Our Lady, the Rosary, and the Little Office | Year of Prayer 2024
By Joey Belleza, PhD (Cantab.)
In our previous instalment, we considered the recitation of the psalms in the daily celebration of the Divine Office, or Liturgy of the Hours. As we enter the month of May—the month of Our Lady—it is now an opportune time to consider the relationship between the Divine Office and the Church’s devotion to the Mother of God.
The New Testament, specifically the Gospel of Luke, records only one “prayer” by the Blessed Virgin Mary: the Magnificat, or the great hymn of praise which she sung upon her Visitation to Elizabeth, her cousin and mother of John the Baptist. This perfect expression of humility and praise from the greatest woman in history has been of such importance to the Church that its recitation or singing occurs every day at the end of Vespers. In its literary form, it is very similar to many of the psalms of praise, and its various statements follow the typical parallelisms of Hebrew rhetoric, wherein two phrases which move in “opposite directions” actually convey the same meaning. For example, “He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, and has lifted up the lowly,” or “He has filled the hungry with good things; the rich he has sent away empty” express God’s power and mercy through the punishment of evil, on the one hand, and the concurrent exaltation of the poor, on the other. Such constructions are also seen in the Song of Hannah, which is itself a hymn of thanksgiving to God for the miraculous pregnancy which yielded the prophet Samuel. Like the psalms and the Song of Hannah, Mary’s Magnificat is a clear link to the heritage of the Old Testament, and the fact that we sing it daily in the Christian liturgy testifies to our enduring link to the faith of Israel.
While from the early Middle Ages the recitation of the full Psalter according to the one-week cycle was often restricted to priests and religious (who were literate), the ordinary illiterate lay faithful often found ways to participate in daily prayer in their own ways. Repetitions of the Lord’s Prayer or the Hail Mary substituted for the long recitation of each Psalm, and the recitation of 150 Hail Marys (divided into the three sets of mysteries) in place of the 150 Psalms—what we now know as the Rosary—became the laity’s favoured counterpart to the full Divine Office sung by priests and religious. A further development of this practice led to the association of a smaller set of Psalms as mystically signifying some aspect of the Blessed Virgin’s role in salvation history. This became the so-called “Little Office of the Blessed Virgin Mary,” a practice so beloved that by the tenth century, clergy were required to pray the hours of the Little Office in addition to the hours of the full Divine Office. In some religious communities, their members were taught to pray “Our Lady’s Matins” in private upon waking up and while making one’s bed, in order to prepare for the communal recitation of Matins according to the Divine Office.
In this Year of Prayer, perhaps we might delve into the mysteries of Mary’s life, not only by meditating upon the mysteries of the Rosary, but by exploring those Psalms which the Little Office has set aside for Our Lady. The Little Office might indeed be a way for us to get into the habit of praying the Psalms, so that eventually we might learn to pray the full Divine Office or Liturgy of the Hours with greater ease. In this way, the Psalms which point to the Blessed Virgin might lead us to the recitation of the full Psalter, which is itself a prefiguration of the life of Christ—and thus we might pass, as Saint John Paul II loved to say, ad Iesum per Mariam: to Jesus through Mary.
In the previous reflection, we considered the collects of the Roman Rite and how they are structured to express the four parts of prayer. Now, we can speak briefly about the Divine Office or Liturgy of the Hours. We can first note how the closing prayer of each hour is the same as the collect for the Mass of the day, such that the four parts of prayer often form an explicit aspect of the recitation of the Hours. However, we can go beyond the collects and think about the defining characteristic of the Hours: psalmody.
The recitation of the Psalms throughout the day (and the traditional practice of chanting all the psalms in a week) not only links us with the Jewish faith into which Christ, his Mother, and the Apostles were born; it moreover gets us thinking about why the Church continues to make the psalms a central part of her daily prayer. But whether we pray the Psalms according to the four-week cycle of the modern Liturgy of the Hours, or if we follow the ancient one-week cycle of the old Divine Office, it remains true that the Psalms govern the daily rhythm of the Church’s life. It is a timeless and in inexhaustible source of inspiration for all Christians. While countless books have already been written on this matter, here we can only make a brief indication.
