The Mass according to St Germanus of Paris: third apology

One charge that is often brought against the Divine Liturgy of St Germanus is one of heavy byzantinisation, that is, the insertion of elements of the Byzantine rite into what ought to be a western Liturgy.

While it is true that, for various reasons, Byzantine elements were indeed incorporated into the restored Gallican Mass during its 20th-century restoration (and I will address these in a separate post), these are for the most part very unobtrusive and do not interrupt the flow of the Mass, and also are far fewer in number and far less extensive than some would suggest.  They are certanly not there to make a Western Liturgy seem palatable to Eastern Orthodox people, as is sometimes suggested.  One estimate that I encountered was that they account for approximately 70% of the Mass, in an attempt to "win people over".  Less than 5% would be a more accurate estimate, and a generous one at that.  Not wanting to attribute this inflated figure to any intention to cause a deception, I can only imagine that the person who made this observation might have been under the false impression that Western = Roman, and therefore incorrectly identified genuine western elements as eastern simply because he did not recognise them from the Roman rite.

Here I intend to deal with those elements that might appear to the modern observer to be extraneous importations but which are, in fact, authentic ancient Western practice.

The Trisagion sung shortly after the entry of the clergy

Anybody familiar with the Byzantine Liturgy will be aware that, immediately after the entrance of the clergy with its accompanying prayer and chants, the Trisagion - the hymn to the thrice-holy God - is sung.  This is a high point of the Byzantine Liturgy, as it is the first great hymn to God after the clergy have entered the altar.  It is also when they ascend to the presbyterium and, if the bishop is serving, where he ascends to his cathedra to preside over the eucharistic assembly.  For this reason, the consecration of a bishop takes place prior to this point so that the new bishop can ascend and take his place, presiding among his fellow bishops.

In the neo-Gallican Mass, the Trisagion is also sung in an identical position.  The entrance of the clergy is performed with its accompanying prayers and chants, after which the celebrant turns and blesses the faithful.  The Trisagion is sung immediately, three times.  To my knowledge, this is unique among western rites of the Mass and is therefore quite possibly a result of eastern influence.

However, that eastern influence - if that is indeed what it is - is not a modern one but rather had already become firmly established by at least the 6th century, and possibly earlier.  The letters of St Germanus tell us that the Agios (being the incipit), is sung in Greek, and then in Latin, and then in the vernacular.  Thus, this is a natural cross-fertilisation which is common in the history and development of all liturgical rites. (Click on the "ritual overlap" label on this post for other examples.)

As no complete manuscript survives, we do not know with absolute certainty that the hymn referenced here is indeed the Trisagion as we know it, but no other non-festal and non-seasonal hymn with such an incipit is known to have been commonly used in any rite apart from the Sanctus, which is universally a feature of the anaphora and so can be discounted as a possibility here.  Thus there is only a very slim margin of uncertainty about the nature of this hymn.

The deacon's stole worn over the dalmatic

The modern observer might be familiar with the apparent east vs. west distinction, in which Roman rite and most other western deacons wear their stole under the dalmatic, while Byzantine deacons wear theirs over the stikhar.  However, this is an oversimplification.

The reality is that, while the robe-type of vestment takes various forms and goes by different names in various rites, one thing that is very nearly universal is that the deacon's stole is worn over the top of everything else, as an outer garment.  This is seen in the Byzantine, Coptic, Armenian, Ethiophian, and other rites.  This is just as true of the Western rites as any others. As far as I am aware, the one exception was the use of Rome, where the deacon's stole is worn beneath the dalmatic.  The fact that the Roman rite became the most widespread of the Western rites should not mislead us into thinking that its peculiarities are mandatory in all Western rites.  See any celebration of the Ambrosian or Mozarabic Mass for comparison,  (YouTube shouldn't fail you.)

The stole worn on the outside is an authentic Gallican custom.

The deacon's litany with the response of Kyrie eleison

Ask any newbie to Eastern Orthodoxy what the most striking element of the Byzantine Liturgy is and they'll probably tell you that it's the plethora of (often repetitive) litanies.  Do not be fooled: while it was never as prevalent as it is in Byzantium, the litany led by the deacon is also standard Western practice.

