A spot-on review of Scott Hahn’s book Letter and Spirit: From Written Text to Living Word in the Liturgy, a deeply patristic study of the relationship between Scripture and the Church’s rites.

Adrian Murdoch gives us the rundown on English translations of Paulinus of Nola’s Life of Ambrose — including a version that’s free on the Web. Adrian’s also giving away the introduction to his new book, The Last Roman: Romulus Augustulus and the Decline of the West.

Roger Pearse tells us where to find all the volumes of the Corpus Scriptorum Christianorum Orientalium (CSCO). This series includes many ancient authors who are little known in the West, but who merit our attention — the Fathers of the Coptic, Syriac, Ethiopic, and other non-Greek, non-Latin language groups. Roger advises that “most texts consist of two volumes, one in [the original language] and the other in translation. Originally the translations were all in Latin, but in the last few decadent decades, mainstream modern languages have been used instead.” I breezed through the list and found that a goodly number are in English. I know that some volumes will appeal to regulars on this site, as they include the topics that fill my email box: the mystagogy of the liturgy, the early literature of Christianity’s encounter with Islam, the Church’s devotion to the Virgin Mary, and so on. Make sure, though, to read Roger’s instructions carefully, as the online catalog entries are sketchy, and it’s sometimes very difficult to determine which is the English volume and which is the Syriac. The prices are remarkably low — but, still, you probably don’t want to buy a transatlantic flight for a book you’re not able to read. Yet.

If you’ve read anything by Jesuit Father Robert Taft — or, better, if you’ve ever heard him speak — you know it can be a wild ride. He’s brilliant. He seems to have read all the ancient sources and committed them to memory, in the original languages. A longtime professor of liturgy and patristics at the Pontifical Oriental Institute in Rome, he served the early years of his priesthood in Baghdad. During civil unrest in the late 1950s, he traveled the Iraqi countryside observing the liturgies of the Syriac-speaking villages and monasteries. And there he got hooked on liturgics. Since then, he’s written about three dozen books and several hundred articles on the ancient liturgies and the Fathers. He is a Catholic priest of both the Latin and Byzantine rites.

It would be an understatement to say that Father Taft is outspoken. He has a first-rate mind, and he speaks it with force and wit. If you don’t believe me, read his 2004 interview with John Allen. It is the very image of the loose cannon rolling down the tilting deck of the barque of Peter. I’m sure it sent several dozen ecumenists into damage-control mode for weeks afterward.

His academic work has been a little more restrained in expression, but no less certain in its conclusions.

But his most recent book — Through Their Own Eyes: Liturgy as the Byzantines Saw It — now that’s another story.

This is a book that combines the academic rigor of the published Father Taft with the frankness of his live lectures. Indeed, the book is made up of edited transcripts of his 2005 Paul G. Manolis Distinguished Lectures at the Patriarch Athenagoras Orthodox Institute in Berkeley, California.

It’s a book by turns moving and entertaining. Father Taft sets out to give us a “bottom-up” view of the Byzantine liturgy, as it was experienced by the congregations of late antiquity, rather than explicated by the mystagogues. The situation was, as he points out, “not all incense and icons.”

Citing the Great Fathers, he evokes free-ranging congregations where young men and women trolled the crowd for romance. Chrysostom complained that the women at church were no different from courtesans, and the men like “frantic stallions.” Chrysostom also noted that people were talking throughout the liturgy, and “their talk is filthier than excrement.” Old Golden Mouth went on to report that the rush for Communion proceeded by way of “kicking, striking, filled with anger, shoving our neighbors, full of disorder.”

It almost makes today’s American parishes look reverent.

Taft walks us through the liturgy, from introit to dismissal, in a kind of reverse mystagogy. Traditional mystagogy begins with the outward signs and proceeds to their hidden meaning. Taft, however, begins with the assumption that the liturgy is heavenly, and then shows us the very incarnational, very earthly (and earthy) details of the scene where heaven touches down. At each stage of the rites, he quotes from contemporary accounts of what was going on in the assembly. We learn about the vigorous singing, the popularity of the Psalms, and the entertainment value of a sonorous homily, even if it’s in an archaic language that no one understands.

