Maniples, Amices and Cassocks (from New Liturgical Movement post)

Fr. Richard Cipolla has done us all a great service by translating a fantastic article by Alessando Gnocchi: "Traces of the Hegelian Guillotine in the Liturgical Reform." Gnocchi is speaking primarily about the sudden disappearance of the maniple, the amice, and the cassock after the Council, and what this says about our attitude towards the world, the Church's (and the clergy's) place in the world, and the veneration of tradition. Because each vestment carries, by the force of long-developed tradition, an inherent theological meaning and is a true component of the spiritual profile of the Christian and of the priest as alter Christus, it follows that changing or discarding such vestments amounts to a redefinition of one's identity and mission. Vesture is a form of anthropology: it is not mere clothing but, in some sense, constitutes the wearer as a certain 'what' and a certain 'who'.

On the maniple:

For obscure reasons, it seems as if someone wanted to erase the memory of this vestment that originated from the mappula, the linen handkerchief that the Roman nobility wore on their left arm to wipe away tears and sweat. It was used also to give the signal to begin the combat games in the Circus.  Merear, Domine, portare manipulum fletus et doloris; ut cum exsultatione recipiam mercedem laboris, says the priest as he puts it on while vesting.  “O Lord, may I be worthy to wear the maniple of tears and suffering, so that I may receive with joy the reward of my labors.”  And once again the battle begins against the world and its prince, in which mystically the priest sweats, cries, bleeds, and does battle in so far as he is on the Cross as the alter Christus. But there needs to be that painful and manly interpenetration in the sacrifice, of which the maniple is the sign and instrument.  Meanwhile, instead, if the memory of it has been lost willingly so that one can dedicate oneself to the festal banquet of a salvation lacking any sweat and toil, then there is no place for the signs of the battle to which one must consign one’s own body.

On the amice:

Impone, Domine, capiti meo galeam salutis, ad expugnandos diabolicos incursus.  Place on my head, O Lord, the helmet of salvation so that I may conquer the assaults of the devil”. So prays the priest when, preparing for the celebration of Mass, he puts on the amice, another vestment that recalls the battle and the sacrifice, fallen into disuse in the reformed Mass.  Today, in the post-Conciliar Church, one speaks to speak, one dialogues to have a dialogue, to have an amiable conversation with the world, all made drunk by the illusory and seductive power of chattering.  There is no need any longer for a vestment like the amice that, in addition to symbolizing the helmet of the warrior, symbolizes also the castigatio vocis, or “discipline of the voice”, and banishes from the act of religion every word that is not part of ritual and, therefore, inexorably, too many.   

On the cassock:

The capacity for ritual has been lost, and, therefore, the aptitude for command has been lost, and for this reason priests have abandoned the practice of wearing the cassock as a rule.

And more generally, on the "militancy" of the Christian:

The idea of giving orders and of battle, of arms and the armature of the spirit, have been dismissed by the Christians who love to be rocked in the cradle of acedia, the most perverse of the capital sins. ... Having succumbed to the sickness of acedia, the Church has ended up seeing herself and presenting herself as a problem instead of a solution to the deepest ill of man.  When she speaks of the world she lets show forth her awareness of her incapacity to point to a way of salvation, as if she is excusing herself for having done so for so many centuries.  She has doubts about fundamental and ascetical principles themselves, and, at the very time she proclaims that she is opening up to the world, she declares herself to be incapable of knowing it, defining it, and, therefore, incapable of educating and converting it.  At the most, she makes herself available to interpret it.
        But it is not in becoming like the world or in being wedded to the language of the world that one wins over the world. It is not in the exaltation of the gesture and the word of which ritual is the “castigatio” (correction) that the world is conquered.  For the world has above all an abhorrence of itself, and it is not by secularizing himself that the Christian conquers the world.

