Chapter XXV (2)

A very beautiful representation of the Lamb, Jesus Christ, of later date however than the Catacombs, but not so late as to have lost their informing spirit, occurs in a mosaic that formerly decorated the apse of the basilica of St. Peter in Rome. The Lamb stands at the foot of a jewelled cross, on a rock, with four streams, one running from each of its feet, and a fifth from the foot of a chalice into which the blood of the Lamb spurts down from its wounded breast. An evident allusion to the five wounds of the Lord is here combined with the type of the Holy Eucharist (for the cup suggests the latter). The cross, as such, is rarely found in the Catacombs, but the _Acts of the Martyrs_ mention a soldier, St. Orestes, who, while playing at throwing the disc, let fall from his garments a small cross (which, discovering his religion, procured him the glory of martyrdom), so that we may suppose that this sign of Christianity was sometimes secretly worn about the person during the early centuries. St. Augustine, St. Hilary, St. Jerome, St. Chrysostom, and our own countryman, Venerable Bede, agree in the cross being “the sign of the Son of Man” of which Jesus himself speaks in the Gospel. Tertullian quotes the vision of Ezechiel (ix. 4), and interprets thus the sign _Tau_: “Now, the Greek letter _Tau_ and our own T is the very form of the cross, which he predicted would be the sign on our foreheads in the true Catholic Jerusalem.” Dr. Northcote tells us that the number 300, “being expressed in Greek by the letter _Tau_, came itself, even in apostolical times, to be regarded as the equivalent of the cross.” We know how St. Paul speaks of the cross, as meaning the whole Christian faith. The sign of the cross, however, was contained in or appended to the monogram ΧΡ. (the first two letters of the Greek word Christ--ΧΡΙΣΤΟΣ). This was sometimes written P, while in some ancient manuscripts the _Tau_ itself was written +, forming an exact Greek cross. Sometimes to this monogram (worn to this day as a badge by the Passionist Friars) was added the letter _Ν_, the initial of Νικητής, the Greek for conqueror. This is something similar to the inscription translated “In hoc signo vinces,” seen by Constantine in his vision outside the gates of Rome. It was in this shape that the inscription was afterwards put on the “Labarum” or banner of the cross, and also on many coins struck during the reign of Constantine.[154]

Not to prolong the subject of the Catacombs too indefinitely, let us end with these words of Dr. Northcote: “Nothing was likely to be more familiar to the early Christians than the symbolical and prophetical meaning of the Gospels and the Old Testament, so that the sight of these paintings on the walls of the subterranean chapels was probably as a continual homily set before them.... Indeed, it is scarcely too much to say that some of these artistic compositions might be made to take the place of a well-ordered dogmatic discourse.”

When the immediate fear of persecution was removed, the church gradually added to her alphabet of symbols. The cross became more general, at first ornamented and wreathed, jewelled and gilt, as it was by order of Constantine, then by an easy transition becoming a simple crucifix, with the image of the Redeemer plainly wrought upon it. Constantine forbade the cross to be any longer used as an instrument of torture or punishment; while the finding of the true cross and the honor paid to it soon familiarized the people with its exclusively divine associations. From Mrs. Jameson’s researches we gather that the “fashion of decorating the cross with five jewels, generally rubies, typified the five sacred wounds.”[155] We also learn from her the origin of the nimbus, or glory, so generally used after the fifth century as an attribute of holiness. At first it was borrowed from pagan sources, the “luminous nebula” of Homer--that, is the divine essence standing “a shade in its own brightness”--being, as she informs us, the first trace of it to be found in antiquity. Rays or plates of brass were sometimes fixed to the heads of imperial busts and statues in Rome, and later on it is seen round the heads of Christian emperors (Justinian in particular) who were not canonized. It strikes one as curious that Mrs. Jameson should have omitted all mention of Moses and the _horns_ or rays of light that adorned his countenance as he came down from Mount Sinai. In the transfiguration, our Lord’s face “did shine as the sun,”[156] and the angel that sat over against the sepulchre on the morning of the resurrection had a “countenance as lightning.”[157] After the fifth century the _nimbus_ became universal, and was adopted as a symbol of holiness. A cruciform glory was the distinctive emblem of God, and also a triangular one, which typifies the Trinity, and was often used later round the head of figures representing God the Father, and entirely surrounding the Holy Spirit, who was painted as a dove.

