Showing posts with label Divine Office. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Divine Office. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
6:12 AM
I awoke happy to find that none of the storm had leaked through the barn roof onto my sleeping bag, but not so happy to not find my scapular around my neck. Sitting up with a start I began undoing my plait to see if it was entangled in my hair, wondering with a panic what I had done with it. Had I taken it off when washing? Oh yes, I had! I scampered over to a shadowy corner in the barn that the ladies had made into an improptu bathing closet, but my old, brown scapular was not there. 'Condemnation!' I hissed, as I were a convalescent with a fractured vertebrae who could not find her neck-brace.
I set to packing, hoping it would emerge somewhere amongst the things I was stuffing into my big bag. I shook my sleeping bag and mat and dissected the straw I had placed under it for a mattress. Nothing. 'May it bless whoever finds it,' I forced myself to whisper, all the while moaning in my head about how wretchedly foolish I was for having lost it and (I had not yet had my tea) how stupid the world was for having let me lose it. After all, it is an Aristotelian's prerogative to attribute vitalist motives to everything in existence, so something had to have it in for me.
When we were on the road again, I felt rather like the wedding guest who arrived without the proper garment. Indeed, my inward sense of self-consciousness could not have been much stronger.
'You have but to purchase a new one, and you'll be able to do that tomorrow.'
Tomorrow? 'Well, I'll just have to pray hard until tomorrow,' I thought, sipping my cup of earl grey.
Father Grzegorz announced that Matins would presently commence. I threw out the remainder of the tea and dove into my backpack for my breviary.
The Little Office of the Immaculate Conception followed. After the initial hymn, the cantor intoned the prayer. I did not understand every word of it in the Polish, but I was eased by the gist:
Holy Mary, Queen of heaven, Święta Maryjo, Królowo niebieska,
Mother of our Lord Jesus Christ, Matko Pana naszego Jezusa Chrystusa
and Mistress of the world, i Pani świata,
who forsakest no one, która nikogo nie opuszczasz
and despiseth no one; i nikim nie gardzisz,
look upon me, O Lady, wejrzyj na nas, Pani nasza,
with an eye of pity, łaskawym okiem miłosierdzia swego
and entreat for me, i uproś nam
of thy beloved Son, u Syna swego miłego
the forgiveness of all my sins odpuszczenie wszystkich grzechów naszych
that as I now celebrate with devout affection abyśmy, którzy teraz
thy holy, Immaculate Conception, święte Twoje Niepokalane Poczęcie
so, hereafter, nabożnym sercem rozpamiętywamy,
I may receive the prize of eternal blessedness, wiecznego błogosławieństwa zapłatę w niebie otrzymać mogli
by the grace of Him Whom thou co niechaj da Ten, któregoś Ty o Panno,
in virginity didst bring forth, porodziła, Syn Twój,
Jesus Christ our Lord: a Pan nasz Jezus Chrystus,
Who, with the Father and the Holy Ghost, który z Ojcem i Duchem Świętym
liveth and reigneth, żyje i króluje
in perfect Trinity, God, w Trójcy Świętej jedyny, Bóg
world without end. na wieki wieków.
The temporary deprivation of my scapular would do me no harm. A mile later, I looked up and there was the statue of the Sacred Heart at the entrance to the pheasant farm. We were nearing the ruined manor again! Alas, though, why must the pedestal of His statue be pink?
As we made our way to our green resting place, the treat of real coffee was awaiting us on a small table. Granted, by the time I got to it there was but a gulp left, but it was still theobrama! I caught amazed whispers that the java was 'electric' (the Polish term for spiked), but if it were, I am sure it was but for purposes of fortification.
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| Thank you, Marzena! |
'It must be,' Ola told me, 'A priest comes here to say Mass every now and then. The manor is ruined, but the chapel is still in use.' I felt shivers down my spine as she spoke. The ruined manor and the living chapel, a fitting metaphor for Christendom itself.
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| Thank you again! |
We had the pleasant green shade to ourselves, as the other groups were to pass on for Mass in Przybyszew, and we were to have ours at the day's destination. Of course, it meant a longer walk before the next break, but doesn't every pilgrim prefer alternate fasting and feasting to a comfortable, unvarying mediocrity?
It did make lunch all the more delightful by the time we arrived, and little O., with her honey-coloured hair flowing well past her waist in errant wisps, was smiling to greet us with a large bag of plums. Soup and pasta followed--the second rest.