As one example, the ninefold Kyrie eleison near the beginning of the Roman Mass is the remnant of just such a litany, the petitions for which survive in Sarum and possibly other manuscripts, and are blessed to be used in the Sarum Mass in the Russian Orthodox Church.

In the Gallican Mass, the corresponding Kyrie eleison was only ever sung a single time.  However, the sources tell us that there was a litany of general intercessions sung later in the Mass, which was led by the deacon and to which the people responded to each petition with "Kyrie eleison".  While this text no longer survives, the Litany of St Martin has been substituted as following this model and being an ancient Orthodox litany with the content necessary to fulfil this purpose.

The seven-branch candelabra

The seven-branch lamp on or near the Holy Table is standard in Byzantine rite churches.  However, far from being a borrowing from the Byzantine rite, its use on many altars where the Mass of St Germanus is served is a remnant of a long-forgotten Western practice.  In fact, it is a simplification of the ceremonial of the Gallican Mass, in which anciently, the seven candles would have been carried in the Gospel procession and held near to the ambo during the reading of the Gospel, to be returned again later.  In modern usage, the candelabra is (are?) stationary.

The deacon's exhortations of the faithful to be attentive

At various points in the Mass of St Germanus, the deacon calls the faithful to attention "in silence".  While this might appear to be an importation from the Byzantine Liturgy, again this is an authentic Western custom.

Remember that a universal feature of liturgical rites is that part of the diaconal role is to give practical instructions for the ordering of the worship of God by his people.  It is the deacon who calls the faithful stand, to kneel, to be attentive, to depart in peace, to pray to the Lord, to bow their heads, to give the peace, to hear the holy Gospel, and who directs the priest to bless the holy Bread and the holy Cup.

Therefore, it is the deacon who, in the Gallican Mass, calls the faithful to silence.  In some instances this might be an auditory silence, (such as prior to the Gospel, so that everyone can hear), but this is secondary.  Its true meaning is to call us to silence of the heart, so that we might be free from worldly distractions and focus on entering fully into the liturgical mystery.  (This is particularly pertinent in the Gallican Mass, which is textually much more explicitly eschatological than most other Western forms and even some Eastern).

We are called to such silence at the start of the Mass, prior to the Trisagion, in preparation for the Gospel, prior to the confession of Faith, and finally immediately prior to the Anaphora.  This calling to silence is the equivalent of the Byzantine calling to attention but was anciently phrased in terms of silence in the Gallican Mass and remains so today.

(Incidentally, it is also why the importation into the neo-Gallican Mass of the hymn "Let all mortal flesh keep silent" is very apt in the absence of the original text for the sonus, as it is very much in keeping with the spirit of this rite.)

The next instalment will focus on a particular liturgical development that applies to all forms of the Liturgy served within Eastern Orthodoxy, but which is curiously only pointed out as a negative criticism when it is applied to the Mass of St Germanus.

The Mass according to St Germanus of Paris: second apology

One criticism commonly heard of the Liturgy according to St Germanus of Paris is that it has nothing to do with St Germanus of Paris and cannot therefore be relied upon as being authentic.

Essentially, very little in terms of manuscript survives of the ancient Gallican Mass.  There is certainly no surviving complete extant missal or anything like that.  What we know comes from manuscript fragments, from extant books of closely related rites, and from descriptions of the Gallican Mass in other ancient writings.  One such description comes in the form of two treatises on the Gallican Mass known as "The Letters of St Germanus".

In these letters, we have a very detailed description of the Orthodox Mass as it was served in 6th-century Paris, from which it is relatively easy to compile a form of Mass for use in our own day, closely resembling what our Orthodox ancestors did before us.  This is precisely what was done by St John of Saint-Denis and his contemporaries in the 20th century, and the result of which has come to be used and known in our own day as the Divine Liturgy according to St Germanus of Paris.

So what's the problem?

Well, the authorship of these treatises is in dispute.  I've come across a number of suggestions, one being that these texts did not appear until the 7th century, after the death of St Germanus.

