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.

Ash Wednesday

'When you fast, do not be like the hypocrites, with a sad countenance. For they disfigure their faces that they may appear to men to be fasting. Assuredly, I say to you, they have their reward. But you, when you fast, anoint your head and wash your face, so that you do not appear to men to be fasting, but to your Father who is in the secret place; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you openly. Do not lay up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moth and rust destroy and where thieves break in and steal; but lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where neither moth nor rust destroys and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.'

- Matthew 6:16-21

Yesterday was Ash Wednesday: and the first day of Lent. Many Christians, Orthodox and non-Orthdox alike, will be familiar with the ceremony of the imposition of ashes which has become customary on that day. This comes to us directly from the custom of the dismissal, in former times, of those who were excommunicate for one reason or another, and were serving a time of penitence before being received back into the full communion of the Church. Eventually, it became customary to impose the ashes on the heads of all who presented themselves.

Indirectly, this custom comes to us from Scripture, where numerous times in the Old Testament, we see reference to dust and ashes thrown upon the head as a sign of mourning, penitence, and a reminder of human mortality. (Job 2:12; Joshua 7:6; Lamentations 2:10; Ezekiel 27:30, among others).

Yet the Saviour warns us in quite clear terms not to disfigure our faces in order for our piety to be seen by others. This certainly ought to make us at least think about the widespread custom of being seen with a dark smudge or Cross on our faces, and how wee see this in light of this Gospel, particular in places where the ash is mixed with oil for the specific purposes of giving it a darker, more noticeable hue, and causing it to stay in place for longer.

Yet surely it cannot be that this has never occurred to anybody before.  Surely others have heard the excerpts from St Matthew's Gospel and wondered how to interpret them in light of the liturgical practice that they have always known of priests deliberately placing a visible and sometimes lasting mark on the faces of the people.

It is curious that all of those Old Testament references make mention of the dust and ash being specifically thrown upon the head. There is no mention of making a mark on the face.

Similarly, the rubrics of the service books make no mention of making a visible facial mark in ash but state simply that the ash shall be placed on the head.   The relevant rubric in the Sarum Missal simply says:

Afterwards the ashes shall be distributed on the heads of the clergy and laity by the higher dignitaries, making the sign of the Cross with the ashes...

The precise manner of how the ashes are to be distributed is not specified and it seems perfectly possible to me that this is the case because it was simply assumed that clergy would know how to do it.

Here is a missal woodcut that depicts the same thing, (sadly I do not know its provenance):



It was only a few years ago that I learnt that it is mainly in our anglophone world that the Cross on the face is as widespread as it is, and that in the Latin church, in many European countries, the custom is for the dry ashes to be sprinkled over the inclined head of the penitent in the form of a Cross, which is then barely, if at all, noticeable to anybody.  Could it be that this is the more ancient custom, and what is intended by the rubrics?

Below we see the sprinkling form of the imposition of ashes employed in the cases of two recent popes.














What is important is the action of the imposition of the ashes and its significance to the penitent: a sorrow for sins and the attitude and mindset that pledges repentance and amendment of life; a conversion of heart.  There is no need for a lasting mark on the face intended to be seen by the world.  Let our lasting mark be the visible fruit that we bear and that others see in our lives.

'Do you fast? Give me proof of it by your works. If you see a poor man, take pity on him. If you see a friend being honoured, do not envy him. Do not let only your mouth fast, but also the eye, and the ear, and the feet, and the hands, and all the members of our bodies. Let the hands fast, by being free of avarice. Let the feet fast, by ceasing to run after sin. Let the eyes fast, by disciplining them not to glare at that which is sinful... Let the ear fast... by not listening to evil talk and gossip... Let the mouth fast from the foul words and unjust criticism. For what good is it if we abstain from birds and fishes, but bite and devour our brothers?'

-St John Chrysostom, "The Proof of Fasting"

On the one occasion that I experienced Ash Wednesday liturgically in an Orthodox context (in ROCOR), the ashes were imposed using the visible-Cross-on-forehead method.  However, I must say that  am inclined to prefer what seems to be the more ancient custom, and I would ask our clergy to consider whether it might be worth adopting this practice. 

