, I did have a near-miss: for when rushing to put the altar cards in place, I leaned the central card against the crucifix as usual, only to have the crucifix fall backwards against the stained-glass window behind the altar, somehow avoiding breaking it, but bending the crucifix (though Fr Suresh was able to bend it back into shape).

The Mass – of St Elizabeth of Hungary, with commemoration of Pope St Pontian – was beautiful: beforehand, we sang Veni Creator Spiritus; we psalm-toned the Propers, chanted the Messe Royale for the Ordinary, and during the Offertory sang Jesu dulcis memoria, after Communion, Ave verum, during the Last Gospel, the simple Salve, and for a recessional, Faber's devout hymn, "Jesus, my Lord, my God, my all". It was good to sing with the choir, since the 2nd M.C. had come up from Hobart, so I didn't have to serve as I usually do. Fr Suresh preached a special sermon about the Blessed Eucharist, especially for our first communicant. Afterward, in the adjoining church hall, we had a delightful celebration.

Of your charity, please pray for Peter, the father of an old friend I met at the First Communion party: I was shocked to learn that he is very ill with cancer.

I drove home along some of the quiet country roads in the district, through patches of bushland interspersed with farmland. Family members had given me a bottle of gin for my birthday, so I had a G&T once I got back, to celebrate. Then, it was time for some gardening, before heading off to the parish Vigil Mass of Christ the King (I sang with the choir, and read the first reading). Somewhat oddly, I then had Mexican for tea. All in all, a happy birthday.

St Philip's Day

While I didn't make it to early Mass to-day, I attended evening Rosary, and went to confession; which struck me as a decent and apposite manner of worshipping on St Philip's feast, being as he was a great patron of penitents of every walk of life. He is a great saint and powerful intercessor, to whom I owe much, and especially at this present time, given the signal benefits vouchsafed unworthy me. Pippo buono, prega per noi.

Almost Finished

While in Rome on pilgrimage, four of us, during our visit to Santa Maria Maggiore, decided to go to confession. A little later, we compared penances, feeling a rather hard done by… a young lady had been told to say her Rosary every day for a week for a certain intention; one of our priests had been told to offer up his Breviary every day for a week for a similar cause; and Mike and I, upon learning that each of us had been told to offer up the Rosary for such and such an intention (I got "sincerity"), daily – for a month – felt uniquely put-upon.

I recall that, according to that devout book, The Secret of the Rosary, St Dominic assigned just such a lengthy penance to a pious Roman matron, who was in the habit of doing the rounds of the Seven Churches every day. Like her, I own to feeling more than a little discomfited!

Doubtless the … son of St Dominic in question (for the confessors at St Mary Major are Blackfriars) had been a-reading some such "manual of penance". I am now nearly finished fulfilling this penance – at least I have thereby got back to saying the Rosary. Perhaps that was the desired result.

Moral of the story: when on pilgrimage with no less than three priests, don't think to shop elsewhere. Or at the least, avoid the confessionals of Friars Preachers like the plague.

Vampiric Christians?

I am most amused to note that recent visits to this humble blog have been increased by references from a site to me hitherto unknown, yclept vampirestat.com (I hope it's legit, I haven't actually looked at it); doubtless my tangential reference to a penny dreadful in my last post somehow drew the attention thereof.

This has reminded me, moreover, of comments a friend made about the views of a mutual acquaintance from my days in Western Australia: he commented on the struggles some have in living in obedience to the commandments, who through their frailty and temptations fall oft into sin – these, said he, are as it were vampiric Christians! – who need frequent lavings in Christ's Blood, as it were, through the administration to them of the Sacrament of Penance, in addition to frequent suppings of that real Blood when receiving the Most Blessed Eucharist.

I am not at all sure I like the sound of this. Such a strange way of describing affairs may well be offensive to pious ears. As to what it appears meant to signify, speaking only of myself, I find frequent confession and frequent Communion to be the two pillars of the Christian life; I hope that is not too vampiric.

Some indeed lapse and relapse into sin, and must struggle to keep their head above water, as it were, by "spitting the poison out" (as the Imitation of Christ advises) and hieing themselves to the confessional, ere they may partake of the saving Banquet. For while the Eucharist burns away venial sin, and fortifies the soul against sinning, only priestly absolution sacramentally remits mortal sin (though of course an act of perfect contrition, with the resolve to confess in due time, achieves the same, yet it has not the same certainty as sacerdotal absolution, so to speak).

However, backsliders, those chained to sinful habits, and those "bound in sin's own blindness", too unwary of the dangers posed by proximate occasions of sin – for "death cometh up through the windows" and "he who loves the danger will perish in it" are surely not to be considered "vampires",  irreversibly damned through no fault of their own by the attack of another, who thereafter can only maintain the semblance of life by the further commission of murder! That sort of nonsense is clearly opposed to the true doctrines of Christianity. We all of us have free will, and if we sin we can always repent and seek forgiveness, "seventy times seven", for even "the just man falls seven times a day", yet with every temptation the Lord always provides the grace necessary to escape it.

I suspect that the person who described matters in this way was being tempted to despair. It also sounds like he was deluded by the supposed glamour of evil: how falsely "comforting" to fondly regard oneself as a tragic antihero, rather than as a sinner just like anyone else. Please pray for him, and for all in like difficulties, that, even if they feel a heavy burden on their conscience, and feel trapped by their circumstances, they may find the remedy for every distress in humble confession and grateful reception of the Blessed Sacrament, knowing that "In His will is our peace".

