bearing blog

Veiled.

"The Mom" at Shoved To Them finds a box of her grandmother's lace mantillas and decides to try them out.

I decided to wear one on Easter in honor of my grandmother, and offered one to my eldest. My sweet #1 readily accepted. She is no stranger to veiling, having a close friend who attends the Latin Mass regularly. She veils on those occasions when she sleeps over at their house, and to her it is simply a facet of Catholicism.

Easter morning I stood in my pew with this triangle of lace draped over my head and worried that I looked ridiculous. Then it slipped off of my head. I replaced it and bowed my head in an effort to keep it in place, not looking at the pews across the way, but at the empty space in front of my shoes. It was a posture of complete humility and was foreign and uncomfortable. The lacy sides draped enough in my peripheral vision that I couldn't see any further down the pew than my own husband and children. It became, for me, my family alone with God. All that I was responsible for was all that I could see.

Read the whole thing.

To use the church nursery, or not? What it means to be fed.

Melanie has a rambly, thoughtful post with a lot of things to chew on, about "getting fed" spiritually as a mother. 

 I was rather surprised when two mothers of my acquaintance were in favor putting their children in the nursery when they are between the ages of 18 months and three and a half because, they argued, that's when they are at their worst behavior and because when you have three or more children it becomes impossible to control them all and even if you do control them you spend the entire mass distracted. Six days a week I give give give, said one mother, on Sundays I need to be fed.

... What I want to focus on is the question raised by our friend: What does it mean to be "fed" at Mass?

...The way I have come to see it is that this is a sacrifice that I will make for only a brief period of my life and I'm making it for the very best cause: so that my children can be in the presence of God and come to know Him and love Him and serve Him. I have confidence that in this area of life as with my personal prayer time, the act of showing up faithfully to Mass and the attempt to give as much of my attention as I have to Him is what he will reward. He is my Father and He will feed me what I need to be fed.

There is a lot more there - read the whole thing.

I noticed that too.

Sue (Desperate Irish Housewife), who was at the same Mass I was this morning, reports:

Today is the third Sunday of Advent, Gaudete Sunday. Traditionally the priest wears rose-colored vestments on this day. We didn't get that at Mass today. We got purple. 

It's hard for some men to wear pink, I guess.

Heh.  Father D. is usually quite liturgically correct, but her guess fits him pretty well. Good thing the choir was on top of things with the Gaudete and all, so I didn't get disoriented.

Translation news.

Darwin points to an interview with Bishop Roche, the chair of the International Commission on English in the Liturgy, and highlights a descriptive explanation of one of the proposed changes in the English translation of the ordinary form of the Mass.  It's one from the very beginning, so it's a good place to look.

Why does the ICEL hope to change the greeting from "The grace and peace of God our Father, and the Lord Jesus Christ, be with you all" to "Grace to you and peace from God, Our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ"?  They mean essentially the same thing; the first one sounds much more natural and the other more stilted; we're all used to the first one. 

Reason:  The second one is a quote from most standard English translations of the New Testament.  The distinctive word-order of the greeting appears eleven times.  It is distinctive in the Greek, and the distinction was preserved in the Latin.  And as Bishop Roche points out, that's an indication from the earliest times of a distinctive way Christians greeted each other.  That's why we should hang on to it. 

So maybe it's even more important than my previous favorite example, that instead of saying "Lord, I am not worthy to receive you,"  we should be saying, "Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof." 

Darwin uses the occasion to wish we were all speaking more Latin, arguing from the utility of picking up hot Hungarian chicks at World Youth Day, an argument which I think I can appreciate, if only by analogy.  Still, I'm really excited about the new English translation.  I can't stop myself from muttering, in my head, things like And with your spirit at Mass. which probably tells you something about how geeky I am.

Read more of the interview.

(Incidentally, I was googling around and found some discussions in French which make it sound as though it's not just we Anglophones who have this kind of problem with our translations.  Maybe Darwin is right -- we just need to learn some of the important bits in Latin.  We all know what Kyrie Eleison means and hardly anybody speaks Greek, so why not?)

What the heck is wrong with the Latin-to-English translators?!?

I haven't blogged the new apostolic exhortation yet, but Fr. Z's comment on the line about Latin in the liturgy --- as translated FROM LATIN for the English-reading populace --- is important.

Latin: exceptis lectionibus, homilia et oratione fidelium, aequum est ut huiusmodi celebrationes fiant lingua Latina.

