You are come out as it were to a robber with swords to apprehend me. Daily I was with you, teaching in the temple, and you laid not hands on me, and behold you hand me over to be crucified.

V. As He yet spoke, behold a crowd, and he that was called Judas came, and drew near to Jesus to kiss him. And Jesus said to him: Judas, dost thou betray the Son of man with a kiss to be crucified?

All the readings for the principle services of the Triduum are taken from the Gospel of St. Matthew; the Passion therefore stops with the cock-crow which reminds St. Peter that Christ prophesied his betrayal, and resumes in the morning service after Terce at the beginning of chapter 27. (The other three Passions, of Ss. Mark, Luke and John, are read in the second of two nocturns at Matins of Good Friday.)

The Mass continues as normal, with a few modifications similar to those of the traditional Roman Rite. The normal antiphon “after the Gospel” is sung; its text is taken with slight modifications from the Byzantine Rite, which on this same day sings these words in the place of the Cherubic hymn at the Divine Liturgy.

Thou receivest me today, Son of God, as a partaker of Thy wondrous Supper. For I will not reveal this mystery to Thy enemies; I will not I give Thee a kiss as did Judas; but as the thief, confessing to Thee: remember me, O Lord, in Thy kingdom.

In accordance with the very ancient custom that the Kiss of Peace is not given on Holy Thursday, since it was the sign by which Judas betrayed the Lord, the deacon does not sing “Pacem habete” after laying the corporal on the altar, is as usually done in the Ambrosian Rite.

The prayer “over the Offering” is the same as the Roman Secret; the Mass has a proper preface, as do most Masses in the Ambrosian Rite.

Truly it is worthy and just etc. … Through Christ our Lord. Who though He was God in heaven, descended unto the earth to cancel the sins of men; and He that had come to liberate the human race, was sold in an unlawful purchase by His servant, like a debtor and a guilty man, even the Lord; and He that judgeth the Angels, was set in the judgment of man, that He might deliver from death man, whom He Himself had made. And therefore with the Angels etc.

The Canon of the Mass is the normal Ambrosian Canon, which is in most respects fairly similar to the Roman Canon, but today is said with several very long interpolations. The first of these is in the Communicantes:

Communicating, and celebrating the most sacred day, on which Our Lord, Jesus Christ, was betrayed. Thou, o Lord, didst command us to be partakers of Thy Son, sharers of Thy kingdom, dwellers in Paradise, companions of the Angels; ever provided we keep the sacraments of the heavenly army with pure and undefiled faith. And what may we not hope of Thy mercy, we who received so great a gift, that we might merit to offer Thee such a Victim, namely, the Body and Blood of Our Lord, Jesus Christ? Who for the redemption of the world gave himself up to that holy and venerable Passion; Who instituting the form of the perennial sacrifice of salvation, first offered Himself as the Victim, and first taught that It be offered. But also venerating the memory etc.

The words “keep the sacraments of the heavenly army – caelestis militae sacramenta servemus” refer to a common pre-Christian sense of the Latin word “sacramentum – a military oath of allegiance”.

The Hanc igitur is not so much interpolated as completely rewritten.

We therefore beseech thee, o Lord, graciously attend to this offering, which we make to Thee because of the day of the Lord’s Supper, on which Our Lord, Jesus Christ, Thy Son, instituted the rite of sacrifice in the New Covenant, when He transformed the bread and wine, which Melchisedech the priest had offered as a prefiguration of the mystery that was to come, into the sacrament of His Body and Blood; and so for the course of many years, in health and safety may we merit to offer our gifts to the Thee, o Lord; and may Thou order our days in Thy peace etc.

The Qui pridie is then interpolated as follows:

Who on the day before He suffered for our salvation and that of all men, that is, on this day, reclining in the midst of His disciples and taking bread etc.

The rest of the Canon is said as normal; however, after the Nobis quoque, there follows a lengthy addition unique to the Ambrosian Rite.

We do these things, we celebrate these thing, o Lord, keeping Thy commandments: and at this inviolable communion, by the very fact that we receive the Body of the Lord, we also announce his death. But it belongeth to Thee, almighty Father, to send now Thy only begotten Son, whom Thou didst send willingly to them that sought Him not. Who though Thou art infinite and unknowable, didst also beget of Thee God infinite and unknowable; so that Thou may now grant His Body unto our salvation, by whose Passion Thou didst grant redemption to the human race. Through the same.

In the Ambrosian Rite, the fraction of the Host is done before the Our Father, accompanied by an antiphon called the Confractory, which on Holy Thursday reads as follows:

This is the Body, which shall be given up for you: this Chalice of the New Covenant is in My Blood, sayeth the Lord. As often as you shall receive these things, do this in memory of Me.

The Lord’s Prayer is then preceded by a special formula of introduction used only on this day, in place of the usual formula common to the Roman and Milanese rites.

It is His commandment, o Lord, which we follow, in Whose presence we now ask Thee. Give to the sacrifice its Author, that the faith of the matter may be fulfilled in the loftiness of the mystery; so that as we carry out the truth of the heavenly sacrifice, so we may draw in the truth of the Lord’s Body and Blood. Through the same Christ Our Lord, saying: Our Father etc.

The Transitory, the Ambrosian communion antiphon, also refers to the Passion Gospel of Matthew 26.

My soul is sorrowful even unto death: stay you here, and watch with me. Now you shall see the crowd that surroundeth me, and take flight, and I will go to be immolated for ye.

The Post-Communion prayer is different from that of the Roman Rite.

Lord, our God, grant in Thy mercy; that we who have received the Body and Blood of Thy only begotten Son may be set apart from the blindness of the faithless disciple, we who confess and worship Christ our Lord as true God and true man. Who liveth etc.

As in the Roman Rite, the Blessed Sacrament is taken to the Altar of Repose in solemn procession at the end of the Mass; afterwards, the end of vespers is sung. This consists of psalm 69, sung together with the two psalms 133 and 116 added to it, sung with a single doxology, according to a common custom of the Ambrosian Rite on feasts. The rite then concludes with four prayers, the Magnificat being omitted as noted above.

