A brief thought on the use of icons by RCs

All right, I think I'm better now. Sorry for the tantrums earlier.

In (as my late wife, Carolyn would have said) an abrupt and graceless change of subject, through the kindness of The Young Fogey, I happened to read this posting of Tantum Ergo, where Timotheus indicates that renaissance and modern RC devotional art may have departed from its Byzantine and iconological roots. I would like to have commented on Timotheus' weblog, but apparently the weblog moderators there have restricted comment to their members. I thus have no choice save to remain silent, or to make my comments here. Therefore:

Certainly by buying Eastern icons Catholics are breaking from their cultural past, which is part of the problem we face today: loss of identity, in the liturgy and every other aspect of Catholic religious life (except in traditionalist chapels, Deo gratias).

I would rather say that by venerating and maybe even inscribing and otherwise using icons, Catholics are returning to their cultural past.

If I read the article aright, Timotheus asserts that Catholic devotional art went off the tracks when it left its iconological tradition for a more pictoral or representational practice in the Renaissance. I agree there.

I disagree, however, as regards the quotation above. I believe Dorothy L. Sayers put it well when she attacked the saying: "You can't turn back the clock." Her repost is my own in this context: If you mean, you can't go back to the past, then you are correct; but if you mean that you can't correct an error, then you are wrong. Wise men do so every day.

I personally feel that the veneration and correct use of icons at home and in Catholic worship is a corrective to the current efforts at liturgicide in much of modern RC worship. It also may be what His late Holiness, John Paul the Great, authorized when he suggested that the faithful "breath with both lungs of the Church", that is, live devotionally and spiritually in both the East and the West.

Finally, I think it possible for devotional art in RC worship to be both representational and appropriately spiritual. Two examples would be Salvador Dali,



and John Nava:

For the Nativity of Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ

The blessed Son of God only
In a crib full poor did lie;
With our poor flesh and our poor blood
Was clothed that everlasting good.
Kyrie eleison.

The Lord Christ Jesu, God’s son dear,
Was a guest and a stranger here;
Us for to bring from misery,
That we might live eternally.
Kyrie eleison.

All this did he for us freely,
For to declare his great mercy;
All Christendom be merry therefore,
And give him thanks for evermore.
Kyrie eleison.

--Martin Luther
Translated by Miles Coverdale
Harmonized here by Ralph Vaughan Williams

Christ is born!
Glorify Him!

The Oxen

Christmas Eve, and twelve of the clock.
"Now they are all on their knees,"
An elder said as we sat in a flock
By the embers in hearthside ease.

We pictured the meek mild creatures where
They dwelt in their strawy pen,
Nor did it occur to one of us there
To doubt they were kneeling then.

So fair a fancy few would weave
In these years! Yet, I feel,
If someone said on Christmas Eve,
"Come; see the oxen kneel

"In the lonely barton by yonder comb
Our childhood used to know,"
I should go with him in the gloom,
Hoping it might be so.

--Thomas Hardy

A heartbreakingly beautiful song by Ralph Vaughan Williams using the above text may be found here.

Merry Christmas.

Mary Eileen Fox: Eternal Memory

THE PRAYER OF THE OLD HORSE

See, Lord, My coat hangs in tatters,
like homespun, old, threadbare.
All that I had of zest, all my strength,
I have given in hard work
and kept nothing back for myself.
Now my poor head swings to offer up
all the loneliness of my heart.
Dear God, stiff on my thickened legs
I stand here before You:
Your uprofitable servant.
Oh! of Your goodness,
give me a gentle death.
Amen.

--From Prayers from the Ark
By Carmen Bernos De Gasztold
Translated by Rumer Godden

A Contrarian View

On the other hand, for those optimists among you, may I recommend the Gerontology Research Group, which appears to be the best advice group as to how to live to an advanced (and healthy) old age. You might also try this advice from Dr. L. Stephen Coles of the above Group as regards twelve things to do to increase longevity. (Look just above, at the end of the Tuesday mail section)

Since my father's father lived to the age of 93, since my father (who was somewhat less careful about his health) lived to the age of 82, and since I tend to favor my grandfather more than my father, I'm afraid that unless I do something drastic (which I do not intend on doing), I will be infesting this world for the next forty or so years.

