Author: Rev Gilbert Scicluna

Why does St Jude have a medallion around his neck?

I don’t know about you, but I have always been curious about the medallion with an image of Jesus around St Jude’s neck in many of his images. This typical element of St Jude’s iconography is rooted in an ancient legend that goes back to the early Church, at about the fourth century, and recounted by St Eusebius of Caesarea (Historia Ecclesiastica, 1.13).

The legend says that King Abgar of Edessa (a city in modern day Turkey) was ill. When he heard about Jesus, he sent a letter asking for healing and offering him a place of refuge from those who wanted to kill him. Jesus refused to go because of his obedience to the Father’s will. However, Jesus was so impressed by the faith of this king that he wiped his face with a handkerchief on which he left an imprint of his face and sent it to King Abgar, while promising him that after he had suffered his passion and was lifted up, he would send one of his disciples to him. When the king saw this image, he placed it with great reverence in one of the halls in his palace.

One version of this legend states that after Jesus’ ascension into heaven and the descent of the Holy Spirit upon the Apostles, Thaddaeus (St Jude the Apostle) was sent to King Abgar of Edessa, as Jesus had promised. St Jude placed his hands on the King, and he was cured through the power of the name of Jesus. Astonished by this, the King converted to the Christian faith along with all the people in his kingdom.

Although we are not sure if this story did actually take place, it is certain that behind this story there is a hidden truth of great importance that enlightened the life of this holy Apostle and enlightens us in our Christian vocation. St Paul in his Second Letter to the Corinthians, writes:

And all of us, with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, are being transformed into the same image from one degree of glory to another; for this comes from the Lord, the Spirit.

2 Corinthians 3:18

Created in the image of God and adopted as his sons and daughters through baptism, we bear the image of Christ in our souls similar to the image imprinted on the handkerchief, an image that gives us our identity and our dignity. But this image also brings responsibility. Like St Jude, we are sent “with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror.” We are called so that, after we allow God’s mercy to be poured into our hearts, we approach our brothers and sisters and share with them this mercy, leading them to healing that can only come about through an encounter with the crucified and risen Christ. The Lord often uses us so that, like St Jude, after allowing the glory of the Lord’s face to rest upon us and gradually transform us into his likeness, we in turn gaze upon others and become instruments in the Lord’s hands by allowing his light to shine upon them through us, we allow him to look upon them with a loving gaze, through concrete gestures of love, a kind word, a loving silence which is ready to listen, and by the time we dedicate to others.

Through the intercession of St Jude, may we allow Christ’s image to be imprinted within us to continually transform us into a more perfect reflection of himself so, even if simply through our gaze or our smile, “with unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror” upon our world and upon our brothers and sisters in our times.

Is my Rosary valid?!

Hail Mary, full of grace … Holy Mary, Mother of God … Amen. Hail Mary, full of grace … and meanwhile my mind drifts away and I can’t stop yawning! Providentially, I have my Rosary beads. Otherwise, I won’t know at which mystery I was on. But is my Rosary valid? I hope it is. After all, it is true that thoughts on what I still need to do and how to get things done come to mind while I pray the Rosary. But at least I had chosen to dedicate some time to stop and meditate on the mysteries of Jesus, in Our Lady’s company, while yawning because I feel at peace, cradled in the arms of our merciful Mother.

In all honesty, at times distractions are not the only problem because they, for the most part, come on their own and are beyond our control! Sometimes we don’t feel like praying. But in life, we undertake many things we don’t feel like doing because we understand their necessity and the commitment we took. Prayer is one of those things, and this type of prayer is valid because it is a sign of mature fidelity.

And when we have one of those days in which we feel irritable, this repetition begins to get on our nerves and feel bored … probably because we get caught up with the structure and the ‘correct’ emotions that we are supposed to have during prayer, rather than imitating Our Lady and simply gaze upon Jesus as she did.

However, when my mind is exhausted and cannot find peace, that monotonous repetition becomes my salvation because in certain situations we don’t even have the strength to pray. When our hearts feels heavy and our minds are racing the only prayer that we can pray is a chain of prayers that we know off by heart, that although we don’t give it much importance, because we feel that we’re not really praying, in truth we are holding on tightly to our Rosary beads that serve as a chain with the Cross serving as an anchor to keep us grounded despite the waves …

After all, neither God nor Our Lady require our eloquent and precise words; their hearts only wait for us to turn to them because prayer is not something we achieve ourselves through our own abilities. We can only make space for God to enter our hearts and nurture us. And maybe the monotony of the Rosary can be the only life belt that can keep us afloat … and the last mooring line is Our Lady, whom God sends us, so we won’t drown …

And in the meantime, we have arrived at the Hail Holy Queen and the Litany, just like the days of this month dedicated to the Holy Rosary can pass us by without even having prayed at least one decade each day to unite ourselves with Our Lady in prayer. And it is also possible that our lives suddenly become like our Rosary beads, mysteries that lead us deeper into the Gospel and Tradition, which in turn, gradually lead us to Heaven.

The Development of Devotion to Our Lady of the Rosary in Malta

We can safely say that, during the month of October, most of our parishes celebrate the feast of Our Lady of the Rosary. In a number of parishes, in particular those who have been long established, we find altars or side chapels dedicated to Our Lady under this title, most with confraternities linked to them.

This devotion became widely spread in Malta after the Battle of Lepanto in 1571. Engaged in this battle were also the Knights of St John together with Maltese seamen and soldiers. Pope St Pius V attributed this victory to Our Lady since the Christian forces won the battle on 7 October, which coincided with the celebration of the feast of Our Lady of the Rosary in Santa Maria Sopra Minerva in Rome. Initially, the feast of Our Lady of the Rosary was celebrated on the first Sunday in October. However, when the Liturgical Calendar was reformed by Pope St Pius X to emphasise the importance of the Sunday Liturgy, 7 October was chosen for the feast of Our Lady of the Rosary, and we still celebrate it on this day.

