Angeli et amici: In festo S. Ignatii Confessoris

Once upon a time, that impeccably influential institution, the Brompton Oratory, held a liturgical congress which would be crowned by the special celebration of a Solemn High Mass.

Into the sublime sacristy enter the sacred ministers: an Italian Jesuit, an American Jesuit, and a Jesuit scholastic. 

Busy polishing a thurible, the surly sexton stops, looks up and mutters, "Eh, what's this, a joke?"

 

In the appendix to the perennially potent, reliably resourceful Roman Ritual many a religious congregation, institute and order have graciously shared with the secular clergy some of their most beautifully bountiful blessings. While not generally lauded for their acumen in liturgical praxis, the sons of Ignatius have bestowed to the august treasury a modest contribution.

 

BLESSING OF WATER IN HONOR OF ST. IGNATIUS, CONFESSOR

P: Our help is in the name of the Lord.

R: Who made heaven and earth.

P: Blessed be the name of the Lord.

R: Both now and forevermore.

P: Lord, heed my prayer.

R: And let my cry be heard by you.

P: The Lord be with you.

R: And with your spirit.

Let us pray. Holy Lord, almighty Father, everlasting God, who, in pouring out the grace of your blessing on the bodies of the sick, encompass your creatures with your generous love; hearken as we call on your holy name, and by the prayers of Blessed Ignatius, your confessor, free your servants from illness and restore them to health, and then hasten their convalescence by your sure hand, strengthen them by your might, shield them by your power, and give them back in full vigor to your holy Church; through Christ our Lord. Amen. (He then immerses a medal or a reliquary of St. Ignatius in the water, and holds it so until the following prayer is concluded) Lord, bless this water, that it be a saving remedy for men; and grant that, by the prayers of Blessed Ignatius, whose medal [or relics] is [are] now immersed in it, all who will drink this water may have health in body and protection in soul; through Christ our Lord. Amen.

As befits the respectable reputation of the Society of Jesus, the preceding prayer is a pragmatic paragon of pithy practical prose. But if extraordinary pulchritudinous poesy is paramount it is best to remember the old sacristan's proverb: "A good Jesuit liturgy is one where no one gets hurt....especially the celebrant!"  

 Mr. Screwtape

Angeli et amici: In Vigilia S. Iacobus Apostolis

The ancient Greeks had Odysseus; Medievals had Arthur; Americans have Superman.

 

In celebration of the seventy fifth anniversary of the Last Son of Krypton this year a major cinematic commercial, I meant, presentation was released entitled "Man of Steel". The title is amazingly appropriate as steel is an alloy and a major thematic undercurrent regards the differing ways Jor-El and Jonathan Kent forge the powerful protagonist into Superman. In a marvelous marketing maneuver the film was released during Father's Day weekend thereby doubling and tripling the paternal overtures like a reverberating echo. 

 

Echos. For me, that is what remains of my father. On an usually chilly night of July 24th, lo many years ago, the sweetly serene designs of Divine Providence decreed that his soul return to the embrace of equanimous Eternity. Even though one was striding in the early years of his majority, a starker demarcation delineating the end of one's boyhood perhaps could not be had. My Father was a reserved man but that exterior gainsaid an heroic tenderness and devotion. Not to mention that he could display a delightful yet understated sense of humor when the occasion called for it. Perhaps the seeds of my own amusing avocation were sown were sown by him.

A comforting chuckle on the one day of the year that this otherwise chipper clown allows upon his countenance a quiet cascade of bittersweet tears.

 

Mr. Screwtape

Angeli et amici: In festo S. Mariae Magdalenae Poenitentis

In the multilingual metropolitan microcosm of the Lower East Side of youthful yore endearing expressions of enthusiasm were euphemistically engendered in "French". This boyhood recollection came to mind as one came across a press blurb (obviously written by a feverish Francophile) from Yale University Press announcing a centennial edition of literary modernist Marcel Proust's most famous and acclaimed work, À la recherche du temps perdu (or in plain English: In Search of Lost Time), which for some unfathomable reason is regarded by some, perhaps due to its languishing length, as "the greatest novel in all of French literature".

