Clement and the Early Tradition (3)

Looking again at chapters 40-44 of Clement's letter, we can see a kind of conceptual matrix in the interrelationships of the key terms. The important vocabulary is as follows: prosphora, liturgy, hierus, episcopate, eucharist, tagma, trapeza, diadechontai, and finally the phrase prosenenkontas ta dora.

By themselves, many of these terms might mean any number of things. Prosphora, for instance, literally means "offering," liturgy "public service," episcopate "overseer," eucharist "giving of thanks," tagma "rank" or "order," trapeza "altar-table," diadechontai "succeed [to]," and lastly, "offered the gifts." However, in ecclesiastical and septuagint usage, the meaning of each word narrows. The fact of the matter is all of this is eucharistic and hierarchical vocabulary having to do with what we now call the sacrifice of the mass, the sacerdotal priesthood, and the hierarchical constitution of the Church. Prosphora can also mean "altar bread" in ecclesiastical Greek. Seeing it paired with "liturgy" and "eucharist" in the context of "offering the gifts" and in connection with the threefold Levitical priesthood strengthens the probability that Clement is using these words in their technical sense.

The importance of all of this cannot be overstated for many reasons. We know that Clement was written no later than AD 96 and possibly as early as 70. We know that prior to him in the New Testament we don't see such technical vocabulary and such well-developed doctrinal expressions, and we know that after him both the vocab and the doctrine becomes standard in the Church Fathers. This leaves us with only two possibilities. Either Clement originated them, or they're an element of apostolic teaching implicit in the New Testament but only attested to explicitly outside of and after it. The second seems infinitely more probable, but either way, the writing of Clement indicates a point at which Christian identity and doctrine is fleshed out to the point that we can truly call everything that comes after distinctively Catholic. We'll explore more concerning Clement and Catholic identity in a later post.

Clement and the Early Tradition (2)

In Clement 40-44, note how seamlessly woven together is the Levitical priesthood and the Christian episcopate. They are so much the same thing in Clement's mind that in chapter 40 he switches from one to the other without so much as a wink to indicate where one subject stops and the other begins. This is expressive of a consistent method on Clement's part to interpret Christianity in the most continuous fashion possible — continuous, that is, with temple religion and synagogue. It is important at this juncture to note that Clement is intimately familiar with the Epistle to the Hebrews. Not only does he quote from it, he borrows liberally from its theology and subject matter, with one stark difference: whereas Paul a few years earlier emphasizes what is novel about Christianity compared to what came before, Clement's emphasis is on what isn't. This shift is of seismic importance in the doctrinal development that accompanies the growth of early Catholic tradition. In contrast to the Judaizers who were blind to the newness of grace, Paul, in his horror of their perversion of the gospel, exaggerates the differences between the old dispensation and the new covenant. Nowhere does he do so quite so much as in Hebrews. While revering Paul and remaining faithful to his teaching, beginning with Clement, the early tradition reasserts the continuity of Christianity with the old religion of Israel. This is especially important to bear in mind as we move on to examining Clement's idea of Holy Orders.

Clement and the Early Tradition (1)

The following is taken from the epistle of St. Clement to the Corinthians. Clement, the associate of Paul and successor to Peter, was pope of Rome ten or so years after the apostles' martyrdom in the late 60's and is named in the Roman canon after popes Linus and Cletus. He is one of the most important figures in Church history: his letter marks the transition from the age of the apostles to that of the apostolic fathers. It is particularly important for its theological method, its doctrines, and its vocabulary, all of which later become standard in the Greek fathers. Though the entire letter is worth reading, the excerpts below, taken from chapters 40-44, are the most critical.

It behooves us to do all things in order which the Lord has commanded us to perform at stated times. He has enjoined offerings [Gk. προσφορας] and service [λειτουργιας] to be performed, and that not thoughtlessly or irregularly, but at the appointed times and hours. Where and by whom he desires these things to be done, he himself has fixed by his own supreme will, in order that all things, being piously done according to his good pleasure, may be acceptable unto him. Those, therefore, who present their offerings at the appointed times, are accepted and blessed; for inasmuch as they follow the laws of the Lord, they sin not. For his own peculiar services are assigned to the high priest, and their own proper place is prescribed to the priests, and their own special ministrations devolve on the Levites. The layman is bound by the laws that pertain to laymen. Let every one of you, brethren, give thanks [ευχαριστειτω] to God in his own order, living in all good conscience, with becoming gravity, and not going beyond the rule of the ministry prescribed to him...