(H/t to Fr. Z)

I will say that, although one can sympathize with Gnocchi's pessimism, there are heartening signs of a rediscovery of all of these vestments on the part of younger clergy, at least in certain parts of the Catholic world. I know (and many NLM readers know) quite a few priests who wear the cassock regularly and who don the amice even for the Ordinary Form. In fact, there is a steadily growing number who tie on the maniple, too. But there can be no question that this practice of the hermeneutic of continuity is found predominantly, almost exclusively, in the traditionalist milieu. It is truly a moment of opportunity for all the clergy in the West, even in the context of the Ordinary Form, to rediscover their soldierly part in the apocalyptic battle by wearing the symbolic vestments that remind them of who and what they are.

Anyway, just do yourself a favor and read Gnocchi's essay...

Bishop Mark Davies - Pastoral Letter for the Canonisation of S John XXIII and S John Paul II

Today in Rome two, great Saints will be recognised by the whole Church.  Two saints whose lives belong, not to a distant era, but to our own times: Saint John XXIII who died little more than half a century ago, and Saint John Paul II who died just nine years ago on the eve of this Divine Mercy Sunday.  I am aware that much will be said this weekend of the historic events of which they were part.  However, I would like us to reflect on how both of these men - from different times and places - responded wholeheartedly to their calling.  I want us to glimpse in what their greatness really consisted and how we can hope to imitate the faithfulness of these two new Saints.  

I have no doubt history will give to Saint John Paul II the title ‘John Paul the Great’ in recognition of his part in the momentous events which shaped both the world and the mission of the Church at the end of the last century and beginning of this Third Christian Millennium.  I am sure many miracles will continue to flow from his prayer for us.  However, one of his closest collaborators said the greatest miracle of Pope John Paul’s life was the way he lived each day: how he worked and used his time, his constant good humour, even during times of stress and suffering.  (Interview with Dr Joaquin Navarro Valls, 4th April 2014.)

“We see the saints praised for their great works,” a spiritual writer observed (Dom Eugene Boylan) but the only greatness which mattered to them was to live everyday in union with Christ “by faith, by love, by humility, and by a complete abandonment to His will”.  It is in such everyday faithfulness that the “miracle” of true holiness is always to be found.  The Acts of the Apostles reminds us that it was by such daily faithfulness that the first Christians made so great an impression on a hostile world (Acts 2: 42-47).

After Pope John XXIII’s death, his Secretary recorded not a list of public achievements, but rather Pope John’s

“radical humility … superhuman trust sustained by intense prayer … unquenchable and burning faith and I came to the conclusion” he wrote, “that only with Christians, priests made in this mould could the Second Vatican Council carry out its work, avoid the pitfalls, recognise the voice of the Spirit and light new Pentecostal fires”.  (Cardinal Loris Capovilla, ‘Reflections on the Second Vatican Council’.)

The words of the Apostle Peter could be repeated of both our new Saints: their faith was indeed “tested and proved like gold – only it is more precious than gold …” (I Peter 1: 7).  It was surely in the faithful living of their vocation that we can glimpse their true greatness.

Our Lord’s words in the Gospel have echoed down the centuries, and been heard anew in many hearts:

“As the Father sent me, so am I sending you” (John 20: 21).

Angelo Roncalli, who was to become Pope John, could never remember a time when he did not want to give his life in the Priesthood.  Karol Wotyla, who became Pope John Paul, had other plans; he hoped for marriage, becoming an academic and a teacher.  Gradually, however, he recognised amidst the terrors of the Nazi occupation of Poland that God was calling him to the Priesthood.  Today we must give thanks that these two men responded wholeheartedly to their vocation.

This Sunday, I ask you to pray for the priests of the future, the priests on whom the future of our Diocese depends.  I hope that in our time many young men will - like Saint John and Saint John Paul - be ready to respond wholeheartedly to this wonderful calling.  This Easter I have sent prayer cards to all the parishes with some words of Pope Francis and my own prayer for this intention.  I announced at the Chrism Mass last week the plan to establish at Shrewsbury Cathedral a ‘house for discernment’ for men considering a vocation to the priesthood.  This house will open its doors in September 2015 creating a community at the heart of our Diocese where the vocation to the Priesthood can be discerned in a year-long programme.