As Gregory di Pippo told in his post upon the Ambrosian Mass of Holy Thursday, the Byzantine Rite and the Ambrosian one share the same organisation for the memorial of the Lord's Last Supper: both begin by chanting vespers on which is grafted then the mass. The Roman Rite, as it is a universal rule for it, says vespers on this day just after mass. In many Medieval uses of the Roman Rite (as, for instance, in the old Parisian Rite), vespers were sung today at the communion of the Holy Thursday Mass, the postcommunion being the concluding prayer for vespers).

The major piece of the Byzantine Divine Liturgy of this day is the Grand Entrance sung at the offertory of the mass (and again at the communion):

Τοῦ Δείπνου σου τοῦ μυστικοῦ, σήμερον Υἱὲ Θεοῦ, κοινωνόν με παράλαβε· οὐ μὴ γὰρ τοῖς ἐχθροῖς σου τὸ Μυστήριον εἴπω, οὐ φίλημά σοι δώσω, καθάπερ ὁ Ἰούδας, ἀλλ' ὡς ὁ Λῃστὴς ὁμολογῶ σοι. Μνήσθητί μου Κύριε, ὅταν ἔλθῃς ἐν τῇ Βασιλείᾳ σου. Aλληλούια, αλληλούια, αλληλούια.

Of Thy mystical Supper, thou receivest me today, Son of God, as a partaker. For I will not reveal this mystery to Thy enemies; I will not I give Thee a kiss as did Judas; but as the thief, confessing to Thee: remember me, O Lord, in Thy kingdom.

The same piece have been translated since a very ancient time in the Ambrosian mass of today, and used (without the triple Alleluia, and μυστικοῦ translated by mirabili, wondrous) at the same place:

Cœnæ tuæ mirábili hódie, Fílius Dei, sócium me áccipis. Non enim inimícis tuis mystérium dicam: non tibi dabo ósculum, sicúti et Judas: sed sicut latro confiténdo te. Meménto mei, Dómine, in regno tuo.

Do not be misled by the title of this piece in the Ambrosian liturgy: the Antiphona post Evangelium is sung in fact at the beginning of the offertory.

Here is its music:



In Russian Byzantine parishes, one of the finest musical settings used for this piece is that made by Alexei Lvov (1799 † 1870), who succeeded his father as Maestro of the Imperial Chapel in St Petersburg in 1837:



*

In fact, "Of Thy mystical Supper" is not the only offertory of the Byzantine rite which has been used in the West.

During the Great Entrance (that is the offertory of the mass), the Byzantine rite uses only four pieces of singing during the year.
Probably the most ancient of these four offertories is that used at the liturgy of the Holy Saturday, borrowed from the ancient and venerable Liturgy of St James:

Let all mortal flesh be silent, and stand with fear and trembling, and meditate nothing earthly within itself. For the King of kings and Lord of lords, Christ our God, comes forward to be sacrificed, and to be given for food to the faithful. And the bands of angels go before Him with every power and dominion, the many-eyed cherubim, and the six-winged seraphim, covering their faces, and crying aloud the hymn, Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia.

According to some scholars, this piece might have been known or used in the Gallican rites after the Byzantine legation of 567, when the Emperor of Constantinople gave a part of the True Cross to the French Queen saint Radegund, for her monastery of Poitiers.

On Maundy Thursday, the Great Entrance sung is, as we have seen, "Of Thy wondrous Supper", used also by the Ambrosian rite.

The rest of the year, except the liturgies of the Presanctified, the Great Entrance is the very famous Cherubic hymn, added to the Divine Liturgy by the Emperor Justin II (565 - 578):

We who mystically represent the Cherubim, and who sing to the Life-Giving Trinity the thrice-holy hymn, let us now lay aside all earthly cares that we may receive the King of all, escorted invisibly by the angelic orders. Alleluia, Alleluia, Alleluia.

During the Middle Ages, this piece was also sung in latin at the offertory of the Roman Mass at the Royal Abbey of Saint-Denis, the royal necropolis of French kings.

*

In those holiest days, please don't forget to pray also for the unity of the Church, like our Lord Himself who prayed today for they all shall be one.

VT VNVM SINT.

Since it is Good Friday, I thought there no better day to show the following two photos which appear to show some Good Friday ceremonies taking place outside of basilica of Santa Croce -- today's station. (I cannot at this point recall where I found them.) One will note the use of the folded chasubles.



Speaking of folded chasubles, today might be an appropriate day as well -- since they were historically used on this day until the Pian Holy Week reforms -- to reprint the following article on their history and use, which I wrote in 2009.

My own thought is that folded chasubles should be restored at very least as an option. While it might seem like a simple or inconsequent thing, not only are they part of our Latin rite patrimony, their use would provide opportunities for mystagogical/liturgical catechesis around the liturgical year, penitential seasons, our vestment history and symbolism, and reminders of the same.

* * *

Use, History and Development of the "Planeta Plicata" or Folded Chasuble

by Shawn Tribe

With it being Lent, there seemed to be a natural opportunity to speak to a matter which is of some historical and liturgical interest, particularly for those interested in various details of Western liturgical history. What I am speaking of is the planeta plicata and stola latior, or, the folded chasuble and broad stole.

Now we have spoken of and shown these from time to time to some degree, but we have never condensed the matter into a single article to date, and further, when those mentions have arisen, often the same questions arise about their use. Accordingly it seemed would be of some value to make a more condensed article about the matter, particularly as we enter the time which is most associated with their former use.

I speak of "former use" for the reason that the folded chasuble and broad stole were abandoned in the Roman rite under John XXIII in the early 1960's, prior to the Second Vatican Council. (cf. Novus Rubricarum Codex, 137.) Whether this was or is desireable -- particularly given their long-standing use -- is a matter of some debate and growing consideration today, particularly as liturgical scholars and churchmen begin to re-appraise and ask questions of some of the principles which informed some of the liturgical reforms of the 20th century.

However, that particular debate is not the purpose of this article, which is rather more interested in them on the level of history and historical usages and manifestations, as well as a practical consideration of their use within the context of other Western rites and uses.

History of Planetae Plicatae, or Folded Chasubles

I. The Earlier Use of the Chasuble, Civil and Ecclesiastical

In considering the history of the planeta plicata, it seems best to begin with what is surmised about its early use, and the use of the chasuble more generally.

