I’m not dead yet.

Things have been crazy lately. I should have many things to share soon. I have several projects (some of them secret) cooking, which I will bring to light when it becomes possible.

I signed my petition for ordination today.

New Liturgical Movement recently posted a translation that I did of O Redemptor, sume carmen, the hymn for the procession of the holy oils at the Chrism Mass, at the request of Father Samuel Weber. The Latin of the hymn has some wonderful wordplay that I found impossible to capture, but it didn’t turn out too bad.

The other day at Macaroni Grill, I doodled a quick green gryphon on the table.

I got a new red chasuble today. It was a very reasonable price, but when I saw the tag on it, I found out that the place I got it simply resold it, so it turns out that I could have gotten it even cheaper. In any case, the quality is a bit better than I expected. It’s not top-shelf, but it’s decent, and it looks great.

I debated with myself about whether to buy any vestments at all. I mean, whatever parish I’m assigned to will have something. On the other hand, I thought it would be nice to own at least one set of decent vestments. Plus, many parishes will be missing things like burses, chalice veils, and maniples. The next question was: what color? Well, considering that my first Mass as a deacon was Pentecost, and my first Mass as a priest will be … Pentecost, I thought red made sense.

Here I am, perhaps getting ready to pray the Oramus te, Domine:

The front:

And, the back:

The design is a pelican.

The colors look kind of weird in these photos, it’s actually a really nice red. Here is a more accurate shot of the color:

I had another dream last night wherein I was speaking Latin. This time, however, it was not because I had traveled through time somehow. Rather, I was part of a large liturgical service and had to read something from the Lectionary (in English), but the pages in the book were stapled together in strange ways and I couldn’t find the right place. So, I told the MC (it was a big liturgy of some kind): Non possum invenire locum aptum so that others would not find out about the problem. When he came over, I said something like (my memory is a bit fuzzy on this part) [Quaesivi]? lectiones aptas … non viderem. I don’t remember what I was trying to convey on this second point, just that I apparently thought I needed to use the subjunctive.

Obviously with full consciousness, I hope I would have used better Latin.

Advent is my favorite season of the Church year. The sense of expectation and longing for the arrival of Jesus Christ needs to be emphasized. It reminds me of how privileged we are to live in the time of the New Covenant. Generations of people longed for the coming of Christ into the world, (cf. Mt 13:17) but we live in the time of the fulfillment of that promise. Our participation in their waiting leads us to be more grateful for what Jesus has done for us out of pure graciousness. We also look forward to the end of the age and the return of Christ in glory. We look forward to our own death.

Advent also has some of the best music in the Church’s treasury of sacred music. Music for the Divine Office (e.g., the Conditor alme siderum or the O Antiphons) and the antiphons for Mass and other hymns, such as Rorate caeli, intertwine the themes of Advent with fitting musical expressions. We have some great English adaptations of this music as well, such as O Come, O Come Emmanuel or Creator of the Stars of Night.

Father Samuel Weber, director of the Institute of Sacred Music for the Archdiocese of St Louis, who resides at Kenrick Seminary, recently asked me to translate two Advent hymns: Verbum salutis omnium and Magnis prophetae vocibus from the Liturgy of the Hours. I always enjoy translating such things for Father Weber, and it’s a spiritually edifying challenge to render as closely as possible the meaning of the words in English while achieving something that is singable (and rhymes).

Below are my adaptations of these hymns for singing in English.

First, Verbum salutis omnium:

Second, Magnis prophetae vocibus:

Today is the memorial of Pope St Leo the Great, who in the 5th century worked tirelessly to defend the Church against the errors of that day (e.g., Manichaeism, Pelagianism, Nestorianism) and to promote a closer bond of unity between the bishops and Rome. Pope Benedict XVI, the successor of Peter and Leo, has the same concerns and is deeply committed to Christian unity.

The foundation of the Church on Peter (Mt 16:18) teaches us that there is only one Church, not many “churches.” The disunity among Christians is not by the design of Jesus Christ. Therefore, as we work to promote unity among Christians, we must not seek only a superficial sense of agreement, a certain “false irenism” as Pius XII put it, wherein we merely tolerate or get along with one another. Rather, the only way for Christians to become unified is by turning to Jesus Christ through the Church. In the office of the Holy Father, then, we find that solid foundation against which the gates of Hell shall not prevail. The Church is truly our objective standard, “the pillar and foundation of the truth” (1 Tim 3:15).

Priests, according to Pastores dabo vobis, must be promoters of communion and artisans of communion, though these phrases are usually rendered in English as “men of communion.” In other words they share in the work of the Holy Spirit, “governing all things firmly and gently” (Wis 8:1).

If the gates of Hell have prevailed in any part of our own lives, then, this is a wound against the Church and against our task of promoting unity. We ourselves must turn back to our standard, and, like St Leo, put aside our own interests for the sake of the Church.

The above is the substance of a homily that I gave to the college seminarians this morning.

I’m a big fan of the organic development of the liturgy. I think it’s often very important to keep things that started out serving a practical purpose but eventually developed into part of the liturgy itself, taking on a theological meaning in the process. (For example, the dismissal: Ite, Missa est or Flectamus genua or the amice.) These details, even if they don’t seem necessary any more, still have their theological meaning and also connect us with the past.

I wonder sometimes whether the “extra-liturgical” things that have become common would, given a few centuries, ever be codified as part of the liturgy itself.

If things continue to develop without intervention, would the rubrics eventually include an instruction for the deacon to turn to the people after the announcements and give a monition to show a sign of appreciation for the choir? Relatis notitiis, diaconus ad populum conversus dicit Plaudite choro et sequitur plausus.) Would there be a vesting prayer for the wireless microphone? Would the extraordinary ministers of Holy Communion be required to process into the sanctuary in discreet groups, each group indicating to the congregation that X more are still needed, until all positions are filled?

Interesting thoughts.

So, I presided at a Communion service this morning. I preached a short homily basically about the difference between the service and Mass and the necessity of the priesthood/Eucharist for the existence of the parish community.

I really wanted to avoid having to preach on the Gospel reading for today:

Jesus said to them in reply,
“Have you not read what David did
when he and those who were with him were hungry?
How he went into the house of God, took the bread of offering,
which only the priests could lawfully eat.