Original Art: Four More Pieces

Here are the fruits of my labor for the last week or so.

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“The Madonna of the Vallicella,” photo taken by artist. The chief Marian icon associated with the Oratory of St. Philip Neri. This is a smaller study for what I hope will one day be a larger piece.

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“Our Lady of Walsingham,” photo taken by artist. Included are the arms of (top to bottom): on the left, the Oxford Oratory, Cardinal Newman, and the Cardinal Duke of York, and on the right, Our Lady of Walsingham, St. John Fisher, and St. Edward the Confessor.

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“St. Dominic,” photo taken by artist. Dedicated to all the wonderful Dominicans in my life.

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“The Basilica of Saints Catherine and Lucy,” photo taken by artist. Very pleased with how this turned out, as it’s my first largely free-drawn project, and my first without any use of a model.

The Uncreated Splendor of this Day

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Transfiguration, Fra Angelico. Convento di San Marco, Florence. (Source)

I am currently engaged in an argument on Facebook over whether the Transfiguration or Pentecost is the most Sophiological Feast of the Church. Although I hold that the Descent of the Holy Spirit upon Our Lady and the Apostles in the Cenacle is, in fact, the most Sophiological event commemorated on the Kalendar, I’m willing to concede that today’s liturgy is refulgent with the splendor of Eternal Wisdom. I had the opportunity to attend a Solemn High Mass, complete with asperges and vesting at the chair. All the propers, all the readings, and all the prayers were as so many lights set one by one upon the altar, until their glow was consumed in the Uncreated Light of the Eucharist.

Consider the Propers. At the Introit, we pray:

Illuxerunt coruscationes tuae orbi terrae: commota est et contremuit terra. Quam dilecta tabernacula tua, Domine virtutum! concupiscit, et deficit anima mea in atria Domini.

Your lightening illumined the world; the earth quivered and quaked. How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord of Hosts! My soul years and pines for the courts of the Lord.

Here, the Church introduces us to one of the great motifs of this holy feast: light. And not just any light. A totally beautiful, all-pervading illumination. The whole of creation responds to this light, and we who have the grace of observing it are inspired to think of the eternal “dwelling place” and “courts of the Lord” [Ps. 82:2-3].

St. Peter takes up this theme, writing to us in his epistle:

And we have the word of prophecy, surer still, to which you do well to attend, as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts. [2 Peter 1:19]

The Prince of the Apostles knows that the Light of Lights, glimpsed first on Tabor, enkindles the hearts of all Prophets. That is why Our Lord appears there with two of the greatest Prophets. That is why the Holy Ghost, “who has spoken through the Prophets,” descends upon the assembly to announce the voice of the Father [Nicene Creed]. Yet even the light of Tabor will fade before the dawn of the Eschatonthe “morning star” of the Holy Spirit that “rises in your hearts” [2 Peter 1:19].

Moving on, we come to a Gradual in which the words of David are taken up by the whole Church as she addresses her Spouse with intimate delight:

Speciosus forma prae filiis hominum: diffusa est gratia in labiis tuis.
V. Eructavit cor meum verbum bonum: dico ego opera mea Regi.

Fairer in beauty are You than the sons of men; grace is poured out upon Your lips.
V. My heart overflows with a goodly theme; as I sing my ode to the King.

If you wanted to make the argument that the Transfiguration is the most Sophianic feast, the Alleluia would be particularly pertinent. For we pray the words of the Seventh Chapter of the Book of Wisdom (words, I might add, that are usually read in the feminine and applied to Our Lady):

Alleluia, alleluia. V. Candor est lucis aeternae, speculum sine macula, et imago bonitatis illius. Alleluia.

Alleluia, alleluia. V. He is the refulgence of eternal light, the spotless mirror, and the image of His goodness. Alleluia.

