The body of Christ lies in the tomb and the harrowing of Hell begins, κατάβασις.
O God, who dost illumine this most holy night with the glory of the Lord's resurrection: Stir up, we beseech thee, in thy Church that Spirit of adoption which is given unto us in Baptism, that we, being regenerate both in body and soul, may render unto thee a pure service; through the same Jesus Christ thy Son our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee, in the unity of the Holy Ghost, ever one God, world without end. Amen.
This evening, in faith, we have accompanied Jesus as he takes the final steps of his earthly journey, the most painful steps, the steps that lead to Calvary. We have heard the cries of the crowd, the words of condemnation, the insults of the soldiers, the lamentation of the Virgin Mary and of the women. Now we are immersed in the silence of this night, in the silence of the cross, the silence of death. It is a silence pregnant with the burden of pain borne by a man rejected, oppressed, downtrodden, the burden of sin which mars his face, the burden of evil. Tonight we have re-lived, deep within our hearts, the drama of Jesus, weighed down by pain, by evil, by human sin.
What remains now before our eyes? It is a crucified man, a cross raised on Golgotha, a cross which seems a sign of the final defeat of the One who brought light to those immersed in darkness, the One who spoke of the power of forgiveness and of mercy, the One who asked us to believe in God’s infinite love for each human person. Despised and rejected by men, there stands before us “a man of suffering and acquainted with infirmity, one from whom others hide their faces” (Is 53:3).
But let us look more closely at that man crucified between earth and heaven. Let us contemplate him more intently, and we will realize that the cross is not the banner of the victory of death, sin and evil, but rather the luminous sign of love, of God’s immense love, of something that we could never have asked, imagined or expected: God bent down over us, he lowered himself, even to the darkest corner of our lives, in order to stretch out his hand and draw us to himself, to bring us all the way to himself. The cross speaks to us of the supreme love of God and invites, today, to renew our faith in the power of that love, and to believe that in every situation of our lives, our history and our world, God is able to vanquish death, sin and evil, and to give us new, risen life. In the Son of God’s death on the cross, we find the seed of new hope for life, like the seed which dies within the earth.
This night full of silence, full of hope, echoes God’s call to us as found in the words of Saint Augustine: “Have faith! You will come to me and you will taste the good things of my table, even as I did not disdain to taste the evil things of your table... I have promised you my own life. As a pledge of this, I have given you my death, as if to say: Look! I am inviting you to share in my life. It is a life where no one dies, a life which is truly blessed, which offers an incorruptible food, the food which refreshes and never fails. The goal to which I invite you … is friendship with the Father and the Holy Spirit, it is the eternal supper, it is communion with me … It is a share in my own life (cf. Sermo 231, 5).
Let us gaze on the crucified Jesus, and let us ask in prayer: Enlighten our hearts, Lord, that we may follow you along the way of the cross. Put to death in us the “old man” bound by selfishness, evil and sin. Make us “new men”, men and women of holiness, transformed and enlivened by your love.
Maundy, from Mandatum, mandate, and what a pair of commands or rules we're given tonight. The Eucharistic "do this" and "love one another as I have loved you," given at the conclusion of Our Lord washing the apostles' feet. At first glance it might seem that the two orders are discordant or unrelated, but of course they're not.
Christ clearly makes himself present in the Eucharist under the forms of bread and wine, body and blood. In what aspect is he present? Precisely as crucified, "This is my body given for you;" "This is my blood of the New Covenant, which is shed for you for the remission of sins." Christ's body and blood, given and shed for us on the Cross.
So, when we make our communions, we enter into union with Christ's sacrifice on the Cross, eating his flesh and drinking His blood that we may have eternal life. "Do this," He says, and we do; was ever, per Dom Gregory Dix, a command so obeyed?
That's the first mandate, the second's like unto it. After His last supper, on the night before He suffered, Christ knelt down and washed his apostles' feet, a prophetic action signifying his crucifixion in which he humbled himself, taking the form of a servant and washed us clean from sin in a supreme act of love. It's this which he commands us to emulate.
When we do, the grace given in the Sacrament of the Altar, the life of Christ sacrificed for us upon the Cross, comes alive in us, as a stream of living water welling up to eternal life.
So here we are in Holy Week, on our journey to the Cross and from there to the new life of the empty tomb, of resurrection. Part of this journey, for me, meant climbing into a mileage car this morning and driving from Dallas HQ to a place called "Bedford."
No kidding. Nav out to Hampton, take a left on Singleton, behold the beat up ghetto strip malls as you do, then take a right on Mockingbird and wonder and its several rent-by-the-hour motels.