So slack and lazy

Mea culpa: having, finally, taken the beam out of my eye, I see clearly how slack and lazy I've been about my spiritual life. For, while the Holy Mass and Divine Office are my two great devotions, I have been remiss about going to the former (except on Sundays of course!) and about reciting the latter.

Ever since moving back to Tasmania, I have found it difficult to get to daily Mass – firstly, because I'd become so used to going to the Extraordinary Form (my definite and settled preference, for so many clear and cogent reasons) that I found return to the Novus Ordo very trying; but, secondly, since the only daily Mass that fits my work schedule is the early Mass at Carmel, and I prefer sleeping in, quite frankly.

Now Mass is Mass, the same Christ our God is offered and received as our all-prevailing Sacrifice and lasting Peace; and the presence of the holy nuns at Carmel puts priests on their best behaviour (so one who slumps in a chair and confects the Eucharist on a coffee table in his own parish tries to celebrate properly, not sloppily, in the nuns' chapel), so, while ideally I'd prefer Introibo ad altare Dei, I can cope, and fondly imagine an ad orientem liturgy; and the new translation renders the Latin well, so I don't need to bring along Fr Z's translations any more, nor read along in the Latin of the Ordinary.

But how slumber makes one forgetful of one's higher calling! Yet, as an Old Believer Canon of Preparation for Holy Communion sings (in Ode 3, troparion 3), "The preacher crieth out and commandeth us always to come to the House of God; let us not be lazy, but let us hasten now, for the time is at hand." Yes, in the words of that golden book, The Imitation of Christ, I will confess myself "So wakeful for tales, so drowsy at the sacred vigils" (Book IV, chapter 7): over the past years, I have in the main risen for work at seven or later, too late to get to Mass; and thus I've become disengaged from what ought be my priority.

As I wrote in my missal in a first flush of piety when at University, "I will always be thankful for the Mass, and put the Mass first in my life". What a shame to repeat these words and consider how I have neglected them! From being a daily or near-daily Mass-goer, for the past five years I've rarely gone to daily Mass, except while on holiday, strangely enough, and for a period last year, I think, when I got back into the habit - and then gave it away.

Now I am fearful that, having just resumed getting up at six and going to daily Mass, I will soon slacken off and reject the offer of grace again. As St Philip Neri taught his followers to say, "Do not trust me, Lord, for this day I will betray thee". Judas has more followers.

How did I manage to make a sudden, and, I beg and pray, a lasting change (as time will tell)? - by going on the Christus Rex Pilgrimage, and returning to my senses. On pilgrimage, I got up at five thirty every morning, in order to be ready for our early start each day: and the mornings are beautiful. I resolved – God grant I keep it – to get up with the dawn and go to Mass. Nowadays, when I open my curtains just after six, the sky is bright and soon the sun rises to the south-east, casting a beautiful glow over all things.

The second item so needful to me and yet so neglected has been the Breviary. Again, I must accept the rebuke of Thomas à Kempis, upbraiding me from beyond the grave with being "So negligent in saying thy office" (Im. Christi, IV, 7). I said the modern Divine Office for years; when in Perth, I switched to the Breviary – and since moving back to godless Tasmania, I've slipped further and further away from both. At one stage, I used the Little Office; but even that I gave up.

Any more slackness and I wouldn't have remembered God at all. As it was, I have become disengaged from the liturgical year, the true Year of the Lord, the year of salvation, with feasts even of apostles and evangelists slipping by unnoticed, seeing a reference to sundry celebrations even of the Lord and His Mother only by reference to reading blogs online after they had passed, and the words of the Venite being proven all too true: "if to-day you should hear His voice, harden not your hearts".

Oh, so the Divine Office is too long? I said it daily for years, and it takes less than half an hour. Oh, so the Breviary is a burden insuperable? Yet I said the Hours thereof while working full-time when in Perth, I said it while on pilgrimage this weekend past, and now am again fitting it into my schedule (I said Matins and Lauds before Mass this morning and the morning before quite easily).

I am angry at myself for listening to the siren voice of laziness and slackness, which is really the flesh, not to mention the world and the Devil, luring one down to Hell: a most beguiling journey. And it is entirely unsurprising that, daily Mass and Breviary gone, even the Angelus unsaid, and my other prayers neglected, or haphazardly said sometimes but less and less frequently, I find myself more sinful, judgemental, selfish, slack, nastier, coarser, and worse off. The Devil laughs to lead us astray, promising nothing in return.

As St Augustine taught, if we do not make continual progress in the spiritual life, then we begin to go backwards. My backsliding has been most wretched. At least I have kept going to confession, else God knows how practically atheistic I would have become. But frankly my love of what is holy is so caught up with receiving our Divine Lord in the Blessed Sacrament, and singing God's praises in the psalms, that if I but weekly (yes, weakly) partake of the one, and less and less (indeed, hardly ever) of the other, then I turn from the Divinity towards the wretchedness of secularity.

A wise Dominican, Fr Gregory, told me that the last thing to do if one loses one's faith is to stop praying and stop going to Mass, since that is when one needs most of all to say one's prayers and go to Mass! But all unawares I have been praying less and less, and going to Mass less and less – tempting me to live a less and less Catholic life, tempting God, in fact, by spurning the great helps He provides by prayer and the sacraments, rejecting His graces, and preparing my soul to lose the little it has.

Now, thanks be to God that I have always had a strong Faith, ever since I received the grace of a real conversion of heart while a young man at University, and I cannot but believe (though, Christ absolve me, sometimes I have dared wish I didn't) – but I tremble when I think of how throughout my adolescence I hardly went to church, never went to confession, and held many erroneous notions, issuing in despairing thoughts. It was God's grace that delivered me then, lead me into the goodness and truth of orthodoxy, and spurred me on; but the old man is not dead, and my spiritual life has not been in a good way for a long time.