In Latin, the phrase aequum est means "it is reasonable, proper, right".  It can be rendered as "it is becoming", to use a somewhat archaic turn of phrase.

German: es ist gut, wenn außer den Lesungen, der Predigt und den Fürbitten der Gläubigen die Feier in lateinischer Sprache gehalten wird.

Italian: eccettuate le letture, l’omelia e la preghiera dei fedeli, è bene che tali celebrazioni siano in lingua latina.

French: excepté les lectures, l’homélie et la prière des fidèles, il est bon que ces célébrations soient en langue latine

Spanish: exceptuadas las lecturas, la homilía y la oración de los fieles, sería bueno que dichas celebraciones fueran en latín

Portuguese: exceptuando as leituras, a homilia e a oração dos fiéis, é bom que tais celebrações sejam em língua latina

Polish: z wyjątkiem czytań, homilii oraz modlitwy wiernych, dobrze będzie, jeśli takie celebracje będą odprawiane w języku łacińskim  (Literally: "It will be good, if such celebration will be officiated in Latin language").

Are you sensing a pattern in the rendering of aequum est, or rather how aequum est in Latin is more than likely the accurate reading of the original language of composition of the Exhortation?   

Let’s see the English.

English: with the exception of the readings, the homily and the prayer of the faithful, such liturgies could be celebrated in Latin.

Frustrating, to say the least.  h/t Amy.

Aack! Ash Wednesday is THIS Wednesday!

How did it sneak up on me like that?  What are we going to do to observe it in the schoolroom and as a family?   I have a Lent activity/coloring book somewhere, if I can find it, but I'd like to do a bit more than a couple of crossword puzzles...

First:  explain.  On the way to church this morning, I gave Oscar a mini-lecture about Lent.  He already knew it was "preparing for Easter."  I told Oscar about Friday abstinence and let him know that this year he is six and old enough to observe meatless days.  We practiced thinking of things we could eat on Fridays for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and snacks, and what we could choose if we have to stop at McDonald's on a Friday.   

Next:  Mark stayed at church to serve at the K of C pancake breakfast, I took the kids home, and on the way stopped at the drugstore and bought some purple crepe paper to drape on our statuary.  Assuning I don't misplace it before Wednesday.

Next:  Resolved to bake brownies or something on Mardi Gras, and to make pancakes in the morning.  I read somewhere that they are traditional Shrove Tuesday food.  The pancakes, not the brownies. 

Next:  Discussed with Mark and decided to add (1) a decade of the Rosary before bedtime stories, (2) read through the children's  Stations of the Cross as part of our Friday story time, (3)... deep breath...  once a week I'm going to take the kids to daily Mass by myself.    

What'll you do with your kids this Lent?  Or what are you giving up?

UPDATE: 

LA LA LA I can't hear you LA LA LA.

"Here we go."

I went to Mass this morning with Mary Jane in the sling, because I could.  Saturday mornings are my free time, and it was a first Saturday, so why not?

It was quiet and quick, twenty-five minutes long in all.  When it came time for the Gospel reading, after the young priest announced, "A reading from the Gospel according to Luke" and we all responded, he grinned and said sotto voce, "Here we go!" before launching into the reading:  "When Jesus began his ministry he was about thirty years of age...."

I thought, Here we go? That's a weird thing to say right before the gospel.  What kind of priest is this?

And then as the priest went on, I grinned.  I've never heard this read aloud at Mass before, because I've never attended on the eve of Epiphany's celebration:

He was the son, as was thought, of Joseph, the son of Heli,
the son of Matthat, the son of Levi, the son of Melchi,
the son of Jannai, the son of Joseph, the son of Mattathias,
the son of Amos, the son of Nahum, the son of Esli,
the son of Naggai, the son of Maath, the son of Mattathias,
the son of Semein, the son of Josech, the son of Joda,
the son of Joanan, the son of Rhesa, the son of Zerubbabel,
the son of Shealtiel, the son of Neri, the son of Melchi,
the son of Addi, the son of Cosam, the son of Elmadam,
the son of Er, the son of Joshua, the son of Eliezer,
the son of Jorim, the son of Matthat, the son of Levi,
the son of Simeon, the son of Judah, the son of Joseph,
the son of Jonam, the son of Eliakim, the son of Melea,
the son of Menna, the son of Mattatha, the son of Nathan,
the son of David, the son of Jesse, the son of Obed,
the son of Boaz, the son of Sala, the son of Nahshon,
the son of Amminadab, the son of Admin, the son of Arni,
the son of Hezron, the son of Perez, the son of Judah,
the son of Jacob, the son of Isaac, the son of Abraham,
the son of Terah, the son of Nahor, the son of Serug,
the son of Reu, the son of Peleg, the son of Eber,
the son of Shelah, the son of Cainan, the son of Arphaxad,
the son of Shem, the son of Noah, the son of Lamech,
the son of Methuselah, the son of Enoch, the son of Jared,
the son of Mahalaleel, the son of Cainan, the son of Enos,
the son of Seth, the son of Adam, the son of God.