In our day, we are particularly accustomed to think of the chasuble as a uniquely priestly garment, and for the most part, it has developed into that, but the use of the folded chasuble certainly speaks to it not being, historically, uniquely priestly. In fact, there is thought that the chasuble is actually derived from what was originally a common form of Roman civil dress:

Nearly all ecclesiologists are now agreed that liturgical costume was simply an adaptation of the secular attire commonly worn throughout the Roman Empire in the early Christian centuries... the chasuble in particular seems to have been identical with the ordinary outer garment of the lower orders. It consisted of a square or circular piece of cloth in the centre of which a hole was made; through this the head was passed. With the arms hanging down, this rude garment covered the whole figure.

-- The Catholic Encyclopedia, "Chasuble"

The following image of Pope St. Gregory the Great standing between his father, Gordianus, and his mother Silvia, shows this dress. You will note that they are all wearing the "paenula", "casula" or chasuble in its civil form.


By a certain point (one suggestion places it at the 6th century) the chasuble became an exclusively ecclesiastical garment, but not an exclusively priestly garment. The Catholic Encyclopedia, in its entry for the chasuble, notes that "[the] chasuble, though now regarded as the priestly vestment par excellence, was in the early centuries worn by all ranks of the clergy."

Further, Archdale King in The Liturgy of the Roman Church suggests that "in some churches, chasubles were worn by acolytes until the 11th century and they are still used by the deacon and subdeacon in Advent and Lent. Their origin is ascribed by De Vert to the stational processions in Rome, when the deacons wore chasubles or 'mantles', in place of the customary dalmatics." (p. 129)

Fr. Joseph Braun, S.J., the well respected German liturgical historian and scholar, adds an additional layer of consideration about the use of the planeta within Rome and without it:

If we ask who wore the planeta, we will have to differentiate between Roman and extra-Roman usage. According to the latter [usage] only priests and bishops seem to have used it in the liturgy, whereas in Rome during the same, all clerics used it, into the 9th century. This emerges from the Roman Ordines as well as from the indication of Amalarius of Metz. The Roman Deacons were, however, only vested with the planeta until they entered the presbyterium, except for certain times, days and occasions which had a penitential character; for on these they ministered without dalmatic in a dark planeta. With the Subdeacons in Rome, as we have heard earlier, the planeta fell out of use in the 9th century by being replaced by an outer tunic modeled on the dalmatic, except for penitential times, in which they, too, continued to make use of the chasuble. With the Roman acolytes the vestment remained a bit longer, but probably not beyond the 10th century...

-- Die liturgischen Paramente in Gegenwart und Vergangenheit, p.105 (Trans. by Gregor Kollmorgen)

Braun mentions the 8th-9th century liturgical writer Amalarius of Metz on the use of the chasuble by other clerics, and at least one of those references can be found here in a translation from Amalarius' Liber Officialis: "Ministers remove their chasubles when they undertake the job of lector or cantor... The lector or cantor at his individual duty wears an alb with no chasuble..." (Trans. by Christopher A. Jones, found in the Introduction of A Lost Work of Amalarius of Metz, p. 2-3) Amalarius is known to have also spoken of the use of the folded chasuble.

The 13th century writer, William Durandus, author of the Rationale Divinorum Officiorum also spoke to the use of the folded chasuble in the third book of the aforesaid work:

...the Roman Church uses violet from the first Sunday of Advent until the Mass on the Vigil of the Nativity inclusively, and from Septuagesima until the Mass on Easter Eve exclusively of the latter, whenever the Office is of the season; except upon Maundy Thursday and Good Friday... And be it understood that upon Holy Saturday violet is to be worn at every office which has a place before Mass; with this exception, that the Deacon who blesses the Paschal Candle, and the Subdeacon who serves him, are vested respectively in a Dalmatic and Tunicle of white... But after the Blessing done, the Deacon lays aside his Dalmatic, and putting on a violet folded-chasuble keeps the same even until the beginning of Mass.

-- Chapter. XVIII, "Of the Four Colours which the Church Uses in Her Vestments"

As to the extent which the chasuble was used, it is a matter of some question. Braun suggests that:

Outside of Rome the custom of the ministri functioning in chasubles instead of dalmatics on penitential days gained acceptance only slowly. In the Carolingian era it was established there only "in some places" as we hear from Amalarius. The usage had only become general in the 12th century, and even then it was probably only the more prominent churches, the cathedrals, the large collegiate churches and the eminent monastic churches, in which on penitential days deacons and subdeacons made use of the chasuble.

-- Die liturgischen Paramente, p.105

II. How the Folded Chasuble was Manifest at Different Times

It seems best to begin with the more recent manifestations of the folded chasuble and work backwards to its earlier historical form.

When we think of the folded chasubles today, we tend to mainly think of them in their baroque form, with the front of the chasuble either folded upward or cut short:


Other examples can be found in a 1752 edition of the Caeremoniale Episcoporum which show them in the context of the feast of Candlemas:


The Gothic revival which began in the 19th century and spanned the 20th took up this form of folding as well:


Indeed the rubrics specify "planetis plicatis ante pectus", the "chasuble folded before the breast", thus formalizing that manner of folding the chasuble today.

Working our way historically backward from the present time, this form of folding is a development which was tied to the shifting form of the chasuble which gradually became less and less ample over the centuries, thereby changing the way in which this was accomplished -- and the vestments of the gothic revival, such as that seen above, while restoring a more ample form that would allow for the more ancient method, naturally adopted the present rubric of folding the chasuble.

In earlier centuries, however, the form of folding was manifest not by folding the chasuble up in the front, but rather at the sides and up to the shoulders.

Braun notes:

How the acolytes put on the chasuble, whether in a similar manner to the priests or in a different manner, we do not know; we only hear that they had to put off the vestment when they had to sing at the ambo. The deacons pulled the chasuble, when they ministered in it on penitential days, at the end of the oratio up to the shoulders and let it like this until the alleluja after the gradual. Then they removed the vestment, wound it - together with the stole, which until then hung straight down with both its ends - like a sash across back and chest to the right side and served like this until the Pope returned after Communion from the altar to the throne. Of the Subdeacons, the Primicerius of the Cantores gathered up the chasuble already at the antiphon of the introit, the others like the Deacon after the oratio. However, they ordered the chasuble somewhat different than the Deacons, that is to say in such a manner, that it formed a puff in the front, probably in order to make use of it for touching the sacred vessels and books...