Dear readers, please pray for me, a sinner, that these good resolutions I have made, and the baby steps I have taken, may please God form again the good habits I have lost, to my enduring benefit. I hope this public rebuke of myself may remain fresh in my mind, and force me not to shame myself by going back on my word.

Monday Benediction and Mass

I stayed in Hobart till Monday; and thought to go to St Joseph's – the city church, run by the Passionist Fathers – for Benediction at noon, and then Mass. It was great to be there, and by a nice parallel good Fr Quinn was the celebrant: for yester-day I'd M.C.'d for him at the Latin Mass, and at lunch afterwards he'd told us some of the "good news" for which he is famous: in the past week or so, he has received five into the Church, as part of his ministry to the sick and dying.

I had forgotten what a blessing this church is: daily, from Monday to Friday, there is Mass at 8 am, then Exposition until Benediction at noon, followed by two lunchtime Masses, at 12:10 pm and 1:10 pm respectively; and Confession is available after both Masses (and also from 5 to 5:45 pm on Fridays).

Unsurprisingly, with this ministry to the good people of Hobart, many come to weekday Mass and avail themselves of confession also. And in how few parishes these days is there ever either Benediction or Exposition? When I was at University in Hobart, I would often catch the bus or walk into town to come to this church for all these blessings. Ite ad Joseph! and God bless the Passionists.

If only every city had such: my own, for example...

Mass for Advent Sunday

Our monthly Missa cantata at St Canice, in Hobart, went well. I was delighted that the choir chose to sing two most appropriate chants as motets: the Advent Prose Rorate cæli at the Offertory, and the hymn-version of the O Antiphons, Veni, veni, Emmanuel, at Communion. We concluded with the Salve.

Father preached on the great spiritual benefit provided by the sacrament of confession (or reconciliation, or penance - the three names commonly applied to this sacrament). After all, there are two sacraments that we can receive frequently – Penance and the Eucharist – and it stands to reason that, while we are only bound to confess and communicate once a year (and in the case of confession, only if we have fallen into serious sin), yet, given that both sacraments effect a real increase of grace and progress in holiness ex opere operato, it is but logical to make a serious effort to receive them both a good deal more often.  When we receive Communion, what stands in the way of us receiving every grace? Only our selves – sins and the effects of sin can oft be obstacles. If we regularly confess, our souls are better prepared to receive so great a Host, and profit from His blessings.

I find it amusing, by the by, that just before the end of Mass everyone genuflects toward the M.C. – me! (Of course, it is because I hold the Last Gospel altar card for Father, since the print is small, and it would be ridiculous for me to genuflect at the Et Verbum caro factum est while doing so.)

Our next Mass will be held, not on the first, but on the last Sunday of January (the 27th), since Fr Quinn will be away for the first several weeks of next month).  Hence, we will have the rare pleasure of two EF Masses in a row, since the very next week is of course the first Sunday of February.

Section 116

Section 116 – Commonwealth not to legislate in respect of religion 

The Commonwealth shall not make any law for establishing any religion, or for imposing any religious observance, or for prohibiting the free exercise of any religion, and no religious test shall be required as a qualification for any office or public trust under the Commonwealth.

— Constitution of the Commonwealth of Australia

Hence, whatever Roxon, or Pyne, or any other Federal MP or Senator may say, by the Constitution of the land (drawn up by our forefathers, approved in referenda held across Australia, and enacted for us by the Queen, Lords and Commons back Home), the Federal Parliament has no power to interfere in the "free exercise of any religion" – as by attempting to force priests to break the seal of the confessional.

While American law does not apply in Australia, both jurisdictions stem from the same Common Law tradition; hence, the 1813 ruling made by a New York court in People v Phillips may be read as usefully persuasive at least, and admirably clear in its rational exposition:

It is essential to the free exercise of a religion, that its ordinances should be administered—that its ceremonies as well as its essentials should be protected. Secrecy is of the essence of penance. The sinner will not confess, nor will the priest receive his confession, if the veil of secrecy is removed: To decide that the minister shall promulgate what he receives in confession, is to declare that there shall be no penance...

Prior to the present moral panic, a learned article was published summarizing the legal status of what may be termed clergy-penitent privilege in Australia: briefly, it is protected by law in most jurisdictions (the Commonwealth, the ACT, NSW, Norfolk Island, the Northern Territory, Victoria, and Tasmania) but not in several others (Queensland, South Australia, and Western Australia), although there a shadowy Common Law privilege may be argued to persist – my first source was unclear as to the situation in some, but another search turned up further details.

The States, of course, having inherited the plenitude of legislative power from the British Parliament, possess all the residue not specifically granted to the Federal Parliament; it is they who may seek to pass laws that could "prohibit the free exercise of any religion".  If they attempt to do so, it will be the duty of Catholics to strive to oppose such wicked laws; if any such laws are passed, it will be the duty of Catholic priests to refuse obedience to such laws, opposed as they are to divine law, ecclesiastical law, and logic alike.

Moral panic has brought this on: if the secrecy of the confessional has been recognized and unquestioned until now, even in cases of murder, why then turn upon this privilege? After all, a moment's candid reflection will reveal that, given the great decline in the use of confession, even among the clergy, and the sad truth that those hardened in sin rarely repent and confess, not to mention the impossibility of proving that a priest had heard a confession involving a certain crime (short of police having obtained a warrant to bug the confessional), it is manifestly foolish to imagine – especially in the face of absolute opposition to this law by those it would affect – that such a bad law would achieve anything, other than an increase in bigotry.