These prayers are like steps to the Temple. For, can we not see in all of these verses the very picture of the Last and Glorious Day? Are we not cast off into a vision of the Heavenly Courts, and of the Everlasting House of God? The Offertory confirms our path and calls to mind our mystical destination, where, by the Epiclesis and Consecration, we shall soon worship the Eucharistic God. We pray the words of Psalm 111:

Gloria et divitiae in domo eius: et iustitia eius manet in saeculum saeculi, alleluia.

Wealth and riches shall be in His house; His generosity shall endure forever. Alleluia.

But the Communion Verse warns us with a passage from St. Matthew:

Visionem, quam vidistis, nemini dixeritis, donec a mortuis resurgat Filius hominis.

Tell the vision you have seen to no one, till the Son of Man has risen from the dead.

Whenever we are privileged enough to enter into a Sophianic mystery, the Blessed Mother is never far away. Nor can she be ignored in this, the month of her Sorrowful and Immaculate Heart, the month in which we celebrate her Glorious Assumption and her Queenship over all Heaven. We should be extra attentive to her quiet presence. Thus, in this Communion verse, we learn to be like Mary. For, “Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart” [Luke 2:19 ESV]. That is the rule Jesus teaches to the Apostles who witnessed His Transfiguration. This, too, is an expression of Holy Wisdom, in the virtue of Prudence. An experience of such mystical consolation, like the Mustard Seed we learned about in Monday’s Gospel, would one day grow into an enormous tree where “the birds of the air come, and dwell in the branches thereof,” [Matt. 13:32]. But first, it had to be watered by the Blood of Christ.

So must we. If we are to make good use of the many graces we receive, we must offer them back up to Christ to receive His Blessing. Only He can make our hearts Eucharistic like His own; only He can send the Spirit to enkindle our souls with charity and wisdom; only He can impart the Uncreated Light that He first manifested on Mount Tabor.

 

Original Art: First Four Pieces

As part of my August challenge, I’ve gone back to painting. It’s been wonderful. Here are the first four works I have created. Apologies for the skewed black borders – some of the pages are a little warped from the watercolors. At this point, I’m primarily trying to get back my sea-legs, so to speak. Hopefully soon I’ll be able to move away from models and into more imaginative, creative territory. For now, I’m happy with the start I’ve made.

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“Guardian Angel.” Photo taken by artist.

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“Cardinal Newman’s Coat of Arms.” Photo taken by artist.

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“La Chiesa del Volto Santo di Gesù.” Photo taken by artist. A riff on the Gesù proper. I worked from a photo and added my own design details.

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“The Papess.” Photo taken by artist. I used the Marseilles Tarot as my starting model, and made various changes. The Papess is one of my favorite cards, and I prefer the earlier, Christian versions to the orientalist pagan “High Priestess” that Pamela Colman Smith and A.E. Waite bequeathed to us.

A Challenge in Honor of the Sophianic Heart of Mary

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Sorrowful and Immaculate Heart of Mary, pray for us sinners. (Source).

August is consecrated to the Sorrowful and Immaculate Heart of Mary. Thus, it is a month in which the Church invites us to peer into the profound and luminous abyss of light at the very center of the Mother of God’s Sophianic life. In celebration of this occasion, I’ve decided to dedicate myself to producing or working on something creative every day for the rest of the month. Today, I have already written one poem and started an art project. The latter is especially exciting for me, as it’s been years since I last produced any real art. Too long, really. Pray for me in this sophiological endeavor! I would recommend the same challenge to any Catholic hoping to redeem this particular time.

On the Birthday of Cardinal Baronius

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The Venerable Cardinal himself. This portrait is one of the few where his Cardinalatial arms can be glimpsed, on the cover of a book in the foreground. (Source).

Readers of this blog will learn with no surprise that, having finished Lady Amabel Kerr’s biography of the Venerable Cardinal Baronius, my admiration for this great Oratorian has increased tenfold. As I have concluded the volume, so lovingly edited and reprinted by Mediatrix Press, on the very birthday of the illustrious historian, I thought I might reproduce here two extended passages from Baronius’s correspondence that I found particularly edifying.