You don't stop there, no, you ride on through to the I35/183 turn off. Be careful, it's a racetrack as you rev up the Civic and move hell for leather into the 183 aspect of this route. After that? Pretty much straight shot 'til you get to this place called "Bedford" and exit the highway onto Forest. And there you are, in Mid Cities suburbia, which is where our cathedral is.
Highway purgatory over, roll into the parking lot and go to Mass, our diocesan Chrism Mass or Mass of Collegiality. I was late, so didn't vest, but joined the clergy for the renewal of our ordination vows and at the Altar for the Eucharistic Prayer. Powerful stuff, and what a good, faithful body of men, always a pleasure to be with them. So what have we here?
The Cross, by way of Metrosprawl traffic, and Resurrection with a beautiful Mass and the good priests of our diocese. So there you have it. Safely back at Ma LSP's Compound, all's peaceful and in good order, and you'll be pleased to know she's watching some kind of show detailing the jewels of the Romanovs in their female aspect. Yes, they were spectacular.
On topic, do you think our current Bioleninist politics of envy and spite, aka socialism, started with the French Revolution? Perhaps so, though I'd argue the poison seed goes back to Luther, but that's me, we can parse the wicked Age of Enlightenment, see Age of the Raison, and its iniquitous fallout forever. Have at it.
In the meanwhile, we've got a war to win. D'ye reckon Don can pull it off? Money, as always, on the dam monkey.
We follow Christ as King. Where does he lead, follow me? To the Cross. This week, of all weeks, we're invited by our Mother the Church to walk the way of the Cross. May God give us the grace, strength and courage to do so. I do not say that lightly.
Palm Sunday, the entrance to Holy Week, in which we stand with the exultant crowds welcoming Jesus into Jerusalem, acknowledging Christ as our king. Benedict XVI offers this reflection:
Let us return to today’s Gospel passage and ask ourselves: what is really happening in the hearts of those who acclaim Christ as King of Israel? Clearly, they had their own idea of the Messiah, an idea of how the long-awaited King promised by the prophets should act. Not by chance, a few days later, instead of acclaiming Jesus, the Jerusalem crowd will cry out to Pilate: “Crucify him!”, while the disciples, together with others who had seen him and listened to him, will be struck dumb and will disperse. The majority, in fact, was disappointed by the way Jesus chose to present himself as Messiah and King of Israel. This is the heart of today’s feast, for us too. Who is Jesus of Nazareth for us? What idea do we have of the Messiah, what idea do we have of God? It is a crucial question, one we cannot avoid, not least because during this very week we are called to follow our King who chooses the Cross as his throne. We are called to follow a Messiah who promises us, not a facile earthly happiness, but the happiness of heaven, divine beatitude. So we must ask ourselves: what are our true expectations? What are our deepest desires, with which we have come here today to celebrate Palm Sunday and to begin our celebration of Holy Week?
Serious questions, which today's feast and the week ahead invite us to answer. Who or what is most important to us, who do we really worship, what's our God? The Father's only begotten Son who died for us and rose again that we in Him might live or some other thing. Choose wisely dear friends, divine beatitude, eternal life itself hangs on the choice.
May God give us the grace to follow Christ as our true King, yes, to the Cross, but from there to new and resurrected life in Him.
No rest for the wicked? Does Hillary Clinton sleep at night? Good question, and as we ponder Bleach Bit, hammers, kill lists and horrific scenes from Anthony Weiner's laptop we have to admit it's been an exhausting day for the Compound Crew.
First up. Load the dog in the rig and drive down I35 to Dallas and Ma LSP's place. Settle hound at Dallas HQ and make sure the aged p. is sorted for lunch, she was. Then drive to a place called Keller in a Honda Civic. Keller, if you don't know it, is deep Metrosprawl, out in the wildlands of the Mid Cities. Venture forth at your peril.
We did, and arrived at a small dealership just off of 377 where we bought a car, a 2015 Honda Accord coupe. Lowish miles, black, nimble, and hopefully a good mileage car at a decent price and all of that. The guys at the shop were fun too and a pleasure to do business with. Nice, but while waiting for paperwork, we took a spin through the neighborhood.
Behold typically largish brickish homes interspersed with apartment complexes and scenic strip malls. These often had rough-hewn stone arches surmounted by terracotta roofs with names like "Heritage."
"Just like Tuscany" I observed with drily. "Well that wasn't very nice." No, I admitted, sheepishly, it wasn't, "No room in heaven for that kind of thing, what?" Quite, and then we turned the corner into the largest HEB in the world ever.
Seriously, these people in Keller live high. I tell you, this place had everything. Spices, cheese, affordable meat, frozen goods, sushi made right on the spot and everything else. For all I know they may have sold chain mail and relics of the True Cross, but we didn't get that far. No, we checked out, ate the sushi in the shop's spacious BBQ joint and headed for Dallas via the dealership.