There is no human emotion that isn’t addressed by a psalm. From joy in victory, exaltation in God’s glory, gratitude, and praising the beauty of the natural world, to dejection in defeat, depression, abandonment, and rage, and the psalms run through the full spectrum of human affectivity. So central were the psalms to the daily life of Christ and the Apostles that they often cite the psalms to make a point. Upon seeing the Lord drive the moneychangers from the Temple, Saint Peter paraphrased Psalm 69: “Zeal for your house will consume me.” When the chief priests and scribes were indignant at the praises of children on Palm Sunday (who themselves were echoing the cries of “Hosannah” from Psalms 118 and 148), Christ rebuked them for not knowing the meaning of Psalm 8: “From the mouths of children and suckling babes you have ordained praise, on account of your adversaries, to silence the enemy and avenger.” Finally, on the cross, one of the Lord’s final words, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me” comes from the beginning of Psalm 22 which, although beginning with a cry of dereliction, ends with a statement of invincible hope and confidence in God’s power.
In this Year of Prayer, let us rediscover the glory of the psalms, to which the Church returns week after week, month after month, to address the breadth of human experience as we encounter the joys and sorrows which mark our earthly life.
Collects and Liturgical Prayer | Year of Prayer 2024
By Joey Belleza, PhD (Cantab.)
The four parts of prayer can be seen not only in the Lord’s Prayer, as we saw in the previous reflection, but also throughout the Church’s liturgy. Indeed, Saint Thomas Aquinas himself noted how “we may notice these four things many of the Church’s collects.” The “collect” of Mass, often called the “Opening Prayer” is conisdered the principal prayer for the Mass of the day and is even repeated throughout the Divine Office or Liturgy of the Hours of the same day. The Prayer Over the Gifts and the Postcommunion are also prayers which are molded on the collect. The collects of the Roman Rite, many of which are of ancient origin, follow a certain polished structural and rhetorical pattern that is characteristic of Christian Latin, and this structure manifests the four parts of prayer. To illustrate, Saint Thomas uses the example of the Collect for Trinity Sunday:
Almighty sempiternal God, you who in the confession of the true faith granted to your servants to know the glory of the eternal Trinity, grant, we pray, that in the same firmness of faith, we may always be protected from our enemies. Through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son, who lives and reigns, etc.
Let’s break this down according to the four parts of prayer.
Oration: “Almighty sempiternal God…” Here, the priest cries out to God the Father.
Thanksgiving: “…you who in the confession of the true faith granted to your servants to know the glory of the eternal Trinity…” The past deeds of God are recalled.
Petition: “…grant, we pray, that… we may always be protected…” A specific request is made to the Father.
Intercession: “Through our Lord Jesus Christ…” Our prayer is both Trinitarian and Christological, invoking all three Persons, but principally addressing the Father through the intercession of the eternal Son.
This same structure is seen in so many prayers which use the basic the structure of the Roman collect. See, for example, the prayer before meals:
Bless us [petition], O Lord [oration], and these thy gifts which we are about to receive from thy bounty [thanksgiving]. Through Christ our Lord [intercession].
Let’s use another example: the postcommunion prayer of the fourth Sunday of Advent, which is also used on the Feast of the Annunciation and at the end of the Angelus:
Pour forth, we beseech thee [petition] O Lord [oration], thy grace into our hearts, that we to whom the Incarnation of Christ thy Son was made known by the message of an angel [thanksgiving], may by his Passion and Cross be brought to the glory of the resurrection [specific petition]. Through Christ our Lord [intercession].
Whenever the priest prays the collects on our behalf at Mass, let us listen with attention, uniting ourselves with the priest’s words as he “collects” or “gathers” our oration, thanksgiving, petition, and intercession at the altar of God.
In the next reflection, we will look at another form of the liturgy: the Divine Office or Liturgy of the Hours.
Between Cross and Resurrection: The Harrowing of Hell, according to J.R.R. Tolkien
Stefan Kaminski
Andúril, The Sword of Aragorn - render by Morvos, published under CC Attribution-NonCommercial licence - https://sketchfab.com/3d-models/the-sword-of-aragorn-anduril-high-poly-1bfbdb13c6cb4d29988ceae4a1965589
A key facilitator to this dynamic is, of course, the wizard Gandalf and the various ways in which he plays a Christ-like role, or otherwise serves to at least indicate the Divine action in some way. Gandalf offers spiritual and moral guidance to the hobbits and often speaks for, or of, what we might call Divine Providence. In fact, the word that most aptly captures Gandalf’s role is that of prophet. He speaks the truth: about the individual, about the worldly situation and about the cosmic order.