Ameliorating academic anemia is not the pious point of these meandering musings rather cultivating Catholic culture is, so therefore let us quoth from said sad scribe's scintillating spiel: "No sooner had the warm liquid mixed with the crumbs touched my palate than a shudder ran through me and I stopped, intent upon the extraordinary thing that was happening to me. An exquisite pleasure had invaded my senses, something isolated, detached, with no suggestion of its origin. And at once the vicissitudes of life had become indifferent to me, its disasters innocuous, its brevity illusory – this new sensation having had on me the effect which love has of filling me with a precious essence; or rather this essence was not in me it was me. ... Whence did it come? What did it mean? How could I seize and apprehend it? ... And suddenly the memory revealed itself. The taste was that of the little piece of madeleine which on Sunday mornings at Combray (because on those mornings I did not go out before mass), when I went to say good morning to her in her bedroom, my aunt Léonie used to give me, dipping it first in her own cup of tea or tisane. The sight of the little madeleine had recalled nothing to my mind before I tasted it. And all from my cup of tea."

The jolly genesis of the munchy madeleine is deeply disputed and an esteemed encyclopedia of Gallic gastronomy, the Larousse Gastronomique, relates two conflicting accounts of the cake’s invention. One story lays the pastry's parentage at the friendly feet of one Jean Avice, the “master of choux pastry,” who worked as a pastry chef for Prince Talleyrand. Avice is said to have ingeniously invented the madeleine in the 19th century by baking little cakes in aspic molds. Another appetizing account puts the origins of the madeleine earlier to the eighteenth century in the French town of Commercy, in the region of Lorraine, where a young servant girl named Madeleine made them for the deposed king of Poland Stanislas Leszczynska, when he was exiled to Lorraine. This started the fashion for madeleines (as they were named by the Leszczynska). They became popular in Versailles by his daughter Marie, who was married to Louis XV. Of course, the dainty delectable is ultimately named after the famous sister of Lazarus and Martha euphemistically entitled "The Penitent". Although Jewish by birth, since she lived in the northern Galilee town of Magdala she acquired the culture and manners of a Gentile. Saint Luke innocently mentions that Our Lord expelled seven devils from Mary immediately after the said Evangelist related the Pardon of the Sinful Woman thereby unintentionally creating perhaps the most, >ahem<, colorful unofficial patronage in Catholic hagiography. Fourteen years after the Ascension, so the Legenda Aurea relates, Magdalene, her maid Sara, Lazarus, Martha, Maximin (one of the Seventy Two Disciples), and Sidonius ("the man born blind"), along with the body of Saint Anne, were sent into exile in a boat sans sails and oars. The chancy caravel miraculously and happily landed upon the shores of southern France and thus began the electric evangelization of the eldest daughter of the Church. Retreating to a cave to spend the remainder of her days in prayer and penance Mary became the primogenetrix of the contemplatives. And since we are not privileged as she was with the mystical gift of inedia, please pass those tasty treats!