At a time when we can encounter such things as street corner and drive-thru ashings, and when it is difficult to look at our Facebook feeds at the start of Lent without seeing increasing numbers of Ash-Wednesday "smudge" selfies, perhaps the focus in how this day is presented to the people of God ought to be less on the physical mark and more prevalently on internalising within our hearts the meaning of the Lenten fast, allowing our passions to be subdued, and our hearts imbued with the grace of God, so that they may spring forth in genuine love for ourselves and our neighbours, for the sake of our salvation.

Is it a fast that I have chosen, a day for a man to afflict his soul? Is it to bow down his head like a bulrush, and to spread out sackcloth and ashes? Would you call this a fast, and an acceptable day to the LORD? Is this not the fast that I have chosen: to loose the bonds of wickedness, to undo the heavy burdens, to let the oppressed go free, and that you break every yoke? Is it not to share your bread with the hungry, and that you bring to your house the poor who are cast out; when you see the naked, that you cover him, and not hide yourself from your own flesh? Then your light shall break forth like the morning, your healing shall spring forth speedily, and your righteousness shall go before you; the glory of the LORD shall be your rear guard. Then you shall call, and the LORD will answer; you shall cry, and He will say, ‘Here I am.’

-Isaiah 58:5-9

The All-Night Vigil

Be very diligent in coming here early in the morning to bring prayers and praises to the God of all, and to give thanks for the benefits already received... and so pass the time of day as one obliged to return here in the evening to give the master an account of the entire day and to ask pardon for failures... Then we must pass the time of the night in sobriety and thus be ready to present ourselves again at the morning praise.

- St John Chrysostom

Until recently, I used to dread the All-Night Vigil.  This may seem a strange thing for a Christian to say.  In fact, it was last year during Lent that I was serving for my bishop in the cathedral one Saturday, and had been in church all day.  There had been the Divine Liturgy in the morning, a brief repast, then the service of the Great Anointing.  Having started at 9 a.m. and it now being 5 p.m. and mindful of being back the following morning, I made my apologies and made good my escape.  My bishop asked me, 'Are you a Christian?'  I understand his question - indeed how better for a Christian to spend his Saturday night than in prayerful greeting of the Resurrection of the Lord? Yet, I think that people who are very well accustomed to things sometimes just don't realise what it can be like for people who do not know them and find them a trial when presented in a completely inaccessible form.

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Pedantry: "Fast", please; not "Lent"

What is this strangeness to be found in use among English-speaking Orthodox people, and now seemingly found in calendars, of referring to all fasting periods as "lent"?

The word lent is from an Old English word meaning springtime.  Among Christians, it probably came to be used as a sort of shorthand for the lenten fast - literally, the great fast prior to Easter which, in the northern hemisphere where the terminology was coined, always takes place during the spring.

There are other fasting seasons throughout the year, of course, but some Orthodox Christians also call these by the name "lent", as though the word is some sort of synonym for fast, which, of course, it isn't.  It is not unusual to hear such expressions as Dormition lent, Apostles' lent, and so forth.  This makes no sense.  They are fasts, not lents.

I would be interested to learn what terminology is used in Russian or Greek, for example, to refer to the fasting seasons.  I assume that it is some word for "fast" and not a time of year.

Just saying.

Mirfield

When I was an Anglican, I used to make an annual personal retreat of a few days to the House of the Resurrection.  As many will know, this is the mother house of the Anglican monastic Community of the Resurrection.  I would go each year for four or five days surrounding the feast of the Conception of the Mother of God.

For a suburb-dweller from South Manchester, accustomed to 20-hours-a-day public transportation, meals available at all hours of the day or night, and the hustle and bustle of city life, a Yorkshire village in December was an entirely different world.  It was a very easy journey.  I lived near to Manchester Airport at the time so only needed to walk to the airport to get the train to Huddersfield.  From there, it was a short walk to Huddersfield bus station, and this is where there was the first sign that I was about to enter something entirely alien to my experience:

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Paraliturgies

I love the litugical cycle of the Church's days, weeks, months, and years.  I think that having a fixed liturgical calendar in some way reconciles our life and existence in fallen time to the saving work of Christ, and bring us into the eternal Eighth Day of the New Creation.  Largely for that reason, many of my posts reflect my love for this cycle of prayer and worship.

However, that does not mean that I do not find great value in those prayers and devotions that do not fit into this established pattern of the hallowing of time. There are many of them - some of them beautiful, some not so beautiful - but they all flow from people's hearts and stem from a desire to be drawn closer into communion with God and each other.