It would be quite impossible to go through the cycle of all the symbols now in use. They have varied very little since the days of Constantine, but they cover so vast a field that it would take a lifetime to study each one in detail.

The chief service of the church, the Mass, naturally strikes us first. Nearly every ceremony is connected with it, and is only complete when preceded or followed by it. Churches (often symbolical in their form and arrangement), vestments with their many hidden meanings, lights, incense, holy water, music, processions, group themselves as mere accessories round the sacrificial act which gives them their importance. The word Mass is supposed by some to be derived from the Hebrew _Missach_, a voluntary offering,[158] but the most widely received opinion is that it comes from _Missa_ or _Missio_, the dismissal of the catechumens before the most solemn part, the consecration. The word itself is of very ancient use, as appears from the letters of St. Ambrose, St. Leo, and St. Gregory.[159] The _Gloria Patri_, which is often used in the liturgy as well as constantly in the hours of the divine office, was introduced in 325 as a protest against the Arian heresy which contended that the Son was not equal to the Father.[160] The custom of standing during the gospel signifies our readiness to defend its truths and practice its precepts. We sign our foreheads, lips, and breast in token of our resolve not to be ashamed of the cross of Christ, to profess it always in words, and to keep it for ever in our hearts. At the “Incarnatus est” in the Credo we kneel in reverence to the mystery of the God made man, and at the “Domine non sum dignus” we strike our breasts in token of penance and humiliation, as we have before done at the Confiteor. This has always been the conventional sign of sorrow, as we read of the publican in the gospels.

Of the use of lights, St. Jerome says in his letter against the heretic Vigilantius: “Throughout all the churches of the East, when the gospel is to be recited, they bring forth lights, though it be at noonday, not certainly to drive away darkness but to manifest some sign of joy, that under the type of corporal light may be indicated that light of which we read in the _Psalms_--‘Thy word is as a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.’”[161] Everywhere in the Old and New Testaments, _light_ is the type of knowledge; in the parable of the virgins, it is also the symbol of fidelity. In Rome, torches were carried at weddings as a sign of honor. St. Chrysoston says that lights are carried before the dead to show that they are champions and conquerors. What more natural than that these usages should have been transferred to the Christian churches? “Within the sanctuary and in front of the altar,” says the anonymous author of the _Explanation of the Sacrifice and Liturgy of the Mass_, “a lamp is kept day and night, to warn us that Jesus Christ, the light of the world, is present on our altars, ... and that our lives should, by their holiness, shine like a luminary.” Candles are used in several mystical senses by the church during the ceremonies of Holy Week, as chiefly the Paschal candle. This is fraught with many meanings. Unlighted, it is an emblem of Christ in the tomb, while the five grains of incense put into it in the shape of a cross typify both the five wounds of our Blessed Lord and the spices with which his dead body was buried. Contrary to the usual custom, which requires a _priest_ to bless any holy thing, the Paschal candle is blessed by the _deacon_, to denote that Christ was buried by his disciples (Joseph of Arimathea and Nicodemus), not by his apostles. When lighted, the candle prefigures Christ arisen. The Pavia Missal makes it signify, while unlighted, the pillar in the cloud which guided the Israelites by day through the desert, and, after being lighted, the fiery column that directed them at night. The columnar shape of the candlestick in many Italian churches is thought to refer to this part of the interpretation. The triple candle, which is lighted with new fire on Holy Saturday, signifies the Trinity, and in connection with this we are reminded of a curious ceremony in the Greek ritual, which consists in the benediction given by a bishop whenever he says Mass. He holds in each hand a candle--one triple, denoting the Trinity; and the other double, and symbolizing the union of two natures in Jesus Christ.[162] The manual of Holy Week tells us that the fifteen candles on the triangular candlestick, used during the office of _Tenebræ_, represent the “disciples whose fervor cooled at the approach of danger, and who dispersed here and there, wavering in faith, forgetful of their promises, and all seeking safety in flight, abandoning their Master. The candle that remains lit and is finally _concealed_ behind the altar is a figure of Jesus Christ. He came to enlighten the world; but ungrateful, perverse men made every effort to obscure and extinguish his glory. When they fancied they had succeeded, he rose from death to an immortal life, more glorious than the former.”