The apostles... appointed the first fruits, having first proved them by the Spirit, to be bishops and deacons [lit. overseers and servants] of those who should afterwards believe... what wonder is it if those in Christ who were entrusted with such a duty by God, appointed those before mentioned, when the blessed Moses also, "a faithful servant in all his house" [Hebrews 3:5]... when rivalry arose concerning the priesthood [ιερωσυνης]... commanded the twelve princes of the tribes to bring him their rods, each one being inscribed with the name of the tribe. He took them and bound them, and sealed them with the rings of the princes of the tribes, and laid them up in the tabernacle of witness on the table [τραπεζαν] of God... When the morning had come... the rod of Aaron was found not only to have blossomed, but to bear fruit upon it... Did not Moses know beforehand that this would happen? Undoubtedly he knew; but he acted thus, that there might be no sedition in Israel... Our apostles also knew through Christ that there would be strife on account of the office of the episcopate. For this reason... they appointed [bishops and deacons], and afterwards gave instructions, that when these should fall asleep, other approved men should succeed them in their ministry. We are of opinion, therefore, that those appointed by them, or afterwards by other eminent men... cannot be justly dismissed from the ministry. For our sin will not be small if we eject from the episcopate those who have blamelessly and holily offered the gifts [προσενεγκοντας τα δωρα]. Blessed are those presbyters [lit. elders] who, having finished their course before now, have obtained a fruitful and perfect departure, for they have no fear lest anyone deprive them of the place now appointed them.

Conversion and Disillusionment

These days it's not uncommon to hear talk of a "convert problem" in the Church. The general idea is that converts to Catholicism tend to be troublesome and meddlesome and act like they know better than cradles or the hierarchy. This is a reasonably accurate stereotype and I'd like to explore why that is. In my part of the world and I assume others, converts typically come from evangelical backgrounds. Evangelicalism, at least in America, is a cross-denominational approach to Christianity characterized by: decisional and personal faith, intense focus on the person of Christ and his grace, wholehearted acceptance of fundamental dogma, full-throated promotion of unpopular doctrines, willingness to question leadership, an appreciation for the Bible that borders on obsessive, a borderline superstitious openness to the supernatural, and a concern for building community. There are other more negative characteristics as well: an ignorance of and distaste for "high" Christianity, permissiveness toward divergent views, rejection of liturgical worship, reduction of the sacraments to — in practice optional — ordinances, ignorance of Church history and historical theology,

Those of us who convert from this background often retain many or all of these qualities save a few; the ones we drop usually prompt our conversion in the first place. Those we retain determine what kind of Catholics we will be. In most cases, the former qualities are retained and the latter are dropped, making for passionate but meddlesome laymen and women who are credulous in the best way. Herein lies the problem. Despite much talk in recent decades of "elements of sanctification and of truth [that] are found outside" the Catholic Church, many of us encounter resistance to our most deeply cherished beliefs both from cradles and Church hierarchy. I've heard many homilies that are at best unsupportive of and at worst scandalous to those with a notion that Christ and supernatural grace ought to be the absolute center of life. I once heard a priest preach on Easter that the cross of Christ doesn't so much take away something — that is, sin and death — as it gives us something, namely, a new awareness of our brothers and sisters who suffer in poverty. This was at an archiepiscopal cathedral. On pretty much every front, we are at odds both with individual Catholics and with the general culture of the Church. The convert who retains the dynamism of evangelicalism but comes to love the mass and profess all that the Church teaches as revealed by God has one pejorative slapped on his forehead: fundamentalist, opposition to which is considered the sine qua non of Catholicism in the modern world.

While our devotees of modernized Catholicism regard us as a "problem," we — or should I say I? — consider those who oppose us witting or unwitting enemies of religion. For it is religion that drew us to the Church; it is religion with which the most sincere Protestants actually find commonalities — real, substantial religion, the "old religion" of old Europe which for centuries nourished the piety of our forefathers, supernaturalist superstitions like processions for good weather and sacrifice for the dead, bibliocentric fundamentalism like the dogmatic anathema and devotion to scripture, and high liturgy modeled after royal court ceremony, like that of John Chrysostom and the Gregorian-Tridentine mass. If I am accused of being nostalgic for a bygone era, I gladly submit to the charge. Catholicism is of its essence bygone. Its practices and beliefs are as contrary to the modern era and its way of thinking as a baptist preacher's. Catholicism and modernity are essentially irreconcilable and the project is doomed to failure. One must choose which master to serve. As for me and my house, et cetera.