The first passage is taken from a letter that Baronius wrote to one Justin Calvin. I have thus far been unable to locate much further information about said Calvin, unrelated, I think, to the heresiarch Reformer. Baronius’s Annales and extended correspondence with Justin led to the latter’s eventual conversion. Calvin (or Justus Baronius Calvinus, as he was called once he added Baronius’s name to his own) went on to become a priest and author of, among other works, an Apologia that justified his conversion. God manifestly works in mysterious ways within the long lives of religious orders. He is inordinately fond of strange and unintended coincidences.

Baronius writes to the young convert:

I return many thanks to the great and most high God, whose tender mercies, as sings David, are over all His works, for having called you out of darkness into His marvellous light. No benefit, no grace can be greater than this, so see that you cherish it carefully and guard it jealously. Do not indulge in paeans of victory; but rather remember that exhortation of the Apostle to walk circumspectly, not as unwise but as wise, redeeming the time because the days are evil…When the devil has been overthrown, he is apt to rise up with renewed vigour, and assault his former conqueror more violently than ever. Our Lord tells us of the wicked spirit who, having gone out of a man, did not rest, but fetched seven other spirits more wicked than himself, and retook by fraud the soul whence he had been driven…Be sure that he will seek you who have escaped him and are now fighting in the ranks of the Church. He may not betray his designs, for he fears lest Saul-converted into Paul by his reconciliation to the Church-should by the first of divine love deal destruction on the lies by which he is wont to overcome men. You, a soldier of Jesus Christ, beware, and lose not hold on the shield of faith which you have taken up. Be master of yourself, overcome yourself, and take heed that you, who were once in the employ of the prince of darkness, be not ashamed of being enrolled under the banner of Christ your Captain…You have, however, no real cause for fear, but only for joy. Rejoice if you are found worthy to suffer anything for the Catholic faith and in defence of the truth. I showed your letter to our Supreme Pastor, who rejoiced to hear the bleating of his one-time lost sheep, who has been found worthy to hear the voice of the Shepherd. He is addressing to you an Apostolic letter, by which he embraces you as if with extended arms, and by his written words places you on his shoulders rejoicing. In him you will always find a true pastor and father. (Kerr 295-96).

There is much rich advice here for any convert. Baronius also displayed his perennial wisdom when he replied to a number of fellow Cardinals who censured the liberty with which he defended the independence of the Church against the claims of various princes and potentatesabove all, the King of Spain. His response is inspiring for anyone who hopes to engage in the life of the mind. We read:

It behoves me to imitate our Lord and Master Jesus Christ, of whom the Gospel says that He taught as one having authority and not as the scribes, which means that He preached with truth and liberty, whereas they, in their adulation of Herod, yielded to that king’s taste in everything. Far be it from me, I repeat, to write like the scribes, and not declare the truth freely as did Christ. After Him I turn to the holy fathers of the Church, whose example, in writing, it behoves me to follow. In their maintenance of the truth in the face of those who attacked it, they displayed unbending constancy of soul. They did not make use of cringing, diluted, soft expressions, but, on the contrary, employed a language both grand and strong, mingling with it a sharpness of censure which converted their sentences into so many flashes of lightning. If you look through the Annals you will find scarcely a year in which some such example is not cited.

By studying the fathers and relating their acts I have by habit adopted their manner of speaking, which should not, in my opinion, be despised, for such speech is bestowed as a gift of the Spirit rather than obtained by human learning. When dealing with heretic or schismatic innovators, or else with princes who corrupt ecclesiastical discipline by their violation of the laws of the Church, or endeavour by their tyranny to reduce her to servitude, I have acquired the habit of writing with the indiscretion which you censure. The words of the prophet, “Cry, cease not, lift up thy voice like a trumpet, and show my people their wicked doings,” keep resounding in my ears as if from heaven. When Eugenius IV was made Pope, St. Bernard exhorted him to nominate Cardinals who should act as John did towards Herod, Moses towards the Egyptians, Phineas towards the fornicators, Elias towards the idolaters, Eliseus towards misers, Peter towards liars, Paul towards blasphemers, and, finally, as our Lord Himself acted towards traffickers in the temple. In other words he urged the Pope to choose men armed with zeal against sinners, who should act everywhere and in every way in such a manner as to sweep away the workers of iniquity. Such is the model drawn for us by the Holy Ghost, and if we do not conform ourselves to it we shall be convicted of deformity. (Kerr 318-20).