Dog-whistling seems to be the underlying aim of these comments against the confessional: cartoons in newspapers daily display the Cardinal hearing the confession of the Opposition Leader.  "Dog-whistling" is of course the term that signifies the use of mutually understood references to attack a given person – it is notorious that the Opposition Leader is a Catholic, as are several other Coalition MP's, and these days to call someone a Catholic is to invoke a dark image of obscurantism and crime.  Time was, the very term atheist was an abusive epithet: but no one would bother to criticise our Prime Minister for her notorious atheism (just as to remark on her living in sin would, by what passes for etiquette in our present godless age, be regarded as rude as well as pointless, so common are such arrangements).

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Anti-Catholicism remains an acceptable prejudice.  But would to God the Church's sinful members had not by their vile crimes brought such added opprobrium upon her!  As always happens, the hierarchy's negligence (perhaps, which God avert, even some connivance) regarding the perpetrators of such crimes has made these horrors even worse.  In a sense, we have our "betters" to blame for all this: corruptio optimi pessima.

Sad to say, when the Nazis tried to blacken Catholicism with accusations of perversion against priests, the Church was able to defend herself, for she had nothing to hide: secularists, whether motivated by sincerity or malice, are these days quite able to point out damning evidence of moral corruption within the Catholic Church.

I suspect that the Church has fallen into corruption because of laxity about doctrine and morals during the post-Conciliar period (not a time known for any certainty about either area, as is all too obvious): God will grant in His inscrutable, ineluctable Providence the trials and tribulations, yes, He even may permit the punishments and persecutions – amongst which these threats raised against the seal of the confessional may be counted – that will serve to purge out His errant Church.

Worship

As the late Fr Peter Knowles, O.P., forcefully stated, all the Sacraments are acts of worship – even Confession.  Confitemini Domino, quoniam bonus: quoniam in sæculum misericordia ejus – Confess to the Lord for He is good, for his mercy endureth for ever.  We cannot but worship God and praise Him for His goodness and mercy in offering us forgiveness of sins.

(He was a notable and beloved eccentric; having given up on the Western liturgy after its postconciliar reforms, and gone all Byzantine, he would often enquire of the brethren as to such matters as, "How do you Latins baptize?"  Fr Paul, whose ordination I attended last year, likes to joke that the proper reply to such a query is - say it in a broad Aussie accent - "We pour the water over the arse, Faaather!"  Likewise, whilst feasting on fresh oysters, he would hold forth on the rigours of Great Lent...  He is also famous for telling seminarians, making a retreat with him as director, that "The Holy Trinity is not a young man, an old man, and a bird!"  Quite right.)

What brings me to all this?  Going to confession this morning, as is my wont, and realizing anew what grace draws one to this sacrament, and what a plenitude of power for healing, temporal and eternal, it is – when, humanly speaking, how could man ever expect forgiveness for any sin?

Invalid Absolutions? – II

I've been ill the last few days with a heavy cold, but am now getting better; and therefore, at last having turned to books of sacramental theology that I have at hand, find that I was mistaken in assuming that the Trinitarian formula is essential to validity of absolution.

(These comments of course pertain only to the Roman Rite; the absolution used in the Byzantine Rite is cast in a different, precatory form, including the words "May the same Lord God, through me a sinner, forgive you all the sins of your life" – though I understand that in the Russian recension of the Byzantine Rite, and perhaps in others, a prayer similar to the Western form came into use some centuries ago as a result of liturgical and theological cross-fertilization.)

For example, Fr Nicholas Halligan, O.P., in his The Administration of the Sacraments (Cork: The Mercier Press, 1962), informs me that "It is certain that the words absolvo te are required for a valid form... it is probable that the words a peccatis tuis also pertain to validity... thus, in practice, these words must be included, lest the sacrament be exposed to nullity, and where they are omitted the form is to be repeated conditionally.  The words in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti are not required for validity" (p. 175f).

As an Anglican writer, F. G. Belton, in his A Manual for Confessors (London: Mowbray, 1936), quite sensibly explains (p. 16), "Our Lord made no mention of the Blessed Trinity in the institution of the sacrament, so the words, 'In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen' cannot be considered of the essence of the sacrament; but they express the fact that the priest absolves from sin by the power of God."

Obviously, the priest ought use the lawfully appointed form – e.g. that given in the 1962 liturgical books, or that in the more modern books – but if he stray therefrom without invalidating the sacrament, that is his own fault and failing, a venial sin.  As Halligan says, omission of an essential or probably essential word of the form of the sacrament is gravely sinful, as it invalidates the sacrament or "exposes it to the danger of nullity", and this also applies in "the case of substantial corruption of the form", whereas "Absolution imparted in an equivalent form would be gravely unlawful but valid" (p. 176) – hence a Western priest deciding to use the Byzantine formula, or some other, would absolve validly, of course, but would sin by using a formula not approved for the Roman Rite (unless he had biritual faculties).

What rather confused and upset me with the priests I mentioned in my last post below was that, before getting to the essential words of the absolution, they used, not the modern Roman form of words, but strange formulas apparently made up by themselves – one always mentions that God the Father "sent the Holy Spirit for peace and love" [sic] and the other began a very odd sentence with "Holy Church" does such-and-such.  It seems to me that both had once heard the proper, lawfully appointed formula, but have made up their own partial reminiscence of it without bothering to learn or read out the correct words!  Neither used the words which any penitent in the last forty years would recognize: 

God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son, has reconciled the world to himself, and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins.  Through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins, in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen.

