Joey Spencer

Joey Spencer is a Tutor for the Alcuin Institute for Catholic Culture, and serves as the Archivist for the Diocese of Tulsa.

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All the Trees of the Wood Sing for Joy Before the Lord

When life gets busy, as it so often does, with all the distractions it can be easy to lose sight of the most important things while trying to juggle all of the small stuff. Not that all of the small stuff doesn’t have its own place and importance, but things become problematic when the small stuff becomes a distraction for, or even takes the place of, more important things. St. Augustine tells us that things are either used or enjoyed. Things enjoyed bring us happiness, and the only thing which can bring us true happiness is God. God is the only thing we should enjoy. Everything else should be used in order to lead us to God. “Those things which are objects of use assist, and (so to speak) support us in our efforts after happiness, so that we can attain the things that make us happy and rest in them.”[1] All of the small stuff should be ordered so as to bring us closer to God and not become distractions or ends in their own right.

This can be easier said than done in a world with a lot of anxiety and constant busyness. When life gets busy and focused on the wrong things, I find myself drawn to taking a walk in the woods or sitting alone in a beautiful garden. This always helps to redirect my thoughts to God. There is something about nature which has a calming effect on the soul.

The French aristocrat and commentator on early American democracy, Alexis de Tocqueville, in an essay titled “Two Weeks in the Wilderness,” expressed what he experienced when stepping away from the cities and entering the American wilderness.

In that spot, the wilderness was probably just as it appeared six thousand years before to our ancestors’ eyes—a delightful and scented solitude festooned with flowers; a magnificent dwelling, a living palace constructed for man but into which the master had not yet made his way. The rowing boat slipped along effortlessly and silently. All around us reigned total serenity and peace. It was not long before we ourselves became, as it were, soothed at the sight of such a scene. Our conversation began to become more and more intermittent. Soon we were only whispering our thoughts. At length we fell silent altogether and, both putting up our oars, we descended into a quiet reverie filled with inexpressible magic.[2]

Perhaps the calming of the soul is due to God’s working on us through His creation. St. Thomas in the Summa contra Gentiles describes how we can come to God through His creation. “Now, God brought things into being by His wisdom; wherefore the Psalm (103:24) declares: ‘Thou hast made all things in wisdom.’ Hence, from reflection upon God’s works we are able to infer His wisdom, since, by a certain communication of His likeness, it is spread abroad in the things He has made.”[3] Thus the flowers of the garden and the trees in the woods, by their creation and existence, proclaim the greatness of God.

So, the next time you get caught up in the small things and get distracted from God, find the nearest garden or wooded walk and remember the words of St. Basil, “I want creation to penetrate you with so much admiration that wherever you go, the least plant may bring you clear remembrance of the Creator.”[4] After a bit, you too will find yourself soothed, less anxious, and refocused on the one thing that matters: God.

[1] St. Augustine, On Christian Doctrine, 1.3. [2] Alexis De Tocqueville, Democracy in America and Two Essays on America (New York: Penguin Books, 2003), 922. [3] St. Thomas Aquinas, Summa contra Gentiles II, ch. 2. [4] St. Basil, The Hexaemeron, 5.2.