Nevertheless this opposition to and hatred of modern, toned-down, minimalist, humanist Catholicism is wearing. I confess to experiencing great disillusionment and dissatisfaction. I know I’m not alone, but apart from enclaving oneself in an orthodox parish and ignoring the broader Church whose confessional name one bears, there's little to be done. Then sets in the most frustrating, numbing buyer's remorse, a remorse without solution. I — or we — know we can't return to Protestantism yet find Catholicism nearly intolerable, not for what it is in itself but what most of its adherents imagine it to be. I confess I feel rather gullible. I came to believe Catholicism was in continuity with the apostles, Church Fathers, medieval tradition, Trent and Vatican I. Far from being the life-blood of the Church in the 21st century, this is passed over as unimportant and embarrassing, much like a divorcee passed over a previous marriage in favor of a second marriage. The Church is married to this age, and I confess I don't see much resemblance to the Church of yesteryear with which I fell in love.

On the Liturgy

The aesthetic of Christian liturgy is remarkably uniform across the rites which originated in the earliest centuries. By aesthetic I mean the sights, sounds, and smells, and what they convey about the meaning of the rite. I want to draw your attention particularly to the fact that the earliest Christians saw themselves as the inheritors of the Levites. Clement (40-41), Ignatius (Philadelphians 4, 9), and Justin (Trypho 41) had a keen sense of identity that came from a narrative: The temple cult was divine, but the Jews corrupted it. God rejected their sacrifices and proved it by destroying the temple. However, he sent his Son to institute new sacrifices, which Christians offer in his name. Everything about the liturgy then is supposed to be indicative of temple worship, from the solemnity of the ceremonies and incense to the chant to the facing of the east to the uniquely formulaic way that priests behave and so on.

Because of this idea of direct continuity from temple to church, churches have always been understood as temples in the fullest sense of the word, as earthly houses where God lives and is served and where sacrifices and gifts are presented to him. The sanctuary is his courtroom. The notion of liturgy — and this is explicit in the Greek λειτουργία — is incomprehensible apart from the idea that God is a king with a court and servants who serve in this court. These servants are angels. The highest of the orders, the Cherubim and Seraphim, are those who render God unceasing service through their praise and on whom God is enthroned.

The uniquely Christian notion, however, and the one that is the secret heart of Christian liturgy, is that in sending his Son to become man, handing him over to death, raising him from the dead, and catching him up into heaven to serve at his right hand, God has given mankind a promotion. No longer do the Cherubim and Seraphim occupy the highest place. No longer are the orders of angels the primary court servants. We are. You, me, and every Christian are ordained to the general priesthood of the baptized by baptism itself. So great is our baptismal dignity that by virtue of it we have the right and duty to move past the orders of angels to the very face of God, before whom Christ stands in our nature and offers unceasing liturgical service for us. This is why we invoke the song of the Seraphim in the Sanctus. It signals to us that everything that happens afterward is done in the highest heavens above their rank.

That is the awesome mystery of the liturgy. This is what it means to be a Christian. Our identity comes directly from the mass and the aesthetic of the mass proclaims that identity. Orthodox liturgical aesthetic declares our identity and makes concrete our liturgical theology. It is not of secondary importance whether the priest faces this or that direction or how he dresses and behaves or how the church appears or how the people act or what the prayers actually say and so on. In a real sense nothing is of secondary importance because the whole act is sacred. The aesthetic of the mass tells us we're entering a different world where God is king and we are about his business, a business that demands we lay aside all earthly cares.

Specifically on the point of ad orientem worship, which is particularly essential to the mass, when a Christian priest serves at the altar facing away from us he stands in the shoes of the Jewish priest who once a year offered typical blood in the same fashion, foreshadowing the antitypical chalice. Ad orientem has two dimensions: Firstly and primarily it means worshiping toward the east because of what it represents, namely God and heaven and the life of the world to come. Secondly, it means the clergy and people facing in that direction together. When ad orientem is employed there can be no mistake about what is going on in mass, and it nourishes piety because it renders orthodox liturgical theology concrete. Ad populum on the other hand encourages heterodoxy by giving place to many erroneous and novel notions, such as the primacy of meal over sacrifice, the primacy of human community over service of God, the primacy of the temporal and earthly over the eternal and heavenly, and the primacy of the priesthood of the baptized over the ordained priesthood. Ad orientem worship is essential because without it the temple aesthetic of the mass is almost totally obscured.

