Cum Angelis et Archangelis

The collect for Sexagesima is a prime example of why the translations of prayers in the Book of Common Prayer (ascribed to Thomas Cranmer) are to be examined carefully and some must be eschewed as not Orthodox in cases such as the aforementioned as well as every Apostles’ Day.

I’m not addressing here the elegance of Cranmer’s renderings. With G. K. Chesterton, I applaud “the rhythm of Cranmer’s prose.” And a great many of the translations from the Latin are fairly faithful. A word here or there may be added, which often does not detract from the sense or theology. An egregious exception is the collect for Trinity XVIII [Pentecost XVII] where “grace to withstand the temptations of the world, the flesh, and the devil” stand in for “diabolica vitare contagia” (“to avoid/shun contagions of the devil”). Clearly the sense is changed, but not as remarkably as in the Sexagesima collect. In that instance, Chesterton is correct in observing that Cranmer’s work “has style; it has tradition; it has religion; it was written by apostate catholics.”

Apostate might seem to be too strong an invective for the prayerbook that formed the faith of many in one of the largest Protestant denominations. Yet that word does not ring hollow when the Orthodox doctrine of the saints interceding for us is deliberately written out.

Consider the Sexagesima collect as cast by Cranmer:

“O Lord God, who seest that we put not our trust in any thing that we do: mercifully grant; that by thy power we may be defended against all adversity.”

Compare that with the Roman original which scholars say was probably composed by St Gregory the Great (or “St Gregory Dialogus,” as the Byzantines style him.):

Sitting in the shadow of St Paul’s Cathedral in London, Cranmer determined that “the protection of the Teacher of the Gentiles” was unworthy of not only a prelate whose greatness was achieved primarily by holiness through the prayers of the saints, but also of Catholic worship. A cursory comparison of the collects for nearly every Apostle and Evangelist Day equally unmasks this ungodly circumcision according to a decidedly Protestant agenda.

No doubt for this reason (and a few others), the authorized prayerbooks for the Western Rite Vicariate remain the English (“Knott”) Missal and the Douglas translation of the Monastic Diurnal (and its latterly published companion, the Monastic Matins), rather than the various versions of the Anglican Missal, the American Missal, the Anglican Breviary or like kind. The “default switch” for these latter books is the Book of Common Prayer which contains the contagia of prayers “written by apostate catholics.” By contract, the approved books offer translations of the Western Orthodox liturgy which are to be used, while the BCP (or APB) options are to be shunned.

It seems common to mistake the Vigil of the Nativity with the first or earliest liturgy for Christmas. In fact, the Vigil does not belong to the Christmas cycle. It is, instead, the last Advent service before Christmas begins.

Perhaps the identification of the Vigil of Christmas with Christmas is due to the notion that Christmas borrows from the Paschal or Eastern pattern of services. It is well known that the Advent fast is an “imitation” of the Lenten fast. A similar fast is kept, together with some (but not all) of the liturgical features: the use of purple, the omission of the Gloria in excelsis, weekday (ferial) Masses particular to the season (e.g., Ember days and the Rorate Mass), and the omission of Alleluia on weekdays (but not on Sundays in Advent). Hence, it might be assumed that the “Vigil of Christmas” is very much like the “Vigil of Easter.”

At least two errors occur, however, in this conflation. The first error is the thought that the Vigil of Easter is, in fact, the beginning of Easter. It is not. Easter begins with the “Resurrection” (Resurrexi) Mass, which is celebrated on Sunday morning to commemorate the women finding the open tomb “toward the dawn” (Mt 28.1) or “at early dawn” (Lk 24.1) or “when the sun had risen” (Mk 16.2) or “early, while it was still dark” (Jn 20.1). (This Western Mass corresponds identically, if not in actual hour, to the Eastern Paschal Divine Liturgy which follows Orthros, or morning prayer, and so occurs after the new day has begun.) The Vigil that is kept, then, is kept during the day on Saturday, commemorating Christ’s sabbath rest in the tomb, as the Church awaits the early morning Mass.