These are just some of the words which the Venerable Cardinal let slip as so much nectar from his pen and tongue. He was truly one of the greatest scholars that the Church has ever produced, and he revolutionized the discipline of ecclesiastical history. Yet Baronius always saw the Annales as a secondary work to the simple task of salvation. His humility was legendary, and Kerr’s portrait of Baronius captures this peculiar virtue in all its many expressions.

Fénelon writes somewhere that we are all saved with our disposition. And Baronius’s scholarly predilections color his devotional life. Kerr tells us of one of his favorite prayers in a brief but vivid scene:

It may be said that he never wasted a moment of that rare though precious time when it was permitted him to turn his thoughts directly to God. While driving about in his coach he used to pull down the blinds and give himself over unrestrainedly to the things of the soul, bidding his companion recall him to himself if anything occurred which required his attention. When thus shut into darkness he usually repeated the Holy Name over and over again, or else dwelt lovingly on his favourite interjection, “Eternitas, eternitas,” words which were but the epitome of his ceaseless longing for death and the state beyond the grave. (Kerr 282).

Baronius teaches us to use time—that is, our place in historywell. May we follow in his glorious footsteps and one day enjoy with him the eternity he so ardently desired.

Elsewhere: A New Anglo-Catholic Blog

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“Ordination,” by Norman Blamey, 1956. (Source)

My friend, Archbishop Mark Haverland, Primate of the Anglican Catholic Church, has just started a new blog called “Anglican Catholic Liturgy and Theology.” You really get what it says on the tin with this one. For those of us with an interest in Anglo-Catholic history, theology, and practice, Archbishop Haverland’s blog will no doubt prove to be a great resource.

The Vampirologist: Dom Augustin Calmet OSB

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Vera Effigies Augustini Calmet Abbatis Senonensis. (Source).

I was recently asked by the administrator of Catholics from the Crypt to write a brief introduction to Dom Augustin Calmet, Abbot-General of the Congregation of St. Vanne. My qualifications for this task are minimal but, I think, sufficient. First, I know a little about Calmet, which is, sadly, more than many can say. He is an unfairly overlooked figure in our religious and cultural landscape. Secondly, I hope to write my Master’s Thesis on Calmet’s Histoire Universelle, though of course the actual process of research might change my direction. For the time being, I am glad of the challenge, and will likely turn this into the first of a series of short biographies of weird religious figures.

Dom Calmet, born on the 26th of February, 1672, in the then-Duchy of Bar (now Lorraine, France) had a long and impressive career. Entering religious life at the Benedictine Priory of Breuil, he moved around over the years to obtain his education at various abbeys. His itinerary reads like an honor roll of some of the finest establishments of the Franco-German monastic intelligentsia: St. Mansuy, St. Èvre, Munster, Mouyenmoutier, Lay-Saint-Christophe, St. Leopold. Yet the two monasteries most closely associated with his career are Senones Saint-Pierre and Vosges, where he eventually died a holy death.

He achieved widespread scholarly respect for his work in three different fields. First, Calmet distinguished himself as an Exegete. His Biblical method differed from more classical forms of exegesis by focusing entirely on the literal meaning of the text; this exposed him to criticism, even amidst the general acclaim which the book and its abridgements garnered.

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Title page of Book I of his most famous work on Vampires. (Source).