M. had also approached me in the meanwhile, proudly informing me that the Evangelist Luke had painted the image we were to visit along with more interesting facts about the Black Madonna. I listened to his lesson with pleasure. It is important to allow children to be teachers, especially boys, and I genuinely appreciated his concern that perhaps my questionable grasp of Polish warranted things being repeated to me slowly and simply in that tongue.
Someone else had the same thought. Father Grzegorz's brother, a seminarian named Krzysztof, kindly approached me towards the end of the break and asked if I understood the conferences that were being given while we marched. I blushed and had to admit that abstract homilies and sermons were still beyond my reach. He offered to deliver one of his to me personally. I eagerly assented, hoping the occasion would be useful practice for his linguistic skills as well as edifying for me. Then came the topic of the conference: vocations.
I stiffened inwardly, yet I did not want to tell this warm cleric that I had grown unwillingly skeptical of the idea that every soul on earth served as a thread in a luscious tapestry, each with a purpose to perform in the story being told. While I knew there was a purpose to each life, I was not convinced that each soul had a destiny.
Still I wanted to hear him. I am generally agnostic even in my skepticism, and whether I could take Cl. Krzysztof's thesis to heart or not, it would still be a lesson in humility to listen. Thus, I told him sincerely that I would gladly take his instruction. However, as the group's traffic directors herded us together for departure, my mind momentarily drifted from the heat of the summer sun that day and back two and a half years to a frigid stay in wintry Kraków and to the thoughts encircling me at that time.
Having reached definite conclusions regarding my profession, not all of them the most uplifting, I had turned my thoughts in earnest to discerning a vocation. As I read through saints and scholars on the issue, I was sent a sermon (written by a very trustworthy priest) concerning the matter. This would be the work that would greatly shake my belief that God had a unique plan for my life.
In this essay, the priest asserted those who were waiting for a divine call or looking for signs as to their state in life were in fact indulging in the heresy of Quietism. 'Discerning one's vocation is this simple,' he stated, 'The married life is higher than the single life, and the religious life is higher than the married life. These are our only rules, and whenever possible, one should encourage a searching soul to the higher calling. One must not passively expect God to endow him with understanding as to some situation He means for him. We have free will and God expects us to use it. One is not meant for way of life or the other; it is a choice.'
Was that all then? Was there to be no guiding light, burst of feeling or steadfast joy to indicate the mode of life where a soul may best serve God? Both the orthodoxy of the priest and the fact this world is a 'vale of tears' gave me great cause to ponder whether my life may very well be more desultory than I had hoped. Old doubts reawakened, and while my reason oscillated between pessimism and realism, my heart, if not my soul as well, fell into the grip of a sort of agnosticism. I tried to will myself to believe otherwise, but no number of visits to the confessional could release me from that conviction that there was no path set out for me to follow, merely a tangled thicket through which I must haphazardly hack.
And yet, paradoxically, there was still a small voice inside of me saying that my grim supposition was mistaken, and one day I would be proven wrong. Still, I had not embarked on the pilgrimage this time for any answers, only to obtain the peace to stop asking and to listen instead. I could not have guessed that this prayer might actually be answered nor could I have expected what I would hear from Cl. Krzysztof the next day (our lesson being postponed as he encountered acquaintances of his en route).
We arrived swiftly in Michałowice with plenty of time to wash clothes and let them air in the sun. Mass was sublime with the choir singing from the renovated loft, and the church itself was half finished! Many pilgrims from Warszawa came to join us, swelling our ranks.
and again!And God said: This is the sign of the covenant which I give between me and you, and to every living soul that is with you, for perpetual generations. I will set my bow in the clouds, and it shall be the sign of a covenant between me, and between the earth. And when I shall cover the sky with clouds, my bow shall appear in the clouds: And I will remember my covenant with you, and with every living soul that beareth flesh: and there shall no more be waters of a flood to destroy all flesh. (Genesis: IX, 12-15)
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Friday, August 20, 2010
Nineteen kilometres, twelve miles. That should be more than enough to get my second wind, and it seemed appropriate that Sunday should be an easier day than other
s. I loaded my larger bag onto the truck, along with the clothes still wet from Friday's rain, and indulging my neurotic misgivings, dashed back into the barn to make sure I had forgotten nothing. The concrete shelter, bereft of hay, animals, or even machinery, was of course also devoid of mislaid belongings.'Biało-czarno-czerwona!' a voice shouted followed by the shrill whistle. With my breviary in hand this time, I ran out to join them, keeping my eyes open for the newcomers. Apparently some priests from France were to join us today. I thought immediately of the much lauded pilgrimage from Paris to the sublime cathedral of Chartres. It was seventy-two miles, less than half of the sojourn from Warszawa to Częstochowa, but anyone who had walked it was already more prepared than I for this trek.