The whole of the ceremonies of Holy Week are nothing but a literal “showing forth of the death of the Lord until he come”--a yearly rehearsal, as it were, of the great drama of human life and destiny, of the rejection of the elder and the adoption of the younger branch of the family of men--that is, the choice of the Gentiles after the trial of the Jews. Incense, the recognized emblem of prayer, and spoken of as such in the well-known passages of the Apocalypse,[163] also reminds us of the perfumes used in the East as a sign of honor towards kings and princes, and of the gift of the Magi to the infant Saviour. Dr. Rock says that “a venerable antiquity (522) informs us that the incense burning round the altar, whence, as from a fountain of delicious fragrance, it emits a perfume through the house of God, has ever been regarded as a type of the good odor of Jesus Christ which should exhale from the soul of every true believer.”[164] The frequent use of holy water is above all typical of purity, the great preparation of the soul for any holy action.

Salt is a preservative against corruption, and also reminds us of the miracle of Eliseus,[165] when, to make the drought cease, he asked for a vessel with water and salt. The apostles are called the “salt of the earth,” and salt is recognized as the emblem of wisdom. Oil, used in many functions, is typical of sweetness and mildness, in consideration of its natural powers of healing, and from time immemorial anointing has been considered a consecration to God.[166] Oil was also used in the old Hebrew sacrifices, together with cakes as well as salt.[167] The “Agnus Dei” perhaps requires a fuller explanation than the former symbols. It is a waxen cake stamped with the figure of a lamb. The Pope blesses a certain quantity of these cakes every seventh year of his reign. “The origin of this rite seems to have been the very ancient custom of breaking up the Paschal candle of the preceding year and distributing the fragments among the faithful. Alcuin, a disciple of the Venerable Bede, describes the blessing in these words: ‘In the Roman Church, early on the morning of Holy Saturday, the archdeacon comes into the church and pours wax in a clean vessel, and mixes it with oil; then blesses the wax, and molds it in the form of lambs; ... the lambs which the Romans make represent to us the spotless Lamb made for us; for Christ should be brought to our memories frequently by all sorts of things.’”[168] The Asperges, or sprinkling with holy water before Mass, reminds us of the sprinkling of the blood of the Paschal lamb on the door-posts of the Israelites--a ceremony which was to be performed with a bunch of hyssop.[169] It also refers to the Psalm Miserere, in which we pray to be “sprinkled with hyssop, and we shall be cleansed”--a prayer which forms part of the prescribed orisons to be repeated during the Asperges.

Of the symbolical meaning of the sacred vestments, and their colors, we will only speak briefly. The most obvious apology for them is their use as prescribed in the Old Testament, where they are made the subject of the most minute directions. Many things came to us through the Temple traditions, the Gregorian chant, for instance, which closely resembles that still used in the orthodox synagogues of our own day. It is not improbable that something of Hebrew traditions entered into the custom, early adopted by the Christians, of wearing specified and holy garments during the celebration of Mass. But the church, ever mindful of her mission of teaching, could not let such vestments be mere ornaments, however fitting and seemly. The author of the _Explanation of the Mass_ says that “ceremonies are a kind of illustration of our sacred mysteries; they represent them to the eye, to a certain extent, as a look or a discourse do to the ear or mind, especially to the uneducated, who are always the greater number.” The vestments are a very prominent part of the externals of the Mass; their color announces at one glance whether a virgin or a martyr is being commemorated, whether we are to join in prayer for some unknown brother deceased in Christ, or to lament in a penitential spirit the sins of mankind and our own. Green, very seldom used, is the normal color for Sundays, denoting hope and joy in the promise of the new spring. There are two meanings attached to the different component parts of the holy vesture. The “amice” which covers the head (in ancient times entirely) represents the “helmet of salvation,” divine hope; the “alb,” innocence of life, because it clothes the celebrant from head to foot in spotless white; the “girdle,” with which the loins are girt, purity and chastity (also referring to the text of St. Luke, “Let your loins be girt”),[170] and possibly bearing some allusion likewise to the journey of life, and the command anciently given to the Jews at the first Pasch, “You shall gird your reins”;[171] the “maniple,” which is put on the left arm, patience under the burdens of this mortal life; the “stole,” which is worn on the neck and shoulders, the yoke of Christ; and the “chasuble,” which, as uppermost, covers all the rest, charity--according to the saying of St. Peter, that “charity covereth a multitude of sins.”[172] The author of _The Following of Christ_, speaking of the duties and dignity of the priesthood, thus beautifully interprets the ecclesiastical apparel: “A priest clad in his sacred vestments is Christ’s vicegerent, to pray God for himself and for all the people in a suppliant and humble manner. He has before him and behind him the sign of the cross of the Lord, that he may always remember the passion of Christ. He bears the cross before him in his vestment, that he may diligently behold the footsteps of Christ, and fervently endeavor to follow them. He is marked with the cross behind, that he may mildly suffer, for God’s sake, whatsoever adversities shall befall him from others. He wears the cross before him that he may bewail his own sins, and behind him that through compassion he may lament the sins of others, and know that he is placed, as it were, a mediator between God and the sinner.”[173]

