Snow in August

In the midst of yet another horrendously hot summer, the charming medieval legend of the miraculous snowfall that supposedly fell on Rome’s Esquiline Hill on this date in the mid-4th-century seems especially appealing.

Even before global warming, August in Rome has always been hot. Hence, the manifestly miraculous character of that legendary August 5 snowfall. The story itself, commemorated annually with a shower of white rose petals from the dome of the Roman Basilica of Saint Mary Major, was first reported several centuries after the supposed event and so may well have no serious historical basis. The event which does have real history, of course, is the actual dedication on that site and on this date of the Papal Basilica of St. Mary Major by Pope Sixtus III (432-440). From 1568 to 1969, the legend of the miraculous snowfall was incorporated into the official title of today’s feast as Dedicatio Sanctae Mariae ad Nives.

Built to commemorate the Council of Ephesus (431) which affirmed the Blessed Virgin Mary’s title as “Mother of God,” the Basilica of Saint Mary Major (a manageable walk from the Rome’s Termini railroad station) is one of the four principal papal basilicas (along with Saint John Lateran, Saint Peter’s, and Saint Paul’s Outside the Walls) and one of my personal favorites.

The smallest of the four principal papal basilicas, Saint Mary Major is, of course, quite large in comparison with most ordinary churches in Rome or elsewhere. Its design is classical basilica style with a wide nave, two side aisles, and a semicircular apse at one end of the nave (the basic model Isaac Hecker was attracted to in planning his design for the Paulist Mother Church in New York). Its 14th-century bell tower is Rome’s highest. Its 16th-century ceiling is gilded with gold, supposedly brought back from Spain’s newly conquered American empire. Under the papal altar is a crystal reliquary which supposedly contains wood from the original crib of Jesus in Bethlehem (photo). Back in the glory days of the Roman “stational churches,” this was the site of the Pope’s Christmas Eve Midnight Stational Mass. (In fact, Saint Mary Major served as the "Stational Church" on 12 occasions during the year - including the 1st and 3rd Masses of Christmas, the 4 Ember Wednesdays, and the main Mass on Easter Sunday). The Bethlehem connection is augmented by the tomb there of Saint Jerome. Saint Ignatius Loyola celebrated his first Mass in that crypt on Christmas Day in 1538. (It is said that Saint Ignatius had wanted to celebrate his first Mass in the Holy Land. So the Altar of the Crib at Saint Mary Major, with its relic from Bethlehem, seemed the next best place!) 

And then there is the basilica’s beautiful Borghese Chapel, which houses the famous image of Mary Salus Populi Romani (“Safety of the Roman People”) which may be the oldest Marian image in Rome. Servant of God Isaac Hecker prayed before that image after his expulsion from the Redemptorists, which is why a copy of that image is displayed in my present parish church, and people are encouraged to pray there for Hecker's canonization cause.. In 1953, the image was carried through Rome to begin the first Marian year in the Church's history. The next year, Pope Pius XII (who had celebrated his First Mass in the Borghese Chapel) crowned it when he established the new feast of the Queenship of Mary. Pope Francis has regularly visited Saint Mary Major to pray before the Salus Populi Romani image in connection with his apostolic journeys

All in all, it’s a wonderful old church - a Roman treasure for the whole Church!

The 1st reading for today’s Mass is taken from Revelation 21 - John’s vision of a new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. Then, John heard a loud voice saying: “Behold, God’s dwelling is with the human race. He will dwell with them and they will be his people and God himself will always be with them.” God’s "dwelling with the human race" is first and foremost his Son, the Incarnate Word, Jesus, and then the Church, the Body of Christ extended in space and time, which continues Christ’s presence and action in the world. We build church buildings as places for the Body of Christ to assemble. As such, a church building becomes an icon of the Church community itself. Hence, churches are true treasures. They are treasures not just of beauty and art – although the best of them certainly are that – but privileged places treasured above all as effective signs of God’s presence in people’s lives and of his continuing action in our world here and now. 

The Cure of Ars

From June 2009 through June 2010, the Church observed a special "Year for Pirests," intended to deepen priests' commitment for the sake of a more forceful and effective witness to the Gospel in today's world. The year began in Rome with the Pope venerating the relic of the heart of Saint Jean-Marie Vianney (1786-1859), the patron saint of priests and parish clergy, who died 158 years ago today.