Two of my favourite paraliturgical services are Molebens and Cross-Processions.  My absolute favourite is the Processional Moleben, which combines the two, and is highly festive in character.  A Moleben is simply a service of prayer and supplication, and may be offered for any of a number of intentions but my favourite form is the General Moleben, contructed from excerpts from Matins, with propers inserted according to a particular celebration, whether it be the parish's patronal feast, a pilgrimage to a holy site, a visitation of holy relics or an icon, or whatever else.

I think that the primary reason that I love this so is that it that it is fairly simple ceremonially.  That may seem like a strange thing for me to write but I do mean it. It means that I can immerse myself in the prayer without having to think about what comes next, how to communicate that to others who need to know, and so forth.  It also means that, on festive occasions when there are visitors from elsewhere, there is no confusion because some are accustomed to Greek-style, some Russian-style, and others none at all.  It just sort of happens and we get on with the business of praying.  The second reason is that it comes with a very pertinent dose of Scripture, usually highlighting things about whatever is being celebrated.  There is usually at least one psalm, often an Epistle, and almost always a Gospel (which is boldly proclaimed outdoors if there is a procession, in which case there may even be as many as four Gospels).  The third is that, it being a prayer service rather than something strictly liturgical, the clergy stand among the laity rather than ministering in the altar, and the practical participation is much more on the vocal offering, which brings everybody together in a different way from more liturgical offerings, where we each have our distinctive roles that come together into one act of service to God.  In addition to the litany responses, there is the "God is the Lord" responsory, which the people belt out, before going immediately into the troparion of the celebration, which can itself be repeated over and over again if there is a procession.

This is important.  I do not think that there is a western equivalent to the troparion, which is a short, thematic hymn unique to each saint or feast, and which becomes something of a battle hymn of the people during services on that day.  Everybody will know the troparion of his parish's patron saint because it will be sung at nearly every Divine Liturgy in the parish, and the troparia of certain feasts easily roll off the tongue after having been Orthodox for a couple of years.  Stand in the middle of a gathering of Orthodox people and sing the line "O Lord, save thy people" or "When Thou wast baptised in the Jordan, O Lord" to tone 1 and you'll see what I mean.

When the procession is included, and there is a station made at each of the four sides of the church, where the people are blessed with the Cross, the festal icon, and holy water, while imploring God's mercy with joyful hope. 

I love it.

On Liturgical Languages - part 2

I have been a fan of Innocent (Dr Clark) Carlton since my early days of life in the Orthodox Church.  He is the author of The Truth: What Every Roman Catholic Should Know About the Orthodox Church.  Having come from an Anglo-Cathlolic background, where much of what I had been taught and many of my assumptions had been moulded by the culture of drawing on flawed Latin understandings in order to combat protestantism within Anglicanism, this seemed to be written for me.  It was a great help to me in understanding some of the core differences of doctrine and culture in more than a superficial way between that and the Orthodox Faith.

Imagine my delight, therefore, when, about eighteen months ago, I discovered his podcast on Ancient Faith Radio.  He does a series called Faith and Philosophy, which provides much food for thought.  I enjoy many of the episodes, (although his and my understanding of how best to apply our faith to the politics of our time may not exactly be in harmony).  The most recent to date deals with the question of the form of English to be used in the Orthodox worship of God.

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Temple Theology and the Christ

As I was travelling about a couple of weeks ago, while looking for something else, I came across a very promising podcast entitled Our Great High Priest: The Church is the New Temple, and began to listen to it.  It was an address delivered by Dr Margaret Barker at St Vladimir's Seminary, about the Temple in Jerusalem and the Messianic fulfilment in the Person of the Saviour and lived in the liturgical and sacramental life of the Church.  Unfortunately, I was on the train and my phone's battery was low, so I stopped only a few minutes into the talk.  I then proceeded to forget all about it until last night, when I listened to it in its entirety.

It can be heard here and a transcript may be read here.

I found this absolutely fascinating, both for some of the facts that had previously been unknown to me and also for the affirmation of the Christ as the fulfilment of th Law and the Prophets, and the actualisation of our faith in this in Orthodox worship.

I strongly recommend listening to or reading it.  So much of what we see and do in church finds its meaning in what Dr Barker has discovered that her work certainly serves as a channel for us to deepen our understanding and appreciation of what we are as the people of God.