Besides this mystical signification, the vestments also have a representative meaning. The amice is intended to recall the rag with which the Jews bandaged our Saviour’s eyes;[174] the alb, the white garment in which Herod, in derision, clothed him; the girdle, maniple, and stole, the cords with which he was bound; the chasuble, the purple garment with which the soldiers covered him when they hailed him as a mock king, and as a complement, the cross on the chasuble represents that which Christ bore on his wounded shoulders on his way to Calvary. The priest’s tonsure, worn very conspicuously by most of the religious orders, is a type of the crown of thorns.

The ceremonies of marriage are interesting from their symbolical meaning, but are so familiar that it is useless to dwell on them. In the Greek Church, a glass of wine is partaken of by the bride and bridegroom, as a type of the community of possession which is henceforth to exist between them. The use of the ring is not confined to earthly nuptials; it is worn, as we know, by bishops as a sign of union with their sees, and also by many orders of nuns, as a pledge of their mystical bridal with their heavenly Spouse. The rites of initiation and profession in some of the religious orders of women are full of symbolism. In the taking of the white veil among the Dominicanesses at Rome, the novice is asked to choose between a crown of thorns and a wreath of roses placed before her on the altar. The hair is shorn, as a sign of detachment from the vanities of this world. At the profession the nun prostrates herself, and is entirely covered with a funereal pall, while the choir chants in solemn cadence the psalm for the dead--_De Profundis_.[175] This awful expression of her utter renunciation of the world has a most mysterious effect on any one who is happy enough to witness it. The grating and curtains that, in some orders, screen the religious from view, even during their friends’ visits to the “parlor,” are only a visible sign of the entire separation between them and all, even the most innocent, earthly ties. And speaking of religious orders, we are reminded of the peculiar ceremonies which, with some of them, enhance the solemnity of the divine office. Of these, a biographer of St. Dominic says, with true mediæval instinct, that it was no wonder that Dominic should have tried to imitate, in the many bowings and prostrations of the white-robed monks, the pageantry of angelic adoration which he had so often seen in visions--the folding of the many myriad wings, and the casting down of golden crowns before the throne of the Lamb.[176] And yet, while we are thinking of this beautiful interpretation, there comes another thought--that of churches as bare as the monastery itself, and of a ritual so simple that it would satisfy the veriest Covenanter. The Trappists especially, the Cistercians and Franciscans also, are forbidden any display in ceremonial, and any costliness in material, with regard to the worship of God. Poverty is to reign even in their churches; and thus we have an asylum provided for those minds whose ascetic turn inclines them to ignore everything but the most spiritual and internal expression of faith. Thus, in old times, St. Paul of the Desert abode among caves and wild beasts, and St. Simeon Stylites passed his life on the summit of an isolated column. Prayer without the slightest incentive to it, meditation without any outward suggestions to strengthen it--such was their life. They never heard glorious chants nor saw processions of clerics clad in golden robes; no ritual, no symbol even, was there to help them on; and yet they were saints. There are such minds still now; the church has a place for them--a place among her rarest and choicest children, for, after all, “they have chosen the good part, and it shall not be taken from them.”