However, if one bears in mind Tolkien’s aversion to obvious analogy – and which is why too many people miss the foundational role of Catholicism in his writings, or try to undermine it – it is also unsurprising to find that one cannot pin-point a completely Christ-like figure either on Gandalf or any other single character in the Middle-Earth saga. Such a refraction of the roles that Christ fulfils into different characters within the saga is a rather more elegant solution, and decidedly more theologically-eloquent, than mere analogy.
Similarly, the events of Holy Saturday, tied up as they are with the nature of Christ’s kingship, find reflection in The Return of the King, the third book of Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings trilogy.
The Paths of the Dead, by Darrell Sweet. This work is copyrighted and owned by Darrell Sweet's estate. It is believed that the use of this image on our website qualifies as fair use under copyright law in the United States of America
Whilst Frodo is approaching Mordor and the final stage of his quest to Mount Doom, Aragorn – the mysterious ranger – is to be found on what is considered by everyone else to be a suicidal mission. He decides to brave the Paths of the Dead, a subterranean mountain path, and home to a lost army of men, now dead, yet trapped by a curse that resulted from their own disobedience long ago. This army, if it can be made to obey, is crucial to countering the extra weight of Mordor’s allies, who are about to throw themselves against the human citadel of Minas Tirith, the seat of the Kingdom of Gondor.
The nub of the question, of course, is that of authority over this terrifying army. No living man could pass through and survive: the dead do not obey the living. Only one exception exists; and this takes us back to the origin of these men’s story. The curse that this army brought upon themselves was a result of their breaking oath to aid the Kingdom of Gondor against the forces of evil. That oath was made to the King of Gondor, and as such, the only person with the authority to command its bond and release from the curse is the self-same King – or, of course, a legitimate descendant who can wield that authority on his behalf.
By this point, Aragorn, is of course known to the avid reader to be the heir to Elendil, the first King of Gondor. And so, the trepidation with which we accompany him along the Paths of the Dead, as the dreadful and invisible army gathers around him, is offset by the hopeful expectation of something dramatic. And we are not disappointed. The dead king cynically strikes out at Aragorn with his sword, only to find it halted in its path by Aragorn’s own blade: something that no mortal would be able to effect, other than one who bears that original authority.
Recognition of the King who stands before them rustles through the horde; their assistance is secured; and when they finally fulfil their oath in the present conflict, they disappear with a whispering sigh of relief, finally free to rest.
It would be hard to find a more dramatic visual aid to explaining Jesus’s harrowing of hell on Holy Saturday, especially for an audience of teenagers or young adults. For those puzzling over the words in the Apostles’ Creed, “he descended into hell”, Tolkien provides a vivid point of reference. The imagery poignantly evokes and gives life to St Paul’s reference to Christ as the “Lord both of the dead and of the living” (Romans 14:9). In turn, the logic of Christ’s command over the dead is helpfully drawn out by Tolkien’s narrative.
Photo: Christ’s Descent into Limbo by Andrea Mantegna, c. 1470.
As with our army, the key to Holy Saturday is in the origins, and can be summed up in the words: paradise lost, paradise regained. Our first parents suffered the loss of Eden, ‘paradise on earth’, through breaking the primal covenant that governed their relationship with the Creator. Having said that, this consequence can be – indeed should be and is – considered in view of the greater blessing that results: namely the promise of a renewed and glorified life at the end of this time. Thus, the Exsultet, the Easter proclamation that is sung before the newly-lit Easter candle at the Vigil, pronounces the words, “O happy fault, O necessary sin of Adam, which gained for us so great a Redeemer!”
The loss of Eden resulted in the entry of death into the world (cf. Romans 5:12), with the ensuing mortality of the human race. Again, whilst we might naturally consider this a curse, in the schema of God’s providence it rather turns into a blessing if we consider that God did not wish for fallen humanity to continue an immortal existence alongside the effects of evil. Thus, the necessary end of our fallen mortal nature with our bodily death results in a state of waiting, a state of the soul’s existence apart from its body.
The greatness of the mystery of God’s love, which we saw executed in the bloodiest manner in yesterday’s Solemnity, is of course that it goes beyond that disobedience and rupture instigated by our progenitors and continued throughout history. It wishes to encompass every person, in harmony with their own volition. However, until the price of that disobedience was paid, those who had already died remained ‘trapped’, awaiting their liberation. Their souls, whilst free of their mortal body, remained – according to justice – outside the presence of God. The dead were bound by the original curse, awaiting the fulfilment of the bond of justice.