Today our group led the way before the others. Just ahead of our own standard, which was always accompanied by the image of Christ the King on the one hand and the Divine Mercy on the other, strode a group of six, bearing the crucifix before the entirety of the procession. To walk in front of the cross was to excommunicate one's self from the pilgrimage, as the traffic directors were teased mercilessly for later.
The moment we were clear of the town, the indefatigable cantor initiated the Matins of the Immaculate Heart, followed by those of the Divine Office.
My awkward lips stumbled over the beautiful ninety-second Psalm so wretchedly as to make me worthy of Beauty's wrath. Yet, I was not entirely to blame. The Polish language scorns the diction prized so highly in English, it being a language where the tongue must tap only lightly on the letters, like the hiss of a zephyr over smooth waters. My Southern American enunciation, rendered even more deliberate over the years out of deference to my profession, still has a great deal of trouble learning how to skip lightly in a foreign tongue when it must plod heavily in its own.
Alas, I did not then have the time to translate the Psalm, as we quickly moved on to next song. I saw it was from the book of Daniel and my heart skipped a beat. It was the song of the three saved from fire--the glorification so replete with the beauties of creation, so rhythmic in its invocations that it absorbs the natural world which Neopagans claim to love and exalts it in a manner above the sneers to which these spiritual dilettanti have exposed it. My slow tongue loosed itself at last and flowed along:
Blessed art thou in the firmament of heaven: and worthy of praise, and glorious for ever. All ye works of the Lord, bless the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever. O ye angels of the Lord, bless the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever. O ye heavens, bless the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever. O all ye waters that are above the heavens, bless the Lord; praise and exalt him above all for ever.
O all ye powers of the Lord, bless the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever. O ye sun and moon, bless the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever. O ye stars of heaven, bless the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever. O every shower and dew, bless ye the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever. O all ye spirits of God, bless the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever.
O ye fire and heat, bless the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever. O ye cold and heat, bless the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever. O ye dews and hoar frosts, bless the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever. O ye frost and cold, bless the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever. O ye ice and snow, bless the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever.
O ye nights and days, bless the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever. O ye light and darkness, bless the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever. O ye lightnings and clouds, bless the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever. O let the earth bless the Lord: let it praise and exalt him above all for ever. O ye mountains and hills, bless the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever.
O all ye things that spring up in the earth, bless the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever. O ye fountains, bless the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever. O ye seas and rivers, bless the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever. O ye whales, and all that move in the waters, bless the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever. O all ye fowls of the air, bless the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever.
O all ye beasts and cattle, bless the Lord: praise and exalt him above all for ever. O ye sons of men, bless the Lord, praise and exalt him above all for ever. (Daniel, 3: 56-82)
* * *
To my left and right, pilgrims crossed themselves, and I glanced up to behold a roadside shrine to the Sacred Heart. Here we turned aside from the asphalt road onto a dirt lane. It was but a few minutes walk, before our band was immersed in the cool, moist green of the forest. A little clearing opened up on our left, while on the right emerged a stately white building framed by the verdant growth.
In spite of its fine appearance, the broken windows and brown stains at the base of its walls revealed the manor's neglect. At the end of the
edifice though, was an arched door left open, and many of the pilgrims and priests strode inside. I peered into the darkness and saw that they knelt. Looking up I finally noticed the cross atop this part of the building.Stepping aside to let others pass through the exit, I took out the paper on which I had copied the novena to the Sacred Heart then entered. Touched only by time and elements, the chapel maintained an ineffably serene beauty. All was intact. The intricately carved tabernacle, the altar with its images, and the paintings on the wall. Crowded with dusky cobwebs and sitting upon faded carpets, it was at least unmolested by vandalism.
The Lord was no longer here where there was no one left to praise Him, but the catechism provided by the chapel's beauty did bring me to my knees, as it did the others, and with a bow to the altar that Christ Himself had instructed us to reverence, I began my private prayers.
Exiting the chapel I spied at last two priests of dark, distinctly Gallic visage sitting amongst their Slavic brothers. There were a few French speakers eager to practice with them, but I was comforted that there were others bearing the same linguistic difficulties as I. When we started our tramp again though, I heard a congenial announcement in Polish that something ought to be sung which would give the French fathers and the American sister no trouble. In a moment we were swept up in the medieval rhythm which cannot distinguish between the inner gaiety of the soul and the riotous joy of a dance:
Cuncti simus concanentes, Ave Maria!