It is questionable whether it also became the custom everywhere that they then gathered up the chasuble in the front as was done in Rome. It seems that in some places the subdeacon limited himself to removing it for the epistle, the deacon, however, to wearing it like a sash from the Gospel until after Communion."

-- Die liturgischen Paramente, p.105

Archdale King notes in The Liturgy of the Roman Church that:

Subdeacons lifted the chasuble up on to the shoulders and let it fall with the point on the breast, as also did the deacons when they kept it on for the Mass. Amalarius says that it was worn 'bandolier-fashion'.

The Folded Chasuble of the Deacon: Two Forms of Wear

It is important at this point to note that there are two manifestations of the folded chasuble as it pertains to the deacon; this will be important to understand a later development: the first is where it is worn up at the sides to the shoulders and let fall; and second is when it is folded yet again and then worn in a sash like form. When they were worn in each of these ways depended upon the point of time within the liturgy.

The former method has, unfortunately, turned up no depiction so far, but thankfully there is one mediaeval example which shows this sash-like, or "re-folded" manner of wearing the folded chasuble. It comes from the North-west tower of the exterior of Wells Cathedral in England:


A Word about Broad Stoles

At this point, a further word about this "bandolier" or "sash" wearing of the folded chasuble seems relevant, particularly as we prepare to consider the folded chasuble in modern usage.

In its modern expression, the folded chasuble turned into two separate vestments: the folded chasuble itself and the broad stole.

The broad stole really intends to approximate, not a stole, nor its own vestment separate from the folded chasuble, but rather the folded chasuble when it had been folded once more as we have just shown above. This is the origin of what we have come know as the "broad stole" or stola latior. (See right. The maniple has also been highlighted to complete the visual comparison.)

The reason for this development was likewise tied to the development of the chasuble itself. Just as the form of the folding of the chasuble changed from the sides to before the breast because of the newer forms, so too did the folding of it yet again into stola form likewise become an issue. Accordingly, the separate stola latior developed in order to compensate for this, thereby continuing the tradition of this sash-like vestment at particular times of the liturgy.

In point of fact, the broad "stole" is really not a stole at all then, but is worn over the stole proper of the deacon -- similar to how it was wound up with it before. An interesting point can be raised on this front.

As was mentioned in an earlier quote from Braun, originally the actual stole of the deacon was not worn in this angled, sash-like fashion; when it was, was apparently only within the context of the planeta plicata:

That the deacons put on the stole in the form of a sash only developed later. In the beginning of the 12th century it was already custom, not, however, already in the 9th century. At that time rather the deacon only on penitential days, on which he would wear the the planeta in the manner of a sash from the Gospel onwards, wound the stole around in the form of a sash, together with the planeta. From this exception then gradually developed the later rule.

-- Die liturgischen Paramente, p.138

In other words, Braun is suggesting that the form of wearing the diaconal stole that we are so familiar with today -- on an angle, worn from the left shoulder to the right hip -- is actually a result (and now the only remnant) of the tradition of the folded chasuble when the stole was wound up with the folded chasuble in that manner.

* * *
How They Were Used in Recent Liturgical Usage

Having now looked briefly at some of the history of the vestment in question, it seems that we should also consider how and when these vestments were manifest and used within recent liturgical usage, as some may be only familiar with them on a cursory level.

I. When the Planetae Plicatae were Used in Recent Liturgical Usage

First of all, they were used during the penitential times. The 8th edition of The Ceremonies of the Roman Rite Described (Fortescue and O'Connell) published in 1953 has this to say:

They are worn... by the deacon and subdeacon, instead of dalmatic and tunicle, on days of fasting and penance, except vigils of Saints' days and Christmas Eve, which have dalmatic and tunicle. Folded chasubles therefore are used on Sundays and weekdays of Advent and Lent, when the Mass is of the season. Except from this the third Sunday of Advent and the week-days (Monday, Tuesday and Thursday) on which its Mass may be repeated. Except also the fourth Sunday of Lent, Maundy Thursday and (for the deacon) Holy Saturday at the blessing of the Paschal candle and Mass. Folded chasubles are used further on Ember days (except those in the Whitsun octave), on Whitsun Eve before Mass (not at the red Mass), on Candlemas at the blessing of candles and procession. (p.245)

The mention of the 3rd Sunday of Advent and 4th Sunday of Lent of course point to the "Rose" Sundays (Gaudete Sunday and Laetare Sunday) when the penitential rigour of the season is lightened. Typically Rose vestments were to be worn on this Sunday. (More on this momentarily however.)

At the time that this was written in 1953, folded chasuble and broad stole would also have been used upon Good Friday, but in the colour black of course. However, this usage was abandoned in the Roman rite even prior to violet after the Holy Week revisions of Pius XII.

Previous to these revisions however, folded chasubles and broad stoles were to be found in two liturgical colours: violet and black. Here are two examples which I had a friend "model" at my request, to better show how they looked while worn:



Now, the question is often asked therefore, "why then do we see older dalmatics and tunicles in violet?"

This question seems to be (understandably) rooted in the present usage of the modern Roman liturgy, which sees purple only used during Lent and Advent (or as an option for funeral Masses). But in the calendar of the usus antiquior, violet dalmatic and tunicle would have also been used for times such as the pre-Lenten season of Septuagesima. In other words, there was a broader use of violet outside of the seasons of Lent and Advent.

Further, according to Fortescue, if there were no Rose coloured vestments to use on Gaudete and Laetare Sundays, violet vestments were used on those Sundays instead, including the violet dalmatic and tunicle (p.245) -- which would be in keeping with the lightened penitential character of those Sundays.

II. Who Used Them in Recent Liturgical Usage

As was mentioned in the quote above, folded chasubles were worn by the deacon and subdeacon in place of the dalmatic and tunicles at the appropriate times.

Additionally, as has already been mentioned, the deacon would wear the broad stole, which was worn over top of his normal diaconal stole when the planeta plicata was taken off. (see p. 245-6, 8th edition of Fortescue)


Planetae Plicatae where also used by not only the deacon and subdeacon, but as well as by the assistant deacons at Solemn Pontifical Masses in the penitential seasons. (See A. Stehle, Manual of Episcopal Ceremonies, "Ash Wednesday"). You can see two such assistant deacons accordingly vested here:


III. Where Planetae Plicatae Were Used in Recent Liturgical Usage

Braun suggests they were required to be used "in cathedrals and other preeminent churches, not in smaller ones." (Die liturgischen Paramente, p. 103)

How "preeminent" might be understood is up for some interpretation of course. For his part, Fortescue, in addressing this specific matter, identifies "greater churches" as follows: "'Greater churches' are cathedrals, collegiate churches, parish churches and the chief churches of Regulars. They include therefore nearly all churches in England." (See Chapter II, "The Vestments of the Roman Rite". p. 11 in 1953 edition of the Ceremonies.)