That very year, Charles Dickens published A Tale of Two Cities, his famous novel about the French Revoluton, which begins with the now familiar sentence, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times." Into that turbulent "worst of times," John Vianney was born just three years before the Revolution - a movement inspired by a hatred for the Church, the likes of which Europe had not seen since the worst of the Roman Emperors. Churches were desecrated and destroyed; and bishops, priests, and religious were massacred. Young John Vianney received his First Holy Communion in secret, since public celebration of Mass by priests loyal to the Church was illegal.

After the Emperor Napoleon had restored some semblance of peace between Church and State, 20-year old John Vianney went to school to study for the priesthood. He failed the seminary admission test, but somehow managed on his second try. Even then, he was such a poor student that his continuance was in question. The Vicar General of the diocese finally asked the seminary rector, "Is Monsieur Vianney good?" The rector replied, "He is a model of goodness." To that, the Vicar General then replied: "Let him be ordained. The grace of God will do the rest." Commenting later on John Vianney's difficulties as a student, Isaac Hecker (1819-1888), the founder of the Paulist Fathers believed he recognized "the supernatural action of the Holy Spirit at work" in John Vianney's difficulties. Indeed, Hecker likened himself to John Vianney in how hard he had found his studies for the priesthood. Both Saint John Vianney and Isaac Hecker went on to become exemplary priests - in spite of not quite measuring up to standard seminary standards.

The damage done by the revolutionary "worst of times" was eminently evident in the little village of Ars (population 230), to which John. Vianney was sent as pastor in 1817. His bishop warned him, "There is little love of God in that parish." What a discouraging assignment that bishop made Ars out to be! And what an indictment!

But an indictment of whom exactly? Obviously of the French Revolution and the terrible damage it had inflicted upon 19th-century religious life - intensely amplifying the routine coolness and indifference of so many ordinary people toward religion even in supposedly more religious times.

But surely it was also an indictment (perhaps unconsciously so on the bishop's part) of the Church's failures - especially in the decisive period before the Revolution. Of course, there had been good and holy priests before the Revolution too - even in the rationalistic 18th century! But certainly Saint John Vianney stood out as an alternative to a good deal of what had passed for pastoral care prior to the Revolution. By the end of his life, he had acquired quite a reputation, as penitents flocked to Ars from all over France to confess to him.

And so in Ars, "the worst of times" eventually became "the best of times" - thanks to John Vianney's complete identification with his priestly vocation. Always aware of his own inadequacies, but obedient to the Church that had called him to be a pastor and devoted to the people committed to his care, he sought to harmonize his own life with the holiness he was called to embody as a priest, instructing his parishioners by the personal witness of his life. "There are no two ways of serving God," he explained. "There is only one: serve him as he desires to be served."

Those who watched him celebrate Mass said "it was not possible to find a finer example of worship." John Vianney was said to have "gazed upon the Host with immense love." He believed the fervor of a priest depended on the Mass. "My God," he famously said, "how we ought to pity a priest who celebrates as if he were engaged in something routine." By his example, he helped his parishioners to pray. "One need not say much to pray well," he told them. "We know that Jesus is there in the tabernacle: let us open our hearts to him, let us rejoice in his sacred presence. that is the best prayer."

John Vianney is perhaps most famous for his ministry in the confessional. One legacy of "the worst of times" upheaval produced by the Rvolution was widespread indifference to the sacrament of forgiveness. Eventually, however, penitents would be coming to him from all over France, finally making it one of "the best of times" also for the great sacrament of God's mercy. 

Grantchester - Season Finale

I was traveling this past Sunday and so only got to catch up with season 3's finale of Grantchester later. The whole trajectory of the season seemed to be leading toward pushing Sidney to choose either the Church or Amanda. Sidney's erratic behavior the episode before and the kinds of things he said to his Archdeacon left me more than half expecting him to choose love and marriage to a divorced woman over his vocation as a vicar. (And, obviously, if season 3 were to be the final season, then what more fashionable way for him to depart and end the series!) I fully expected either a kind of Edward VIII style speech about being unable to go on without "the woman I love" or, perhaps even worse, a full-fledged protest against the Church for daring to have rules, for daring in this case to take seriously the words of Jesus himself on divorce and remarriage. And so it seemed, when Sidney confronted the Archdeacon early in the final episode, that that would indeed be the direction the series would take.