With a hat tip to www.jerrypournelle.com.

Resume

Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.

Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.

Dorothy Parker

A Confession

And no, this is not a pass-on of the meme that some weblogistas have been perpetrating. Just as I believe, with Ms. Manners, that private pleasures should remain private, so I also believe that the confessional should be reserved to the rites of the Church, with the occasional memoir reserved for an occasion in print not long before one's demise: as with the Blessed Augustine's Confessions, Casanova's Memoirs, or various other attempts by politicians and other public sinners.

No, my confession is merely this: I am in a lousy mood. This is perhaps prompted by the fact that in addition to taking care of my wife, who is recovering from breast cancer, I am awaiting the death from cancer of a dear friend, and the father of one of the weblogists that I link to, which friend I have known for nearly thirty years. Additionally, I am awaiting the death of my mother-in-law from my first marriage; she was diagnosed with metastatic pancreatic cancer, and has a prognosis of weeks to days. Finally, a friend of mine has just informed me that a mutual friend of ours from a Judo club, at the age of 30 or so, has been diagnosed with lung cancer. In short: Merry stinking Christmas, one and all.

I'll probably get over this mood, sooner or later, but right now I'm in the mood to cheer the writings of Fred, or to while away the time playing Barry Potter and the Stoned Philosopher. I especially like the sound effects when one potshots Dumbledore while he is walking around the castle parapet.

In short, it might be reasonable for the discerning reader to drop this weblog like a live hand grenade, at least until my bilious humour dissipates. Bye.

A suggestion

This weblog generally has limited itself to a discussion of things Christian. I have endeavored as far as possible not to indulge in two things: 1) a discussion of my personal life; or 2) a discussion of my life at work. I will endeavor to keep to those desiderata as far as possible.

However, something has occurred which causes me to break with that set of desiderata, just for now.

I had driven my wife home from work early, and had made dinner for us (crab bisque, with bacon, and a bacon sandwich), and I was still hungry, so I went to the corner store to buy a package of Fritos. I live in a blue collar neighborhood, within a mile of a Navy base. When I went in, I saw a fellow in uniform, khaki camoflage, who has the slumped shoulders and attitude which befits someone who had spent the day doing some really strenuous work. As I have a full beard (more salt than pepper), and hair that goes about halfway down my back (as befits a Russian of the really old school, but which in these days might be mistaken for a '60s hippie), I attempted to keep out of sight, got my Fritos, and managed to stand in line behind him. I tapped the guy in uniform on the shoulder, and said: "May I shake your hand." He turned in my direction, took a double take, but (thankfully) shook my hand anyway. I said, "Thank you for protecting us." He said, "You're welcome. But there have been some like you who have spat in my face." I lowered my head, and said: "Yes, but they were fools: I'm not. Again, thank you." Then he thanked me, finished his purchase, and walked away.

This prompted in me some thought, which expresses itself as follows: Guys, I know that you don't much like Dubya. I know that you don't much like the war. I personally thought that getting rid of a monomaniacal twit with delusions of grandeur and who came within an ace of getting nuclear weapons was a no-brainer, although I was not much impressed with the inability of Those In Power to get their thumbs out and to make plans for an end-game, which would ensure such basics as securing the borders and preventing insurgents from running the place.

Regardless of your feelings, allow me to vent mine: you can do and feel all you want about our so-called leaders. You can even say that you're "against the war but support our troops." But know this: if I see or hear any of you bozos spitting on a single member of our armed forces, I will happily do the same for you. Right before I break your f**king face.

Just so you know.

The Holy Hand Grenade Strikes Yet Again!

