I would like to share an allocution which I was invited to
give some months back in front of a theological group and a few lay persons
ever at odds between the "ad
orientem" and "versus
populo" discussion in the context of the celebration in the Mozarabic
Rite. I hope it makes sense once
translated into English as one hopes it did in its original Spanish. The context, of course is the architecture of
the extant churches of the kingdom of Toledo and later of Oviedo when and where
the Gothispanic Rite was codified and from which the Mozarabic descends. The code in question is the collection of the
canons enacted at the eponymous Councils, though they will not be quoted
specifically. Some things were too obvious to codify and since this part of our
own cultural patrimony is often overlooked or forgotten these days, even in the
welcomed revival of Our rite, we think it is important to remember certain
particularities. The erosion of tradition is disfiguring sometimes, and reconstruction
can see reinterpretations of old things into... odd things. It baffles, but it can also be a window into
deeper discussions. So we hope our bits
can serve to fill some of the lost pieces of the puzzle, at least in our limited
context without causing offense to anyone. Worthy too are the other traditions
out there, but stewards we are of this one.
Reflection... it is reflection that we aim for, always. So heavenwards and down: Dominus sit semper vobiscum!
<<
Communion is not a magic potion or cure-all panacea; communion
is the climax of state of Grace in fulfillment of the precepts set forth by Our
Lord and proclaimed in the Gospels. The
liturgical stages that precede the Eucharistic Meal are therefore, to be seen
as integral parts of the said progression, of life itself: from being apart
from God, to being near Him, with Him, and in Him. These stages were also most
clearly seen in the architecture of our early churches and the diverse groups
of people that were contained in each space there.
One entered the temple by the western door onto the narthex
or portico. This is the covered space
which is farthest from the altar at the east.
There is a linear axis to walk from the left, where the sun sets and
darkness is; where an absence of God, who is the light of the world, but a hope
that he will rise again. It is here that
our journey begins: in this portico where the catechumens stand and attend the
liturgies - they are far from the representation of heaven on earth at the
opposite end, but are directed to it, and with due instruction and profession
of faith, once ready and baptized, they can proceed. It is here too that the penitents must
remain, but kneeling. They have wronged
in ways that exclude their conscience and spirit from partaking in the communion
until they expiate their sins. Penance
is, however, not what so many interpret as excommunication, which bars someone
from heaven and their candle is snuffed and their souls damned on earth so that
may also be in heaven as the spiteful Roman Rite developed it in the second millennium
- a political recourse because they held both the golden and the silver key -
but in Our Church, this westernmost space was the farthest a Christian was
allowed from God: Always with the hope that one can return to the nearness of
Him as the liturgy predicates. Those not
in communions still look East, to the Lord, and the point is to be ushered back
in to the fold when they have purified their souls. This is where the concept of Purgatory comes
from, and not a separate reality or concept.
The western portico is the earthly purgatory: only those who are baptized,
and are in a state of grace may pass through to the next space, which is the
nave.
Between the Western Portico or Narthex and the Nave, it is
worthy to mention the figure of the Ostiarius, which is the verger, sexton,
Swiss, or Usher depending on the region where one lives: this is the door
keeper, for ostiarius means just this.
As in the royal palaces, this is the person in charge of letting through
those in the grace, and ban passage with his verge or rod of office to those
who are not yet, or have fallen from, that grace. We may live, in democratic or communist or
otherwise egalitarian societies, and find it strange, but Church is a place of
hierarchy and contrasts. East and West,
Good and Evil, Worthy is the Lamb, but wretched is the devil and his
subjects. The nave is the place for the lambs
and the earthly paradise where they may safely grace. It is here that the faithful attend to the
teachings of the shepherds of God: the bishops with their crooked pastoral
staves, and the presbyters delegated by them to teach and administer the sacraments
where and when they can't be present.
The person exorcised is made to look West (even at Baptism) and when
blessed, made to look East. Those who live
in darkness are encouraged to walk towards the light found in the east. The
Priest walks from the east, to bless and address them, to meet them, us, who
walk from the west into the light.
At the Eastern-most limit of the nave, there is to be an
arch or rood-screen, we call it a triumphal arch. This is where the faithful come to receive
communion, and also from where the readings and the lessons are sometimes
performed for their instruction and benefit. That is why in German it is called
the Lettner. It is only crossed in those
moment when the Christian fulfills his or her covenant and sanctifies their
life with the purpose and meaning set forth by the Church in the rites of passage
we call the Sacraments. It is indeed a
triumphal entry and a privilege to pass through this gate onto the choir to be baptized
or confirmed, to receive the nuptial benediction, sacred orders, and indeed for
the exequies when we die in grace. The liminal space demarcated by that
triumphal arch is symbolic of the importance of crossing it, and the fact that
it requires preparation, and mindfulness.
It highlights the importance of the rites when we are to approach it and cross it, for
when we do, it is in fulfillment of our destiny: when we are most holy, and
closest to God. What is beyond this arch
is the ritual space par excellence: the choir.