The Custom of Reading Out Loud

Over the summer the Alcuin Institute hosted its first Catholic Imagination Fellowship. As part of this fellowship three college-aged scholars participated in two accredited, two-week intensive Great Books courses covering the ancient and medieval writers, as well as a two-week internship working with the staff of the Eastern Oklahoma Catholic. It was a great joy to get to work through so many texts with the students and my fellow tutors in the Institute. One of the texts we read was Euthyphro by Plato. It is a fairly short text and one that can be read in about an hour. One afternoon after class, we decided to read the entire text out loud so that the text would not only be read, but also heard. Euthyphro can be a tough text, and sometimes in hearing the dialogue read out loud our ears catch things that our eyes don’t. Not only was it beneficial, but the Fellows thoroughly enjoyed having the text read to them. Every teacher at one time or another will find themselves reading to their students. As a parent, I read to my son all the time, until he was able to read the books himself. Once my son could read, it was rare that I would read out loud unless I was teaching a class. All of my friends are readers, but unless it is a poem on all too rare occasions, we do not come together to read texts out loud to each other. Outside of classes or reading to our kids, why don’t we read to each other more often? Perhaps we should! The occasion that made me ponder reading out loud was a book I read recently called The Haunted Bookshop, written shortly after the end of World War I. One of the main characters of the story is Roger Mifflin, a charismatic pipe-smoker and owner of a used bookshop. Mr. Mifflin takes on a new employee and lodger named Titania whom he is introducing to the world of books. On the first night Titania stays with the Mifflins, and after dinner, Roger Mifflin makes the following suggestion for the evening’s entertainment. “Well my dear,” said Roger after supper that evening, “I think perhaps we had better introduce Miss Titania to our custom of reading aloud.”[1] Titania is of course delighted at the idea of being read to. This then made me think of the Inklings. Several years after the time depicted in The Haunted Bookshop, A group of scholars and Oxford dons, including C. S. Lewis, J. R. R. Tolkien, Owen Barfield, and Charles Williams, would come together in the rooms of C.S. Lewis or meet at the Eagle and Child pub to read texts to each other. Some read their own texts, and many are now considered classics in their own right. These 20th century examples made me ponder reading out loud in the Church. My first thoughts went to another book which was read by the scholars of the Catholic Imagination Fellowship, The Rule of Benedict. Rule thirty-eight concerns the weekly reader. “The brothers’ meals should always be accompanied by reading, not by a person at random who just picks up the book, but by someone who will read for the whole week starting on Sunday. After Mass and Communion, the one who is starting his period of duty should ask all the brothers to pray for him, so that God may preserve him from a spirit of pride, and then everyone in the oratory should repeat this verse after him three times, ‘O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth will show forth your praise’ (Ps. 51:15). Then he will receive a blessing and start reading.”[2] They hear the Word of God while they are eating. They ingest the Word of God with their ears, just as they ingest the food on their plates with their mouths. We do the same, when at every Mass we hear the priest or deacon read the Gospel in the Liturgy of the Word. St. Paul tells us, “faith comes from what is heard, and what is heard comes by the preaching of Christ” (Romans 10:17). Being read to has always been a part of the Tradition of the Church. Unfortunately, we live in a time that is very noisy. It is hard to escape the television, the radio, and the internet. If you think about it, in a way, these modern technologies are just a modern way of reading out loud to us. Perhaps it would be better to turn them off. A better alternative would be to get together with your family or a few friends, pick up a good book or Sacred Scripture, and as Roger Mifflin would say, re-introduce “the custom of reading aloud.” [1] Christopher Morley, The Haunted Bookshop (Philadelphia: J B Lippincott Company, 1955), 74. [2] The Rule of Benedict, trans. Carolinne White (New York: Penguin, 2008), 38.

Stop Christian Passer-by…and Pray

I have a lot of books. One of my favorite things in life is to have a comfortable chair, warm coffee, and a good book in my hands. It is a common occurrence that the book I sit down with will not be the same book I find myself reading when I finish my pot of coffee. Some interesting statement in the first book will lead me back to something I read in another and so on and so on, until, by the end of the pot of coffee, there is a new stack of books which have migrated from the shelves to the side of my chair. Recently it was not the book, but the bookmark, which set me off on my reading adventure…and prayer. A great number of my books have been bought second-hand in used bookstores. Very often they will have prayer cards for friends and family members who have passed away tucked inside. I always keep these prayer cards. Sometimes they find their way into the current book I am reading, marking my place, but also reminding me to pray for the dead. On this particular day the prayer card was for a Ms. Chastain who was born in 1932 and died in 2008. On seeing her card, I said a prayer for her, and before I started reading the book, praying for this woman led me to another book in search of something I had recently read about a memorial stone asking for prayer in an old English church. The memorial stone was for the English poet Samuel Taylor Coleridge. When the famous poet of The Rime of the Ancient Mariner knew he was going to die, he prepared the poem that is engraved on his memorial stone.  
“Stop Christian Passer-by! Stop Child of God. And read with gentle breast. Beneath this sod A poet lies, or that which once seem’d he O, lift one thought in prayer for S.T.C.: That he who many a year with toil of breath Found death in life, may here find life in death! Mercy for praise-to be forgiven for fame He asked and hoped through Christ. Do thou the same!”
The memorial stone is located in the center aisle of St. Michael’s Church, Highgate. It is an ever-present reminder to each “passer-by” not only to pray for those who have gone before us, but also to pray and prepare for our own death. Having found my reference to Coleridge’s memorial stone, and saying a quick prayer for Samuel Taylor Coleridge, I then recalled a similar request for prayers by the author of a twelfth century book on painting, glassmaking, and metalwork. The book, On Divers Arts, was written under the name Theophilus, which was almost assuredly a pseudonym. Scholars believe that the real author was either a Benedictine monk or Roger of Helmarshausen, an early twelfth century artisan. Whoever Theophilus was, he had the foresight to know that his text would be read many years after his death. Like Samuel Taylor Coleridge, he too asks for prayers when he is gone.  
When you have read this again and again and entrusted it to your tenacious memory, you will repay your instructor for his pains if every time you have made good use of my work, you pray for me that I may receive the mercy of almighty God who knows that I have written what is here systematically set forth neither out of love for human praise nor from desire for temporal reward, and that through envious jealousy I have neither stolen anything precious or rare nor silently reserved anything for myself alone, but rather that I have given aid to many men in their need and have had concern for their advancement to the increase of the honor and glory of His name.[1]
Almost a thousand years later, after reading this passage in his book, I said a prayer for Theophilus. The Church teaches that we should pray for the dead; it is one way in which we participate in the communion of saints. Praying for the dead is also a reminder that we too will someday die, and God will judge us on how we lived. So, if you are reading this in your comfortable chair with a hot mug of coffee, please say a prayer for Ms. Chastain, Samuel Taylor Coleridge, and Theophilus, and those other friends and family who have preceded us in death. And, if you are reading this (hopefully many years in the future) and I have gone on to my judgment, please say a prayer for me!       [1] Theophilus, On Divers Arts (New York: Dover Publications Inc., 1979), 13.