Mr. Screwtape

Angeli et amici: In Solemnitas S. Patris Benedicti Abbatis

Born in Chicago, Illinois, to a Protestant minister and his wife, the youngest son in a family with twelve children, Laurence Tureaud, with his four sisters and seven brothers, grew up in a three-room apartment in one of the city's horrendous housing projects, the Robert Taylor Homes. While growing up, Tureaud regularly witnessed murder, rape, and other crimes, but attributes his survival and later success to his (semi-pelagian) will-to-do well and his mother's love. Tureaud attended Dunbar Vocational High School, where he played football, wrestled, and studied martial arts. While at Dunbar he became the city-wide wrestling champion two years in a row. He won a football scholarship to Prairie View A&M University, where he majored in mathematics, but was expelled after his first year. He then enlisted in the United States Army and served in the Military Police Corps. In November 1975, Tureaud was awarded a letter of recommendation by his drill sergeant, and in a cycle of six thousand troops Tureaud was elected "Top Trainee of the Cycle" and was also promoted to squad leader. After his discharge, he tried out for the Green Bay Packers of the National Football League, but failed to make the team due to a knee injury. The next phase of career development came as a night club bouncer. Patrons frequently would lose large gold neck chains and other oversized jewelry after a fight so Tureaud appropriated them and began to wear these, thereby created the persona of "Mister T".

The Transitus of the  Patriarch of Occidental Monasticism is the twenty first of March but since it occurs during the Holy Quarantine of Lent its celebration is somewhat muted. Many monasteries of the Benedictine Confederation have kept the eleventh of July as the External Solemnity which commemorates the translation of his relics to the monastery of St. Benoit-sur-Loire in northern France, a claim which is contested by the monks of Monte Cassino. Regardless of who actually holds the blessed remains, a certain little altar boy is happily privileged to maintain in his household, through the holy generosity of a Religious Brother who has since gone to his well-deserved reward, a Medal of Saint Benedict. Not just any quarter-sized medal, mind you, but a one pound, five inch diameter, one quarter of an inch thick, bada-blessed-bling medal!

Therefore it behooves us to review the incredible imagery inscribed upon this potent portrait that all devout Faithful should piously possess, but perhaps in more manageable measurements. From a leaflet written by Canon of the Holy Cross: "On the obverse of the medal we find St. Benedict holding a Cross in one hand, and the Rule of St. Benedict in the other. At his sides are the words "Crux S. Patris Benedicti" ("The Cross of the Holy Father Benedict"), and below his feet: "Ex S M Cassino MDCCCLXXX" ("From the holy mount of Cassino, 1880"). On that date, Monte Cassino was given the exclusive right to produce this medal, and special Jubilee indulgences were added. Still on this front side of the medal we find inscribed in a circle the words:  "Ejus in obitu nostro presentia muniamur" ("May his presence protect us in our hour of death"). The reverse side of the medal is where the real exorcistic force reveals itself. In the center is a Cross. The Cross, which St. Benedict so loved and often used as a powerful exorcism, is the sign before which even Dracula shrinked. The vertical beam of the Cross bears the letters C.S.S.M.L., and the horizontal beam, the letters N.D.S.M.D. These are the first letters of the words: CRUX SACRA SIT MIHI LUX, May the Holy Cross be a light unto me, NON DRACO SIT MIHI DUX. And may the Dragon never be my guide. The four large letters at the corners of the Cross, C S P B, stand for CRUX SANCTI PATRIS BENEDICTI: The Cross of the Holy Father Benedict. We are not through yet. In addition to the "Pax" ("peace") motto at the top, we find the following letters in a circle around the margin of this side: V.R.S.N.S.M.V.: S.M.Q.L.I.V.B. It almost looks masonic; except, of course, the Benedictines are quite willing to tell you what the letters stand for, and they are enough to make any secret society get the shakes: VADE RETRO SATANA; NUNQUAM SUADE MIHI VANA. Get behind me, Satan; Never suggest vain thoughts to me. SUNT MALA QUAE LIBAS; The cup you offer is evil; IPSE VENENA BIBAS! Drink the poison yourself!"

Or to paraphrase the man with trademark African Mandinka warrior hairstyle, "I pity the demon fool that messes with Saint B. I pity the fool!"

Mr. Screwtape

Angeli et amici: In Octavam Ss. Petri et Pauli

Erroneously referred to as "Spanish soap opera" but forming a distinct genre of serial dramatic popular programming by having a predetermined duration and termination, the telenovela is an almost sacred staple in many a happy Hispanic household. Recently strolling through the collections of the Metropolitan Museum of Art one encountered a late 15th century Netherlandish altarpiece ( http://www.metmuseum.org/collections/search-the-collections/110001475) delightfully depicting the sacred story of a suffering saint that would rival the packed plot of any terrific telenovela.