Has anybody else encountered Dr Barker's work?  What of her books?

Book Review: A Practical Handbook for Divine Services

Last Spring, Holy Trinity Publications, (the publishing arm of the monastery in Jordanville), made available A Practical Handbook for Divine Services.  This is  really a compilation of detailed instructional notes for the priest and deacon (with a few notes for servers) at Vespers, Matins, and the Divine Liturgy in the Slav-Byzantine tradition, penned by the late Abbot Gregory (Woolfenden), a priest and liturgical scholar from the northwest of England.  A number of the clergy of the Moscow Patriarchate's Diocese of Sourozh, to which Fr Gregory once belonged, remember these and other liturgical notes with gratitude, for Fr Gregory used to hand them out at diocesan clergy meetings, and many a new clergyman would have been lost without them.

I bought a copy of this book last summer and found it immensely helpful in understanding some of the actions of the priest and deacon at our divine services.  It is particularly helpful to me as somebody who, while knowing the general roles, does not have much experience of services at which a deacon is present and serving.  Despite the fact that our services rely heavily on the deacon and can seldom be offered fully without one, the reality is that most Orthodox people - clergy and laity alike - are unaccustomed to having a deacon present, and when one is fulfilling his duty, it shows: priests who are accustomed to doing everything themselves forget where the end of their role lies and where that of the deacon begins (or perhaps, due to having served only a short diaconate, they never learnt in the first place), choirs forget (or are possibly unaware of) the different responses and methods that are employed when the Liturgy is served with a deacon, and so forth.

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The Procession of the Cross

This coming Sunday (the 1st of August by the Church calendar) is the feast of the Procession of the Cross in the Byzantine Rite. It is one of the few occasions in the year when, at the Divine Liturgy, the Trisagion is replaced by the hymn:

Before thy Cross we bow down, O Master, and thy Holy Resurrection we glorify!

This feast has not fallen on a Sunday since I have been Orthodox, and, being part of a small mission parish with a working priest, I have never celebrated this feast in Church. Indeed, despite knowing of its existence in the calendar of the Church, I have never really known what it is about. So, in preparing this Sunday's Liturgy, I thought I would do a little exploration. Here is the explanation of the feast by one Fr S. Janos, taken from my Holy Trinity calendar iPhone app:

In the Greek Chasoslov (Orologion) of 1897 is explained thus the derivation of this feast: "By reason of the sicknesses, often everywhere occurring in August, from of old customarily it was done at Constantinople to carry out the Venerable Wood of the Cross along the roads and streets for the sanctifying of places and for the driving away of sicknesses. On the eve (31 July), carrying it out from the imperial treasury, they placed it upon the holy table of the Great Church (in honour of Saint Sophia – the Wisdom of God). From this feastday up to the Dormition of the Most Holy Mother of God, making litia throughout all the city, they then placed it forth for all the people to venerate. This also is the Issuing-forth of the Venerable Cross". In the Russian Church this feast is combined also with a remembrance of the Baptism of Rus', on 1 August 988. In the "Account about the making of services in the holy catholic and apostolic great church of the Uspenie-Dormition", compiled in 1627 by order of the Patriarch of Moscow and All Rus' Philaret, there is provided suchlike an explanation of the feast: "And on the day of the procession of the Venerable Cross there occurs a church-procession for the sanctification of water and for the enlightenment of the people, throughout all the towns and places". Knowledge of the day of the actual Baptism of Rus' was preserved in the Chronicles of the XVI Century: "The Baptism of Great-prince Vladimir of Kiev and all Rus' was on August 1". In the practice now of the Russian Church, the service of the Lesser Sanctification of Water on 1 August is done either before or after Liturgy. Together with the Blessing of Waters, there is made a Blessing of Honey (i.e. first-honey for the Saviour: "Saviour of the Water", "Saviour Moisture" [apparently in place of the vinegar and gall offered Him on the Cross?]). And from this day the newly harvested honey is blessed and tasted.

While August may no longer be a time particularly associated with various ailments, there is no time that our souls and bodies are not in need of healing, and when due honour is not due to the Saviour and the precious and life-giving Cross on which He died, and now that the Cross has become for Christians a sign of life rather than death, I particularly love the offering of sweet honey as a replacement and even a reparation for the bitter gall.