Second, he became an eminent author of sacred and profane history. While my own interest lies most heavily with his Histoire Universelle (1735-47), Calmet also devoted considerable attention to more specific topics. It should come as no surprise, given the libraries to which he had access, that he devoted special care to the region which bore him. His titles include History of the Famous Men of Lorraine (1750), Dissertation on the Highways of Lorraine (1727), Genealogical History of the House of Châtelet (1741), and posthumous histories of both Senones (1877-81) and Munster (1882).

However, Calmet achieved lasting fame for his extremely popular work on Vampires: first, Dissertations on the Apparitions of Angels, Demons, and Spirits, and on the Revenants and Vampires of Hungary, Bohemia, Moravia, and Silesia (1746) He later expanded the text into his famous Treatise on the Apparitions of Spirits and on the Vampires or Revenants of Hungary, of Moravia, &c. in 1752. These texts were, to the best of my knowledge, the first attempt to apply scientific rigor to the tales of the undead then current throughout Europe.

The books were a huge hit, and remain widely respected by occult writers today. To quote one source:

Re-released in 1748, with the most complete edition in 1751, this book is considered to be [the] authoritative treatment on the subject, containing an unprecedented collection of ghostly stories of revenants. It was a best seller for the period, quickly translated into German and Italian for a broader audience. Calmet’s tone considers the possibility of vampires with a certain ambiguity, possibly in light of the larger body of his publications for the church. Still, this is widely regarded as the starting point of all vampiric literature.

 

The work garnered critical attention from no less a figure than Voltaire. As that eminent source, Wikipedia, relates, Voltaire wrote of Calmet with no small astonishment:

What! It is in our 18th century that there have been vampires! It is after the reign of Locke, of Shaftesbury, of Trenchard, of Collins; it is under the reign of d’Alembert, of Diderot, of Saint-Lambert, of Duclos that one has believed in vampires, and that the Reverend Priest Dom Augustin Calmet, priest, Benedictine of the Congregation of Saint-Vannes and Saint-Hydulphe, abbot of Senones, an abbey of a hundred thousand livres of rent, neighbor of two other abbeys of the same revenue, has printed and re-printed the History of Vampires, with the approbation of the Sorbonne, signed by Marcilli!

[NB: translation is my own]

We can only imagine what conversation transpired between the two thinkers when Voltaire stayed at Senones in 1754, only a few years before the abbot’s death.

It is perhaps unusual that a monk who was, by all accounts, part of the same intellectual circles as the Maurist Enlighteners and the Philosophes would take to such a strange subject. Calmet certainly saw himself as partaking of that wider project. He writes in his preface to the Treatise,

My goal is not at all to foment superstition, nor to maintain the vain curiosity of Visionaries, and of those who believe without examination all that one tells them, as soon as they find therein the marvelous and the supernatural. I do not write but for those reasonable and unprejudiced spirits, who examine things seriously and with sang-froid; I do not speak but for those who do not give their consent to known truths but with maturity, who know to doubt things uncertain, to suspend their judgment in things doubtful, and to refute that which is manifestly false. (Calmet ii).

[NB: translation is my own]

Perhaps we should not be so surprised. After all, the religious history of Europe is peppered with eccentric and erudite men drawn to esoteric studies. And by the time that Dom Calmet died in 1757, the French monastics had not yet reached the height of their oddity. That would come later, with the well-traveled and thoroughly bizarre Swedenborgian and Martinist monk Antoine-Joseph Pernety, whom I hope to someday investigate more thoroughly.

The Revolution changed all that. No longer could monks live their lives freely, let alone attempt serious academic inquiry. It would take the genius of men like Dom Prosper Guéranger to restore the French Benedictines to their former glory.

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Senones Abbey today. The monastery was dissolved by Revolutionary forces in 1793, then later sold off as State Property and converted into a textile mill. This desecration continued until 1993, when what was left of the abbey became a Monument historique. (Source).