Liturgy was central to life in the big city. Entire populations turned out for icon processions and for the translation of relics. Sometimes, these mass liturgical rallies turned into mob scenes as the herd stampeded toward the center of grace. He brings up the fourth-century pilgrim Egeria’s story about the man who bit off a piece of the true cross to take home as a souvenir.

And yet, for all that, “the Church’s earthly song of praise is but an icon, the reflection — in the Pauline sense of mysterion, a visible appearance that is bearer of the reality it represents — of the heavenly liturgy of the Risen Lord before the throne of God. As such, it is an ever-present, vibrant participation in the heavenly worship of God’s Son.”

“Byzantine art and ritual,” he says as he brings his final lecture to its conclusion, “far from being all ethereal and spiritual and transcendent and symbolic, was in fact a very concrete attempt at portrayal, at opening a window onto the sacred, of bridging the gap.”

And that’s what we must never forget. Even the best dressed and best behaved folks among us are oafs and waifs pressing dirty noses against the window. If we spend our hour of worship worrying about the comportment of the Joneses in the next pew, we’re probably missing the point of liturgical worship.

Taft’s book is probably a good counter-balance for those of us who spend hours feeding off the liturgical works of Ambrose, Cyril, and Theodore (though we do get a hint of the underside in Augustine, too). Father Taft confesses that he himself has written books romanticizing the ancient liturgies. Maybe Through Their Own Eyes is his act of reparation. In any event, it’s our gain.

This book will inflame passions all around. But, in the illustrious career of Robert Taft, what else is new? The lectures include the transcripts of the question-and-answer periods afterward. And there the erudite father does not mince words as he asserts the appropriateness of the vernacular, the “stupidity” of the mania for liturgical variety, and so on.

Google points me to a Taft work available free online, and it’s my pleasure to pass it on to you: Eastern-Rite Catholicism: Its Heritage and Vocation. I know he’s published another, more controversial (and entertaining) treatment of the same theme somewhere; but I can’t seem to track it down at the moment. Meantime, enjoy the Taft you have at hand. And buy the new book. It’s a time-machine trip — and a joy ride.

Liturgical Press has drastically reduced the prices of some good patristic titles.

Enrico Mazza’s Mystagogy: A Theology of Liturgy in the Patristic Age is now $3.63 (down from $14.50).

Joseph T. Lienhard’s anthology on holy orders in the patristic era, Ministry, is now $2.99 (down from $11.95).

Thomas Halton’s anthology of patristic texts on The Church is now $3.74 (don’t know the original price).

Kilian McDonnell’s Baptism of Jesus in the Jordan: The Trinitarian and Cosmic Order of Salvation is now $6.24 (down from $24.95).

One of the great things about having Benedict XVI as pope is that we now have a steady stream of Joseph Ratzinger books to enjoy. We have the pleasure of catching up with a long and prolific theological life — and one steeped in the Fathers. I’m presently enjoying Images of Hope: Meditations on Major Feasts. It’s the perfect remote preparation for the St. Paul Center’s pilgrimage to Rome in 2007. Key essays in the book are then-Cardinal Ratzinger’s guided tours of the ancient Roman catacombs and the patristic-era basilicas of St. Mary Major, St. Peter (twice), St. Paul, and St. Clement. And the Fathers are with him always, for every feast, in every holy site. “When we read the Church Fathers,” he says, “something important is added.” And: “we must return once again with the Church Fathers to the first Christmas.” This is a little book (just over a hundred pages), but beautiful, gorgeously illustrated with full-color artwork, packed with wisdom, insight, and even information — the fine details of history. If you can’t make an overseas pilgrimage to Rome, make one in your armchair with this lovely book from Ignatius Press.

The new edition is here!

I don’t own a copy yet, but I saw three crates destined for the St. Paul Center for Biblical Theology, whose good folks are handing over a copy to anyone who donates $50 or more (and asks for one).

