Report from a Holy Saturday, Once: The Holy Fire Liturgy at the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem

On one Holy Saturday – spontaneously – I attended the Holy Fire liturgy at the Church of the Holy Sepulcher (The Church of the Resurrection, as it’s called in the West) in Jerusalem.  

Photo by Dave Herring on Unsplash

Islam has the keys to the door, Jews are honored guests, and a potage of Christian groups run this place, but this morning the Greek Orthodox had the worship space.  Because of the status quo set into rigid placement two or so hundred years ago by the Ottoman Empire, liturgies in the Holy Sepulchre are set according to a very stiff timetable — implemented before the Second Vatican Council. Hence, even today, the Latin’s celebrate the Easter Vigil at 6:30 in the morning!  

After the Latin Patriarch and his train left with much fanfare, the Holy Sepulchre doors closed. A Moslem “guard” locked the doors again in a ceremonial “ladder from hole” routine, and we waited for the Greeks and Armenians to show up for their traditional greeting.  It was uncomfortable, waiting in line, waiting for the doors to open while hewn matrons with steely eyes yelled out invective to anyone who attempted to cross their space. The dazed English speakers could only muster, “What are you saying?” The women would only continue to spill out their sputter onto the crowd and me. 

When finally the old, crackly wooden doors finally, slowly wheezed open again, the people, not a single file, piled into the Basilica, arms clutching their children hoping for a heavenly blessing.  Everyone wants a view of the aedicule (edicule), which is the structure believed to be the place Christ was laid to rest and rose again. It is not the most beautiful structure; steel supports cover the faded glory tomb – a phalanx of luminaries fill the entrance, making visible a gaudy icon on top of something or other.  I could only see glimpses of the tomb, as I was constantly, for four hours, smashed up against people’s backs and other parts – at one time, a woman’s long strand of hair found itself in my mouth.  The fervor heightened inside the Basilica as Armenian teenagers walloped and yelled, climbed the aedicule singing “fire” songs, praying for the angel to come and light the place ablaze.  I could only look blearily on from my curtailed privacy, people continually poking and prodding me.  

This lasted for a very long time, while in the crowds, people collapsed from fatigue.  The church’s central section was throbbing with action that a Westerner could only gawk at – is this liturgy? I wondered.  What sort of liturgy is utter chaos?  There was no sense of order in this bedlam – if there was any, I could not see it maybe I had no faith. Only the person of faith sees the angel come down to light the flames, for hours processions followed the tomb around and around.  

Periods of silence where it seemed nothing was going on ensued, only the people’s continual hum and a loud chant song from the tomb precincts.  The anticipation was growing, and I was hot and bothered – the sweat collected and the compression of people made my head swim.  I reminded myself I was about to witness a miracle.  The Greek Patriarch entered the tomb to receive the holy fire from the angel. He is ritually searched by a Moslem group and then enters – I think alone or maybe with an assistant.   No sound comes from the aedicule as the inner thumping of peoples’ anticipation grows.  Then it happens, suddenly, without a warning – a hand sticks out of a pre-carved oval with a flame.  The whole church goes crazy – people are singing and waving their candles, and the flame approaches me like a fireball, for by now, hundreds of people have lit their torches. Quickly the place becomes hot, the wax is flying around and soon, anti-luminaries with handy sprayers violently extinguish the flames.  Some place their flame in a secure metal box to be taken home to the dinner table or on the next Greek Air flight!  

In about five minutes, the whole Basilica was bathed by a bequest from an angel – a sight to behold – I just could not believe it as I again joined the throng trying to crawl my way out of this enormous church where I had indeed experienced a miracle.  And when I got outside, I saw holy flames licking the streets of Jerusalem – Christ-like a Pandora shedding not chaos, but wild radical mercy on his people.

Note: This post was originally written in the Spring of 2000.