Unlike Aragorn’s army, who have to fulfil their original oath and fight, the price of humanity’s ‘oath-breaking’ is paid freely, “not with silver or gold, but with the precious blood of Christ” (1 Peter 1:18-19). Thus, Christ’s death effected two things: firstly, a universally- and eternally-valid sacrifice for any and all human sin, including those who had come before him; secondly, his ‘entry’ into the realm of the dead via his mortal body, yet wielding the divine authority of the king to whom those souls were originally bound.
Only the Son of God, He through whom “all things were made… and without [whom] was not anything made that was made” (John 1:3), could enter the realm of the dead and command its bond. Only the rightful King could wield authority over every soul, whether in the province of the dead or the living. Only the Cross of the incarnate God could break the brass gates and shatter the iron bars of hell asunder, as is recounted by two of the men risen from the dead in the apocryphal Gospel of Nicodemus.
No surprise, then, the prophetic words of Hosea, “O Death, I will be thy plague; O Sheol, I will be your destruction”.
Or the words of St John Chrysostom on Easter night: “Hades is angered… because it has been mocked… destroyed… it is now captive.”
Or the ancient hymn for Easter Matins: “Today Hades tearfully sighs: ‘Would that I had not received Him who was born of Mary, for He came to me and destroyed my power.’”
Before his resurrection from the dead, Jesus Christ grants salvation to souls by the Harrowing of Hell. Fresco, by Fra Angelico, c. 1430s
The harrowing of hell – and what a harrowing! – is unsurprisingly an intrinsic part of the logic of the Easter mystery. Viewed inseparably from the death and resurrection of the Lord, it is witnessed to by the Apostles themselves, and traced from the very earliest Christian traditions.
It is appropriate that Holy Saturday should retain a sense of stillness and quiet preparation in the earthly life of the Church: momentous events are taking place in the spiritual realm, before the glory of the Lord bursts forth from the realms of the dead, with the saving banner of the victorious Lamb leading the mighty hosts of heaven.
In the past four reflections, we reviewed the four parts of prayer as understood by Saint Thomas Aquinas. Now, in light of those reflections, we will look briefly at the prayer taught by Christ himself, the Lord’s Prayer, showing how the four parts are present, whether implicitly or explicitly, in this most fundamental of Christian prayers.
Oration: “Our Father…” The opening cry of the prayer immediately places the man Jesus (and with him, all of us), in the status of children before God. This is a first and general expression of our humility and our complete dependency on the Father and Creator of all things.
Thanksgiving: “…who art in heaven.” Here we further recognize God’s greatness by specifically acknowledging his place above us in heaven.
Intercession: the notion of intercession is perhaps not as explicit as the others, but is nevertheless present in the fact that this prayer is always made in the second person plural: “Our Father.” Thus we are meant to pray this together, as a unified Christian community for ourselves and for one another.
Petition: The Lord’s Prayer is famously marked by a series of seven petitions, in which we ask God for the most basic of temporal needs as well as the needs of our eternal soul.
As we can see, all four parts are contained in a nutshell in the very words of Christ. Thus when we pray with all four parts in mind, we are continuing our imitation of the Lord Jesus himself, who taught us how pray with these very words.
Since petition is indeed the most central aspect of prayer, a further look into each the seven petitions of the Lord’s Prayer will help us appreciate this most archetypal of Christian prayers.
“Hallowed be thy name”: Just as the first two of the Ten Commandments are tied to the glory of God and his name, here we ask not so much that God add greatness to his name, for nothing more can be added to the infinite God. Rather we ask that his name might be magnified ever more in human hearts. This petition is, essentially, a request for the diffusion of the Gospel message to all, and a preparatory step for the next petition.
“Thy kingdom come”: Here we express an eschatological hope in the final consummation of all creation into the original order and harmony intended by the Creator.
“Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven”: Building more upon the previous petition, we ask not only for harmony within creation or in the natural order. We also ask for the participative conformity of the order of nature with the order of grace.
“Give us this day our daily bread”: In the Gospel of Matthew, the phrase “daily” is actually rendered with an interesting term which is unique in the entire Bible. The bread is described with the Greek term epiousion, in Latin supersubstantialem: this bread is “super-substantial.” More than our regular requirement for sustenance, Matthew is pointing us to a bread whose substance is higher than the mere bread we need for bodily survival. Indeed, the Eucharistic echo of this word rings clear in Matthew’s Greek, and it is therefore fitting that we pray the Lord’s Prayer before receiving the true supersubstantial bread at Holy Communion.
“Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us”: If the previous petition points us to the Holy Eucharist, this one points us to the Sacrament of Reconciliation. As the Lord says in another place, “if you are presenting your sacrifice at the altar, and there you remember that your brother has something against you, leave your sacrifce there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother, and then come and present your sacrifice” (Matthew 5:23-24). If we must be reconciled to one another before completing our offering, how much more should we be reconciled with God before receiving Him in the Blessed Sacrament?
“Lead us not into temptation”: This petition can sound strange to our ears. Is not God the one “who can neither deceive nor be deceived,” as the First Vatican Council reminds us? Is not Satan the one whose name means “tempter”? The notion that God might lead into something bad, as implied by this verse, is so difficult that even Pope Francis ordered a new Italian translation of the Our Father which reads “do not abandon us to temptation.” Yet even this rendering is not free of problems. Is not God, as the Psalmist tells us, the one who will not abandon us even if our parents leave us orphaned (Psalm 27:10)? The full meaning of this petition is only understood in concert with the seventh and final petition.
“Deliver us from evil”: This petition is linked to the previous one by a parallelism characteristic of biblical rhetoric. Verses like “The righteous flourish like the palm tree, and grow like a cedar in Lebanon” (Psalm 92:12) or “Many waters cannot quench love, neither can floods drown it” (Song of Songs 8:7) contain two phrases whose meanings run together but are expressed in different ways. When God delivers us from evil, he is at the same time keeping us free from temptation. So it is less a question of God potentially acting in a way that directly places temptation before us; rather, we acknowledge that when we actively experience his saving power, temptations naturally stand powerless.
With all these things in mind, we see how the Lord’s Prayer expresses a breadth and profundity which can be masked by its brevity. Its short phrases and seven petitions are a key into the inexhaustible riches of the mind of Christ, who left it to us as the prime example of prayer.
On 7 March 1274, Saint Thomas Aquinas passed from this world to the Father. Only fifty years old, the legacy of his writings and his personal holiness continues to inspire the Church in our time. Today, on the 750th anniversary of his passing, we at the Christian Heritage Centre would like to remind you about the ongoing Jubilee of Thomas Aquinas proclaimed by Pope Francis, during which the faithful may obtain special plenary indulgences.
Although the Feast of Thomas Aquinas was moved to 28 January in the new calendar by Pope Paul VI to ensure acelebration unencumbered by Lenten penance, many Dominican institutions and Thomistic scholars (like the undersigned), continue to observe 7 March as a day of special remembrance. And in this Jubilee of Thomas Aquinas, running from 28 January 2023 to 28 January 2025, today is an especially fitting day to remember the Angelic Doctor and perhaps to visit a Dominican priory, shrine, or other holy place connected with the Dominicans in order to obtain a plenary indulgence, that is, the remission of all temporal punishment due to sin, which can be applied for oneself or for the souls in purgatory.
Besides the usual conditions for a plenary indulgence (sacramental confession, reception of Holy Communion, and prayer for the intentions of the Holy Father), the special indulgence for the Aquinas Jubilee requires that one should devoutly take part in the jubilee ceremonies, or at least devote a suitable time to pious recollection, concluding with the Lord’s Prayer, the symbol of faith and invocations of the Blessed Virgin Mary and of Saint Thomas Aquinas.
Saint Thomas was a man unshakably devoted to the Church. Even though he was in poor health, he died while making an arduous journey from Naples to France, responding to Pope Gregory X’s call for him to attend the Second Council of Lyon. Thomas struck his head on a tree branch near Terracina, not far from Naples, and was eventually sent to convalesce at the Cistercian monastery of Fossanova. When it was clear that he would not recover, he piously received anointing of the sick and the Holy Eucharist from the monks. His last recorded words are a wonderful profession of faith which we might do well to make our own, please God, at the hour of our own death.
I receive Thee, O price of my soul’s redemption. I receive Thee, O viaticum of my pilgrimage, for love of whom I have studied, kept watch, and laboured. Thee have I preached, Thee have I taught. Nothing against Thee have I said, but if I have spoken ill, I did so in ignorance. Neither am I stubborn in my own understanding, but if I have spoken ill of this Sacrament or the others, I leave it all to the judgment of the Holy Roman Church, in whose obedience I now pass from this life.
Sumo te, pretium redemptionis animae meae, sumo te, viaticum peregrinationis meae, pro cuius amore studui, vigilavi et laboravi. Te praedicavi, te docui. Nihil unquam contra te dixi; sed si quid male dixi, ignorans dixi. Nec sum pertinax in sensu meo; sed si quid male dixi de hoc sacramento et aliis, totum relinquo correctioni Sancte Romanae Ecclesiae, in cuius obedientia nunc transeo ex hac vita.