While rarely used in the original Latin (those using Latin usually use the older form), in that tongue it runs as follows:

Deus, Pater misericordiarum, qui per mortem et resurrectionem Filii sui mundum sibi reconciliavit et Spiritum Sanctum effudit in remissionem peccatorum, per ministerium Ecclesiæ indulgentiam tibi tribuat et pacem, et ego te absolvo a peccatis tuis in nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti.  Amen.

(Attentive readers will notice that the English version breaks the Latin up into two sentences, omitting "who" and changing "he" to "God", and moreover inserts "among us", which the Latin does not have.)

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When all is said and done —

Is it really too much to ask that priests confess their penitents properly, according to the very straightforward ritual laid out in the relevant liturgical books?

One gets the feeling – and I think this applies also to other sacraments – that "anything will do"; only the fact that most priests read from the Missal, and are too lazy to compose their own Eucharistic Prayers or ad lib beyond a few changes here and there, prevents Mass from being similarly mucked about.

I recall once being at a nursing home with an old priest, who went to anoint a patient there and only used half the sacramental formula!  I tried respectfully to remind him of his duty, but got nowhere.  Given this nonresponse, I was rather impertinent and told him to be careful when leaving the facility, lest the staff think he was one of theirs...

I take up the words of the Prayer for the Church from the Anglican Patrimony (already come home to Rome, via the American 1979 B.C.P., in the Book of Divine Worship):

Give grace, O heavenly Father, to N., our Pope, to N., our Bishop, and to all bishops and other ministers [especially N....], that they may, both by their life and doctrine, set forth thy true and lively Word, and rightly and duly administer thy holy Sacraments.

Yes, may the holy Sacraments be rightly and duly administered!  That is, after all, the absolute minimum to demand, not some holy devout add-on extra to be praised and overlauded!

Ah, the so-called Gaudium et spes generation of priests: let them remember, as their ill-judged preaching and ministrations ever remind the unlucky faithful, that the next words of that document of Vatican II are the all too prophetic luctus et angor, sorrow and distress.

My Sheep Hear My Voice

My sheep hear my voice: and I know them, and they follow me.  And I give them life everlasting; and they shall not perish for ever, and no man shall pluck them out of my hand.  That which my Father hath given me, is greater than all: and no one can snatch them out of the hand of my Father.  I and the Father are one.

— St John x, 27-30

This was the Gospel passage read at Mass to-night, which marked this as Good Shepherd Sunday (OF), when in our Easter joy we adore Jesus as our Shepherd, who is truly good: ὁ ποιμὴν ὁ καλός: "good" is really inadequate, for the word means also "beautiful", "admirable", "excellent" and much more. 

Our visiting priest preached a little on the deep truth that God calls each and every one of us, and that this calling (expressed in our Baptism) is our vocation – our calling home to God, which we each are to live throughout life.  Soon-to-be-Blessed John Henry Newman was quoted, referencing his famous words:

1. God was all-complete, all-blessed in Himself; but it was His will to create a world for His glory. He is Almighty, and might have done all things Himself, but it has been His will to bring about His purposes by the beings He has created. We are all created to His glory—we are created to do His will. I am created to do something or to be something for which no one else is created; I have a place in God's counsels, in God's world, which no one else has; whether I be rich or poor, despised or esteemed by man, God knows me and calls me by my name.

2. God has created me to do Him some definite service; He has committed some work to me which He has not committed to another. I have my mission—I never may know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next. Somehow I am necessary for His purposes, as necessary in my place as an Archangel in his—if, indeed, I fail, He can raise another, as He could make the stones children of Abraham. Yet I have a part in this great work; I am a link in a chain, a bond of connexion between persons. He has not created me for naught. I shall do good, I shall do His work; I shall be an angel of peace, a preacher of truth in my own place, while not intending it, if I do but keep His commandments and serve Him in my calling.

3. Therefore I will trust Him. Whatever, wherever I am, I can never be thrown away. If I am in sickness, my sickness may serve Him; in perplexity, my perplexity may serve Him; if I am in sorrow, my sorrow may serve Him. My sickness, or perplexity, or sorrow may be necessary causes of some great end, which is quite beyond us. He does nothing in vain; He may prolong my life, He may shorten it; He knows what He is about. He may take away my friends, He may throw me among strangers, He may make me feel desolate, make my spirits sink, hide the future from me—still He knows what He is about.

O Adonai, O Ruler of Israel, Thou that guidest Joseph like a flock, O Emmanuel, O Sapientia, I give myself to Thee. I trust Thee wholly. Thou art wiser than I—more loving to me than I myself. Deign to fulfil Thy high purposes in me whatever they be—work in and through me. I am born to serve Thee, to be Thine, to be Thy instrument. Let me be Thy blind instrument. I ask not to see—I ask not to know—I ask simply to be used.

— Meditations on Christian Doctrine, I. Hope in God—Creator, (2) March 7, 1848

Before Mass, I'd been to confession – that sacrament which is indeed an act of worship, testifying to our true, felt need to always "come back to the Father" – and had been very much consoled when Father reminded me that God's love for me is a far, far stronger thing than my love (as a mere creature) for God.  

This in turn now reminds me of what "the sacred monster of Thomism", Fr Reginald Garrigou-Lagrange, O.P., called "the principle of predilection": one would not be greater than another did not God love that one more.  I have received so many blessings of nature and, I believe, of grace: in this I have proof of the great love that God has for me, because all I have, and am, is His gift.  God does not love because one is good, no; rather, God's love is active and creative: one whom God loves is made to be good.