So I have purchased my honey and I thoroughly look forward to this Sunday, urging as many of you as possible to join in this celebration.

On Liturgical Archaeology

There are many objections to the Orthodox Western Rite. Many are founded on ignorance and can simply be either disregarded or educated away according to mood or circumstance, (such as the lady who flat out refused to believe that anything but the Byzantine Rite was ever used in the Church and tried to convince me that the Liturgy of St John Chrysostom was commonly used in England prior to the Schism). Others do actually have some basis in reality and in genuine concern for the proper passing on and living of the Orthodox Faith and for the spiritual well-being of Orthodox people. These deserve more attention and ought to be taken on board to one degree or another. There are yet others which cannot be so easily categorised because their proponents see them as so self-evident that, in expressing them, they do not often go beyond a brief statement, expecting that this will be readily understood and agreed upon by all right-thinking people, (i.e. people like them). The truth is that this simply serves to further polarise already opposing viewpoints. Then listening stops as, due to human weakness, both sides become defensive and dig their heels in.

One example of this is the position that holds that the restoration of pre-schism western services for use in the Church is "liturgical archaeology". This sort of disparaging terminology may serve as a self-congratulatory mantra among those who already agree with each other but to those who remain to be convinced, it simply shows a lack of respect and a dismissive attitude. Reliance on such belittling expressions instead of actual reasoned and coherent thoughts also suggests a severe lack of confidence in a very weak argument. This may be an inaccurate assessment but it is precisely the picture painted by the way in which this is often presented.

So, let us examine the reasons why people perform this "liturgical archaeology".

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New Guide for Altar Servers

Available here is a free download of a guide for altar servers at the Divine Liturgy in the Slav-Byzantine Rite.


It started life as a guide for servers at my parish, particularly now that, for the frst time since we moved into our church and found ourselves with the space and resources to perform the services more fully, we seem to have a modest but slowly growing number of servers. I was encouraged by a friend to produce something for more general guidance, that could be used in any parish. This seemed like a worthy project with potentially useful results, and I was flattered to be thought capable of such a venture, so I began to amend it accordingly.

However, after some efforts in that direction, it began to become apparent that, not only would the inclusion of all the myriad of possible variations be incredibly time-consuming and turn the guide into a study book for use at home rather than the handy, practical guide that it was intended to be, which could be quickly glanced at during the course of a Liturgy, but also such a venture would be beyond my knowledge and capabilities. Also, it meant that some of the directions that would be needful for my parish's servers due to the peculiarities of our building and circumstances would have to be omitted, thus reducing its usefulness to the very people for whom it was intended in the first place.

In the end, a little saddened that I could not go ahead with the bigger project, I decided to revert to the original plan. The result is a guide for the servers at my parish, based on what I understand to be standard Russian Orthodox custom but adapted to our local use. Please feel free to take as much or as little from it as you find helpful, even if that means none at all.

On Liturgical Languages

25th June, 2011: I realise that I have managed to cause offence with this post, and for that I offer sincere apologies. On consideration, I feel it best for the sake of honesty and integrity that it remain as it is, particularly as the opinions expressed herein have not changed since the time of posting. However, I realise that the tone is more ascerbic than is necessary for the point being made or than is characteristic of me. I ask readers' indulgence. This was written shortly after I received an e-mail in which my own parish had come under attack for being "more Russian than Orthodox", and I suppose the defensive spirit in which this was written is apparent.

I am an Orthodox Christian. This says certain things about my faith in God, my worship of God, the manner in which I try to order my life (however abysmally I may fail at times), and my understanding of the world and my place and purpose in and in relation to it.

Within that wider identity, I am Russian Orthodox. This says particular things about my expression of Orthodox Christianity: the hierarchy to which I owe obedience and under whose spiritual direction I fall, the manner in which I worship, the style of music through which I pray, and my adherence to the Church calendar and the traditional forms within the Byzantine Rite for which the Russian church is known. As a person of English birth, whose ancestry is a combination of French, Irish, and Afro-Caribbean, I have no problem whatsoever in identifying myself specifically as a Russian Orthodox Christian. By so doing, I am not claiming to be culturally Russian any more than my friends who identify themselves as Roman Catholic are thereby claimimg to be culturally Italian.