Caravaggio’s Light

In the Church of San Luigi de Francesi in Rome, there is a side chapel devoted to the life of St. Matthew. Hanging within the Contarelli chapel, there are three masterpieces by the Baroque artist Caravaggio. The paintings of the chapel, like a book, if read left to right, tell the story of the life of St. Matthew. If you step into the side chapel and turn your head to the left, you will see Caravaggio’s The Calling of St. Matthew. In the painting, Matthew is sitting with four other tax collectors who look to be counting money. Christ enters the room from the shadows, interrupting the counting, and points to a surprised Matthew, calling him to “follow me” (Matthew 9:9). If you look directly in front of you, and above the altar, you will see Caravaggio’s The Inspiration of Saint Matthew. This famous painting depicts St. Matthew at a table writing his Gospel as it is dictated to him by an angel. Finally, if you look to your right, you will see the third painting by Caravaggio, The Martyrdom of St. Matthew. Jacobus de Voragine, the thirteenth century chronicler of the lives of the saints and Archbishop of Genoa, describes St. Matthew’s death as being cut down with a sword in the midst of saying Mass. This is the story being depicted in Caravaggio’s painting. A barely dressed man holding a sword stands over Matthew while an angel leaning down from heaven is offering the frond of a palm representing martyrdom. In the background you can see the altar and the altar candle still burning, showing that St. Matthew was in the act of saying Mass when he was attacked. If you look to the left of St. Matthew’s assailant, you will see the bearded face of a man fleeing the scene with his head turned back to take in the last moments of St. Matthew’s martyrdom. This bearded man is a self-portrait of Caravaggio, who has painted himself into the scene. While each painting is a masterpiece in and of itself, the real genius of Caravaggio is expressed when all three paintings are experienced together in the setting of the Contarelli Chapel during a Mass. This genius has to do with Caravaggio’s light source in each of the paintings. In The Calling of St. Matthew, the light source comes from the lower right-hand corner of the painting, while the source of light for The Martyrdom of St. Matthew comes from the lower left of the painting. For The Inspiration of St. Matthew, the light source seems to come from below and directly in front of the painting. This only makes sense when you see the priest at the altar holding up the Eucharist at Mass. The elevated Eucharist becomes the source of light for all three paintings. Christ is the light of the world, and as Christ is truly present in the Eucharist, He is also the light for all three of these masterpieces. Caravaggio not only gives us three masterpieces, but in his use of the Eucharist as the source of light expresses the true presence of Christ in the Eucharist.