How the Gospel corroborates this!  God's choice and election of His beloved cannot be overcome: they are His: "no one can pluck them out of My hand".  "Paschal triumph, Paschal joy, / Only sin can this destroy: / From the death of sin set free / Souls reborn, dear Lord, in Thee."  Great St Pius V died with these wonderful words of song on his lips:

 Quæsumus, Auctor omnium,

In hoc Paschali gaudio,

Ab omni mortis impetu

Tuum defende populum.

Jesu, Jesu, Jesu, esto mihi Jesus

Kneeling before the altar, before and after making my confession, I remembered these words: Jesu, Jesu, Jesu, esto mihi Jesus (hoc est, Salvator) – "Jesus, Jesus, Jesus, be to me Jesus (that is, Saviour)".   In church, what is better than to kneel before the Sacramental Presence, and invoke Our Lord?

Of old time the English had a great devotion to the Holy Name of Jesus, as exemplified in the Jesus Psalter, a form of devotion consisting in great part in a devout calling upon that saving Name.  This was retained in Anglicanism, as early injunctions to make reverence at Christ's Name makes clear: hopefully those soon to be in full communion again will help reinstate the traditional practice of bowing one's head at the Name of Jesus.

To-day (in the traditional Roman calendar) also marks the memory of two famous martyrs, SS Perpetua and Felicity, who bravely bore witness before hostile and uncomprehending pagans in Carthage just over 1800 years ago: as St Augustine put it, thus through trial and suffering they entered "perpetual felicity".  At the stirring account of their witness unto death, partly dictated by the saints themselves, the heart dilates in love for such great champions of Christ.  May they pray for us, and their glorious merits avail on our behalf.

Eve of Septuagesima: Farewell Alleluia: New Year of Grace

Pius Parsch once cogently argued that the Liturgical Year - the Church's Year of Grace - doesn't begin with Advent Sunday, but with Septuagesima Sunday!

For at Septuagesima, the Matins Lesson begin "In the beginning...", with Genesis chapter one, verse one.  The sober liturgy proceeds through the account of Man's Creation and Fall, and then through the Patriarchs and God's continual call of them back from doom to salvation - at Sexagesima, Noë and the Flood; at Quinquagesima, the call of Abraham.

(The Mozarabic Liturgy for Lent similarly proceeds through the Books of Moses and those of the Kings, but on a much more fulsome scale, with long readings even at the Little Hours, concluding with the Fall of Jerusalem, symbolic of Israel's persistent and final failure to keep the Law, of the ultimate frustration of the Old Testament without the grace of the New.  But even then, the Return from Exile in Babylon, and the comforting words of the prophets, foretell the Messianic Age when all Israel shall be saved.)

We cannot begin the New Year of Grace, without remembering how for Man it all started so well, and so quickly went so bad - we cannot begin the New Year of Grace without in sombre recollection thinking on our own sin.  We spend the time from now through till Easter turned toward the Lord, conscious of our need and insufficiency, conscious of His mercy and His making speed to save us.

We do not so much put away Alleluia for a time, as begin the Year with it - at first Vespers of Septuagesima (once at the start, and four times at the end with the Benedicamus Domino otherwise special to Paschaltide), signifying that "In the beginning" Man and all that God created was "very good" (as in the Dominican Office the special Responsory at first Vespers tells) - then immediately leave it aside (symbolizing the Fall and the consequent captivity of all men under sin) till Christ by His Victory, bursting forth from the tomb on Easter morn, restores all things in Himself, making all things new.

"Alleluia, our transgressions / Make us for a while give o'er..."

The mediævals called this the Depositio Alleluia, the burial, even of the Alleluia - for as Adam sinned and died and was buried, so the heavenly song of original justice must be laid aside.  (Some local ceremonies of old time for this involved writing Alleluia on parchment, and actually burying it!)

At Easter, all that had been foreshadowed is accomplished: "freed from Pharaoh's bitter yoke, Jacob's sons and daughters" - by the new Moses, Our Saviour, Who leads us through the waters of Baptism.  With Him as Shepherd and Guide, we set forth for the Promised Land...

We celebrate for fifty days the glory of the Resurrection, which is our resurrection, laying hold on it by grace - for Christ stretches forth His hand to draw us also, like Lazarus, from the tomb.

Pentecost is the Gift of the Spirit, completing the Paschal Mystery; after Pentecost, we live through the Ages of the Church; Advent is the season of looking forward to the Return of Christ; at Christmas and Epiphany, we ought not so much indulge in mawkish fawning upon "the Little Boy Jesus / Asleep on the hay" as see in Him our Goal, as see these feasts as prefigurations of the glory that is to come, that in Heaven we shall be united forever with the Lamb of God, "casting down [our] golden crowns" before Him.

The conclusion of the Liturgical Year, then, is not Stir-up Sunday, nor Christ the King (for, He reigns now, as He has for all ages as God, and as Incarnate Deity enthroned above since His Ascension, His return back to His Father in robes of glory, His Sacred Humanity: Christ the King ought not be an eschatological safe dream, but our motto for life in this age - Viva Cristo Rey!).

The End of the Liturgical Year is Candlemas, the Meeting with Christ in the Temple - when we too, as Simeon, can say Nunc dimittis.

How happy it is that Candlemas and Septuagesima Sunday so often overlap, as they do this year (2nd February and 31st January) - the Liturgical Year is the image, repeated for our edification and sanctification, until the Lord completes the cycle in us by our death, and in the Church by His Return in glory.  When we are judged, though like Adam, and ancient Israel, and the new Israel, the Church in her members, we will admit many falls and backslidings, may we in our own persons attest that God's grace is stronger than human weakness: "And all things shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well."