Of course, this was not to be understood in a restrictive sense; that they were not allowed in smaller churches. Rather, it only speaks to where they were required.

Of course, this leads to the question of what was done in those locales where they were not technically required, but a solemn Mass was had. Both Braun and Fortescue speak of the deacon and subdeacon simply wearing their proper vestments, minus the dalmatic and tunicle respectively in these instances.

IV. How they were used within the Roman Liturgy Recently

From the book, Liturgical Law by Fr. Charles Augustine, OSB:

Deacon and subdeacon sometimes wear a folded chasuble (planeta plicata)... the deacon, before chanting the Gospel, folded it like a mantle under the right arm in order to perform his functions more conveniently. Now the deacon divests himself before the Gospel of the planeta plicata and takes it back after the last ablution. But all that time he wears a broad stole over the other one. The subdeacon puts off the planeta plicata during the time he reads the epistle, and resumes it after having kissed the celebrant's hand.

-- p. 54

V. When their use Ceased within the Roman liturgy

As was mentioned earlier, black folded chasubles and broad stole were no longer used in the Roman liturgy of Good Friday after the revisions to Holy Week in 1955 under Pius XII.

Violet folded chasubles and broad stole were no longer used in the Roman liturgy after the rubrical revisions of John XXIII in 1960.

VI. Usage in Other Western Liturgical Rites and Uses

We would be remiss to not give a brief consideration to the question of the use of the planeta plicata within the context of other Western liturgical rites and uses. This too, is a question which often arises.

It should be stated first, however, that our considerations are limited to the more recent usages of these liturgical books, and are not necessarily considering what may have been centuries ago.

The Ambrosian rite did use planetae plicatae during Advent, Lent and the Lower Litanies. On Good Friday however, the deacon wore red dalmatic. (See Archdale King, The Liturgies of the Primatial Sees. More generally, also see Missale Ambrosianum, 1904: Rubricae Generales, 44)

The Premonstratensian rite also used planetae plicatae on Good Friday as well as during the penitential seasons. But in addition, the Premonstratensians also used folded chasubles for the pre-Lenten season of Septuagesima. This would appear to be quite unique to them in modern usage at least. (See Archdale King, The Liturgies of the Religious Orders, p. 185, and the Premonstratensian Ordinarius, para. 223.) As for when their use was stopped, this is an open question at the moment, but they might have continued to use them until the Order adopted the modern Roman liturgy. (See also, Missale Praemonstratense, 1936: De Defectibus in Celebratione Missarum Occurentibus, De Paramentis, 5.)

The rite of Lyon also makes mention of the use of the folded chasuble but with a twist. Folded chasubles were not used on the 1st Sunday of Lent, as "according to tradition, Lent begins on the first Monday" (see King, Liturgies of the Primatial Sees, p. 50) and so accordingly on that Sunday (as well as Laetare Sunday) dalmatic and tunicle were worn by the deacon and subdeacon. Additionally, folded chasubles were not used upon Good Friday. (See Missale Romano-Lugdunense, 1904: Rubricae Generales Missalis, XIX.4)

The Bragan rite also mentions the use of the folded chasuble in penitential seasons, including upon Good Friday. (See Missale Bracarense, 1924: Rubricae Generales, Tit. 8.6)

Within the Dominican rite, planetae plicatae were not used -- within modern times at least. However, the Dominican rite did exclude the use of the dalmatic for penitential times (as well as ferial days generally), thereby having deacon and subdeacon simply wearing the vestments proper to them, minus the outer dalmatic. (See Missale Sacri Ordinis Praedicatorum, 1933: De Coloribus, De Qualitate Indumentorum, 4)

The situation in the Cisterican rite is similar to that of the Dominican. Folded chasubles were not used, but in penitential times, deacon and subdeacon merely wear their proper vestments, minus the outer vestments of dalmatic and tunicle. (See Missale Cisterciense, 1910: Rubricae Generales Missalis, XX.6)

Likewise, with the Carmelite rite. (See Missale Carmelitanum, 1935: De Coloribus et Qualitate Paramentorum, 10)

Within the Carthusian rite, dalmatics and tunicles are not used generally. Rather, the deacon wears the cuculla ecclesiastica and, for the Gospel only, a stole. The subdeacon is likewise plainly vested. Accordingly, it seems likely to surmise that they would not have adopted folded chasubles.

Finally, with regard to the Mozarabic liturgy, to date, I have come across no reference either way.

Notes:

Thanks to Gregor Kollmorgen for the translation of the Braun excerpts from German to English and for also highlighting the matter of the diagonal wearing of the diaconal stole and how that may be related to the planeta plicata.

Thanks also to Fr. Augustine Thompson for confirming a few details about the Dominican rite, and Nicola de Grandi, the Ambrosian rite.

A few others helped confirmed some details for me, and I wish to extend them my thanks as well. They know who they are.

Thanks as well to my priestly friend who modelled some of the vestments in question.

Finally, if anyone has any information which they think might be a good supplement, or another consideration or interpretation, do feel free to send it in. There is much detail, history and question here, so it is easy to miss some points.

SUPPLEMENT

1. The following further images of the more ample form of chasuble rolled up, as well as further folded into stola form were found in issue no. 4, 1948, of L'Art d'Eglise (which at the time seems to have been named L'Artisan et les Arts Liturgiques).



2. Also, in addition to the image of Palm Sunday at Westminster Cathedral, this photo of the Easter Vigil also shows the use of folded chasubles.


3. Finally, some rare images of the use of the folded chasuble from within the context of the papal liturgy of Good Friday have been found:

We have received a number of "Holy-Week-so-far" photos in the past day or so, but in an effort to stay reasonably "in sync" with the ebb and flow of the Triduum itself, I hope to share most of them after the Triduum, during the octave (so continue to send yours in for consideration). That said, I did want to share at least a few tidbits from Wednesday and Thursday now.

