Church Chat: Liturgical Edition

It seems that many Catholics are unfamiliar with the names of the various items used or worn in the liturgy. It’s quite understandable: you may see these things on a weekly basis, but you don’t necessarily hear them referenced or addressed. I thought I’d share a few of these with you.

(Unlike previous versions of “Church Chat,” I won’t be giving the roots of these words.)

For Mass, the priest is vested with several pieces of liturgical accoutrement: sometimes a priest will wear a garment called an amice, which covers the shoulders and ties around the torso, so that his regular clothes are not visible; the long-sleeved white garment which reaches from neck to ankles is the alb; if the alb is loose-fitting, it is bound by a cord around the waist called the cincture; the long neckband which reaches the shins or ankles (depending on the height of the priest) is the stole; the over-garment, the one you really see, is the chasuble. 

When leading another sort of liturgy other than Mass, the priest might wear a long black robe called a cassock, with a white over-garment reaching the waist or knees called a surplice, as well as the aforementioned stole. For some events he may wear a cape, confusingly called a cope (really, we change one vowel?).

A deacon, in addition to the aforementioned alb, has a stole of a different style, which sits on one shoulder and is draped across the torso, being fastened at the waist. He may also wear a dalmatic, which looks somewhat like a chasuble, except that it has sleeves.

A bishop, in addition to the usual priestly vestments, has a few other noticeable items: the staff he carries, meant to resemble a shepherd’s crook, is called a crozier. The tall hat with the tassels in the back is called a miter. The smaller, yarmulke-looking item that covers the top of the head is called a zucchetto. An archbishop will wear a band which encircles his neck and has a short protrusion at opposite ends; this is the pallium.

Several items are used in offering the sacrifice of the Mass. The cup which holds the Precious Blood is a chalice. The small, shallow plate which holds the hosts is the paten. Other hosts are held in a bowl-like or chalice-like container called a ciborium. On the altar one will find a corporal, a small white cloth on which the chalice and paten are set. The water and wine used for the consecration are held in small (usually glass) containers called cruets. 

Hope this helps!

Greatest Hits

This is the 60th post on this blog. In commemoration of this event (yeah, usually you celebrate a 50, not a 60, but I missed it--so sue me), and since I have a very busy week and have not the time to compose a new post, I present to you the Top 10 posts from this blog, in no particular order:

A Q&A on the Dominican School of Philosophy and Theology.

Showing, in one way, why Chesterton, Lewis, and Sheen were such gifted communicators.

In which I show how we all ask philosophical questions every day.

On the proper definition of the word "hypocrisy."

Defending the usage of the phrase "very unique."

Poking holes in "politician's logic."

Showing the flaws in the thinking that an idea is automatically wrong just because it's old: the concept of "chronological snobbery."

In which we compare the shallow notion of love in the movie Shakespeare in Love to a deeper one in Yours, Mine, and Ours.

In which I show that some styles of music are better suited to the sacred liturgy than others.

In which I discuss the most important thing in the world.

Enjoy!

Points of Interest

An assortment of things I've run across that you may find of interest....

• I'm sure you can remember cartoons, TV shows, or movies that featured a character in a moral dilemma being advised by an angel on one shoulder and tempted by a devil on the other. Did you ever wonder where this idea came from? Actually, this is a very old idea in Christianity. An excerpt from The Life of Moses by St. Gregory of Nyssa (335-394 AD), one of the greatest Fathers of the Church:

"There is a doctrine (which derives its trustworthiness from the tradition of the fathers) which says that after our nature fell into sin God did not disregard our fall and withhold his providence. No, on the one hand, he appointed an angel with an incorporeal nature to help in the life of each person, and, on the other hand, he also appointed the corruptor who, by an evil and malificent demon, afflicts the life of man and contrives against our nature." (Book II, paragraph 45)

This is consonant with the notion that God allows us to be tempted in order that we might grow stronger in virtue by cooperating with His grace, turning toward God and away from sin. I'm not sure we'd go so far as to say that God appoints a demon to afflict us. But still... I bet you thought some animator made this up. Nope.

• There's an old story that our roads are the width they are today because they were patterned after train rails, which were patterned after carriages, which were patterned after Roman chariots -- so that the width of roads has not changed in 2,000 years! I'm not sure this is true, but there is at least one feature of our society that we do owe directly to the Romans: law. For example, the five basic categories we have today of circumstances which invalidate a contract are the same as they were in ancient Roman law! The survival of this principle is thanks to the medieval canon lawyers, particularly Gratian, who retrieved, collected, integrated and codified the wide assortment of civil and Church law which had survived into the second millennium. The Napoleonic Code was largely based on these surviving bits of Roman law, and its influence spread as France marched across Europe in the early 1800s. This code was then carried into the New World as the nations of Europe colonized the Americas and Africa. That same legal framework undergirds our Constitution. So, you can thank Gratian and St. Raymond of Penyafort for the Bill of Rights.