Virgo sola existente en affuit angelus
Gabriel est appellatus atque missus celitus.
Clara facieque dixit: Ave Maria!
Clara facieque dixit: audite, karissimi.
en concipies Maria, Ave Maria!
En concipies Maria, audite, karissimi,
pariesque filium, Ave Maria!
Pariesque filium audite, karissimi,
Vocabis eum Ihesum, Ave Maria!
Let us all sing together: Hail Mary!
When the Virgin was alone, an angel appeared.
He is called Gabriel and is sent from Heaven.
Radiant he said: Hail Mary!
Radiant he said, listen, my darling ones:
You will conceive, Mary. Hail Mary!
You will conceive, Mary, listen, my darling ones:
You will bear a son, Hail Mary!
You will bear a son, listen, my darling ones,
You will call him Jesus, Hail Mary!
* * *
Sunday afternoon was as relentlessly bright and merry as Saturday's, though we hardly broke a sweat as walked the curving path up the hill of Michałowice Stamirowice. When we emerged at the top, we promptly fell to our knees before the Church of All Saints. This was where Mass would be said.
After paying our brief respects, we all hastened to exploit our early finish and hang our damp clothing out to dry. Many grabbed towels and made for the portable hot showers across the lawn from our barn. Not feeling especially dirty, I elected to wait until after Mass to wash; cold water would be more than adequate. Even as I unrolled my mat and sleeping bag, I got looks of concern from the ladies about me.
'Aren't you afraid of the draught?' they asked, pointing out the generous spaces between the boards in the front of the barn.
'Nie,' I replied, hoping my answer would make some sense, 'Noc zawsze jest gorąca mi.' Whether they judged my hard, American head incapable of comprehending their concern, or whether my weak grasp of Polish made me deaf, they gently gave up reasoning with me.
After paying our brief respects, we all hastened to exploit our early finish and hang our damp clothing out to dry. Many grabbed towels and made for the portable hot showers across the lawn from our barn. Not feeling especially dirty, I elected to wait until after Mass to wash; cold water would be more than adequate. Even as I unrolled my mat and sleeping bag, I got looks of concern from the ladies about me.
'Aren't you afraid of the draught?' they asked, pointing out the generous spaces between the boards in the front of the barn.
'Nie,' I replied, hoping my answer would make some sense, 'Noc zawsze jest gorąca mi.' Whether they judged my hard, American head incapable of comprehending their concern, or whether my weak grasp of Polish made me deaf, they gently gave up reasoning with me.
* * *
Re-knotting my kerchief around my head, I limped my way to the church for Mass. It was barely large enough to contain us, and I wondered how it would much less fit a parish, until I observed how greatly the scaffolding on the left wall intruded upon the space. Coins fell generously into collection box for the renovation, and as I gazed upon the glories of the chancel it was not difficult to see why.
Mass commenced, and the introit fit the setting most eloquently:
God in His holy place; God who maketh men of one mind to dwell in a house; He shall give power and strength to His people.
Mass was offered amidst the pious assembly, and most piously consummated. A moment after the Last Gospel, we began Vespers. I rejoiced in being able to use my own missal to find the text and at being able to understand without strain the Evening Office:
K: Boże, wejrzyj ky wspomożeniu memu,
W: Panie, pospiesz ku ratunkowi memu...
V: Lord, come to my assistance,
R: Lord, make haste to help me...
The lady kneeling beside me complimented me on my voice after prayers were concluded, which would later bring me a wee bit of trouble.
Mass commenced, and the introit fit the setting most eloquently:
God in His holy place; God who maketh men of one mind to dwell in a house; He shall give power and strength to His people.
Mass was offered amidst the pious assembly, and most piously consummated. A moment after the Last Gospel, we began Vespers. I rejoiced in being able to use my own missal to find the text and at being able to understand without strain the Evening Office:
K: Boże, wejrzyj ky wspomożeniu memu,
W: Panie, pospiesz ku ratunkowi memu...
V: Lord, come to my assistance,
R: Lord, make haste to help me...
The lady kneeling beside me complimented me on my voice after prayers were concluded, which would later bring me a wee bit of trouble.
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About Me
- Jacobitess
- Warsaw, Poland
- Domine, spero quia mundum vicisti. Lord, I trust that Thou hast overcome the world. Panie, ufam, żeś pokonał świat.