But then the tone changed. At the end, it was Amanda who left the village, not Sidney. If this were real life, then one would have wished that Sidney had married Amanda in the first place - and thus avoid all this unnecessary drama. But, of course, this is fiction, not real life, and the drama is part of the story. Whether Amanda is really gone for good or will reappear in another season remains to be seen, of course. For now, I was relieved by Sidney's decision to stay. This was still the 1950s, after all, and the call of duty still had some resonance in a world in which everything had not yet been abandoned. Obviously, the show had to be some concession to a more contemporary world view. So it was suggested several times that, while Sidney should choose to remain faithful to his calling, his motivation and proper loyalty should be less to the Church than to the people who, as both Mrs McGuire and Leonard insisted, needed him.

A somewhat ambiguous way to end, but in an ambiguous world perhaps a nonetheless satisfactory ending! With Mrs. McGuire getting remarried and Geordie being reconciled with his wife, and both Sidney and Leonard committed to staying in place, season 3 ended more promisingly than I might have expected. One can only hope that there will soon be a season 4.

7 Years

Seven years ago today, I began my ministry as pastor. How well I remember that Monday morning! After saying good-bye to my predecessor as he drove off to his new assignment, I got in the car and drove to the church. Once there, I walked into my new office, closed the door, sat down at the desk. took a deep breath, and then asked myself, "Now what do I do?" I didn't have to wait too long for an answer. Actually, answers to that question quickly appeared in the form of things to be done and needs to be met, as they continually keep coming up in the regular routine of parish life.

Virtually my entire priesthood has been spent in parish work in three cities across two countries - for all of which I am genuinely grateful. As Louis Bouyer observed in his Memoirs, theological reflection requires contact with what gives it its meaning and so is best pursued within a Church ministry context, for "revealed truth is revealed to us only to lead us to salvation and lead others to it as well" [The Memoirs of Louis Bouyer (English translation 2015), pp. 102, 184].

Of course, a lot of parish life - certainly a lot of a pastor's life - seems at times only tangentially related to salvation. For example, shortly after I started my pastorate, I was informed (by people who certainly knew what they were talking about) that, while the church's ceiling was unlikely to fall down anytime soon, it would - unless replaced - do so eventually. So some months later, I called that group back together and observed that eventually was only going to get closer. And, soon enough, we had a two-part plan - first to replace the storm-damaged slate roof, and then to replace the inside ceiling. The latter job meant emptying the church and filling it with scaffolding for an entire summer and temporarily celebrating Mass downstairs in the parish hall. One day during the project, I climbed the inside scaffolding - something I doubt I would be as motivated to do today - just to say that I had seen close-up and touched one of the church's famous century-old ceiling paintings. (The three century-old ceiling paintings were also cleaned and better framed as part of the restoration, making them more accessible for hopefully at least another century of worshipers.)  Of course, the work took longer than expected, as such projects often do, and made quite a mess as long-forgotten decades of coal dust had to be dealt with. But soon enough the church had a new ceiling (and the walls a new coat of paint) even more attractive than what had been there before. 

But the heart and soul of parish life will always be what takes place underneath that ceiling in the nave and, above all, in the sanctuary and at the altar, the consistent center of our parish's liturgy and hence of its spiritual and communal life - which for these seven wonderful years I have been privileged to be a part of. 

A much younger parishioner asked me recently how it feels to get old. I can't quite recall exactly how seriously or flippantly I answered. Probably, I answered with some mixture of both - a combination which that sensitive topic encourages. At some point certainly I quoted the famous words of the psalmist: the sum of our years is seventy, or, if we are strong, eighty; and most of them are toil and trouble, for they quickly pass, and we vanish. Needless to say, I have prayed those familiar words so many times over so many years. But, now that I am merely a few months shy of 70, those words take on even more resonance.

In 1950, when he was at the age that I am now, the future Pope Saint John XXIII wrote in his Journal: "When one is nearly seventy, one cannot be sure of the future. ... So it is no use nursing any illusions: I must make myself familiar with the though of the end, not with dismay which saps the will, but with confidence which preserves our enthusiasm for living, working and serving." 