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Great and Holy Week

Here are a few photographs and video clips from my parish this Holy Week. We had two servers serving for the first time, along with a choir who did exceptionally well from memory given that the music for various things had been mislaid. This has been the most moving Holy Week that I have ever experienced and it has been in large part due to the dedication of my parish priest and fellow parishioners who, this year, seem to have made a special effort to assist with the various practical preparations for the services. There really has been something of a feel of communal effort and ownership of the liturgies that has been very encouraging.

The Episcopal Liturgy

Too often, the word catholic is made to carry meanings that are not its own, usually by people who are driving a particular cause, but it does not mean "universal" in the sense of being all-encompassing, accepting everything. Rather it means something more akin to "of the whole", internally complete, lacking nothing. The Catholic Church is not anything like "the worldwide church", and is indeed not limited to this world, but rather it is the Church in its wholeness, in the fullness of its sacramental life, with the people of God, adopted children of the Father, baptised into Christ's name, and sealed with the Holy Spirit, believing and living the faith that has come to us from the Apostles, in union with and under the care of their high priest.

The basic unit of Christian life is not the individual. It is not the family or even the parish. No. The most fundamental unit of Christian life is the diocese - the local and full expression of the Catholic Church. Too often we forget this. People become isolated in their parishes, or worse yet, simply "go to church", and then go home again, not even being aware of their fellow parishioners. Yet growing into the likeness of God, which is the entire purpose of our Christian life, involves growing into loving communion with our brothers and sisters, reflecting in some way the communion of the Holy and Undivided Trinity.

Then God said, 'Let Us make man in Our image, according to Our likeness...' So God created man in His own image; in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them.

- from Genesis 1

We forget that the eucharistic celebration with a priest is a mere shadow of the Church's sacramental ideal, and that our repeated commemoration of the bishop in our services is no mere pandering to worldly authority but an attempt to express at least in words what is lacking in physical presence, which is the gathering of the diocese around its bishop to make eucharist to God. In some mystical way, each of the parishes, monasteries, and missions in a diocese, offering the services to God, does so as a single offering with each other under the common bishop who is commemorated.

However, the Episcopal Divine Liturgy is the eucharistic celebration par excellence, for there is the fullest expression of the Catholic Church. There is the bishop, who rightly divides the word of truth (2 Timothy 2:15), with his priests as extensions of his sacramental care for his people, and his deacons entrusted with assisting him in serving God in the liturgies, as he leads the gathered people of God in making supplication to their Lord, offering thanks and praise, and being imbued in return with the grace of God which is from on high.

Where the bishop is present, there let the congregation gather, just as where Jesus Christ is, there is the Catholic Church.

- St Ignatius the God-bearer

It is our duty as Christians to fervently pray for our bishop, and to take the opportunity to pray with him as he offers prayer and worship to God with us and on our behalf. We should take part in diocesan events, for these are events in the life of our family in God. We should know and love each other, and pray and serve with each other under our bishop, according to our particular order within the Body of Christ. Then we shall see the services of the Church as they are intended to be, without the curtailments and concessions that have to be made in the absence of a bishop but to which we have become accustomed in the parishes and perhaps come to accept as normal. This is itself fascinating and enlightening.



It is not every time that we shall be able to pray with the bishop - distances are long, fares and fuel are expensive, episcopal visitations are perhaps fewer than we would prefer - yet we must make the effort in humility and joyful expectation, for when we do so, properly disposed, we become more fully what we are to be as members of the Church, and we open ourselves just that little bit more to participation in the life-creating energies of God.

Be eager to do everything in God's harmony, with the Bishop presiding in the place of God, and the Presbytery in the place of the council of the Apostles, and the Deacons, most sweet to me, entrusted with the service of Jesus Christ.

Each of you must be part of this chorus so that, being harmonious in unity, receiving God's pitch in unison, you may sing with one voice through Jesus Christ to the Father.

-St Ignatius the God-Bearer

Kamilavka-tip to my friend, Reader Gregory Soloviev, for the video clip.

A Milestone

Thou art baptised, thou art illumined, thou hast been anointed with the Holy Chrism, thou art sanctified, thou art washed: in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

-from the rite of Chrismation

Today marks the fifth anniversary of my entry into Christ's Church. On the 6th of February, 2006, being the 19th of February by the civil calendar, I received the double Sacrament of Baptism and Chrismation. This was to have been at Pascha of that year but, for particular reasons, was brought forward to the Sunday of the Prodigal Son, itself a very fitting time for being received as an adopted son of the Father.