Giving Thanks for Backseat Drivers

I have never heard anyone say that they love backseat drivers.  Most of us have experienced a time or two when we have been distracted by a witty billboard, beautiful scenery along the road, or even a great conversation with the backseat driver through the use of the rearview mirror. I’ll share one of my experiences. Driving home from a night out with friends, I had become distracted by the conversation we were having and had taken my eyes off the road.  All of the sudden everyone in the car yelled at the top of their lungs, “BOX”!  The suddenness of the screams from a car full of backseat drivers uncomfortably redirected my attention to a giant television box that I was about to hit in the middle of the road!  I barely had time to swerve to miss the box. I’m grateful that an accident was avoided. Recollecting the story of the box in the road made me think of the story of Balaam and the donkey on their way to visit Prince Balak. Three times on the journey, the Angel of the Lord will stand in the middle of the road, sword in hand, threatening the life of Balaam. Balaam’s donkey, that long-suffering, loyal and faithful creature, acts in the narrative as the backseat driver. Three times, his faithful donkey will see the impending danger that Balaam does not and will act in order to save her master (Numbers 22, 25, 27). All three times Balaam beats the poor creature in order to force the donkey back onto the road. Finally, the third time the angel stands in the way, there is no room to move right or left, so the brave donkey kneels to the ground, stopping in front of the angel. Then a miraculous event occurs: God opens the mouth of the donkey so that she can express her lifetime of service and loyalty, the truth of which Balaam cannot deny (Num. 30). At this point, God opens the eyes of Balaam and he sees the Angel of the Lord standing, sword in hand, ready to kill him, the danger that the donkey had seen but Balaam had been blind to.  Balaam not only sees the threat of the Adversary Angel, but also sees his guilt in his turning away from God’s will. It begs the question: If the donkey’s eyes are always open to the Lord, why aren’t ours? Just like Balaam, we live in a world of distraction, and this distraction can lead us away from God and into sin. We should be thankful for the donkeys and the backseat drivers in our life who call our attention not only to the physical dangers within the road but also our own blindness to sin; perhaps God is using them to open our eyes.

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St. Cyril of Jerusalem and the Mystagogy of Baptism

Sometime around the year 350, St. Cyril was named Bishop of Jerusalem. St. Cyril served as Bishop of Jerusalem during tumultuous times, both political and theological. During his reign as bishop, he was banished from his see three times and was three times reinstated. In 381 he was one of the Fathers present at the First Council of Constantinople. St. Cyril died on March 18, 386, and his commemoration is celebrated on March 18th in the liturgical calendar of the Church. St. Cyril’s existing works include his pre-baptismal catechesis, known as the Procatechesis, and twenty-three post-baptismal catechetical homilies. These are some of the earliest writings depicting the catechesis and ritual of the Sacrament of Baptism in the early Church. St. Cyril was named a Doctor of the Church by Pope Leo XIII in 1883. Having celebrated St. Cyril’s commemoration in March, and about to conclude the Easter season, it might be interesting to look at St. Cyril’s catechesis on Baptism. In the Procatechesis, St. Cyril addresses those catechumens who are participating in the Lenten catechumenate. The catechumens are undergoing preparation for their entry into the Church through the Sacrament of Baptism at Easter. In their preparation, the catechumens would have attended Church daily, receiving instruction in the faith and receiving minor exorcisms, not unlike our modern catechumens today who attend RCIA programs and receive minor exorcisms during the scrutinies on the third, fourth, and fifth Sundays of Lent. It is to the catechumens that have been advancing in their knowledge of the faith that St. Cyril is speaking, when, in the Procatechesis, he says, “Already there is an odor of blessedness upon you, O you who are soon to be enlightened; already you are gathering the noetic flowers, to weave heavenly crowns; already the fragrance of the Holy Spirit has breathed upon you; already you have gathered round the vestibule of the King’s Palace; may you be led in also by the King!”[1] The vestibule of the King’s Palace was the baptistry of the Church. For St. Cyril, Baptism is the gate through which we entered the King’s palace, or paradise. After the Fall and expulsion from the Garden of Eden, man was held captive by the devil in his original sin. With the crucifixion, death, and resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ, the hold of the devil over man was broken. In one of his post-baptismal homilies, St Cyril explains how this is evident in the ritual of Baptism. Within the ritual there is a clear expression of conversion, turning away from Satan, and turning toward Christ. According to St. Cyril, the ritual begins at the entrance to the baptistry with the individual being baptized facing west with his arms outstretched. The west is where the sun sets, and with the setting of the sun comes darkness. As such the west was symbolically tied to the devil. “Since the west is the region of sensible darkness, and he being darkness, has his dominion also in darkness, therefore, looking with a symbolic meaning towards the West, you renounce that dark and gloomy potentate.”