I am pleased to announce that Mr. Keith Kenney of Sancta Liturgia has been awarded the Order of the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch, by merit of his articulate and sympathetic postings of various Eastern liturgical texts in his weblog.

Let the Rite of Investiture be solemnly pronounced, let the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch be bestowed on the unfortunate happy soul, and let all festive ceremonies suitable for this time of the Advent of our Lord and the Nativity Fast be celebrated.

Let it also be known that with the next victim individual to be honored with the Order, I shall be taking down the link to the Rite of Investiture, for two reasons: 1) while it is a lovely pastiche of Monty Python's choicest skits, it is also an infringement of copyright, and I do think that the good lads of Monty Python's Flying Circus deserve better than that; 2) as a private correspondent both kindly and charitably took the trouble to inform me, the Rite could be taken as a mockery of proper religious ceremony, and that is the farthest thing from my mind or intent. In that spirit, let me recount instead the prayer which is the centerpiece of the Rite, and which expresses my prayers and wishes for Mr. Kenney and the other members of the Order:

O Lord, Jesus Christ, the True Light from the East, the Dayspring from on high, the Giver of good things, Who through Thy Transfiguration on Mount Tabor didst reveal to Thine Apostles, Peter, John, and James, in the presence of Thy Prophets Moses and Elias, Thy Glory and Power, and who art the Hope of the hopeless, the Help of the helpless, and the Salvation of our souls: Bless this orb and those to whom it is entrusted, to Thy glory and in honor of Thy saints, St. Theodore the Recruit and St. Andrew, The Fool for Christ.

Grant, O Good One, unto those to whom this orb is entrusted, all Thine earthly and Heavenly good things. Gladden them in joy with Thy countenance, and show them the paths to salvation. Be swift to fulfill the requests of their hearts and their every wish, guiding them to the doing of Thy commandments, that in gladness and rejoicing they may forever hymn and glorify Thy most honorable and majestic Name, by the intercessions of the Most blessed Mary, Ever virgin and Mother of our God, of the holy, glorious St. Theodore the Recruit and St. Andrew, The Fool for Christ, and of all Thy Saints. Amen.

For the Feast of the Conception of St. Anne

Hymn to the Virgin

Of one that is so fair and bright
Velut maris stella,
Brighter than the day is light,
Parens et puella:
I cry to thee, thou see to me,
Lady, pray thy Son for me,
Tam pia,
That I may come to thee.
Maria!

All this world was forlorn
Eva peccatrice,
Till our Lord was yborn
De te genetrice.
With ave it went away
Darkest night, then comes the day
Salutis:
The well springeth out of thee
Virtutis.

Lady, flower of everything,
Rosa sine spina,
Thou bare Jesu, heaven's King,
Gratia divina:
Of all thou bear'st the prize,
Lady, queen of paradise
Electa:
Maid mild, mother es
Effecta.

--Anonymous, c.1300 Oxford Book of English Verse

Note: Benjamin Britten, at the age of 16, wrote a
setting of this macaronic Hymn, which may be heard here.
(With great thanks to quicquid)

Sancta Liturgia

In the course of going up and down in the (we)blogosphere, and back and forth in it, seeking what mischief I may, I occasionally stumble upon really good weblogs. Sancta Liturgia is one such. It is a beautiful resource for Catholic and Orthodox liturgy, transcribing and presenting both Eastern and Western liturgical texts and commentary. While there is perhaps an emphasis upon Western liturgical texts, the author of this weblog more than makes up for it by presenting the primary texts in both Latin and in English translation. I will be linking it in my weblog list, and I highly recommend it to those who have not already discovered it.

Why I am a member of the Cult of Foamy

And in the spirit of tantrums, may I recommend Foamy's Christmas Rant ("No Christmas for you"), which may at present be found here. PARENTAL ADVISORY WARNING: Foamy's language and delivery make Lenny Bruce look like good Pope John XXIII.