Car purchase complete and 377, 820, 121 and 114 complete we arrived back at Dallas HQ, mission accomplished and utterly exhausted.
Like wow, the first ever NHS managerial class DEI hire is enthroned as Non-Archbishop of Canterbury, the Greeks celebrate their liberation from Moslem tyranny and it's the Feast of the Annunciation to boot. Consider, if you can, the mocking, satanic implication of Mullally sitting on Augustine's throne. Good work, COE, you've just cemented your reputation as a State mockery of the Church.
There is, I think, a growing number of UK patriots who want to return to the Faith. They see, rightly, that Christianity's at the bedrock of this endeavor. But lo and behold their National Church, secularism reflecting secularism. Does this mean Reginald Pole was the last real deal?
Perhaps so. He was and is a Saint. The COE? One narrative reads like this: H8 needed cash, huge amounts of cash to fuel his princely authority on the Continent, think Field Of The Cloth of Gold, and more importantly, to pay off dynastic threats, see Belloc.
Net result? Some kind of pathetic joke sitting on the Throne of Augustine. In the meanwhile, it seems the Straits of Hormuz are messing with oil supply/demand. What's stopping us from just taking it? Whatever, if I was Pope of the West things might look like this:
Preußens Gloria❗️ ⬛️⬜️🟥
Komponiert 1871 nach dem Sieg im Deutsch-Französischen Krieg und zur Reichsgründung.👑
‚Preußens Gloria‘ ist das musikalische Herz unserer Einigkeit die ungeschlagene Hymne unserer Geschichte. 🎺
Perhaps some of you are animists and believe rivers, streams, oceans, trees and the grass itself to possess soul or spirit. As in, "The river which flows through our post-industrial urban hellhole is enlivened by the river nymph Asset-Stripper." Maybe you believe this animist juju, maybe you don't, but the new Bishop of St. Albans is all about it, which is why he blessed the river Marden as a "sentient being."
To be fair, the Right Reverend Dr Andrew Rumsey, newly minted bishop figure of St. Albans, wasn't the chief conductor of this riverine paganism. No, he just blessed it, signing off on pagan Councillor Robert MacNaughton. MacNaughton explained the nature of the event:
“I know rivers to be living beings, therefore they have their own consciousness and our consciousness can interact with theirs. If we put out positive feelings into rivers, then they reharmonize themselves in terms of that positive energy. If people put pollution into the rivers, they could become dead. Whilst we can't do anything about structural issues of the government, about water companies, what we can do is come to the rivers and say, we love you, you're fantastic, we need you.”
Wow, I stand in awe. Do you think, dear friends, that such Anglican Animism will bring people back to church? As in, "They're worshipping river spirits, better flock to Holy Communion on the first and second Sundays of the month."
Said no-one ever. What risible, pagan, greenlighting nonsense. Time to say enough is enough, St. Albans, we're looking at you.
Yes indeed, Oz, Dallas, the great Metrosprawl, home to millions and millions of people chasing the dream. Fair play, the place has filling stations, complete with crazy homeless people who squat on the sidewalk on the corner of Illinois and Zang.
It has supermarkets too, like the local Tom Thumb, which has, they tell me, an outstanding in house florist, and it has Winnetka Heights where Ma LSP lives. I tell you, the area was sketchy in the '90s when the aged ps moved in. Now? Not so much.
So here we are in the 'sprawl in a spirit of filial piety, and that's no bad thing. Thank God, and I mean that, that our family is close enough to do such a thing, but I won't bang on, you get the point. In unrelated news, it seems the USS Gerald Ford's being laid up for 14 months because of a fire in its laundry room. Huh.
On topic, 47's announced back door negotiations with elements of Persian authority who apparently want peace. No nukes for us, just peace. How awesome. You'll note there's a 5 day rider on this deal which curiously coincides with a USMC taskforce arriving in theater.
OK, if Donny Boy takes down the Mullahs all is epic forgiven. If not? Since when did any of his base vote for moar war? They didn't, they voted for the opposite and he campaigned accordingly. Wow, what a gamble. If the Persian adventure backfires then bye-bye midterms and with it a massive L to the conservative movement in the Anglosphere, Europe and beyond.
Now, I'm not a gambling man, you know this, but if you were to suggest I wager my vicious and valuable fighting monkey on such odds I might raise an eyebrow. You can imagine the scene unfolding in a bay window looking onto St. James.
"I say, devilish busy in Hormuz. Tell ye what, my dog over your dead monkey all day long." We pause and consider, "Damme, money on and twice as fast, eh?"
Just throwing it out there, do feel free to disagree, and I forgot to say. Harvard is still Satan's Vatican though far more wealthy.
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