• When you hear an atheist or agnostic argue against the existence of God, what do they most often say? It's usually some variation on one of these two points: 

1) If God is perfectly good, why is there evil?
2) We can explain the natural world apart from God; we don't need a "God of the gaps," because there are no gaps. 

I can't think of any argument I've heard from an atheist that doesn't boil down to one of these two points. So guess what St. Thomas listed as the two objections to the question of whether God exists in his Summa Theologica? From ST I, Question 2, Article 3:

Objection 1. It seems that God does not exist; because if one of two contraries be infinite, the other would be altogether destroyed. But the word "God" means that He is infinite goodness. If, therefore, God existed, there would be no evil discoverable; but there is evil in the world. Therefore God does not exist.

Objection 2. Further, it is superfluous to suppose that what can be accounted for by a few principles has been produced by many. But it seems that everything we see in the world can be accounted for by other principles, supposing God did not exist. For all natural things can be reduced to one principle which is nature; and all voluntary things can be reduced to one principle which is human reason, or will. Therefore there is no need to suppose God's existence.

Go here to read his replies to the objections. 

The point is: folks, we've been over this before. If you're going to deny that God exists, at least come up with something original. Next time you hear an atheist or agnostic make one of these arguments, point them toward Thomas' argument. Perhaps they'll be surprised that someone who lived 800 years ago had already thought of their clever questions and answered them.

Everyday Philosophy

Previously in this space I have made the argument that we all employ philosophical reasoning every day without knowing it, because logic and demonstration simply are the way that human beings think. This extends, too, to phrases we use that assume a certain philosophical principle. Let me give you a few examples of what I mean...

"Information"

When we receive information, we gain new insight or understanding about the thing in question; we come to know it better. Have you ever considered what a funny sounding term this is, though? Compare it to the synonymous words I used a moment ago: "understand"--all right, this new knowledge now "stands under" me so that it lifts me up to new heights; "insight"--OK, this new knowledge allows me to "see into" this thing, to apprehend it more clearly. But what about "information"? Actually, this very word assume's an Aristotelian theory of how we come to know things. I've mentioned before Aristotle's theory of form and matter, that everything consists of the possibility-of-being (matter) and the essential what-it-is-that-makes-it-what-it-is (form). Aristotle said that when we perceive a thing, we come to know it so that the form of the thing is impressed onto our intellect; its essence, its form, becomes a part of us: that is, we are "in-form-ed" by the thing. Which connects to this phrase...

"Takes one to know one"

When your intellect receives the form of the thing, Aristotle concluded that it rightly can be said that in some way you become the thing that you know. If I know what a nightingale is, it's because the form of nightingale has been impressed upon my intellect, so that I participate in the form or essence of "nightingale-ness;" I cannot know it unless it's a part of me. For Aristotle, it really does take one to know one.

"Haters gonna hate"

A phrase used by the kids these days to mean "You have a prejudice or bias against my idea which is causing you to react negatively to it without considering its merits; that is, because you already hate it, you can do no other but hate." This (I say with tongue in cheek but hoping it can get the message across) is an example of the Aristotelian-Thomistic principle of agere sequitur esse, or "action follows being." A thing will behave according to its nature determined by its essence, its form, the sort of thing it is; and by looking at the actions of a thing, you can determine what sort of thing it is. Dogs bark and cats meow. Woodpeckers peck wood and woodchucks chuck wood (that is, if woodchucks could chuck wood). Human beings act rationally. (Well, some of them, anyway.) So, if you see someone hating, clearly they're a hater... 'cause haters gonna hate.

If you have ever used any of these phrases, congratulations: you're an Aristotelian!

The Most Important Thing in the World

Today is the most important day of the year, for the central fact of human history is that Jesus Christ is risen from the dead, and today we commemorate it.

God became man to make the ultimate offering of self-emptying love, for no greater love hath a man than to lay down his life for his brother (John 15:13). By becoming man in the person of Jesus, God becomes our brother; he is then able on our behalf to take onto Himself the punishment due for our sins. As man, Jesus makes this offering to God the Father on behalf of all men; as God the Son, Jesus makes this offering of infinite worth, able to cover the sins of all mankind. And by his sufferings, we were saved; by his wounds we were healed (1 Peter 2:24; cf. Isaiah 53:5). But this was not the end.