But for the majority symbolism is language, ceremonial is reading. And because others who do not understand this language rail at it, should we forget or give it up? Rather should we explain it to them; for who does not know how much pleasure may one day be derived from a tongue that to-day seems barbarous? Who can read Goethe till he has mastered the grammar of one of the richest languages in the world? or who can enjoy Dante till he has learnt to read him familiarly in the liquid original? Even so with Catholics; others must learn the Catholic alphabet before they pronounce upon the magnificent poems contained in our ceremonial. See this picture of the crucifixion--for in this one subject all our religion is enfolded. It is a mediæval painting. The arms of our Saviour are spread wide, almost on a level with his head; Mary, John, and Magdalen stand beneath; the penitent thief is beside him on his own cross. Two angels in flowing robes hold jewelled chalices under his pierced hands to collect the drops of blood, and other angels are seen in the clouds above, with musical instruments in their hands. This is no literal representation of the scene on Mount Calvary, no realistic picture of the thunder cloud, the brutal soldiery, the opened graves, such as we see by the dozen nowadays. It is not so much a picture of the _crucifixion_ as of the _redemption_. It occupies itself merely with the mystical sense of the great sacrifice; the figures beneath the cross are not portraits, in attitudes of human desolation, but representatives of the church of the faithful on earth; the good thief is put there for the aggregate of repentant sinners; the angels in the clouds rather celebrate the redemption of the world than lament the death of God; and the instruments they play are--we may well suppose it--meant to typify the consecration of art to religious purposes; the cup-bearing angels, catching the drops of blood as they fall, are types of the adoration paid to the saving blood of Jesus through all generations, and of the untold preciousness of this great treasure; in the _chalices_, also, we see a distinct allusion to the sacrifice of the Mass; finally, the widely extended arms mean--at least, they came to mean it not long after--the _universal_ nature of the redemption; and therefore the Jansenists, when they taught that Christ died only for those who are actually saved, painted their crucifixes with the arms uplifted high above the head.

So our Catholic symbolism is an open book, a text for the highest art, and a guide to the humblest mind. It has chapters for all--for poverty, nudity, and coarseness are as symbolical as magnificence and oriental grace. The despoiled altars of Good Friday are as eloquent as the procession of Palms or the Easter exuberance of decoration; the crib and the straw of Christmas are not less fraught with meaning than the decked tabernacles of Corpus Christi.

In a Benedictine abbey you will hear soul-stirring strains of the most solemn harmony; in a Carmelite convent you will listen to a chorus of nuns who are forbidden to use more than three notes with which to vary their singing of the divine office; in a Trappist retreat you will watch for the slightest sound, and hear nothing save the muffled fall of clods of earth as a monk digs his own grave, or the salutation, “Brother, we must all die,” as another monk passes him on his way to a similar occupation. Let those who do not understand our symbolical language pause and learn it; and no doubt, learning to read it _as_ we do, they will soon come to read it _with_ us in the brotherhood of the faith.

FOOTNOTES:

[136] Dr. Rock, _Hierurgia_.

[137] Introd. to _Legends of the Monastic Orders_ (p. 25).

[138] Dr. Rock, _Hierurgia_.

[139] _Roma Sotterranea._

[140] Palmer’s _Early Christian Symbolism_.

[141] See Northcote’s _Roma Sotterranea_.

[142] _Ibid._

[143] _Ibid._

[144] Perret, _Catacombes de Rome_.

[145] Palmer’s _Early Christian Symbolism_.

[146] Northcote’s _Roma Sotterranea_.

[147] _Palmer._

[148] _Ibid._

[149] _Dr. Northcote._

[150] Perret, _Catacombes de Rome_, vol. x.

[151] Palmer’s _Early Christian Symbolism_.

[152] Dr. Northcote’s _Roma Sotterranea_.

[153] Perret, _Catacombes de Rome_.

[154] Dr. Northcote’s _Roma Sott_. p. 123.

[155] _Sacred and Legendary Art._

[156] St. Matt. xviii. 2.

[157] St. Matt. xxvii. 3.

[158] Deut. xvi. 10.

[159] Dr. Challoner.

[160] Dr. Rock’s _Hierurgia_.

[161] Ps. cxviii. 105.

[162] Dr. Rock’s _Hierurgia_.

[163] v. 8, viii. 4.

[164] Dr. Rock, _Hierurgia_.

[165] 4 Kings ii. 19.

[166] 1 Kings x. i.

[167] Levit. ii. 4, 5, 6, 7, 13.

[168] Cardinal Wiseman, _Four Lectures on Holy Week in Rome_.

[169] Exodus xii. 22.

[170] Luke xii. 35.

[171] Exodus xii. 11.

[172] 1 Peter iv. 8.

[173] Book iv., chap. 5.

[174] St. Luke xxii. 64.

[175] For the foregoing particulars see Challoner’s _Catholic Christian Instructed_.

[176] Dr. Alemanny, _Life of St. Dominic_.

THE PROGRESSIONISTS.

FROM THE GERMAN OF CONRAD VON BOLANDEN.