Tenebrae, Wyoming Catholic College
As our readers will know, we are always particularly eager to share photos of the liturgical life coming from our Catholic academic institutions. In this case, the institution in question is Wyoming Catholic College. This is the first time the college has had this -- at least in its traditional, sung Latin form -- and for the event, the college commissioned the construction of the tenebrae hearse from a local carpenter.







Maundy Thursday, Prince of Peace Catholic Church, Greenville, SC
Last but certainly not least, here are some photos from Prince of Peace Catholic Church in South Carolina, and our friend Fr. Christopher Smith (who will be no stranger to NLM readers).

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For Holy Week and the Easter Octave here are two different scenes that, I hope, might allow us to contemplate the season and our move from Lent into Easter. The first is of the Palm Sunday scene - Christ's Entry into Jerusalem. I have given two paintings of the scene. Both are by 17th century painters from the heyday of the baroque period. The first is by Sir Anthony van Dyck, who was taught by Rubens and works in the baroque naturalism style (other painters in this form would be, for example, Velazquez or Zurbaran). The second is by lesser know Spanish artist who was trained by El Greco called Pedro Orrente. He painted this is 1620. In comparing the two styles we see many similarities but also differences. Orente is working in a style called baroque classicism. Baroque classicism seeks to evoke more a sense of the classical pre-Christian roots of Western culture and, inspired by Raphael the artist of 100 years before. The paintings don't look like our vision of ancient Rome today, but as it was envisaged then. To me it looks stylistically as though they are staged scenes from a Shakespeare play. Stylistically, as compared to baroque naturalism there is always more colour and the edges are sharper and cleaner - sometimes this can tend to give them a more sterile and less lively feel. In contrast the baroque naturalist style use monochrome and broad focus much more and has a more vigorous, spontaneous feel. My preference generally is for baroque naturalism. To the modern eye, although once pointed out we can distinguish between the two streams, they still look similar. At the time though, each school thought of itself as very different from the other. Each saw theirs as the more authentic form of sacred art and and could be openly rude and dismissive about the other. Poussin exemplifies the baroque classicism style.

I wished to share a few photos from one already established "Anglican use" community, and one newly established ordinariate community, both within the United States.

Our Lady of Walsingham in Houston, Texas

We begin with the parish of Our Lady of Walsingham in Houston.






Mount Calvary Church in Baltimore, Maryland

The Monastère Saint-Benoît in France have some images up from their recent Triduum celebrations. Here is a selection:

As I had noted just prior to the Triduum, my intent was to provide no further coverage of Palm Sunday's ceremonies, barring something rather unique and I think the following photos which show Olive Sunday (Palm Sunday) in the (modern) Ambrosian rite certainly qualifies. The Mass was celebrated by Don Valentino Viganò, parish priest of Sormano, Caglio and Rezzago at the Santuario di Campoè -- a beautiful little shrine church within the archdiocese of Milan. I have had the pleasure of having visited this shrine; a shrine both remarkable for its beauty inside, and for the beauty of its natural surroundings.

Aside from celebrating the joys of Easter this Sunday past, the usus antiquior community in Hong Kong were also celebrating their 10th year as a community, marked by a Solemn Pontifical Mass at St. Teresa's church, and celebrated by their ordinary, John Cardinal Tong. They have sent in a few photos to NLM which we are only too happy to publish.






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Incidentally, I do not think we have ever shown any video from this community before, so here is a little bit, taken in January of this year.

Here on NLM we discuss the liturgical arts fairly frequently. One simple reason for this is because of our belief, a belief affirmed by the Church herself and testified to by her own guidance and legislation around the same, that these matters are not without importance; that they are not trite matters of inconsequence, nor mere aesthetic enterprises; that worthy vestments are not mere "fashion", sacred music not mere "mood music" and worthy architecture and ornaments not mere "decor." Rather, manifestations of beauty within the liturgy are far more substantive than this, acting as "messengers" and as a gateway to the divine.

I have written many times before of what I have termed "the evangelical power of beauty" and one of the best summations of this same idea remains for me a little book written by Dom Gerard Calvet, OSB, Four Benefits of the Liturgy. In that book he comments:

...one enters the Church by two doors: the door of the intelligence and the door of beauty. The narrow door... is that of intelligence; it is open to intellectuals and scholars. The wider door is that of beauty. Henri Charlier said, in the same vein, "It is necessary to lose the illusion that truth can communicate itself fruitfully without that splendour that is of one nature with it and which is called beauty." (L'Art et la Pensee).

The Church in her impenetrable mystery as the bride of Christ, the Kyrios of Glory, has need of an earthly epiphany (ie. manifestation) accessible to all: this is the majesty of her temples, the splendour of her liturgy and the sweetness of her chants.

Take a group of Japanese tourists visiting Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris. They look at the height of the stained-glass windows, the harmony of the proportions. Suppose that at that moment, sacred ministers dressed in orphried velvet copes enter in process for solemn Vespers. The visitors watch in silence; they are entranced: beauty has opened its doors to them. Now the Summa Theologica of St. Thomas Aquinas and Notre Dame in Paris are products of the same era. They say the same thing. But who among the visitors has read the Summa of St. Thomas? The same phenomenon is found at all levels. The tourists who visit the Acropolis in Athens are confronted with a civilisation of beauty. But who among them can understand Aristotle?

And so it is with the beauty of the liturgy. More than anything else it deserves to be called the splendour of the truth. It opens to the small and the great alike the treasures of its magnificence: the beauty of psalmody, sacred chants and texts, candles, harmony of movement and dignity of bearing. With sovereign art the liturgy exercises a truly seductive influence on souls, who it touches directly, even before the spirit perceives its influence.

This recognition of the importance of beauty within our liturgy and liturgical arts brings with it a concurrent concern about those manifestations which might somehow lack beauty in one or another fashion. If beauty "opens to the small and the great alike" and "exercises a truly seductive influence on souls", if it is an "epiphany", then what should be our concern when this is lacking or deficient in some way? What message, what influence might that effect? Should we not therefore treat these matters with some earnestness?