It is, I have been reminded, a brave plan in present conditions.  However, it is a venture I entrust to the prayer of Our Lady, Help of Christians and of St John Vianney.  Today I also entrust all our hopes for the new evangelisation of our country, for a new generation of priests and for a renewed faithfulness in all our vocations to the prayer of two Popes many of us knew and loved: Saint John XXIII and Saint John Paul II, pray for us!  Amen.

Wishing you the great joy of Easter,

+ Mark

Bishop of Shrewsbury        

Bishop Mark Davies - Homily for Easter Morning

Homily for Easter Morning 20th April 2014

The first disciples made their way to the tomb “very early on the first day of the week.” It was “still dark,” St. John observes (Jn. 20:1). Yet, the darkness in which they walked was not merely the last shades of night; it was surely the shadows of their own despair. Before the emptiness of Christ’s tomb, as the sun rose on that first Easter morning, those women and men came to see and believe. “Till this moment,” St. John notes, “they had failed to understand the teaching of scripture, that he must rise from the dead” (John 20: 10).
The English people came similarly to see and believe some fourteen centuries ago in a way which changed the way we, today, see the whole of human life. The historian Sir Arthur Bryant observed that, “The most important of all Britain’s invaders were those who came armed only with a Cross and the faith and courage that Cross gave” “they converted a savage tribal people and their rulers to Christ’s gentle creed of love and sacrifice, and to the revolutionary belief, inherent in Christianity, that every individual was a … soul of equal value in the eyes of God” (A History of Britain & the British People 1984). This was, indeed, a change from darkness to dawn. In the light of the Easter faith, the English people came to recognise the eternal value and dignity of every human person. How easily we have taken for granted the Christian civilization which was established in the earliest years of our nation. The Second Vatican Council reminded us “once God is forgotten” we are left in darkness (Gaudium et Spes n. 36) and without this faith respect for the inherent sanctity of human life and the God-given dignity of every person cannot long survive.
Today in our country many consciences struggle amid the shadows as they try to distinguish between good and evil in everything which concerns the value of human life itself. In a matter of weeks, a Bill will be brought before Parliament aimed at legalising assisted suicide. This Bill will seek to change long-established laws which uphold the sanctity of human life and protecting some of the weakest in society. It is hard to understand that, at a time when there has been so much public concern about the care of the most vulnerable in our hospitals and care homes, we would be contemplate weakening, rather than strengthening the legal protection offered to some of the weakest and most vulnerable. How much we need what Blessed John Paul II described as that “ever new light” shed by Christ on the true way of love and mercy “which our common humanity calls for” (Evangelium Vitae n.67)
In the run-up to Easter this year, the Prime Minister and other political leaders have each acknowledged publicly the difference Christianity makes to our country. At a time when the Christian contribution to our past – and, indeed, our present – is often air-brushed from memory, this is surely a welcome recognition. It is also a brave acknowledgement as an increasingly, intolerant secularism seeks to impose its grim orthodoxy on society. And yet, the difference Christianity makes must not simply be confused with the effectiveness of community projects and the generous spirit of service which Christian faith certainly inspires. Pope Francis insists the Church can never be regarded as a sort of NGO, a merely humanitarian agency. “If we do not confess Jesus Christ” the Holy Father says, we would no longer be the Church; everything we built would be like sandcastles if it were not based on our faith in Christ (Pro Ecclesia Mass 14th March 2013). So many good works flourish in our society today because they are rooted, built on Christian faith.
On Easter morning, we gather to renew the promises of our Baptism. As Christians, we are not first invited simply to do things but rather to believe something, in fact, to believe Someone! This is the faith, which in St. Paul’s words, has “brought us back to true life” (Col.3:1). Pope Francis recently wrote “I never tire of repeating the words of Pope Benedict XVI: “Being a Christian is not the result of an ethical choice or a lofty idea, but the encounter with an event, a Person, which gives life a new horizon and a decisive direction” (Evangelli Gaudium n.7). Christianity is that meeting, that encounter with Christ; the same meeting with His Cross and Resurrection to which the English people came at the beginning of their history. It is to this encounter that you and I are called anew today, as the light of our Baptismal candles are re-kindled and we stand together to profess the faith we share with all the Church.
+ Mark
Bishop of Shrewsbury