[2] The arms are held out, representing that the individual is rejecting or pushing away the devil and his works. The individual to be baptized then vocally rejects Satan, all of his works, and all of his pomp. After the rejection of Satan, the person being baptized physically turns his body (conversion) and enters the baptistry facing the east. He has now turned his back to Satan and is moving toward Christ and the baptismal font. With his back to the west, he now faces east. Just as the west is tied to the setting of the sun and darkness, the east is the direction that the sun rises and represents light and the coming of Christ. “For as the lightening comes from the east and shines as far as the west, so will be the coming of the Son of Man” (Matt. 24:27). In facing east, the person being baptized also faces the direction in which lies paradise. “And the Lord God planted a garden in Eden, in the east; and there he put the man whom he had formed” (Gen. 2:8). Facing east, the person then puts off the garments they are wearing. The stripping of the garments has multiple meanings. First, it is a symbol of the person putting off the old man of sin. “For since the adverse Powers made their lair in your members, you may no longer wear that old garment.”[3] In putting of the garment there was a sense of putting off the sin, and having put off the sin, there was no longer any shame connected to the nakedness. “You were naked in the sight of all, and were not ashamed; for truly you bore the likeness of the first-formed Adam, who was naked in the garden, and was not ashamed.”[4] Another meaning to the stripping of the garments has to do with Baptism being a participation in the crucifixion and death of Jesus Christ. “Having stripped yourselves, you were naked; in this also imitating Christ, who was stripped naked on the Cross, and by His nakedness put off from Himself the principalities and powers, and openly triumphed over them on the tree (Col. 2:15).”[5] Another early Church Father, Theodore of Mopsuestia, adds that after turning east the person genuflects before stripping their old garments. After the garments are put off the person is then brought to the standing position, representing the lifting up of man from the Fall. After rejecting Satan and putting off the old garments, the baptizand is then anointed with exorcised oil. The exorcised oil also has multiple meanings. One meaning is that, being cut off from Satan, “the wild olive tree,” you are grafted onto Christ, “the good olive tree.” The other purpose that St. Cyril gives for the anointing of exorcised oil has to do with warding off the evil spirits tempting the person before Baptism. “For as the breathing of the saints, and the invocation of the Name of God, like fiercest flame, scorch and drive out evil spirits, so also this exorcised oil receives such virtue by the invocation of God and by prayer, as not only to burn and cleanse away the traces of sins, but also to chase away all the invisible powers of the evil one.”[6] Once the person was anointed with the exorcised oil, they were then led to the baptismal font and asked three questions. “And each of you were asked, whether he believed in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit, and you made that saving confession, and descended three times into the water, and ascended again; here also hinting by a symbol at the three days burial of Christ.”[7] Baptism is a participation in the death and resurrection of Christ for the one who is baptized. St. Paul says, “We were buried therefore with him by baptism into death, so that as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in the newness of life” (Rom. 6:4). Coming out of the waters, the newly baptized were once again clothed with a new white garment. Just as before Baptism he put off the garment of the old sinner, now the baptizand is clothed with a new white robe which represents the newness of life in Christ. “For as many of you as were baptized into Christ have put on Christ” (Gal. 3:27). Having “put on Christ” the baptized individual can now properly call himself a Christian. There is one further anointing which occurs. At the Baptism of Christ, after He is baptized, the Holy Spirit comes upon Him. “And when Jesus was baptized, he went up immediately from the water, and behold the heavens were opened and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove, and alighting on him; and behold a voice from heaven, saying, ‘This is my beloved Son, with whom I am well pleased’” (Matt. 3:16-17). This second anointing with holy oil represents the Holy Spirit coming upon the newly baptized. “For as the Bread of the Eucharist, after the invocation of the Holy Spirit, is mere bread no longer, but the Body of Christ, so also this holy ointment is no more simple ointment, nor common, after invocation, but it is Christ’s gift of grace, and, by the advent of the Holy Spirit, is made fit to impart His Divine Nature.”[8] Thus, receiving the anointing, we receive participation in the divine nature and through Christ truly become children of God.