From the venerable Catholic Encyclopedia one proudly presents the spectacular story of that Flemish favorite [cue dramatic pause] Saint Godeliève [theme flourish] also known as Godeleva or Godelina: "The youngest of the three children born to Hemfrid, seigneur of Wierre-Effroy, and his wife Ogina [pleasant idyllic chords play], Godelina was accustomed as a child to exercises of piety and was soon distinguished for a solidity of virtue extraordinary for one of her years [crescendo]. The poor flocked from all sides to the young girl, whose desires to satisfy their necessities often involved her in difficulties with her father's steward and even with her pious father himself[intense close up of Dad's consternation]. By her eighteenth year the fame of her beauty and admirable qualities had spread far and wide through Artois and even into Flanders, and many suitors presented themselves [cue romantic music as she descends stairs in colorful, flowing dress]; but, the decision being left with Godelina, she persisted in the resolution she had made of renouncing the world for the cloister [intense close up of determined visage]. One of the young noblemen, Bertolf of Ghistelles, determined to leave nothing undone,[emphatically bangs fist on table] invoked the influence of her father's suzerain, Eustache II, Count of Boulogne, [close up of beard stroking] whose representations proved successful. [cue wedding march] After the wedding Bertolf and his bride set out for Ghistelles, where, however, Godelina found a bitter and unrelenting enemy in Bertolf's mother [cue sinister theme], who induced her son to forsake his wife on the very day of their arrival [dramatic thumping], and immured Godelina in a narrow cell, with barely enough nourishment to support life [close up of mother-in-law evilly smirking]. Even this, however, the saint contrived to share with the poor [cue triumphant theme]. Under the influence of his mother, Bertolf spread abroad foul calumnies about his bride [dramatic thumping, again]. After some time Godelina managed to escape to the home of her father, who roused the Bishop of Tournai and Soissons [tears of shock] and the Count of Flanders [indignant anger] to threaten Bertolf with the terrors of Church and State [background extras don cowboy hats]. Seemingly repentant, he promised to restore his wife to her rightful position, but [sinister theme] her return to Ghistelles was the signal for a renewal of persecution in an aggravated form. After about a year Bertolf, again feigning sorrow [close up of crocodile tears], easily effected a reconciliation, but only to avoid the suspicion of the crime he was meditating. During his absence two of his servants [cue malevolent music] at his direction strangled Godelina causing it to appear that she had died a natural death [close up of hand falling limp to tragic music]. Bertolf [seen smiling] soon contracted a second marriage, but the daughter born to him was blind from birth [dramatic thumping]. Her miraculous recovery of sight through the intercession of St. Godelina [choral flourish] so affected her father that, now truly converted [and bawling inconsolably], he journeyed to Rome to obtain absolution for his crime, undertook a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and finally entered the monastery of St-Winoc at Bergues, where he expiated his sins [flashbacks to cruel treatment] by a life of severe penance [sounds of whips zinging]. At his desire his daughter [close up of beautiful and innocent face] erected at Ghistelles a Benedictine monastery dedicated to St. Godelina, which she entered as a religious. Devotion to St. Godelina dates from 1084, when her body was exhumed [cue triumphant march] by the Bishop of Tournai and Noyon, and her relics [cue tinkling cascade], recognized at various times by ecclesiastical authority, are to be found in various cities of Belgium [theme flourish, roll credits]."

The feast of this marvelous martyr to the Sacrament of Holy Matrimony is kept on the Octave Day of Ss. Peter and Paul, the 6th of July. And in true telenovela fashion, her celestial patronage is ironically invoked in cases of sore throats.

Mr. Screwtape