Midway through, as the priest struggled with some of the multisyllabic names, I thought, I was glad I'd come just to hear this.  I am not sure why I liked it so much.  Maybe just the brief reminder of the way the liturgical year winds around --- the thought that this unwieldy but weighty passage is read in the same place every year --- and that there's so much that I miss because I rarely go to daily Mass.

And also, a reflection on how different it is to hear the readings than to read them.  I wonder sometimes if it's not so good for us (save the hearing-impaired) to flip to the right page in the missalette and read the text at the same time that it's being proclaimed from the pulpit.  Aren't we meant to hear it, rather than read it, in the midst of the liturgy?  Wasn't the word transmitted orally to most Christians throughout history?  Writing is useful, especially for epistles and such, but there's something powerful about hearing instead of reading. 

Look at the page of Luke's gospel and your eye slips wearily over all the "begats," the "son ofs."  But hear it and you are moved.  "...son of God" comes like a punch line.

Latria and language.

An excellent comments thread appeared over the holidays at Midwest Conservative Journal, a conservative Anglican blog, in which a remarkably respectful dialogue evolved about the fine distinction between what some called "Mary-worship" and proper devotion to the Blessed Virgin.

(Not that it's remarkable for that site --- MCJ regularly has great commenters.  It's just a good example of a positive discussion among people who disagree firmly with one another.)

A number of comments, including from professed Catholics, were along the lines of "Well, we know that Catholic doctrine says, or at least claims to say, that people aren't supposed to worship Mary.  But just take a look at the practices of Catholics and you can tell that they are."  For example, here's a comment from "Murfee":

As a RC for nearly 3 decades, having been immersed in Roman catechetical substance and theory, I can say w/o any qualms that the worship of the Blessed Mother has always been a fact of life from the earliest pontificates to the present. Get a grip, its a doctrine of the church. "Mary worship" may not be extantly expressed as such, but its the single strongest undercurrent in theory and practice today. Say a rosary and that should clue you in. Check out the marian altars in nearly every church or parishes so named for the mother of our Lord and tell me I'm delusional. So why do we protest (as in protestant) so much when some wag points out one of RC's features? Hey, if we've got a magenta shirt on why do we insist on calling it cyan?

Guilty admission:  My first thought on reading the bit about "single strongest undercurrent in theory and practice today" was I wish! Not that I wish people were really worshipping Mary, but I wish that theory and practice today could actually be readily mistaken for it by the unwary.  Most parishes I've attended over the years aren't exactly riddled with Marian chapels or echoing with scheduled communal rosaries. 

Others pointed out that, whatever it looks like, you'd have to be able to read a person's soul to know whether they were really worshipping the object of their devotion.   Some confusion certainly comes from words that mean different things to Protestants and to Catholics (e.g. "pray to" doesn't equal "worship" for Catholics) and others from ambiguities (e.g. the practice of bowing during the line "He was born of the Virgin Mary and became man" in the Creed refers to "He" and not to "the Virgin Mary.")  Some confusion, too, comes from shorthand language on the part of Catholics who do, in fact, understand the distinctions (e.g. saying something like "St. Anthony please help me find my keys" rather than "St. Anthony please pray to God for my intention that I may find my keys.")

So how to bridge the gap of understanding?  I wonder, is it even possible to "in practice" worship someone or something, if you fully understand that it's not God?  I could understand that if someone incorrectly thought that Mary was God, part of God, a person of God, or a goddess, that someone might worship her.   But that seems an unlikely error for anyone with the barest of catechesis.  Is it possible to worship in practice what you don't worship in theory?    Isn't worship really something that happens in the mind and heart?  Could this be used as an objection to the claim that Catholics worship Mary (or other saints) "in practice" even if we pay lip service to worshipping God alone?