All of this I mention by way of preface to a short address given by M. Jacques Maritain, "Some Reflections Upon Religious Art" -- later published in Art and Scholasticism. In that essay, given in 1924, Maritain looks critically at certain kinds of "traditional" Catholic art which stem from the 19th century -- a religious artform oozing with sentimentality, of low quality and mass produced. It is often termed "l'Art Saint-Sulpice" and it is yet very prevalent (and popular). Maritain also acknowledges the issues that were already being manifest then in certain forms of modern liturgical art -- styles and types that many today associate with the 1960's and 1970's, but which was, in fact, manifest much earlier -- particularly in parts of Europe. Of course, these too are also yet very prevalent.

But as interesting as those particular discussions are -- and they are interesting -- there is much to be found in his reflection which is of interest simply from the level of general principle. It is for that reason that I wished to share it with you today. Here then is his piece.

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Some Reflections Upon Religious Art

written by Jacques Maritain

Allow me to put before you today some very brief and very simple reflections. You will, no doubt, consider them too simple, but still I hope that they are inspired by good sense.

What I should like to examine with you very rapidly is the present state of relations between Catholic artists and the Catholic public. We must observe right off that in general they are not very satisfied with one another. And as in family quarrels, we must no doubt say here too that there are "faults on both sides," and that each side has some good reasons for complaining.

Just about everything has been said about what is called the art of Saint-Sulpice -- an ill-chosen phrase, it must be said, and one that is very insulting to an estimable Parisian parish, the more so because the scourge in question is world-wide in scope; about the diabolical ugliness, offensive to God and much more harmful than is generally believed to the spread of religion, of the majority of the objects turned out by modern manufacture for the decoration of churches; about the kind of bitter contempt that still reigns in some "respectable" circles with regard to artists and poets; lastly about the absence of taste and artistic formation that makes so greatly to be desired the establishment in seminaries of courses in aesthetics or the history of art such as Pius XI, before his elevation to the Pontificate, organized at Milan.

Yes, indeed; but on the other hand there are a great many parish priests who ardently desire to fulfill the wish of Pius X, "to have their people pray before beauty," and who are trying to rid their churches of the products belched forth from the cellars of religious mercantilism. Yet many of these, we must candidly confess, are not satisfied with what is proposed to them in the name of modern Art. I am clearly not referring to a few superior works, but to the average run of works produced these last few years. Our affection for our friends must not prevent us -- rather the contrary -- from stating what may still be lacking in an effort that in other respects commands our heartiest admiration. And I say that often these parish priests are right, for their office, let's make no mistake about it, is not to encourage the fine arts, but to give the faithful that which answers their spiritual needs, that which can truly serve the religious life of a Christian community. One sometimes sees them driven to fall back in despair upon the art of Saint-Sulpice. Why? Because these products of commercial manufacture, when they are not too disgusting, have at least the advantage of being perfectly indeterminate, so neutral, so empty that we can look at them without seeing them, and thus project onto them our own sentiments; whereas certain modern works, and the most agitated and impassioned among them, seek to impose on us by violence the individual emotions, exactly as they are -- in the brute state, and with all that they have of the most subjective -- of the artist himself. And in praying, instead of finding oneself before a representation of Our Lord or some Saint it is an unbearable torture to receive full in the chest, like a blow of the fist, the religious sensibility of Mr. So-and-So.

The present difficulties, to tell the truth, stem from deep-seated causes, and in the end from the crisis of our whole civilization. Religious art is not a thing that can be isolated from art itself, from the general movement of the art of an age: isolate it, and it grows corrupt, becomes dead letter. But on the other hand the art of a period carries with it all the intellectual and spiritual stuff that constitutes the life of this period; and notwithstanding all the rare and superior qualities contemporary art may possess in the order of sensibility, quality and invention, the spirituality it conveys is often quite mediocre and sometimes quite corrupt.

This is why Christian artists find themselves faced with very grave difficulties. On the one hand, they have to reaccustom to beauty the faithful, whose taste has been spoiled for more than a century past -- and we must not forget that, given the purpose for which it is intended, religious art, as prescribed by Urban VIII on March 15, 1642, and by the Council of Trent, must not have an "unfamiliar" character -- and so it is a question of destroying bad aesthetic habits while restoring a good one: no easy task. On the other hand, in order to recover a truly living religious art, they must lift up, spiritualize, and bring to the feet of God all of modern art: no easy task either. It is true that by this very fact the Christian artist, if he has the genius, is in a privileged position to profit from the whole modern effort.

What follows from all of this? It is only too evident that the Catholic public would fail in an essential and particularly urgent duty if it failed to understand the capital importance of the task undertaken with admirable generosity by so many artists who are working to reintroduce sensible beauty into the house of God, if it did not effectively support them, and if, even when it does not approve of this or that work in particular, it did not surround them with a fraternal sympathy. But it is also clear that Catholic artists for their part must make every effort to understand the legitimate needs of the faithful, for whose common good they are working, and to ascertain, courageously, the proper conditions and exigencies of the task to which they are devoting themselves.

But, it may be asked, cannot certain of these conditions be stated? I think, in any case, that a few elementary truths which force themselves upon us concerning religious art can be disengaged, which, if they were universally recognized, would doubtless facilitate concord between the public and artists. Allow me to attempt to formulate some of them, ones on which, I believe, all of us here are agreed, and which correspond to the common sentiment of all our friends.

First Observation. There is no style reserved to religious art, there is no religious technique. Anyone who believes in the existence of a religious technique is on the high road to Benton. If it is true that not every style is equally suited to sacred art, it is still more true that sacred art, as I said a moment ago, cannot be isolated, that it must, in each period, following the example of God Himself who speaks the language of men, assume, while superelevating them from within, all the means and all the technical vitality, so to speak, that the contemporary generation puts at its disposal. (From this point of view, let us observe parenthetically, it does not seem at all necessary that Christian artists, particularly those who have not come into full possession of their craft, should work exclusively in sacred art. Let them begin with still-lifes, let them accustom themselves to discovering a religious sense in the inevitable apples, fruit-dish, pipe and guitar.)

There are, however, it seems to me, in the technical order, two requisite conditions for religious art as such, granted its special object and the purpose for which it is intended.

1. It must be legible. For it is there above all for the instruction of the people, it is a theology in figures. An illegible, obscure and Mallarméan religious art is as absurd as a house without a staircase or a cathedral without a portal.