Taylor Swift is Right: I’m the Problem

I will confess to all the “Swifties” out there that I am no expert on Taylor Swift or her music, and, in addition to possibly putting my ignorance of Taylor Swift on display, the fact that I am writing about her in my latest musing may be opening myself up to lots of future jokes from my colleagues in the Alcuin Institute. But that’s okay, full steam ahead. I should start by laying out the context of how this particular musing came about. Some time ago I was able to spend quality time with my nephew who is in eighth grade. Like many eighth graders, his world is one filled with music, movies, and pop culture. In one of our conversations, it came up that Taylor Swift had just released a new album (my nephew would want me to clarify at this point that he is not a “Swiftie” …we were discussing music in a general sense). So as a result of this conversation, I listened to the first song released called “Anti-Hero.” Thus, this musing.

What caught my attention were the lyrics. Maybe the words were simply creative songwriting, but they come across to the listener as being very personal insights into the life of Taylor Swift, confessional even. One particular line states, “I should not be left to my own devices, they come with prices and vices, I end up in crisis, tale as old as time.”[1] Now, anytime I hear “tale as old as time” tied to “vices,” my thoughts are immediately directed to the story of the Fall in Genesis.

It is a well-known story. Adam and Eve rejected God’s warning about eating from the tree of the knowledge of good and evil and, left to their own devices, they ended up in a crisis. The price of their sin was death and separation from God. In the aftermath of recognizing their sinfulness they hide from God among the trees. When God asks, “Adam, where are you?” it is not that God doesn’t see them in hiding, or that He doesn’t know their location. He is asking the question out of love. God gives Adam the opportunity to confess the sin and make things right. Adam does not confess, rather he blames his sin on Eve and even God Himself since He gave Eve to be his wife. As the Easter Exsultet says, “O happy fault, O necessary sin of Adam, which gained for us so great a redeemer!” Through the crucifixion, death, and Resurrection of Jesus Christ, our sin has been forgiven and we are once again able to enter into a relationship with God.

Being sinners, we tend to fall back into sin over and over again. Because of this, the Church has been gifted with the Sacrament of Penance and Reconciliation. The Catechism of the Catholic Church refers to this sacrament as the sacrament of forgiveness, “since by the priest’s sacramental absolution God grants the penitent ‘pardon and peace’” (CCC, 1449).

Back to Taylor Swift. Taylor Swift’s song ends with lyrics which insinuate that at her funeral, her family members will think that she is laughing at them in hell when they realize that she has left them nothing in the will. Now if this is some insight into Taylor Swift's self-perception and not just creative songwriting, this is heartbreaking. Taylor, it does not have to end this way. Just as in the case of Charles Dicken’s Ebenezer Scrooge, there is time for conversion. In fact, it is encouraging that, unlike Adam and Eve, who blame everyone but themselves, in the chorus of Taylor’s song there is a line which says, “It’s me, hi, I’m the problem, it’s me.”[2] There is no hiding in the trees here. In a world in which we like to make excuses for all of our sins and problems, this seems like a refreshingly honest confession. So, Taylor, forgive me, I don’t know much about you, but if you are reading my musings, I do have the answer to where you can find the peace you are seeking. If the lyrics of this song are your own struggles, you have the confession down, you should take it to Christ through the Sacrament of Confession. If you are Catholic, after confessing the priest will give you absolution; if not, you can also find healing and mercy in the conversation with the priest. The same goes for anyone else reading this article and carrying around the weight of your sins. Go to Confession, ask for forgiveness, be forgiven, and enter into the pardon and peace of Jesus Christ.

    [1] Taylor Swift, “Anti-hero,” Midnights (New York: Republic Records, 2022). [2] Taylor Swift, “Anti-hero,” Midnights (New York: Republic Records, 2022).

Happy Is He Who Prays with the Church

Each feast day, St Therese of Lisieux's sister Pauline would read Dom Guéranger’s commentary on the Mass in order to prepare their minds and hearts. St. Therese writes of this experience, “How I loved the feasts! You knew how to explain all the mysteries hidden under each, and you did it so well that they were truly heavenly days for me.”[1]

Dom Prosper Guéranger was a Benedictine monk who was instrumental in the liturgical reform movement of nineteenth-century France as well as the re-founding of Solesmes Abbey. Our Lady of Clear Creek Monastery is part of the Solesmes Congregation and thus becomes a connection between our diocese and the history of Solesmes and Dom Guéranger.

Founded in 1010, the Benedictine Priory of Solesmes was closed in 1791 as a result of the anti-Church sentiment in France during the French Revolution. In 1831, the buildings of the priory which had survived the French Revolution but had fallen into neglect were put up for sale by the French Government. Father Guéranger realized that if he could buy the priory it would be an opportunity to re-establish the Benedictine religious life to France, which was all but lost after the French Revolution. With the help of private donations, Guéranger succeeded in acquiring the Priory of Solemnes, and in 1832, religious life under the Rule of St. Benedict returned to France. “Prayer which had been interrupted, has been resumed.”[2] In 1837, the Priory of Solesmes was made the Abbey of Solesmes and Dom Prosper Guéranger was appointed Abbot and Superior General of the Benedictines of the Congregation of France.

One of the results of re-establishing the Benedictine monastic tradition to France was that Dom Guéranger was able to focus on studying the Church’s liturgy. In 1841, Guéranger began writing The Liturgical Year, a fifteen-volume work which explains day by day the liturgical year of the Church, including the Mass and the Divine Office. After the devastating years during and following the French Revolution, in order to strengthen the Church, he recognized the importance of the laity having an understanding of the liturgy.