Baronius on Religious Writing

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Portrait of Cesar Cardinal Baronius. (Source)

In a recent post, I quoted a letter sent by de Marquais, Abbot of St. Martin’s, to Cesar Baronius about humility and trust in the Providence of God whenever our work seems discouraging. The source I used, the Mediatrix Press edition of Lady Amabel Kerr’s biography of Baronius, has been a great read thus far. In the same chapter, I also found this excellent passage from the Annals, presumably also translated by Lady Kerr herself. She takes it from the dedication of the sixth volume of the Annals.

“No man, however distinguished in intellect or excellent in virtue, is sufficient of himself to handle sacred things. This is clearly demonstrated in Scripture by the example of that artificer who, though employed on only the mechanical structure of the place wherein God was to be worshipped, was declared by Moses to be thereby specially united to divine things. ‘The Lord has filled Bezaleel with the Spirit of God,’ said he, ‘with wisdom and understanding and knowledge and learning, and to work in gold, silver and brass, and in engraving stones and in carpenter’s work. Whatever can be devised artificially He hath given his hand.’ Yet Moses adds that even this work, so well done by aid of the Holy Spirit, was not to be used for God until it had been blessed. If then he who handled only the materials intended for the future service of God had to be himself given to God, how much more is expected of him on whom falls the burden of expounding those things which belong to the truth of the Church. Without doubt he should be ever filled with the Spirit of truth, so that he may complete his work standing firm in the truth.” (qtd. in Kerr 156-57)

As someone who hopes to someday write actual theology, I find these words both challenging and profound. I love the idea that a book can be a kind of little Tabernacle. I hope to carry out my own workacademic, creative, and whatever I can throw up on this blogin just such a spirit.

Too often, it seems that contemporary theologians treat their field as part of the Humanities rather than Divinity. They are overly concerned with political questions, or theories of signification and interpretation, or some such narrow province. On the other hand, some would go too far and forget the other side of the truth that Baronius expounds through his metaphor. The theologian, like Bezaleel, prepares a human work fit for a divine dwelling, but it is indeed a human work. It should speak a human language.

The proper posture, I think, is somewhere between the two. In other words—theologians must remember that their vocation, like all vocations, is theandric. The Sophiological Renaissance led by Michael Martin and the other folks over at Jesus: The Imagination seems to be a good example of that balance applied to actual religious writing. So is the deeply Eucharistic monastic theology of Dom Mark Daniel Kirby. In both of these (very different) cases, the writers achieve the divinity-humanity balance in their theology by hewing close to the sacraments and the sacramental worldview. As Sergius Bulgakov said, “one should imbibe theology from the bottom of the Eucharistic Chalice.”

I like to think that Cardinal Baronius might agree.

The Poetry of St. Philip Neri

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He would be 502 years old today. (Source).

In honor of St. Philip Neri’s birthday today, I reproduce here the translations of two of his three surviving sonnets, taken from the Liturgia Latina collection of Oratorian materials. That site reports that the translations from the original Italian are by Fr Henry Ignatius Dudley Ryder, of the Birmingham Oratory.

I.

The soul derives from God her being high,
In one keen instant out of nothing brought,
Not painfully through second causes wrought;
How should she, then, submit to things that die?

To hope, desire, to joy, to enmity;
To her confusion by these guides mistaught,
Of One confronting her she knoweth naught,
One glimpse of Whom would lift her to the sky.

How should the baser nature dare rebel
Against the higher, nor, as meet, consent
To do its bidding, but essay to quell?

Why prison bars the aspiring soul prevent
From leaving earth, above the stars to dwell,
To die to self, to live to God, intent.

II.

I love, and loving must love ceaselessly,
So whole a conquest in me love hath won;
My love to Thee, Thy love to me doth run,
In Thee I live, and Thou dost live in me.

Surely the day is nigh when I may flee
From this dark gaol, for ever to have done
With vanity and blind oblivion,
Where, exiled from myself, I used to be.

Earth laughs and sky, green branches and soft air,
The winds are quiet, and the water still,
No sun before has shed so bright a day;

The gay birds sing, love’s joy is everywhere;
My heart alone has no responsive thrill,
My powers flag and shrink from joy away.