Saint Thomas Aquinas, pray for us!
Relief Altarpiece in the Chapel of Thomas's Passing, Fossanova Abbey
Have you ever wondered why pink or rose is used as a liturgical colour for the third Sunday of Advent and fourth Sunday of Lent?
The more popular explanations run something like this: the brightness of rose is meant to “encourage” us to persevere unto the happiness of Christmas and Easter, or simply that pink symbolizes the rejoicing which each Sunday represents, since “gaudete” (3rd Sunday of Advent) and “laetare” (4th Sunday of Lent) both mean “rejoice.”
A closeup of Roman rosacea
While these meanings can certainly be drawn as an interpretation of the colour, the historical origin of these vestments is much more fascinating. But first, what exactly is this colour?
In Latin, this shade is called rosacea, meaning “rose-like,” further indicating its relation to the deeper red colour of roses. In a vestment of true rosacea, the base colour of the fabric is actually that vibrant shade of red, like that of rose petals; however, subtle threads of white, gold, or silver are interwoven into the vestment’s embroidered patterns such that from a distance, the hue of red appears lighter. In Rome itself, the redness of rosacea vestments shines through, such that the colour is more like that of a late sunset than the light pink more familiar to us.
The day takes the name laetare (“rejoice!”) from the Introit chant (or “Entrance Antiphon” in today’s parlance) of the Mass. The text of the introit is taken from Isaiah 66:10 and Psalm 22:1, and runs as follows:
Laetare, Jerusalem, et conventum facite omnes qui diligitis eam; gaudete cum laetitia, qui in tristitia fuistis, ut exsultetis, et satiemini ab uberibus consolationis vestrae. Laetatus sum in his quae dicta sunt mihi: in domum Domini ibimus!
Rejoice, Jerusalem, and assemble, all you that love her; rejoice with joy, you who were in sadness, that you may exult be filled from the breasts of your consolation. I rejoiced when they said unto me: let us go to the house of the Lord!
Like it’s analogous counterpart in Advent, Gaudete Sunday (gaudete is another word for “rejoice”; taken from the Introit “Rejoice in the Lord always…”), the mood of the day is festive, a sharp contrast with the sobriety of penitential seasons. Yet this joyfulness shared by both Sundays is not enough to explain why the Church vests herself in rosacea. To understand, we must examine that venerable Lenten tradition called the Roman Stations and delve deep into the history of Christianity.
The Roman Stations are of ancient usage: each “station” is one of Rome’s oldest churches. When Christianity became legal after three centuries of persecution, the Church went on the offensive to counteract the innumerable pagan feasts, often celebrated with large public processions. Christians in Rome developed rival processions to holy sites across the City while singing litanies, and after arriving at a particular “station”, the Pope or one of his senior Cardinals would celebrate Mass at that church. Eventually, the entire season of Lent became like one penitential procession throughout the City, and each day was assigned a station. If one reads older missals or breviaries, one can find the Italian name of the Roman Station (i.e., Santa Maria in Trastevere, San Lorenzo in Panisperna, San Pietro ad Vincula, etc.) under the heading for each day of Lent. In recent years, this practice of Station Masses has been revived, and one of Rome’s auxiliary bishops will lead the stational procession and liturgy of the day.
The Basilica of Santa Croce in Gerusalemme, Rome
The Roman Station for Laetare Sunday is Santa Croce in Gerusalemme. This basilica is famous for housing relics of the Passion, including one beam of the Cross (hence the name “Holy Cross”), the spear of Longinus (which pierced the side of Christ), thorns laid on Christ’s head, nails of the crucifixion, and the Title (the inscription “Jesus of Nazareth, King of the Jews” placed over Christ’s head). Before being converted into a church, it was a villa (the ancient Sessorian Palace) owned by Saint Helena (Emperor Constantine’s mother), who made a famous voyage to the Holy Land to find the instruments of the Passion. When she learned that a temple to Venus had been erected on Calvary to prevent Christian devotion, she ordered it demolished, and behold, under the rubble was found the holy relics, just as the local Christians had claimed. In addition to these, she brought back to Rome a big heap of soil from Calvary. Helena then transformed the Sessorian Palace into a shrine for the relics, and laid the soil of Jerusalem under the mosaic floor. Hence the appellation in Gerusalemme: one who steps into this basilica literally steps onto the ground of Jerusalem. To this day, one can venerate the relics of the Passion in this church.