This really isn't the foundation-shattering news that opponents of the rite seem to think it is.  There are all sorts of reasons why writings attributed to a saint might not have surfaced until long after the repose of that saint, but let's assume the worst.  If the letters were not by the hand of St Germanus or a secretary writing them on his behalf, what would be the situation with which we would be faced?

It would mean that we have an ancient text, clearly written by a person of great piety and highly knowledgeable about the details of the liturgical worship of God by his people, which tells us how the Mass was performed in a specific part of the west in Orthodox times.  It would give us a glimpse into the form of worship that formed the sainted Bishop Germanus of Paris, known for his piety, wisdom, and generosity to the poor, as well as numerous saints besides him who are celebrated as beacons of Orthodox life and examples for us to follow.

That really doesn't seem to me to be any great undermining revelation.  In fact, if, as it is entirely possible, the letters were written by a pious woman - a nun, perhaps - and the name of the great saint was used because it is the only way that a writing of such provenance would have been given any credibility in an age when women's contributions to liturgical life were perhaps not greatly valued, then it is likely that this attribution to St Germanus is the only reason that this text survives today, and that rather than try to disparage this noble effort as a deception, we should be applauding and welcoming it as a means of intimately knowing part of our Orthodox heritage.

Whether or not St Germanus wrote this text, the authenticity of the present-day Mass resulting from it cannot reliably be called into question and, either way, it can be legitimately called the Divine Liturgy according to St Germanus of Paris.

There are, of course, other objections to this rite which I intend to deal with later in this series.  I intend to post those here once I have gathered my thoughts.

The Mass according to St Germanus of Paris: first apology

A friend of mine - a fellow lover of all things liturgical - asked me some months ago to share my thoughts once I had finally experienced the Divine Liturgy of St Germanus.  That experience eventually came three days ago, on Palm Sunday, at the monastery of St Michael and St Martin near Luzé, France.

I had been curious about this Liturgy for years, fascinated by the communities that used it and by the music composed for it, some of which I managed to acquire in recorded and sheet form, in French and English.  So I was very excited at the prospect of taking part in it.  Then the Liturgy began and the curious excitement simply disappeared as my heart took over from my head and I realised that I was at the Divine Liturgy, as I had been hundreds of times previously, and that a fascinated curiosity was not how I usually faced that situation.  It just felt like an Orthodox service, which of course, it is.

I must say that prayerful contemplation did not always replace the curiosity, as I had offered my services to the singers, and so found myself sight-reading music, much of which I had not seen before, while trying to read and correctly pronounce the French words.  Doing this for a full Mass was very exhausting but rewarding.

Still, a few things stood out as markedly different from the Byzantine liturgies in a way that they did not from merely reading the text and rubrics:

Clear meaning

The Byzantine liturgies to which I have been accustomed for over a decade have been in continuous use for about 1700 years and have developed significantly in that time.  As such, they have a great many elements that are accretions, and others that are obsolete remnants of a time when things were done very differently, obscuring the true meaning of various parts of the service.  The fact that the Mass of St Germanus is a modern reconstruction of an ancient rite invites much criticism but it does mean that it is largely free of these things, and the cumulative effect of these little differences makes for a Mass that is refreshingly clear in expressing the faith that it actualises.

1. The entrance of the clergy is genuinely the point where the clergy enter the sanctuary.  The entrance prayers and ceremonies in this context make so very much more sense in this context than they do when the clergy start the service already at the altar, only to go on a little perambulation out of one door and back in through another, as an homage to an entrance procession that has not existed for centuries.  I think that the revised Byzantine liturgies of New Skete contain a worthy attempt to correct this, but they are used hardly anywhere.

2. The dismissal of the catechumens has featured in some recensions of this neo-Gallican Liturgy so I was curious to notice that it was absent on Sunday.  I have since been unable to find it in the books used here at the monastery.  Whether this is because there were no catechumens to dismiss or because there is no longer any expectation for catechumens to leave, I do not know.  I do know that, either way, it avoids the oddity of giving instructions ("Catechumens, bow your heads", "Depart, catechumens") to people who at best are not present and at worst do not even exist.  I know that some Byzantine Rite parishes omit these elements when there are no catechumens present but this is generally not the case in my experience in the Russian Church.