For on the third day, the stone was rolled away, the shroud was found folded and set aside; the tomb was empty. And Jesus appeared, to Mary Magdalene, to Peter and the other apostles, to the disciples on the road to Emmaus: truly alive, eating and drinking, present to the senses, real to the touch. He is risen indeed!

I would draw your attention to the present tense used in that statement: Jesus Christ IS risen from the dead. He didn't rise from the dead only to die again later, as did Lazarus or Jairus' daughter. He didn't rise from the dead in some metaphorical or mythological sense, in a story set long ago which is now ended. Jesus rose from the dead permanently and definitively. And he did not merely return to life as he lived it before; he was not resuscitated. He was resurrected. He lives never to die again. His body is glorified, in a state beyond that which our bodies are now. He is now what we will be at the end of time. He is the first fruits of the harvest to come (1 Corinthians 15:20).

With his rising, he has conquered death, and the sinfulness of the world which occasioned it. We need no longer fear suffering and death, for suffering and death and sin do not have the last say. The final word is had by the Word Incarnate. He has overcome, and we can, too, if we put our trust in him and do as he bids us: to believe in him, to love our neighbor and God whole-heartedly, to be baptized for the forgiveness of our sins, to follow his teachings and those of his Church, the pillar and foundation of truth (1 Timothy 3:15).

On this most holy day of days, let us thank God for the gift of our salvation, won through the sacrifice of love of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, to whom be glory now and forever and unto the ages of ages.

Holy Thursday

Today begins the great celebration of the Easter Triduum: Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday. All in preparation for that great feast of our redemption, Easter Sunday, when Christ rose from the dead, conquering sin and death and bringing life and salvation to the world. Let us consider the events commemorated today.

We hear of the central event of this day at every Mass. On the night he was betrayed, Jesus took bread, said the blessing, broke it, and gave it to his disciples, saying: "Take this, all of you, and eat of it; this is my body, which will be given up for you." When the meal was ended, he took the cup, said the blessing, gave it to his disciples and said: "Take this, all of you, and drink from it; this is the cup of my blood, the blood of the new and everlasting covenant. It will be shed for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins. Do this in memory of me."

Jesus had told the crowds, "Unless you eat my flesh and drink my blood, you have no life within you." Many wondered what this could mean -- "How could this man give us his flesh and blood to drink?"-- and as he insisted further, "Unless you gnaw on my flesh and drink my blood, you have no life within you," many turned away. The Gospels tell us it was at this moment that Judas decided to betray Jesus. He could not accept his teaching on this matter. Peter, on the other hand, though he may not have understood at the time, did not leave, did not turn away. When Jesus asked if he, too, would go, Peter responded: "Lord, to whom shall we go? You have the words of eternal life." That of which Jesus speaks is that which brings eternal life.

Just what is Jesus talking about? How can he give us his flesh and blood to eat and drink? He reveals the answer to us here, tonight, at the Last Supper. The Jews, in following the covenant of Moses, had offered animals in sacrifice to God in reparation for their sins. Now, Jesus would be offered as the definitive sacrifice, the one perfect, eternal sacrifice which would pay the debt for all humanity's sins for all time. He is the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world. Here's the key: when the Jews offered their sacrificial lambs in reparation for their sins, they would then eat the lamb that had been sacrificed. They would partake of that which had been offered to God so that they were sharing the sacrifice with God; in this, they renewed friendship with God. Just so, as Jesus was to be the Lamb sacrificed for our sins in this new and eternal covenant, in order to fulfill that which was foreshadowed and prefigured in the sacrifices of the old covenant, we had to partake in that which was being offered: we had to eat of the flesh of Jesus. And Jesus shows us how.

This bread and wine had been used as part of the Passover ritual, in which the Jews remembered that night when the angel of death smote the first-born of Egypt; but the Jews were saved by the blood of the lambs spread upon their door posts. Jesus takes these signs and brings them into the new covenant: he is the Bread of Life, his is the blood of the Lamb which saves, which fills the cup of salvation. These signs are brought together into one: the bread is the flesh of the Lamb, the Body of Christ; the blood is the blood of the Lamb, the Blood of Christ. By eating his flesh and drinking his blood, we renew our participation in the New Covenant; we renew our friendship with God by sharing in the sacrifice offered him.