Pope Francis grants a Golden Rose to Our Lady of Aparecida, Brazil
When the Papacy grew in prestige, it became custom for Popes, at their discretion, to send a Golden Rose (a sculpture of a rose fashioned of real gold) to a royal Catholic personage in recognition of his or her patronage and service to the Church. In recent years, Popes have awarded it to persons as well as to papal basilicas of great importance. Historical recipients include Isabella I of Castille (1493), Catherine de’ Medici (1548), the Cathedral of Siena (1658), the Sanctuary of Our Lady at Fatima (1965), and the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception in Washington DC (2008). Often decorated with precious jewels, each Golden Rose is in fact a reliquary containing pieces of the True Cross. The rose was chosen because of its mystical symbolism: Christ is the “flower of the field and the lily of the valleys” (Song of Songs 2:1), while in Isaiah 11:1, the prophecy reads: “There shall come forth a rod out of the root of Jesse, and a flower shall rise up out of his root.” The rose itself, though beautiful and fragrant, still has its thorns. In its image is encapsulated the confluence of pain and splendour, of terror and beauty; like little strands of silver and gold woven into a field of blood-red fabric, the rose symbolizes the hidden joy of Christ’s triumph even in the midst of his suffering. Because of this connection to the Passion, the Popes blessed the Golden Rose on Laetare Sunday at the Station of the day: Santa Croce in Gerusalemme.
The relics of the Passion at Santa Croce, Rome
Laetare Sunday became so associated with the blessing of the Golden Rose at Rome that the Popes adopted rose-colored vestments as part of the day’s celebration; because this day hosted such a special event, the bright rosacea matched the festive character demanded by the Introit text and the blessing of the Rose. Even the Gospel for the day in the older Roman Rite– the multiplication of loaves and fishes– carries the theme of happy abundance. Laetare Sunday became a brief “break” from Lenten austerity, and in time, Gaudete Sunday in Advent analogously adopted this parallel function until it too received the privilege of rosacea vestments. From Rome, this practice spread to the Western Church at large.
All these seemingly varied facts– the Golden Rose, the Roman Stations, the relics of the Passion, Saint Helena, Laetare Sunday– all these are represented in the use of rosacea vestments. These are the roots which inform the details of a particular liturgical celebration. Our liturgical customs are almost never just random actions adopted spontaneously; they are often responses to the real historical situations in which our forebears in the faith found themselves. May we never lose sight of the profound and beautiful origins of our liturgies– for through these little details, we unite ourselves with the faithful of ages past and pray as they did.
Saint Thomas Aquinas on "Intercession" | Year of Prayer 2024
By Joey Belleza, PhD (Cantab.)
The fourth part of prayer according to Saint Thomas Aquinas is intercession. This first of all acknowledges that prayer cannot be a singular conversation between me and God, rooted in a mere “personal relationship” with the Lord and divorced from the community of believers. Rather, intercession acknowledges the shared fraternity of the entire people of God. Christ’s command to the disciples to love one another is to be taken seriously, and this mandate is fulfilled every time we pray with and for one another. Thus the petitions which we mentioned in the previous reflection cannot only express personal desires; they must be ultimately be directed to the good of our family, our friends, and the whole Christian community at large.
Moreover, this notion of community extends beyond the Church here on earth; it also extends to the Holy Souls in purgatory, as well as to the angels and saints in heaven. Thus we are called to pray for the faithful departed, that their temporary purgation might soon end; then, with the saints and angels, they will be able to go directly before the Lord’s presence and intercede for us here on earth. This is why the Church has always promoted the veneration of saints, knowing that their prayers rise with great efficacy before the throne of God, because their merits—which are the merits of Christ—redound to our benefit here on earth. Prayer cannot be merely personal, but must participate in the unified cry of praise to the God who made all things.
This is illustrated concretely through the chanting of the Litany of the Saints in the Church’s most solemn occasions. At baptisms, at ordinations, at the Easter Vigil, at the transfer of a deceased pope’s body to Saint Peter’s Basilica, at his funeral, and at the Installation Mass of his successor, the Litany of the Saints summons the entire host of heaven to the Church’s aid. In moments of joy and in moments of morning, we beg the saints for their prayers, knowing that they who now live in perfect communion with Christ are heard by him. Thus, as we say in every Mass, with the angels, saints, and our brothers and sisters in Christ, “we join in their unending hymn of praise,” “for the praise and glory of God’s name, for our good and the good of all his holy Church.”