New in this edition are writers from the Syriac and Coptic traditions and from the lands of modern Africa, Iraq, and Iran. I’ve added eleven more ancient writers and beefed up the sections dedicated to Irenaeus, Clement, and Origen. In a concession to my academic friends — and as an acknowledgment that the book is widely used as a college text — I’ve also added endnote references for all quotations. I’ve added an index. And I’ve expanded the recommended-reading section, which is now more than twice as large as in the first edition, and now subdivided and annotated.

Here’s advance notice from some critics I admire:

“The first edition of this book rather quickly established itself as the standard popular introduction to the Fathers. This new edition raises the standard. . . Aquilina shows us the Fathers as true fathers, and he demonstrates their crucial role as witnesses to Sacred Tradition — indispensable guides to the Church’s interpretation of Scripture. They are witnesses to our continuity with the apostles, and to the unity and universality of the apostolic faith. Yet, as we see in this book, they are not uniform voices. Theirs is a rich diversity that enhances unity. What Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob were for Israel, the Fathers are for the Church. Reading this book, one grows more Catholic by the page. It will surely be a classic.”
Scott Hahn, Ph.D.
Pope Benedict XVI Chair in Biblical Theology and Liturgical Proclamation
St. Vincent Seminary, Latrobe, Pa.

“Too many Christians suffer from historical amnesia. The Church very much needs a popular rediscovery of the early Fathers, and this book admirably makes such a discovery possible. It will be of great benefit to numerous Christians.”
Fr. Thomas G. Weinandy, O.F.M., Cap.
Honorary Theological Fellow, Greyfriars, Oxford
Capuchin College, Washington, D.C.

Just finished reading a book I’d like to recommend to you: Saints Behaving Badly: The Cutthroats, Crooks, Trollops, Con Men, and Devil-Worshippers Who Became Saints, by Thomas Craughwell. It belongs on this blog because half the profiles in the book are of men and women from Christian antiquity.

You’ll recognize some of the names because they’re ubiquitous: Augustine and Patrick, for example. Others you’ll recognize because you read this blog so faithfully: Genesius and Hippolytus.

Still others you’ll know if you’ve dipped a little below the timelines of ancient Christian history. There’s Alipius, Augustine’s best friend, roommate, and co-star in his Dialogues. Craughwell informs us that Alipius was fond of bloody contests in the arena. (Today, he’d be into hockey.) St. Pelagia and St. Mary of Egypt were women of ill repute before they became women renowned for sanctity.

Thomas Craughwell has produced a collection that looks unflinchingly at the early, scandalous lives of twenty-nine saints. Whereas in the missal we see them identified as “Virgin” or “Martyr,” Craughwell’s chapter headings make up a strange litany indeed: “St. Callixtus, Embezzler … St. Hippolytus, Antipope … St. Genesius, Scoffer … St. Moses the Ethiopian, Cutthroat and Gang Leader … St. Fabiola, Bigamist.”

We know the Church Fathers best as teachers. Thanks to Thomas Craughwell, we can now come to know them as sinners in need of mercy — and who heroically corresponded to the mercy they were given. That’s what made them saints. And that ain’t misbehavin’. It’s the part of their life that most of us are best equipped to imitate.

This book — good-humored and wholly orthodox — carries the full weight of a treatise on God’s mercy, but in the guise of a little light reading.

Gregory the Great’s composed his magnum opus, the Moralia in Job (Morals on the Book of Job), while he was the pope’s ambassador at the imperial court in Constantinople. For the monks with whom he stayed, he gave a long series of conferences on the moral sense of this most perplexing and consoling book of the Bible. He held up Job as a model of all the virtues. Gregory’s book son won fame and remained among the most popular works of scriptural interpretation in the middle ages.

Unfortunately, it’s been unavailable in English for over a century and a half — since Parker and Rivington brought it out in London in 1844. It’s three huge volumes, and I think there’s a set for sale somewhere for $400.