Then I thought of two Scriptural quotations involving "worship" of something that's not God (in the mind of the worshipping agent, an important distinction).  First, Satan tempts Jesus in the desert to worship him; if it were impossible to worship what you know not to be God, then this would be nonsensical.  Second, I thought of "you cannot worship both God and Mammon."  Mammon generally being regarded as meaning "riches" or "money" or "worldliness," this would also be nonsensical unless it were possible to worship what one knows not to be God.  But that was just my memory:  I had to look them up.

It turns out that the Mammon bit (Mt 6:24) isn't exactly as I remembered --- English translations say "serve," not "worship," and since "serve" is something you do externally, there's no contradiction:  it is possible, and often commendable, to serve that which you do not worship.  Your employer, for instance.  Or even Mary, for to serve her would be to obey her words:  "Do whatever he tells you."

Satan-tempting-Jesus-in-the-desert is even more interesting.  It's Matthew 4:9-11:

And he said to Him, “All these things I will give You if You will fall down and worship [1] me.” Then Jesus said to him, “Away with you, Satan! For it is written, ‘You shall worship [2] the LORD your God, and Him only you shall serve [3].’” Then the devil left Him, and behold, angels came and ministered [4] to Him.

I added the footnotes 1-4 above to show you something interesting.  In the Latin Vulgate, verb 1 is adoraveris, verb 2 is adorabis, verb 3 is servies, verb 4 (which I mention because it sometimes is translated "served") is ministrabant.  "Worship" in both verbs 1 and 2 is rendered "adore" in the Latin. 

In the Greek textus receptus, interestingly enough, verb 1 is (pardon my transliteration) proskyneses, verb 2 is proskyneseis, verb 3 is latreyseis, and verb 4 is diekonoun.

I point this out only because "latria" (as in "idolatry") is in Catholic theology the specific term for the reverence or adoration that is appropriate to God alone.  According to Wikipedia  it is sacrificial in character and is usually translated "adoration."   "Adoration" is not the modern English word I would have chosen to translate this concept (I would have used "worship").  After all, kittens and babies are "adorable."  But "worship" in English, etymologically speaking simply means "respect," at least according to Wikipedia, which links it to Anglo-Saxon worthscripe. 

How confusing. 

Modern English usage worship = something you are supposed to do to God alone = latria

Older English usage worship = "respect" = something due to many, including saints and other people

Modern English usage adore = something one can do to God, or something one can do to a kitten

Usual translation of latria into English = "adoration"

It makes me wonder if whoever came up with "latria = adoration-not-worship" was an Italian who happened to be an expert on Anglo-Saxon.

Yes, I recognize that when we "adore" Christ in the Eucharist we are doing something essentially different from what we are doing when we look lovingly upon anyone else, but the language problem here seems tailor-made to cause confusion.

Orient yourself.

Rumor has it that liturgical changes are coming, including more Latin, reining in theologically  out-there hymns, and maybe the priest will be encouraged to face the same direction as the people again.  Ad orientam:  to the east.  Or, as opponents like to put it, "with his back to the people."

Rich Leonardi quotes one of those opponents:

Thus, when the priest was at the altar, with his back to the congregation, while reciting prayers in Latin in a barely audible manner, the message was clear, even if not explicit. The priest is the one who makes the Mass happen (the old textbooks referred to it as "confecting the Eucharist"), while the laity are present essentially as onlookers ...

That's how the argument goes.  Ad orientam = "back turned to the people" = people reduced to onlooker status = high'n'mighty priest.  Priest turned toward the people, then, supposedly sent the message that the priest was just this guy, you know?, one of us, and raised the people to the status of participants, not merely an audience.

I submit for your consideration: two images. 

In each, one man is going step by step through a highly ritualized routine, complete with special costume and equipment.  He is in front of a number of other people standing rank on rank in rows,  who are looking to the man in front for cues even as they go through motions that they themselves know well.  In the first picture, the man in front faces the  people I just spoke of.  In the second, his back is to them.

Number 1:    The "Rock Star and Audience" model.  (That's The King.)

Number 2:  The "Drum Major And The Rest Of The Marching Band" model.  (TBDBITL, of course.  Yeah, I know, these guys have an audience too.  But right now I'm thinking about the folks in the Sam Browne belts.)

A few observations.