(Need I add that for sundry reasons, it seemed good and fitting to go to confession and disburden myself this morning?)

Christ's Coming a Cure for Sin

Having made my humble confession this morning, all day I've been struck by the peculiar appropriateness of the Collect in to-day's Office; for, this being Ember Saturday in Advent, the prayer runs as follows:

Deus, qui conspicis, quia ex nostra pravitate affligimur: concede propitius; ut ex tua visitatione consolemur: Qui vivis et regnas cum Deo Patre in unitate Spiritus Sancti, Deus, per omnia sæcula sæculorum. Amen.

God, Who knowest that by reason of our depravity we are afflicted: graciously grant, that by Thy visitation we may be consoled: Who livest and reignest with God the Father in the unity of the Holy Ghost, God, world without end. Amen.

As in common with many Advent collects in the Traditional liturgy, the mention of "coming" has suggested that the Collect (almost certainly originally ad Patrem) has come to be understood as addressing God the Son, Who came in the flesh at Christmas.

"Depravity" sounds rather strong in English, it is true; but, without falling into the self-loathing exaggeration of Calvinistic "total depravity", abhorring the flesh, it is true that fallen man is always falling into sin ("even the just man falls seven times a day"); and it is a sign of worrisome, even wilful and certainly dangerous blindness to have so corrupt a conscience as to imagine otherwise.

But Christ's visitation is not here conjured up as a fearful prospect, but rather as a most potent consolation: if the Light of the world draw near, the darkness is driven away, and the afflicted soul finds comfort. As it says at Sext, Visita nos in salutari tuo - Visit us with Thy salvation.

Christ comes to our souls every moment in the secret visitation of His grace, to console us and raise us from our iniquities, our foolish falls into all that harms us; but we must accept His free gift, for one Day we shall be brought to account for whether or not we have heeded the voice of the Shepherd: If to-day ye hear His voice, harden not your hearts.

******

All this puts me in mind of the beautiful resumé of salvation history that the Liturgy of St James provides after the Sanctus; here it is, in the version the Nonjurors appointed in their Communion Office of 1718, reminding us of all that Christ has done for us out of loving obedience to His co-equal Father, having taken pity on us so afflicted by our sins, and therefore coming to visit us, and to console us with His salvation:

Holy art thou, almighty and merciful God; thou createdst Man in thine own image, broughtest him into Paradise, and didst place him in a state of dignity and pleasure: And when he had lost his happiness by transgressing thy command, thou of thy goodness didst not abandon and despise him. Thy Providence was still continued, thy Law was given to revive the sense of his duty, thy Prophets were commissioned to reclaim and instruct him. And when the fullness of time was come, thou didst send thine only begotten Son to satisfy thy Justice, to strengthen our Nature, and renew thine Image within us: For these glorious ends thine Eternal Word came down from heaven, was incarnate by the Holy Ghost, born of the Blessed Virgin, conversed with mankind, and directed his life and miracles to our salvation...

I particularly like the phrase about Our Lord's conversing with mankind, which is an evident allusion to a passage in the Deuterocanonical books: "Afterwards he was seen upon earth, and conversed with men" (Baruch iii, 38). There's something very pleasant to the ear in this; and I like eighteenth century English.

Never Confess to a Pious Priest

The humorous, yet shrewd advice of a wise old Franciscan came to mind to-day: he said, "Never confess to a pious priest - whatever you tell him, he'll be horrified, and berate you, and make you do the Stations of the Cross with a Rosary between each Station... No, confess to an experienced, down-to-earth priest who's heard it all before, and whatever you tell him, he'll just say, 'Say three Hail Mary's!'"

We all laughed when he told us this, on a retreat some years ago, but the more I think about it, the more I realize the wisdom in these cheeky words, which I think I've already blogged on, but no matter, truth bears repeating.

That said, having gone to Saturday Confession as per usual, all I got was an Our Father!

(Some Anglo-Catholic friends of mine - now gone Russian Orthodox - rather sniffily told me many years back that this R.C. business of being allotted a penance of "five Hail Mary's," or "three Our Father's," was strange to them, for when they confessed to their priest, he would always suggest an apposite psalm to pray, given their particular condition and troubles. Dear soon-to-be-no-longer-separated brethren, any comments?)

This week I have rather broken both my Advent resolves, about praying the Breviary and hearing daily Mass, but have now clambered back on the wagon... while I find Matins of Friday and Saturday especially wearisome, I forced myself to the Hours yesterday, and found reading the Church's Morning Office (Matins and Lauds) in church after confessing very good. No pain, no gain.

After the sacred, the secular duties of this day: a rather pestilent business of doing Christmas shopping, including seeing over $80 spent on the obligatory ham and turkey!

At least it's all done now bar the shouting: the pudding's been collected from the Deanery (the good Catholics of New Norfolk raise much money by boiling up Chrissie puds each year in bulk, then selling them off through Tasmania's parishes), the materials for the punch have been assembled, the Christmas fruitcake is all ready for consumption, the wreath's about to go on the front door... all that remains is to soon to gather up the remaining necessities (fresh peas in the pod, brandy custard and other comestibles) for the gargantuan traditional yuletide feast that the family maintains as indispensable.

Mum once asked my sister and I, would we like to have anything different for our family Christmas dinner (when we all gather together around the long dining room table, whatever the weather)? Absolutely not, we said in unison. All change is pernicious.