But this liturgical prayer would soon become powerless were the faithful not to take a real share in it, or at least not to associate themselves to it in heart. It can heal and save the world, but only on the condition that it be understood. Be wise, then, ye children of the Catholic Church, and obtain that largeness of heart which will make you pray the prayer of your mother.[3]

His hopes were that he could revitalize the Church by introducing the faithful to the prayer of the Church with explanations and commentaries. As seen in the life of St. Therese of Lisieux, The Liturgical Year made it possible for the lay faithful to come to know the prayer of the Church and participate in the liturgy in a way that was impossible before it was published. Saints read his work and were strengthened in their faith. Thus it is fitting that in 2005 the cause for beatification was opened for Servant of God Dom Prosper Guéranger.

Dom Prosper Guéranger died in 1875 after finishing nine of the fifteen volumes. The other six volumes were completed by another Benedictine monk under Dom Guéranger’s name. The Liturgical Year is today still considered one of the most important resources for liturgical studies. In addition to studying the liturgical year, Dom Guéranger also helped to recover and re-establish the use of authentic Gregorian Chant in the liturgy. May his work inspire us even today as we seek to draw closer to our Lord in the sacred liturgy. [1] Àngel de les Gavarres, Thérèse, The Little Child of God’s Mercy: Her Spiritual Itinerary in the Light of Her Autobiographical Manuscripts (Washington, D.C.: ICS Publications, 1999), 23. [2] Dom Prosper Guéranger, O.S.B., The Liturgical Year: Volume I – Advent (New Hampshire: Loreto Publications, 2000), 5. [3] Guéranger, The Liturgical Year: Volume I – Advent, 5-6.

The Nativity of our Lord: The Feast of this Awe-filled Mystery

As we prepare for the coming of Christ at Christmas, it seemed proper to spend some time with a few sermons of Saint Peter Chrysologus, particularly those dealing with the seasons of Advent, Christmas, and Epiphany.

Saint Peter Chrysologus was appointed Bishop of Ravenna by Pope Sixtus III sometime around the year 431. At the time, Ravenna was the political capital of the Western Roman Empire. According to the legend of the saint, the people of Ravenna had chosen their own man for bishop, but St. Peter the Apostle and St. Appolinaris had come to Pope Sixtus III in a vision and instructed the Pope to name Peter Chrysologus bishop. St. Peter Chrysologus was known for his gifts as a shepherd to his people and a preacher. Of his writings, there are 176 sermons attributed to his name as well as a pastoral letter written to the heretic Eutyches. It is believed by scholars that of the 176 sermons, 168 are authentic writings of the saint. He was proclaimed a Doctor of the Church in 1729 by Pope Benedict XIII.

Known as the Doctor of Homilies, as a preacher, St. Peter’s sermons were short. “He frequently stated that he did not want to weary his hearers by speaking too long.”[1] Even though his sermons were short, they were beautifully crafted and theologically rich, earning him the epithet Chrysologus or “the Golden Orator.” While Christianity had become the official religion under Emperor Theodosius the Great in the late fourth century, there were still many at the beginning of the fifth century who were influenced by the old pagan religions. The focus of most of St. Peter’s sermons was the moral conversion of his flock. That he truly cared for the people he shepherded, desiring their conversion and salvation, is apparent in the sermons. “You are my life, my saving encouragement, and my glory. Therefore, I cannot suffer you to remain ignorant of what God gave me to know.”[2] His passion was for saving souls and his gift was to be able to share in his sermons difficult theological ideas in an easily understood and pastoral manner.

Preface II in the Eucharistic prayer for the Mass of the Nativity of the Lord could be a description of St. Peter Chrysologus’ thoughts present in his sermons regarding the Nativity. It is a beautiful prayer reminding us that in Christ’s Incarnation there is not only the salvation of man, but also the restoration of the unity of all creation which was disordered with the first sin in the Garden.

For on the feast of this awe-filled mystery,

though invisible in his own divine nature,

he has appeared visibly in ours;

and begotten before all ages,

he has begun to exist in time;

so that, raising up in himself all that was cast down,

he might restore unity to all creation

and call straying humanity back to the heavenly Kingdom.[3]

With this prayer in mind, we can now turn to the words of St. Peter Chrysologus and see how he expresses the same themes in his homilies.

For Peter Chrysologus, the Incarnation of Christ is always an awe-filled mystery. This mystery begins with the Annunciation. In one of his sermons, Chrysologus ponders the meaning of the Archangel Gabriel’s words when he proclaims to Mary, “the Lord is with thee.” “‘The Lord is with Thee.’ Why is the Lord with you? Because He is coming to you not merely to pay a visit, but He is coming down into you in a new mystery, that of being born.”[4] In another sermon the great saint asks us to turn our thoughts to the mystery of Christ in Mary’s womb.