The choir is called so because those who attend here are
placed facing "each other" instead of east. This may seem antithetical to the axial
progression, but there is wisdom to be sought in the things we do not understand
at once. The choir is the place where
the faithful comes to stand, alone or in the case of the nuptial blessing with
their spouse, and receive the benefit of song and blessing from the east, where
the celebrant pronounces his benediction, and from behind them, where their families
and community of friends and neighbors rejoice in their blessing, but from the
north and the south choirs too. It is not in vain that the choir is commonly
called "the crossing" and in cruciform churches this becomes most evident:
the choir is at the heart of the cross, and is the point of interception
between the sacred and the profane: the place where God is invoked to bless us
at those pivotal times in the life and death of a Christian. It is a square space, as the earth was represented,
and has four corners, as we understand that the world is divided into north,
east, south, and west. The choir is like
the New Jerusalem, but here on Earth, now. That's where we hallow God's name and
fulfill the precepts and the will of God for us to be saved. "On earth, as
it is in heaven" is part of our Daily prayer, and this is the place where
those who devote their lives to the service of the Church seat: Some in the north, and some in the south. It is the natural space of the ordained. It is where the canonical hours are kept and
the holy offices read. It is the space
where all fall to their knees and sing Sanctus!Sanctus!
Sanctus! as we know the angels incessantly do in heaven when at the mass
The Presence is invoked, and kneel also when the Gospel is read, and when the
Holy spirit descends during a benediction.
This is the space for those who have devoted their lives to God, whether cleric or lay,
to live on earth as witnesses of the promise of heaven. This is the place where they pray, and make
sure the Word and message of God resonates to the four corners, and not just in
the west-to-east axis of the Christian life.
It reminds us that God is the God of ALL and to ALL four corners of the
earth, and not just those in our community.
The sacrifice of his Son was for the redemption of ALL. The heart of the crucifixion is not just to
save ourselves, but the whole world.
Beyond the choir there is another arch, or a chancel, a templon or what in the east developed as
the iconostasis and in Rome reduced to a ciborium or baldachin. It is the area of the altar. It is the space where the table upon which
the Sacrifice of the Mass is commemorated and in our faith, the bread and wine
are consecrated into the flesh and blood of Jesus. This easternmost spot is the culmen of the Christian's path. It is heaven on earth and the holy of
holies. This is why, like in the temple
of the old testament commanded by God, it is veiled with curtains. In the Oriental Churches they made them into holy
and royal doors, and in the Occident, erased them from the canons of sacred
architecture as theology has ... evolved?
But the curtains are drawn open, for the whole of the mass even on the
feriae, and from the vigil of a memory, feast or solemnity until the day's
sunset. Heaven is not absent for those
who come to celebrate the mysteries, but like all things sacred, we believe it
must be veiled when not in use, to create contrast and context of the blessing
to see it available in the celebration, but not through Lent and the feriae except
for the mass proper.
In the Gothispanic Liturgy and Mozarabic Rite, as it was
in the ancient Roman and still is in most Orthodox Churches, the chair of the
presiding priest is to be placed against the eastern wall whether it is a
rounded apse or a square space. This emphasizes
the role of the priest as magistrate in the context of the Roman empire which
was the milieu not only of early Christianity, but of Christ himself who was
judged by Pontius Pilate, a Roman magistrate.
There are many who argue that the altar should be against the wall and
the mass be said "ad orientem"
which it should, privately, or following the precepts of the Roman Rite after
the schism of the early part of the second millennium when its doctrine was
imbued with airs of infallibility in terms of cult and culture, but for public
worship, as indeed the venerable ancient roman basilicas still stand as
monument: face the people, in the name of God, and teach them the way. Theological
exegesis that forgets context fails the Logos, well intentioned and devout as
it may be. Private masses, votive
masses, are well said in private oratories and small chapels ad orientem, but public masses were
designed for the salvation of the world, so that those in the westernmost
corner could hear the Word and be saved and see the promise of heaven and yearn
for a closeness with God. We can't forget that everything was tied together,
and all was imbued with reason at the beginning. When we forget why something is, it
depreciates in time and becomes banal, vestigial, unimportant, and eventually left in oblivion and forgotten. We can't forget. There is beauty enough in the beginnings, for
God was at the beginning of ALL. And
what is designed in the perfection of God, needs not evolve. Ius sacra naturalis perfectaque constituta
est. And it is to the priests to uphold it and teach it so it may be
upheld, and understood, not to reorder and innovate. That's the domain of canon
law, politics, worldly preferences and liberties when there are imperfect
things to be mended; things to be fixed.
The liturgy is mutable, but the magisterium of the Gospels mustn’t. Nor venerable traditions allowed to be corrupted by those outside of its logic.
The washing of the hands of the priest, in Our rite, is
performed at the chair in the apse. It
is the first act there after the Sacrificium
(Offertory) has begun and the priest readies himself to ascend to the altar in
front of him. That disposition of having
the ara or mensa in front of the celebrant's seat recalls that of the
table where the law codes and codicils of the Roman Magistrates sat when they
occupied their place at the basilicae
to render their duties. It too was covered
in linen and had antependiae - it was
not a long stretch to becoming the table of the Last Supper, but also where we
place the Gospels on the feasts and solemnities, and also the other liturgical
books aside from the chalice and paten. Early representations of the judgement
in front of Pontius Pilate can help us see the link between the origin and the appropriation
of the forms into the context of our liturgical patrimony. Speaking ex cathedra and indeed from the area
of the altar in general, in the age before microphones, meant that the
celebrant's voice would resonate and be heard even by those farthest west in
that symbolic spatial axis described above: the ones that require listening the
most, perhaps, were surely in mind. When
we turn our backs to them, yes, we are teaching by example, it is true... but
that is understood in the context of monks or devout members of a private chapel
or oratory - what of the rest? Remember
the rest. They need it most. Speak to them, and make sure that in that easternmost
spot you occupy, they see God, they hear God, they can be attracted to
Him. Never forget to use the two fingers
for benediction, and the singular index to teach the way, to point to the right
way. That is your job, and that of the Church. But of gestures, another day! Perhaps.
Now, let us wash hands and proceed to the dinner in the room outside,
shall we?
>>