1) The drum major may have a fancy title and a fancier hat, but he is most emphatically one of the band members.

2)  Isn't it obvious that the drum major and the rest of the band have a shared purpose, and that the rock star and the audience do not?

3)  Whose position --- the drum major's relative to the rest of the band, or the rock star's relative to the people in the pews, leads to the appearance that it's All About The Guy Up Front?

4)  Is the rock star singing along to the music generated by the audience?  Is the drum major dancing to the music generated by the marching band?  Hm?  So who're the "onlookers" here, and who are the "active participants?" 

My point is just that it's inherently absurd to say that when the priest's back is to the people, the message is that the people are a mere audience, but when the priest faces the people, the message is that the people are active participants.   Does anyone seriously think that because the drum major has his back to the trombone players and the drummers, "the message is clear" that the music is coming from him?

The posture of the Performer is to face his audience. 

The posture of the Leader Among Us is to face the direction we're trying to go.

Now it may well be that, back in the day, the priest mumbled, barely audibly; and now, everybody can hear fine and dandy.  Although being able to read lips probably helped some, I suspect this has not so much to do with our newly enlightened liturgical style and more to do with the fact that these days, churches (at least the big cavernous ones) have amplification systems.

And don't forget another thing we have in common with the marching band... we rehearse.  We do this every week, you know?  So we know what's coming.  I could probably come up with more analogies (Music appropriate to the venue!  The Playing Field!) but I think I'd be stretching harder than the guy with the baton.

Lully, lullay.

This weekend, again on account of Our Lady of Guadalupe, we heard The Coventry Carol at Mass.  I'm reprinting last year's post:

Today at Mass during the Offertory (inexplicably; this is Advent) we sang Lullay, lullay, thou little tiny child, a.k.a. "The Coventry Carol" after its tune.

You don't hear that one very often outside of church, and not really very much in church, as lovely as the tune is.  (Here's a link to the tune at Oremus.org --- link plays music.)  I sing it only with great difficulty, myself.  How strange and haunting:  the lullaby of the grieving mothers of Bethlehem, on the day that Herod slaughtered the Holy Innocents:  the carol that accompanies the Flight into Egypt, and is its dark other side.

Lully, lullay, thou little tiny child, bye, bye, lully, lullay.

O sisters too, how may we do, for to preserve this day / this poor youngling for whom we sing?  Bye, bye, lully, lullay.

Lully, lullay, thou little tiny child, bye, bye, lully, lullay.

Herod the king, in his raging, charged he hath this day / his men of might in his own sight, all young children to slay.

Lully, lullay, thou little tiny child, bye, bye, lully, lullay.

Then woe is me, poor child, for thee!  And every morn and day / for thy parting nor say nor sing 'Bye, bye, lully, lullay.'

Lully, lullay, thou little tiny child, bye, bye, lully, lullay.

I remember hearing the carol as a child and not really absorbing anything other than the refrain.  I always thought it was a lullaby for the Baby Jesus:  what other "thou little tiny child" is there to sing about at Christmastime?  I didn't know about them, and they have disappeared these days from our Christmas story, but... some fifteenth-century English tune-smith did remember the mothers of the forgotten little ones of Bethlehem, and we should be thankful for him.

The Christmas story is indeed a joyful one, but in the midst of it there is a great terror and sadness.  December 28th is the Feast of the Holy Innocents:  remember it, and sing Lully, lullay.

(Matthew 2:13-18:  Now when they had departed, behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream and said, "Rise, take the Child and His mother, and flee to Egypt, and remain there till I tell you: for Herod is about to search for the Child, to destroy Him." And he rose and took the Child and His mother by night, and departed to Egypt, and remained there until the death of Herod. This was to fulfill what the Lord had spoken by the prophet, "Out of Egypt have I called My Son."Then Herod, when he saw that he had been tricked by the wise men, was in a furious rage, and he sent and killed all the male children in Bethlehem and in all that region who were two years old or under, according to the time which he had ascertained from the wise men. Then was fulfilled what was spoken by the prophet Jeremiah:"A voice was heard in Ramah, wailing and loud lamentation:  Rachel weeping for her children; she refused to be consoled because they were no more.")

UPDATE:  It's possible that the Coventry Carol was chosen because this upcoming weekend [remember, I posted this originally in 2005], in honor of Our Lady of Guadelupe's feast Monday, our parish is hosting a special pro-life Mass.