The second error, most likely rooted in the first, is that the word “vigil” relates to the initial stages of a feast. Rather, “vigil” refers to an anticipatory service as the Church draws near, approaches, or “prevents” (i.e., precedes) the coming feast. This anticipation in prayer, Scripture, and song (hymns or psalms) is often accompanied by candles since, like little children awaiting Christmas day, we are too eager to sleep and very desirous to stay awake. These vigils are not confined to Easter or Christmas. They are also kept for major feasts: the Vigil of Epiphany on January 5, the Vigil of the Assumption on August 14, the Vigil of All Saints (All Hallows’ Eve) on October 31, the Vigils of Ascension and Pentecost, the former kept on the Wednesday and the latter on the Saturday, before the major feast. The same is true of each of the Apostles’ days, whose vigils are kept the day before the Apostles are actually commemorated. (As a side note, each of these vigils were originally fasting days.)

Aligned with this definition and corresponding examples from the liturgical year, the Vigil of the Nativity, then, refers to the liturgical services (including a Mass) which occur in anticipation of Christmas, on the morning of December 24, prior to the actual beginning of the Nativity Feast at First Vespers on the evening (sunset, ideally) of that same day. Focusing on the Vigil Mass alone, the liturgical books clearly state that this Mass is celebrated in purple, omitting the Gloria in excelsis, the Alleluia (unless it falls on a Sunday), and even the Creed (unless, again, December 24 lands on a Sunday, as it will in 2023).

On the contrary, the first Mass of Christmas (if you pardon the redundancy) is set to begin no earlier than midnight. Why at that time? Because, according to the Church’s tradition, Christ was born at midnight. Therefore, as the first Easter Mass corresponds with “early dawn” or “early, while still dark” when the empty tomb was discovered, in the same way the Christ Mass on December 25 corresponds with the time of Christ’s birth—his miraculous departure from the womb in a very similar way that He departed from the sealed tomb and, later that day, entered a locked room.

It is not in the Church’s mind, then, to anticipate the Lord’s birth with an earlier Christmas liturgy, any more than it is in her mind to anticipate Easter on Holy Saturday morning or afternoon. For, even though it seems that the Easter Vigil (like the Pentecost Vigil) has texts, notes, and unsubtle hints that indicate that the resurrection has occurred, what is actually occurring, liturgically, is an over-eagerness that will reach full culmination and joy on the actual day itself; i.e., on Easter Sunday. Similarly, the Vigil of the Nativity begins with the phrase, “This day ye shall know (Hodie scietis)” in anticipation of the great celebration in less than twenty-four hours when St Paul declares: “The grace of God our Savior hath appeared to all men.”

The Tenebrae service is a service of darkness, unique to the Western tradition and conducted only on the last three nights before the Vigil of Easter. The name comes from the setting: the Psalms, Scripture readings, and prayers are said in a darkened church, and 14 candles are gradually extinguished during the service. Yet the name also points to the emotional aspect of the liturgy: it’s a service of mourning both for Our Lord’s Passion and for our sinful condition (and sins) which necessitated His agony and death.

The mournful tone of the entire Office is most notable in the words and musical setting of the Scripture readings. Following the pattern of ancient Matins and Lauds, each night Psalms are sung and Scriptures are read. The central portion is the chanting of the Lamentations of Jeremiah is sung. These laments are a series of poems lamenting the destruction of Jerusalem and the temple. Yet the temple is not merely a building but Christ Himself. “Destroy this temple, and in three days I will raise it up.” He speaking about temple of His body. (Jn 2.19,21).

This service, then, feels like a funeral. All is in black. The death of Christ is front and center. And so is the death of our own selves, so that we might rise with Christ to newness of life.

Yet the mourning is not without hope. The Psalms, the readings from St Augustine, and the singing itself all lead us to believe that not all is lost. Rather, Christ’s death has a meaning more substantial and profound than the death of anyone else.

This hope is dramatically shown at the very end of the service. After 90 minutes of prayer and meditation in darkness, the last candle is not extinguished but carried out. A note of joy is sounded as the chanter sings, “Christ for our sake became obedient unto death.” The final prayers are said in a low and subdued voice. Then, while all is in quiet darkness, the earthquake on Good Friday is replicated with a noise that shatters the quiet. This noise, like the earthquake, represents the convulsion of all nature following the death of Christ Jesus. Finally, the candle—which is the light of Christ and reveals the glory of the resurrection—reappears to anticipate the third day resurrection.