3. The deacon performs his proper role of the Preparation of the Gifts and the transfer of them to the sanctuary.  Why and when the priest started to do this in Byzantine custom is something that I have never been able to find out.

4. The kiss of peace is something that really does happen among the faithful and is not reserved to the clergy alone.  The celebrant kisses the Altar, and then the deacons, who bring the kiss of peace to the faithful while they sing the responsory "Peace I leave with you".  Seeing it done, and seeming so natural and reverent, was very beautiful indeed.  It shows that the exchange of the peace needn't be the excuse for a good old chat that it often became in the Anglican and Catholic churches of my childhood and teenage years.

Many Orthodox Christians of Byzantine tradition do not even realise that their Divine Liturgy contains such a thing as the kiss of peace, and will tell you that this is an exclusively Catholic/Protestant thing to do.  In fact, I don't think that it was ever formally removed from the Liturgy as much as the practice simply fell into disuse.   At this time of year in particular, the ancient practice of omitting the kiss of peace on Maundy Thursday (given the very different significance that the gesture of kissing has on that day) becomes a very poignant marker of the Passion of the Lord in a way that it cannot if the Peace is never given at all.

The audible Anaphora

For good or for ill, the anaphora is chanted aloud, and the epiklesis is spoken audibly.  I know that the historical and spiritual merits of one practice over another have been the subject of Orthodox debate for years, and I do not intend to reproduce any of that here.  However, it is worth noting that, unlike the fixed Byzantine anaphoras the neo-Gallican (as indeed the ancient Gallican) anaphora is mostly variable according to the feast or season, and so has great catechetical benefit that would be lost if prayed quietly.  I mainly want to say that I was deafened by the silent reverence at the epiklesis in particular.  The sense of "God is here" really was astounding.

Communion

At Communion, the Body of the Saviour was placed in the communicants' hands, and the people drank directly from the chalice, as in ancient times.  When I was a catechumen, back in 2005, I was told to read the lectures of St Cyril of Jerusalem On the Christian Sacraments, where he describes just such a practice.  Those hands and lips have been sanctified with the waters of Baptism and sealed with the Holy Chrism: with proper catechesis I see no reason why Communion should not be given in this way.

"Homely" Orthodoxy

Perhaps the most important thing that struck me about this rite was that it just felt "lived in".  Much of the discussion of the rite that takes place online is by people - critics or enthusiasts - who have no direct intimate experience of it.  I don't mean an occasional visit to a parish that uses the rite but actual sustained Orthodox prayer and sacramental life with the Divine Office and Mass of St Germanus at the heart of it.

Yet here is a monastic community that has known nothing but that for decades.  Those Russian nuns who can tell you without consulting any books what is to be sung to which tone on any given day, and who will know when you are singing a text that should be omitted in that particular week - those nuns have counterparts in the Western Rite, and I got to see that on Sunday.

So I think that, what stood out to me most of all is that, for this community, the Divine Office and the Mass of St Germanus are not a matter of academic scrutiny or curiosity, they are not a subject for debate about the appropriateness or otherwise of their use; rather they are the channel through which they worship God, and how they form their Orthodox prayer life.  It's a bit like apostolic succession: we know we have it so we don't spend too much time worrying about how we came by it.  It just is.

I know that we Orthodox love the ancientness of our services, and the rich heritage that comes with them, but the simple truth is that, for most of us, regardless of the rite we use, once we have become steeped in that cycle of prayers, hymns, and bodily acts of reverence, in one sense it doesn't matter so much whether they have been in continuous use for over 1000 years, reconstructed from ancient manuscripts and blessed for use a half century ago, or composed by the bishop last year.  As long as the services are true expressions of our Faith and they "pray" in an Orthodox way we seem able - and very happy - to make them our own and incorporate them as part of our spiritual life.

Perhaps that is the Orthodox way.