This year, the Sunday of the Prodigal Son falls tomorrow, and in preparation I have been reading the homily of St Gregory Palamas on the Prodigal Son. He makes some very good points about the detail of this parable that I had never previously considered, and makes me realise just how much I have inherited as a child of God. When I, as a result of my baptism, am able to stand with my brothers and sisters and cross myself, and sing 'Our Father', I am claiming all that is promised to the children of God who are adopted through the grace of baptism. The kingdom of God, the riches of heaven, the promise of growth into the life of God: I find this astounding once again, and it is in the Liturgy that I find this in its fullness.

There are two points in this homily that touch me most. St Gregory points out that the father in the parable only divides his estate into two portions: one for each of his sons. Nothing does he hold back for himself, having no need of such and being filled with generous love for his sons. It is only we who are in need of the grace that emanates from God. The second is that the Son demands of the father what he has no right to even request. The inheritance that is alotted to him is given only because of the father's loving generosity and is his. It reminds me of how much of what is good is often taken for granted and how little I sometimes acknowledge the source of these things.

I was also pleased and not a little disturbed to find elements of St Gregory's homily that bear directly on my struggle of faith last year, as though he himself had endured the same thing. Of course, it is perfectly possible that he had.

In any case, five years have passed, I have been relieved of many romantic ideas and like to think that I have grown a little amidst the numerous failures, thanks to those who have looked after me and guided me. I look forward to seeing where the next five years take me.

Having foolishly abandoned thy paternal glory, I squandered on iniquities the riches which thou gavest me. Wherefore, I cry to Thee with the voice of the prodigal son, saying, 'I have sinned before Thee, O compassionate Father. Receive me as one repentant, and make me as one of thy hired servants.'

-Kondak from the Sunday of the Prodigal Son

Most Ancient of All Mysteries: the Great Omophor

One thing I came to love about Orthodox church life very early on in my journey into it is the way in which elements of liturgical life actually mean something. By this, I mean that they are not simply interesting things we do, whose symbolism is an optional extra for people who like That Sort Of Thing™, and which must be explained to them because it is so far removed from their everyday church life, but rather that they are a normal part of the life of the Church.

This is something that I never really experienced in my Anglo-Catholic upbringing. Yes, we did all of the stuff with all of the bells and whistles, and it was splendid, but it was never anything more than a local conceit. We were always well aware that there were those all around us with whom we were in communion and who saw what we did as something odd, peculiar, and a means by which to define us. Indeed, in many cases it was how we defined ourselves. Rather than the way we worshipped being simply the way we worshipped, it was a badge of distinction that we wore self-consciously. This was no fault of our own, to be sure, but simply the natural result of a situation in which what is right and proper is nothing more than a fringe belief, seen by the majority as something to be gauped at - whether enthusiastically, respectfully or disparagingly, the result is the same.

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Lord, I Have Cried

Lord, I have cried unto Thee, hearken unto me. Hearken unto me, O Lord. Lord, I have cried unto Thee, hearken unto me. Attend to the voice of my supplication when I cry unto Thee. Hearken unto me, O Lord! Let my prayer be set forth as incense before Thee, the lifting up of my hands as an evening sacrifice. Hearken unto me, O Lord!

Above is a portion of the service of Vespers, slightly rearranged from Psalm 140. The Lord, I Have Cried is actually one of the most solemn portions of Vespers for me. Yes, we have the Come, let us worship and I love psalm 103 as the joyful start to the new day and the recalling of our creation but it is only truly at the Lord, I Have Cried, with its repetitious and faithful pleading, 'hearken unto me, O Lord' that my heart is truly called prayer, when I am moved to seek communion with God more fully.

Imagine, then, my pain, bewilderment, and complete sense of loss over the summer of last year, when these words became empty and meaningless in a way that they never had before, when I was going to church and God simply was not there - or so it seemed. It has been known among a small number of friends that I very nearly apostatised last year. I found it immenselly difficult to convince myself that there was even a God left to believe in. It was not something that could be argued logically with any of the arguments from a position of faith that are often presented in debates about the existence of God for this was not an academic rejection of God. It was simply a feeling that God was not there. That God is made perfect sense to my intellect but I could no longer bring myself to believe.

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