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Recollection: Catholic Confirmation at Mary Queen of Peace Church (c. 1990s)

Me, Archbishop Philip Hannan, and Georgette Pintado (Nanan)

Throwback post to 1997 - a Catholic Confirmation ceremony at Mary Queen of Peace Church in Mandeville, Louisiana.

In the Catholic tradition, young people get confirmed. It's the standard rite of passage for Catholic youth. You take some classes. You go on a field trip. You take on the name of a saint and you choose a sponsor to help support you in your Catholicity. At sixteen years old, I was confirmed at Mary Queen of Peace Catholic Church in Mandeville, Louisiana. The pastor was Father Ronnie Calkins - a really nice guy who I later knew better when I joined the Seminary. But that's another story.

Photograph: All Saints Catholic Church in Brooklyn

All Saints Catholic Church in Brooklyn, New York, Throop Ave.

I walk past this church every day on my way to teach. It's a nice example of classic Romanesque style architecture. It is difficult to notice in this picture, but the rectory is a handsome building, as well. It sits to the left of the church in this photograph.

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Trinity Churchyard, Lower Manhattan, New York City

A quick visit to the churchyard at Trinity Church on Broadway in Manhattan reveals a little bit of early American History.

Trinity Churchyard, Manhattan

    Visit Alexander Hamilton's tomb here. And no, he was not a president. He was secretary of the treasury. He was killed in a duel by Aaron Burr on July 12, 1804.
     Showing this photography to a friend, he called it a memento mori. The financial center of the world rises in the background while the foreground reminds us of death.

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Bathroom Graffiti

Graffiti from a desk in a church school in Bordelonville, Louisiana
Some of the Graffiti dates back to the 1950s. Some of it was more recent, like the one above.

Shawn B.

Wuz

hyre

on 

2-22-06

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Theology: On Augustine and Pelagius

A Review of Gerald Bonner on Augustine and Pelagius

        Gerald Bonner has written extensively on the Pelagian Controversy in books and scholarly articles. Two chapters of his book on Augustine are dedicated to the Pelagian controversy. He also has two later articles on the subject in Augustinian Studies, “Pelagianism and Augustine,” a two-part series.  Also, his article “Rufinus of Syria and African Pelagianism” in the same journal is worth reading.  In these writings, Bonner writes on the origins of Pelagianism, not as a negative force in the church but rather as a positive movement that had intentions of building up, not destroying.  Bonner’s thesis is that if we begin from this positive point of view then, in the end, we can see if there are negative attributes of Pelagianism.[1]  It is a certain methodology Bonner follows: to start from “seeing what is right” about the Pelagians to a conclusion about what may be wrong about their positions; how they themselves would have looked at their movement, from the inside out, not outside in.[2]

        The problem is that we view Pelagianism through the lens of Augustine which distorts what Pelagianism actually stood for.  Looking back at a centuries-old problem, we can fail to see the man who began it all, Pelagius himself.  What did Pelagius actually say and what has been merely been attributed to him?  This is the task of the historian, to be as objective as she can be in the presentation of the facts, to steer clear from any biased retelling of history as far as possible and to sometimes relook history from the lens of another key figure.  In this case, let us look at the Pelagian controversy through Pelagius’ eyes rather than Augustine.  Of course, this task is never perfect; for, even the historian, merely reporting the story, informs history from their own vantage point, not only personal vantage point but the perspective of her time in history, the culture the historian writes from and the intent of the article.  Bonner is suggesting that history has been in favor of Augustine; so, do we get any new insights taking a retrospective look in the shoes of Pelagius?  