Saint Thomas Aquinas on "Petition" | Year of Prayer 2024
By Joey Belleza, PhD (Cantab.)
The second part of the Catechism’s definition of prayer, “the requesting of good things from God,” is exactly what petition means. Indeed, for Saint Thomas Aquinas, petition is the very essence of prayer. While all four parts of prayer make our address to God whole and complete, petition takes the former two parts (oration and thanksgiving) and makes our cry truly unique and particular by placing a concrete request before God. For Saint Thomas, a true prayer “implores a superior” and is directed toward “determinate things,” such as “earthly benefits” for oneself and for others. More than just calling out to God and giving thanks for past deeds, a true prayer from the heart looks ahead, confidently trusting that the Lord who provided in the past will continue to provide for present and future needs.
Thus, prayer does not only involve a general reaching out to God, nor a mere commemoration of past events, but must be embodied in the present moment by asking something of the Lord. Thus, the contingency of our very existence, which is more implicit in oration, is made clear and exact when we formulate a petition. It grounds and radicalizes the humility expressed in our first cry to God, for through our petitions, we acknowledge our specific needs in the here and now.
One of the most notable aspects of the liturgical reform after the Second Vatican Council is the reintroduction of collective petitions in the Mass. Such petitions had always been part of Mass, but in the course of history their usage came to be confined to the liturgy of Good Friday. Now, at each Mass, we bring our concrete needs collectively to God in the form of the Prayers of the Faithful or bidding prayers, so that the fruits of the Mass might be extended to our families, our communities, to the whole Church, and to the world at large.
Yet, as just as petition forms the essence of prayer in general, it is also central to the Mass itself, our highest prayer. Let us take the Roman Canon, or Eucharistic Prayer 1 as an example. Before the consecration, the priest says, “Be pleased, O God, we pray, to bless, acknowledge, and approve this offering in every respect; make it spiritual and acceptable, so that it may become for us the Body and Blood of your most beloved Son, our Lord Jesus Christ.” And again after the consecration, “In humble prayer we ask you, almighty God: command that these gifts be borne by the hands of your holy Angel to your altar on high in the sight of your divine majesty, so that all of us, who through this participation at the altar receive the most holy Body and Blood of your Son, may be filled with every grace and heavenly blessing.” Thus the very words of Christ which effect his sacramental presence are “clothed,” as it were, with our own petitions.
In the next reflection, we consider the final part of prayer: intercession.
The coming months will lead us to the opening of the Holy Door, with which we will begin the Jubilee. I ask you to intensify your prayer to prepare us to live well this event of grace, and to experience the strength of God’s hope. Therefore, today we begin the Year of Prayer; that is, a year dedicated to rediscovering the great value and absolute need for prayer in personal life, in the life of the Church, and in the world. We will also be helped by the resources that the Dicastery for Evangelization will make available.
In these days, let us pray especially for Christian unity, and let us never tire of invoking the Lord for peace in Ukraine, Israel and Palestine, and in many other parts of the world: it is always the weakest who suffer the lack of it. I am thinking of the little ones, of the many injured and killed children, of those deprived of affection, deprived of dreams and of a future. Let us feel the responsibility to pray and build peace for them!
In the previous reflection, we considered the first part of prayer, oration, as a posture of humility before the God to whom we raise our minds and hearts. In this refleciton, we consider a second part of prayer according to the division of Saint Thomas Aquinas: thanksgiving.
Whereas oration signifies a general calling on the name of the Lord, thanksgiving gives more concreteness and specification to our cry. We explicitly acknowledge God’s greatness by recalling the many wonderful things he has done for his people throughout the ages. Thanksgiving is thus tied to memory, and our cry to God is always accompanied by memorializing something real which God has accomplished for us. From childhood we are taught to thank people for what they have done for us, no matter how big or small the deed; how much more should we express our thanks to the God who holds us and all creation in being at every instant?
The notion of thanksgiving is so central to Christian prayer that it gives its name to the very sacrament of Christ’s Body and Blood. Our word “Eucharist,” derived from the Greek eucharistia, means “thanksgiving.” At each Mass, we are reminded that Christ “gave thanks” before blessing the bread and wine; and this is again linked to the notion of memory, for Christ commanded the Apostles and all future priests to “do this” in his remembrance. Memory and thanksgiving make the presence of the Lord real.
In the next reflection, we will consider petition.