Then ponder this in your heart: Can you fathom the mystery of the Lord’s birth? Do you deserve to enter into the resting place of that bosom, where the heavenly King, with all the full majesty of His divinity, finds His repose? Ought you, as a rash witness with human eyes and bodily senses, to gaze on the virgin’s conceiving? Can you, as a bystander, contemplate with daring reverence the very hands of God fashioning for himself the holy temple of a body within the womb of the mother?[5]

In Mary’s womb God became flesh and blood and shared in our human nature while Mary became the tabernacle of Our Lord and the Mother of God.

In the Gospel of Matthew, we are told that “Jesus was born in Bethlehem, of Judea, in the days of Herod” (Matt. 2:1). Both Bethlehem and Judea are particular places, both of which can be visited today, while “in the days of Herod” allows us to pinpoint a particular time in human history. As Preface II states, at Jesus’ birth God appears visibly and enters into time. St. Peter Chrysologus expresses it beautifully when he says,

He who made man from undefiled earth, without any process of birth, He Himself by being born fashioned His human nature from an undefiled body. The hand which with dignity raised earth to our image also with dignity assumed flesh for our restoration.[6]

That Christ assumes flesh for our restoration is a direct reference to the Fall in the Garden.

The first man, Adam, the father of the race, the origin of all posterity, lost by his sin the good of nature, the freedom of his race, and the life of his offspring…. Thus it is that Christ was born to elevate those prostrate in an earthy seed up to a heavenly nature.[7]

In Christ’s Incarnation it is not just man who is restored, but all of creation is restored as well. In his sermons there is a cosmological view in which all of creation celebrates the coming of our Savior.

So, what God commands an angel relates. His spirit fulfills it and His power brings it to perfection. The virgin believes it, and nature takes it up. The tale is told from the sky, and then proclaimed from all the heavens. The stars show it forth, and the Magi tell about it. The shepherds adore, and the beasts are aware. As the prophet testified: "The ox knoweth his owner, and the ass his master’s crib." [8]

All of creation participates and celebrates the Nativity of our Lord.

As we prepare for the coming of Christ this Christmas, let us remember that it is part of the mystery and beauty of the Church, that the same truth preached during Advent and Christmas by St. Peter Chrysologus in fifth century Ravenna, is the same truth our pastors will preach to us on Christmas day. “Today, Christ, who is the King of peace, has come forth with His peace and routed all discord, banished dissensions, and dissipated conflicts.”[9] May we all experience the peace of Christ who routes discord and dissipates conflicts this Christmas.

Lord, Open Our Eyes So We Might See

I was recently asked to teach two classes in the upcoming year on the topics of the Eucharist in Sacred Art and on Eucharistic Miracles. As I have not taught on these particular subjects before, the first step was to grab the books off the shelf and start collecting the pictures I will need for the class on art. In the collecting of pictures, I ran across the picture which accompanies this musing. It is a picture from a few years ago in which Bishop Slattery is consecrating the host, making what was once bread and wine into the body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ.

What struck me about the picture was the gaze of the priests. At this moment in the Mass all of the priests are intensely looking at the Eucharist, their eyes focused on Christ Himself, who is truly present in the Sacrament. If we were to step back and enlarge the picture so that we could see the high altar in its fullness, we would notice that some of the angels depicted on the altar are also looking at the Eucharist held up by the Bishop. The eyes of the other angels are focused on the tabernacle or the depiction of Christ on the Cross. All eyes are on Christ! If only our eyes could be opened to the spiritual reality taking place in this picture, we would also see a host of real, not artistically depicted angels and saints focused intensely on Christ present in the Eucharist.

This being said, there are many in the Catholic Church who do not believe in Christ’s true presence in the Eucharist. A Pew Research Center survey from 2019 found that only about one-third of Catholics believe in the true presence. While this number may come as a surprise to many, this disbelief is not new or modern.

There is a similar situation depicted in the life of St. Gregory the Great contained in the Golden Legend by Jacobus Voragrine. As St. Gregory is distributing the Eucharist to the laity, one particular woman steps up to receive the Eucharist with an amused smile on her face. St. Gregory pulls back the Eucharist and asks the lady why she is so amused. The lady happened to be the woman who made the bread for the host and admitted that she found it hard to believe that the bread she made was now the body of Christ. St. Gregory placed the Eucharist back on the altar and prayed that God show His grace by revealing the truth of what the Church believes. The Sacrament on the altar became flesh before the eyes of all. The woman was converted and after her conversion was further catechized by St. Gregory. For those of us helping catechize the faithful, we have work to do! But we should do this work with great joy, keeping our eyes focused on the Eucharist, and knowing that Christ and all of His saints and angels are right there with us.