And that sacrifice which is offered is God himself! God, in the person of the Divine Word Incarnate, the Second Person of the Trinity, was made man, and truly suffered, truly died, and truly rose. In Jesus Christ is both the sacrifice offered and the God who receives it. Christ is both man who is redeemed and God the redeemer. By our sins we owed God an infinite debt we could not pay; by God's justice the debt had to be paid. Only God could pay an infinite debt; but it was man who owed the debt. Thus God took flesh and became man, able to render payment on behalf of humanity, able to render infinite payment as God.

By that flesh we are saved. In eating that flesh and drinking that blood, we participate in that covenant and receive the very life of God. And it is truly the flesh and blood of Christ that we receive, for if it were not, we would not receive God. But how can God make bread and wine become his own body and blood? It seems so incredible. I ask: is it any more incredible than God becoming man? How could one believe one but doubt the other as "just too much to swallow" (no pun intended)? Just as in Jesus that which appears to be man is really God, in the Eucharist that which appears to be bread and wine is really God.

Today we remember the gift of that great sacrament by which we would perpetually remember Christ's sacrifice and re-present it to God in reparation for our sins. Tomorrow we remember the sacrifice represented by this sacrament. Today let us ask pardon for our sins, and give thanks for the sacrament of our salvation.

Habemus Papam! First Impressions

Pope Francis has been on the job for all of a week, but in some ways it feels like a year. Perhaps I should clarify: in the brief span of seven days, a boatload of punditry has spewed forth opining as to what this man's pontificate will be like, or should be like; how it compares, or will compare, to his predecessors; what decisions he will make, or should make; what his emphases will be, or should be; etc. I find this tiresome and premature. Are we so impatient that we can't simply wait and see and pray for this man who has been handed a most awesome responsibility? Give the guy a breather!

That said, as a few people have asked me for my impressions of the new Holy Father, I will give them, trying my best to avoid doing that which I have criticized above.

I loved the joke he cracked about the cardinals going to the end of the world to find a bishop of Rome. There was a touch of humility to it, and the half-grin on his face as he said it added to it.

He asked the people in St. Peter's Square to take a silent moment to pray that God bless him in his ministry. Very fitting for the Servant of the Servants of God.

He strikes me as affable and amiable and personable, something we tend to like in public figures.

His penchant for going "off-script," for suddenly diving into crowds to greet and bless people, seems a truly fatherly attitude.

I dislike the way in which some people are using Francis' election to take shots at Benedict, just as I disliked people using Benedict's election to take shots at John Paul. Every man, and certainly every pope, is different, with a unique personality, with particular characteristics. Opposing traits can each be good in their own way (as long as they're morally licit): the jovial, convivial type is not automatically superior to the shy, quiet type, nor is the professorial sort necessarily better than the natural preacher, nor is the casual fellow above the formal -- nor is it entirely impossible to find all of these traits in the same person but expressed in different moments.

Now for my one small bit of hopeful prognostication:

For decades in the Church in the Western world, one major division within the Church has been between what might be generally labeled as "peace & justice" folks and "personal morality" folks. There are those whose focus is on aiding the poor and denouncing violence, as the Church has always done, and those whose focus is on calling others (and themselves) to moral rectitude, particularly in the realm of sexuality, as the Church has always done. Both are promoting one element of the Catholic faith, but both tend to neglect the other, and in some cases even to dissent from it: I know a lot of P&J people who think the Church must change on abortion, contraception, fornication, re-defining marriage, etc.; and I know a lot of PM people who are far too eager to use the death penalty or go to war or who think torture is perfectly acceptable as long as you're torturing the right people. And worst of all, these two sides seem to get so stuck in their ways as to think, for example, that one couldn't possibly be both a lover of the poor and against gay marriage.

Pope Francis proves this notion wrong, and shows us how we can bring these two pieces back together. This is a man who washes the feet of AIDS victims and publicly opposes his country's attempts to re-define marriage. This is a man who denies himself the comforts of office so as to live in solidarity with the poor and who also denounces contraception as not in accord with our nature. See, folks? See how naturally these go together? See how easy this is?

St. Francis of Assisi, in whose honor the new pope took his regnal name, had a great love of the poor and a profound devotion to the Eucharist. He was a man of peace who, when he went to the Sultan, did not deliver a pluralistic message of "I'm OK, you're OK," but, out of love for Christ and neighbor, tried to convert him from Islam to Christianity. He was a man who encouraged the lay faithful to greater holiness and who had a deep respect for priests and gave complete obedience to the Holy Father. Yes, these things do go together. They're supposed to. It's called being Catholic. May Pope Francis show all of us how to be better, fuller Catholics.