2. The work must be finished. I do not mean finished in the academic sense, but in the most material and humble meaning of this word. It is supremely fitting that nothing enter the house of God but work that is well made, complete, proper, durable, honest. This must clearly be understood according to the mode peculiar to the style and the means adopted, but the facility with which in our day one is satisfied with oneself makes it necessary to insist on this point.

Second Observation. Sacred art is in absolute dependence upon theological wisdom. In the signs it presents to our eyes something infinitely superior to all our human art is manifested, divine Truth itself, the treasure of light that was purchased for us by the blood of Christ. It is above all for this reason, because the sovereign interests of the Faith are at stake in the matter, that the Church exercises her authority and magisterium over sacred art. I recalled a moment ago the decree of Urban VIII of March 15, 1642, and the prescript of the 25th session of the Council of Trent. There are other instances. On June 11, 1623, the Congregation of Rites proscribed crucifixes representing Christ with arms updrawn. On September 11, 1670, a decree of the Holy Office forbade the making of crucifixes "in a form so coarse and artless, in an attitude so indecent, with features so distorted by grief that they provoke disgust rather than pious attention." And you know that in March, 1921, the Holy Office forbade the exhibition in churches of certain works of the Flemish painter Servaes.

Here is a point that merits all our attention. Servaes is a painter of great talent, a Christian full of faith, and one can only speak of his person with respect and affection; I am happy to bear testimony to him here. The Stations of the Cross which raised such violent commotion in Belgium gave birth to deep religious emotions in certain souls, nay more, brought about conversions. Nevertheless the Church condemned it, and it is never difficult, even when the appearances and the human procedures disconcert us, to understand the wisdom and justice of the Church's decisions. In spite of himself, assuredly, and not in his soul but in his work, the painter, fascinated by the Ego sum vermis et non homo of Isaias and conceiving his Stations as a pure vertigo of grief, happened to be false to certain theological truths of capital importance -- above all the truth that the sufferings as well as the death of Our Lord were essentially voluntary, and that it was a divine Person who suffered the most appalling human suffering: the pain and agony of His Humanity were handled by the Word as the tool with which He performed His great work. At the same time, for those who cannot harmonize the poor figurations that art places before their eyes and the pure image living in our hearts of the most beautiful of the children of men (in Him, as in His Mother, as Cajetan reminds us in his treatise De Spasmo beatae Virginis, the supreme torments of Calvary, though piercing the mind still more cruelly than the body, left reason intact under the Cross, in full exercise of its dominion over the sensitive part) -- for these, I say, certain plastic deformations, a certain degenerate aspect of the contour, take on the value of an offense against the Humanity of the Savior, and, as it were, of a doctrinal misapprehension of the sovereign dignity of His soul and body.

At a time when the truth of the Faith is threatened on all sides, why be surprised that the Church is more concerned than ever about the doctrinal distortions that can be implied in certain works of art intended for the faithful, whatever may be in other respects their aesthetic value and the salutary emotions they may here or there excite, and whatever may be the piety, faith, depth of spiritual life, and uprightness of intention of the artist who produced them?

May I be permitted however to add that from this same point of view of dogma the base sentimentality of so many commercial products must equally vex sound theology, and is doubtless tolerated only as one of those abuses to which we resign ourselves for a time, considering human weakness and what may be called, adapting a phrase of Holy Writ, "the infinite number of Christians with bad taste."

This ultimate control by theology that I just mentioned, and which presupposes in the artist a true theological culture, clearly does not impose on sacred art any aesthetic genre, any style, any particular technique. We must, however, realize that it communicates to it, as it were spontaneously, certain general directions. Thus the intrinsic characteristics of the object represented have assuredly for sacred art a very special importance: not, certainly, from the point of view of the naturalist imitation of material detail and picturesque appearance, which is more out of place and execrable here than elsewhere, but from the point of view of the laws of intellectual signification. If one reflects on the essential deficiency of the means of expression of human art in relation to the divine mysteries to which these means are applied, on the terrible difficulty of expressing in a sensible matter truths that bridge heaven and earth and unite the most opposite realities, one is even led to think that sacred art, however rich it ought to be in sensibility and humanity, in order to attain to a certain spiritual fullness will doubtless always have to retain something of the hieratic and, so to speak, ideographic symbolism, and, in any event, of the sturdy intellectuality of its primitive traditions.

Third Observation. A last point -- a very simple one -- is that a work of religious art must be religious. Otherwise it is not beautiful, since beauty presupposes essentially the entirety of all the requisite conditions. As Paul Cazin remarked, tell an artist dealing with a religious subject "that he has produced a masterpiece, but that his masterpiece is not religious, and you will pain him greatly. . . ." And Cazin continues: "God alone can touch men's hearts with a feeling of piety before the most miserable chromolithograph or the most distressing daub, as well as before the most sublime masterpiece." That is true, but it does not prevent the fact that normally certain works have of themselves a value, a radiance of religious emotion, of interior illumination, and, properly speaking, of sanctification. Nevertheless, repeating once more what Maurice Denis has said, this does not depend on the subject itself. Nor does it depend, I am convinced, on the recipe of a school and a particular technique. It would be a great delussion to think that clumsy angles and a humble subject matter are the necessary means of expression of a Franciscan emotion, or that a geometric stiffness and dull, austere tones are required in order to give to a work the seal of Benedictine dignity.

There are no rules for giving an art object a value of religious emotion. This depends, on the contrary, on a certain interior freedom with regard to rules. One achieves it only by not seeking it directly, and only by participating, in one manner or another, in the spiritual life of the Saints: something which the common Christian atmosphere of an era of faith made easy for artists, even when, from many points of view, they remained far from the examples of the Saints, but which, of itself and in the absence of exterior aids, requires in the soul the habitual radiance of the theological virtues and supernatural wisdom. And it is necessary, besides, that the virtue of art not remain separate, isolated from this wisdom, because of an insufficient mastery or of false academic principles, but that between the two contact be made, and that this wisdom freely use the virtue of art as a supple and infallible instrument.

St-Eugene, Paris (Maundy Thursday)





Rio de Janeiro (Easter Vigil)
(Courtesy Salvem a Liturgia)

Rome, SS. Trinita (Easter Sunday)


Austria: Cistercian Abbey of Stift Heilgenkreuz (Easter Vigil)




Connecticut, St. Mary's, Norwalk