Of course, he lasted another 13 years and accomplished quite a lot in that time! I can only hope that, like him, I too may embrace whatever time may remain with what I can only hope counts as a comparable spirit of "enthusiasm for living, working and serving."

What more could one ask for?

August

Where I came from, September was always the start of school and hence the beginning of the annual cycle that tends to follow the sequence of the academic year.  When I was growing up, we went to school until the end of June. So July and August were the "summer vacation” months. In much of Europe, of course, August remains the primary "vacation" month. Here in Tennessee, however, where school ends in May and resumes in early August, June and July are the “vacation” months, and August 1 signals getting back to normal (or whatever passes for normal nowadays).

Unintentionally, of course, this recalls an older northern European tradition, which treated August 1 as the start of the autumn season.

The old English “Lammas Day” (Gaelic “Lughnasa”) on August 1 was a harvest festival (to mark the annual autumn wheat harvest. In its Christianized version, it became the occasion to bless a loaf made from the newly harvested wheat. 

(For more about Lammas Day, see "A Clerk of Oxford," http://aclerkofoxford.blogspot.com/2017/08/a-little-history-of-lammas.html)

In the Christian calendar, “Lammas Day” traditionally coincided with the feast of Saint Peter’s Chains, commemorating the apostle’s miraculous deliverance from prison, recounted in Acts 12. It provides the occasion for one of Elis Peters’ wonderful Brother Cadfael mysteries, Saint Peter’s Fair. (The feast of Saint Peter’s Chains was regrettably dropped from the calendar in 1961 to no obvious advantage or benefit.)

It remains the titular feast of one of my favorite Roman churches, S. Pietro in Vincoli, a 5th century basilica, with a 15th-century façade, also known as Basilica Eudoxiana, because founded by Empress Eudoxia to house the two chains with which Peter was imprisoned. In addition to Saint Peter’s chains (visible for veneration under the main altar), the Basilica is perhaps most famous for Michelangelo’s Moses. It also houses the tomb of the famous 15th-century theologian, canonist, and Cardinal, Nicholas of Cusa (1401-1464), author of De Docta Ignorantia (“Of Learned Ignorance”), whom I first encountered some 45 years ago in medieval political theory in graduate school!

That beautiful basilica also contains the purported relics of the Holy Maccabees, seven brothers and their mother martyred in 2 Maccabees 7. The veneration of their relics probably accounted for their commemoration in the Mass of of Saint Peter's Chains. (That commemoration was finally swept away in 1969, likewise to no obvious advantage or benefit.) The Maccabean martyrs were caught up in an epic conflict between fidelity to Jewish Law and Hellenist assimilationism, which extended even to the desecration of the Temple. The Maccabean reconsecration of the Temple is celebrated in winter at Chanukah. But today's recollection of the Maccabees coincides (completely coincidentally) with the Jewish fast of the 9th of Av - commemorating and mourning the destruction of both the 1st and 2nd Temples. In union with our Jewish brothers and sisters, today is a good day to reflect upon the importance of sacred places for living out a religious identity.

Meanwhile back to Rome where places are very literally layered with history, to reach S. Pietro in Vincoli from Via Cavour, one climbs a stone stairway, Via S. Francesco di Paola, less edifyingly known as Salita dei Borgia, because it passes under an archway which was part of the house of Vannozza Cattanei, mistress of  Rodrigo Borgia, who became Pope Alexander VI, and mother of his famous children, Giovanni, Cesare, Lucrezia, and Gioffre Borgia. Giovanni Borgia, Duke of Gandia (known by his Spanish name, Juan, in the 2011-2012 Showtime TV series, The Borgias), was murdered there in 1497, quite possibly by one of his brothers.

To add even more charm to the place, that stairway is also the site of the ancient Vicus Sceleratus, so named because it was where the wicked Tullia (c. 535 B.C.) drove her chariot over the corpse of her father Servius Tullius (the 6th of Rome’s 7 kings) whom her husband, Tarquinius Superbus, had just overthrown!

(Photo: Auugst from the justly famous Très Riches Heures du Duc de Berry, an early 15th-century prayer book, which is generally considered perhaps the best surviving example of medieval French Gothic manuscript illumination)