In summation, if we as Catholics have lost the sense of our own identity, it is because we have forgotten that we are Jews and that everything we do has its roots in the temple and the synagogue. We are firstly a worshiping people. Before we can serve as the hands and feet of Christ, before we can preach or teach in his name or do anything of value for this fallen world, we first have to leave it. We have to have an encounter with God on his holy mountain. We have to take our place in heavenly places with Christ to realize our identity in him, so that having lifted up our hearts to the Lord, we can go back into the world empowered by the Holy Ghost, certain of our mission and alive in our faith. This is why the aesthetic of the mass matters, because without it the mass becomes an abstraction and abstractions do not nourish piety.

Reflections on the Mass

            What is the Catholic mass? The definition most of us are familiar with is that it’s the unbloody re-presentation of the crucifixion of Christ. I’d like to examine the mass in a slightly different light. The mass is a journey in which we leave our everyday lives behind and enter the temple of God in heaven to serve him in a way that exceeds the office of the cherubim and seraphim. The mass is liturgical prayer par excellence. Liturgy isn’t simply a formal approach to prayer. Liturgy is service rendered to God presiding as king of his heavenly court. Didactic liturgy is a contradiction in terms. When mass is used as a teaching tool it ceases to be oriented to the great king whose name is the terror of nations.

            There is a movement in the mass, an approach to God and a leave-taking of God to enter once again the world of everyday life. As surely as we have to move from our houses to our churches, in mass clergy and people truly go to the court of heaven and come back to bring God to the world. God calls us up into the celestial temple of which the Aaronic temple was a type. It is our privilege to enter into his presence in order to serve and receive him as our king. At the climax of the mass, which in the Roman rite is the Per ipsum, we assume our place at the right hand of God, above and beyond the blessed powers mentioned in the Sanctus, in order to join Christ in the great service he is always offering God on our behalf as our great high priest. In the Byzantine prayer Axion estin it is said of the Mother of God that she is higher than the cherubim and more glorious beyond compare than the seraphim -- and so she is! but in the mass, so are we. By God's grace we have been deemed worthy to offer God liturgical worship in the body and blood of Christ in the very presence of God in which seraphim cover their eyes lest they be consumed.

Sacred scripture is absolutely saturated with types of the journey of the mass. Those who came before us have walked this very path we have been called to walk. When Moses ascended mount Sinai with Aaron at his right hand and descended with the law and shining with the glory of God, he served as a type of our ascent with the Eucharistic gifts and our descent with Christ in holy communion. When on the Day of Atonement the Aaronic high priest entered the holy of holies in Solomon’s temple to sprinkle the blood of the lamb on the mercy seat between the cherubim, he prefigured our ascent in Christ to the altar on high in sight of the divine majesty.

When our father Noah was carried by the ark through the waters of the flood to Ararat and thereafter planted a vineyard and erected an altar of holocaust he foreshadowed the baptized Church being carried away to the celestial altar to offer the blood of Christ through the eternal Spirit. In the gospel when we read of Peter, John, and James ascending Mount Tabor and encountering the transfigured Christ with Moses and Elijah enthroned in his glory, we are meant to see a foreshadowing of the mass, in which we encounter king and court at the altar and serve them. In the mysteries of the new covenant, the host corresponds to Moses and the chalice to Elijah. As we enter mass we ascend the mountain with Christ to witness his glory -- as we leave we descend to participate in his sufferings.

It seems we have forgotten about the mass. All of the deficiencies of a typical Roman rite mass celebrated in the ordinary form amount to a kind of quiet denial of the transcendent. Instead of going up and forward to heaven, we look backward to earth. Instead of bringing an offering into the court of God, we place our offering at the center of our circle. Instead of serving God in his mystical temple on high, we expect God to come down to earth and serve us. Of course he will do so, but in proper turn, after we have done our duty in offering mass to him. It is imperative that we turn ourselves to the east, chant the mass, use the chalice veil and burse, and conduct ourselves in such a way that it is obvious the ground on which we stand is holy, holier indeed than the tree ever burning but never consumed, holier than Sinai ablaze, holier than Solomon's temple when it was filled with the majesty of God.