While in Tasmania it is certainly easier to do than on the Mainland, I think it every Australian's duty to have a proper old-fashioned Christmas dinner, without any concession whatsoever to climate or lifestyle: arguably, it is all the more meritorious to suffer it during a scorching heatwave. One can always go lie groaning on the sofa after lunch...

To have some sort of seafood barbecue on the beach for Christmas - however nice to do so any other time of year - is an abomination.

Jesu Dulcis Memoria

After Mass this evening, on the way home, I was moved to sing that great hymn in honour of the Holy Name, Jesu dulcis memoria - it is so apt an illustration of the feelings arising in the soul communicated with the blissful Sacrament of His Body and Blood. I much recommend its use at Communion...

Earlier, I'd stopt by to visit an old retired priest I know, to wish him an early happy Christmas, bringing him a little gift, to have a chat, and later to receive his ghostly counsel in Confession. It's impressive to me, and a perceptible confirmation of his priestly character undimmed by age and ill-health, how his quavery voice becomes firm and sure when he administers the Sacrament of Penance.

Another very good day, because blessed by the worship of Almighty God.

A Lesson

After Confession this morning, I read Mattins from my B.D.W. (hoping by this quixotic devotion to express my prayerful support for corporate reunion of Anglicans), and was struck by the end of the first Lesson:

The Mattathias cried out in the city with a loud voice, saying: "Let every one who is zealous for the law and supports the covenant come out with me!" And he and his sons fled to the hills and left all that they had in the city.

I Maccabees 2:27-28

Surely this may be applied to those wetting their toes on Tiber's banks, having finally spurned the glamours and witchery of that false strumpet, the C of E? For in the days of the Maccabees, Israel had capitulated to the pressure of the pagan world, changing from faith in God to worship of demons, and from adhesion to the Law to the crass expediency that marked Gentile morals. All that was left to do was to fight and flee to a place of refuge...

And I recall what happens a bit further into the tale of the Maccabean revolt, in chapter eight of the first book of the Maccabees:

Now Judas [Maccabeus] heard of the fame of the Romans, that they were very strong and were well-disposed toward all who made an alliance with them, that the pledged friendship to those who came to them...

So Judas chose Eupolemus the son of John, son of Accos, and Jason the son of Eleazar, and sent them to Rome to establish friendship and alliance, and to free themselves from the yoke; for they saw that the kingdom of the Greeks was completely enslaving Israel. They went to Rome, a very long journey...

I Maccabees 8:1, 17-18a

It is and has been a very long journey to Rome: please God, journey's end is now at last in sight.

To escape the slavery of modernism - that is, complete surrender to the world - and to cast off its yoke, paradoxically it remains for Anglicans to seek Gospel liberty in the embrace of the Roman Pontiff: who, far from being the tyrant of Protestant legend or of the scoffing mob's derision, is as Christ's faithful Vicar, the true heir of SS Peter and Paul, attending to preaching the Good News to all, ever concerned for all the churches, and striving to guarantee the Lord's promises of a light burden, Christian service in perfect freedom, the tranquillity of order, and a peace that the world cannot deliver.

Confession and Mattins

As per usual, off to Confession this morning... I quickly and quietly slipt into church, as there was a funeral going on, and popped into the box... on my reëmergence all clean of sin, I noticed that Fr was preaching in Italian, given the ethnicity of the deceased, his family and friends.

Then, my usual walk around town, brunch and reading of the weekend newspapers (The Age and The Australian; I had scanned our local, The Examiner, at home as always); and I bought Tom Frame's Losing My Religion: Unbelief in Australia (thesis: most Aussies just don't care much about religion - too true!).

To-day, when I'm going off to visit a T.A.C. personage, I thought to use The Book of Divine Worship (Anglican Use of the Roman Rite) for devotions; so, for a change, I've read Mattins therefrom. The Psalms and Lessons seemed apposite for those Anglicans who are now teetering on the edge of coming home to Rome, having fought the good fight against liberal persecution and misbelief: Pss 34(35) and 35(36); Ecclesiasticus li, 1-12; and Apocalypse xviii, 1-14...

Compline and Benediction

Last night our new Gregorian schola met again at 7.30 pm, for practice, then sung Compline and Benediction at 8 pm - which is now advertised to all and sundry in the parish bulletin. As always, it was an uplifting occasion, and afterward several of us had a good conversation, despite the cold, rainy weather. (I came early, and took the opportunity of asking Fr to hear my confession: always a good thing to do.)

Saturday

It's always good to go to confession... St Philip Neri exhorted his disciples ever to hie themselves to the tribunal of penance, there to be embraced by the grace and mercy of Christ.

Also, it is always good to recommend oneself and all to others' prayers... the health woes of my family seem to be compounding: now my Mum has been diagnosed as having had a mild heart attack in the last few years, which has set alarm bells ringing to say the least! My grandfather, her father, died of a heart attack at an age not much greater than she has reached now, so our concern can be imagined.

Also, it is good not to trust oneself but to depend on others... Auntie Rosemary rang from Perth with sage advice as from an experienced Christus Rex pilgrim: amongst other things, buy some bike shorts to wear under trousers or shorts, to eliminate the chafing that long-distance walking brings. I like people who know such sensible things - since I'm not possessed of much common sense.

Also, one should frequently hear sermons and read saints' lives... well, maybe this is connected: I have registered to-day to go on retreat in Sydney in late December, where two monks of Flavigny will be conducting the Ignatian Exercises. Hopefully it's not booked out, since I really should make a proper retreat this year.

Oh, and to my amusement I finally got in contact with Justin, with whom last year I'd agreed to go a-pilgrim on the Christus Rex trek this year... and found he thought it was on for late November, so must now speed up and see if he can make it!