But now Lectionary Central, a site run by tradition-minded Anglicans in Canada, is enabling us all to grow rich. Those good folks in the Great White North are keying the book in, a little at a time, and are now well into volume two. They’re saving the notes for last. (Georgetown provost James J. O’Donnell has posted a small portion with notes.)

Praise God from whom all blessings flow. Then start reading!

A new book, considered in Bryn Mawr Classical Review, examines the links of Montanism (an early Christian heresy) with certain unsavory pagan cults.

And Tertullian preferred Montanist company to the congregations of Catholics? We gotta work on our people skills.

Vera-Elisabeth Hirschmann’s Ph.D. thesis … adduces a series of indications which make it plausible that the pagan religions of Phrygia shaped Montanism at its very origin …

H. interprets the reference to the Phrygian Quintus in the Martyrium Polycarpi, who was very keen to be martyred but defected when faced with the animals in the arena, as a veiled critique of enthusiastic tendencies in Phrygia. Montanism would also be susceptible to those, as she argues later. References to a pagan background of Montanism are found in Eusebius of Caesarea (Church History 5.16), who quoted the work of Apollinarius of Hierapolis. Later sources like Jerome (Epistula 41) can be taken to imply that Montanus was a priest of Cybele, whereas the so-called dialogue between a Montanist and an Orthodox makes him a priest of Apollo … Finally, H. stresses the Phrygian origin of the main actors of Montanism: Montanus, the incarnation of the Paraclet, and the two prophets Maximilla and Priscilla.

The third chapter lists the parallels between Montanism and Phrygian religion. H. tentatively explains the late references to a priesthood of Cybele and Apollo for Montanus by the fact that in Phrygia both deities were sometimes worshipped together (and even more specifically in Phrygian Mysia, Montanus’ place of origin) …

The next section of chapter 3 discusses the character of the Montanist prophecy. The Montanists believed in an additional source of revelation: the ecstatic prophecies of Montanus and his two female followers. H. shows that the Montanist kind of prophecy, characterised by the idea that God inhabits the prophet and uses his body as a tool for his divine revelation, stands in contrast with mainstream Jewish and early Christian prophecy, where prophecy is controlled and the prophet never loses his individuality. Parallels for ecstatic prophecy are rather to be found in a pagan environment.

The female prophets Priscilla and Maximilla are a remarkable feature of Montanism, for which it often was criticised by mainstream Christianity. H. explains this with reference to the role of women in pagan cults, where they indeed could function as prophets. A detail may support this view. Priscilla is described as ‘virgin’ (parthenos), whereas it is likely that she had reached a certain age and had been married. However, the Delphic Pythia was also called ‘virgin’ without really being one. The virginity is in both cases of a ritual nature, indicating a state of purity. And indeed, a fragment from an oracle by Priscilla indicates asceticism as the road to purity.

The fourth-century church father Epiphanius refers to a group of Montanists, the so-called Artotyrites, who celebrated the Eucharist with bread and cheese (Panarion 49.2.6) … Some parallels with pagan cults, like that of Cybele to whom milk was sacrificed, could indicate a pagan background to this rite. Due to lack of evidence, this must remain merely a suggestion.

The final section discusses the organisation of Montanism. Several sources give titles of Montanist functionaries (like epitropos, koinônos, koinônos kata topon). H. proposes that Montanism was organised as a cultic society (a synodos), as were many other cults in Asia Minor. A koinônos is in that case an individual who had bought a property in the interest of the society.

Go directly to Fr. Z’s place, where you’ll see a feast-appropriate image of The Mass of St. Gregory. This painting plays an important role in The Grail Code, the book I co-authored with Christopher Bailey. It’s a book you really should read.

St. Gregory himself plays a pivotal role in the history recounted in The Grail Code. He’s the one who made the development of the Grail legends possible, advising his missionaries to assimilate — and elevate — all that was good in the religious heritage of the pagan barbarians. That, thanks be to God, included the Celtic folk tales.

If you’d rather buy a copy of The Grail Code in Portuguese, check out O Código Graal. If you prefer Canadian French, buy Graal Code: Enquête sur le mystère du Graal. German and other languages are coming soon.