The Life of Pelagius

        From 408 - 431 are the years of Pelagianism, but it must be remembered that Pelagianism was not like other theological movements that found disfavor in the church because it was a local phenomenon and not systemic to the entire church at the time.  It basically sprung up in Rome, northern Africa and other pockets of Europe where Pelagius’ followers traveled.[3]   Bonner calls the modern retelling of Pelagianism “the demolition of what may be called the monolithic view of Pelagianism”.[4]   Nascent Pelagianism was not as grand a scheme as people make it out to be. Really, it is Augustine who brought the teachings of Pelagius into more universal awareness.  If it were not for Augustine’s extensive writings against Pelagius we probably would not know about it, but because Augustine spoke out against it so vehemently it has stood the test of time.[5]       

        In 408 Pelagius first comes onto the stage in Rome.  It arose first in aristocratic circles of women in Rome because Pelagius was a spiritual advisor to many women there. Demetrias, the daughter of Anicia Faltonia Proba.  Melania the Younger. All devout women of high rank -- like Jerome before him Pelagius courted single, young women of the bourgeoisie.[6]     About 410, around the same time as the Donatist movement (which is closely related to Pelagianism, sometimes confused with one another) is when Augustine began to preach against Pelagius.  Actually, in 415 The synod at Diospolis declared the writings of Pelagius to be orthodox but in 417 Pelagius was condemned in Rome.  The final stake in the Pelagian coffin was in 418 at the Council of Carthage, with over two hundred bishops under Augustine's leadership, Pope Zosimus pronounced Pelagianism heretical.[7] 

        Pelagius was a monk (although it is not quite clear whether he really was a monk or not) from the present day British Isles and came to Rome where most of his influence was felt; he was well-educated with “a profound knowledge of the bible” so he attracted the higher echelon of female society in Rome.[8]   He was probably born in the latter half of the of the fourth century.  He is different from other infamous dissidents in that there are no scandalous accounts attributed to his name, no grisly tales, and lecherous behavior: He did not die a horrible death, nor was he accused of licentious behavior with the young.[9]   Even Augustine, at one time, attested to his character.[10] Probably Pelagius was not searching for glory and fame; he was not a rabble-rouser dissident but actually a quiet man who tried to stay out of the public eye as much as he could and avoided publicity.[11] Augustine was quite pastoral in his letters to Pelagius which were later used to conclude falsely that Augustine was favorable to Pelagius’ cause.[12]   It is good to note here that Pelagius himself was probably closer to the truth (to orthodoxy) than the followers who took up his name. The third council of Ephesus condemned Caelestius, not Pelagius, who was considered apart of the Pelagian party (but to call the Pelagians a party is misleading because there is no evidence to support that they represented a strongly connected band).[13]   Maybe in the eyes of Augustine, but in reality, the movement was much more provincial than widespread.  Sometimes we tout certain ideas as from Pelagius but when really they are words from his admirers, like Caelstius and Rufinus.[14]
Actually, this is true of many movements in the church.  Jansens is less Jansenistic than Jansenists. Luther was less a Lutheran than the Lutherans.  Pelagius himself did not deny the need for grace nor did he dismiss baptism as essential.[15] 

Theology: Reflection on the Vatican II Document Sacrosanctum Concilium

The Second Vatican Council convenes in St. Peter's Basilica.

It has been over thirty years since the Vatican Council began, since the renewal of the liturgy and the subsequent changes that have affected Catholic worship as we know it was first set into motion. I was born in 1979, more than a decade after these changes. I grew up knowing nothing different than the Mass that I know today, in the vernacular, which was the familiar language of English. I only know Mass, where the priest faces the people, not the other way around.

     Little did I know as a boy in Catholic grammar school that the liturgy and worship of my time and place had had a long and tumultuous history, a journey spanning two millennia, from the breaking of the bread recorded in Acts (2:2), to the Greek concept of koinonia, the Orthodox liturgy of the East, to the dramatic Papal displays of Medieval Europe to the Tridentine Mass so familiar to a whole generation of Catholics who came before me.
     So, reading the document on the liturgy from the Council today, more than three decades later, is very interesting because it is essential to go back to the source of what changed dramatically, a liturgy that had been practically unchanged since the Council of Trent. What has really changed, and what has really stayed the same? What did this document have to say, and how have we been faithful to it in our interpretations?