Only few years after 1571, Confraternities of the Rosary were being established in Malta by the Dominican Friars who worked tirelessly to spread this devotion. In contrast with other confraternities at that time in Malta—that were groups for men that practiced a specific trade—the Rosary Confraternity was of a devotional nature. The Rosary Confraternity in Valletta assisted those who were condemned to death by hanging. As a result, they were also called “tal-Miżerikordja”—literally, “of Mercy.”

It may be that the conflicts we face today are more subtle and therefore more threatening. But our weapon must remain the same: prayer, in particular the Holy Rosary especially during the month of October through which we contemplate from Our Mother’s perspective the life of the Son of God made man for us.

Drop down dew from above, you heavens

Currently our land is flooded with water, and it seems it cannot take anymore rain. But at the same time, our souls are thirsty and our hearts faint as in a dry and weary land where there is no water (see Psalm 63:1). Because we believe, we know that the human heart thirsts for the Lord—and, although we are still thirsty like a dry weary land, we are blessed because we know for what we are longing, while those who do not believe experience emptiness beyond comprehension, that becomes a terrifying desert. This blessing is like soft rain, like dew, which is hardly felt—it is not heavy—but enough to permeate the land and for trees to produce their fruit.

During the Advent Season, the Liturgical tradition of the Church frequently uses a verse taken from the second part of the book of the Prophet Isaiah—which focuses on the liberation of God’s people from the Babylonian Exile that was seen as close at hand due to the political changes that were happening in the Middle East at that time. In particular, in the entrance antiphon of the Fourth Sunday of Advent, the Church prays with the words of the Prophet Isaiah:

Shower, O heavens, from above, and let the skies rain down righteousness; let the earth open, that salvation may sprout forth, and let it cause righteousness to spring up also.

Isaiah 45:8

Therefore, in preparation for the celebration of the beginning of our liberation from sin and death through the birth of God made man, and while we await the realisation of this freedom in a complete way when we meet the Lord face to face, it is not without cause that the Church reiterates many times these words: this is a cry for the heavens to open, that grace may pour down so that salvation may spring forth from the earth, for us also in our day.

This salvation springs forth from the earth because, although grace comes from heaven, this same grace does not come down in its fullness but gives life to the earth, and life to the heart of man, in order that the presence of the God that saves sprouts from within it. It is salvation that sprouts from the earth because he chose to dwell in this world and become one of us. This salvation still sprouts from the earth because he still comes to us today through the fruit of the earth and work of human hands that become his body and blood, that journeyed on this earth, in order that he may strengthen us in our journey in this world.

As we draw closer to Christmas, may we ask the Lord for the grace that the earth will once more be receptive and soften, so that it may receive within it his mercy, in order that righteousness may sprout through our actions, words, thoughts, and desires, which are simply human but are also imbued with his justice and righteousness.

The Assumption of Our Lady: A Maternal Perspective on the Paschal Mysteries

Last Saturday I was at Mass and the priest celebrate a votive Mass of Our Lady. In the preface—the prayer recited by the priest before the consecration—there was a sentence that struck me and which is significant for both the Solemnity of the Assumption of Our Lady and the Feast of the Queenship of Mary which is celebrated a week later. The prayer reads as follows:

Raised to the glory of heaven, she accompanies your pilgrim Church with a mother’s love, and watches in kindness over the Church’s homeward steps, until the Lord’s Day shall come in glorious splendour.

Roman Missal, Preface from the Votive Mass of Our Lady Mother of the Church

This sentence struck me because it gives a particular perspective on the mystery of Our Lady and on the mystery of man. Christ’s ascension did not mean that he abandoned us. Rather, it means that he took our humanity to the right hand of the Father so he would intercede for our salvation, in order that he may lead not only those in his company but everyone, from all places and all times, to their true home. Similarly, these liturgical celebrations give a maternal touch to the mystery of salvation because, following Our Lady’s assumption into Heaven, her mission as Mother of Jesus’ disciples did not end with her death, but with a glorified body like Christ’s—and like the glorified bodies of those who have died united to Christ will have—Our Lady cares for us all wherever we are and accompanies us towards our heavenly home.

Our Lady is a mother that cares for us, accompanies us in our life’s journey, and spreads her mantle of protection over us. Because she is truly our mother, this mantle does not stifle our liberty but rather increases it because she is a mother that allows her children space while at the same time remaining present. She does not stop being a mother when her children become adults and leave home. Parents who have or are experiencing this situation can understand this stage in life. On the other hand, we can also understand this when in this free space we were able to take our state in life while other close family members remained as guides and support. And, if this was not our experience due to obstacles we have had to face, we do feel that something was not quite right. This is why we continue to turn to Our Lady and place our hand in hers: so that she may continue to protect and guide us. She accompanies us wherever we go—even if we go astray, she will never abandon us—with full confidence that, step by step, she will walk with us and lead us to her Son’s glory, who became man like us so, as Our Lady has already experienced, we too can become like him, and see him as he is (see 1 Jn 3:2).

How long does the priest have to wear white?!

It has already been one month since we celebrated Easter, but liturgically the Church continues to use the same liturgical colour, white, except on certain feasts such as those of martyrs, apostles, or on Pentecost, when red is used. White is associated with light, purity, glory and joy. But why should the priest continue wearing white for almost fifty days?

The choice of the time span for the liturgical seasons is not arbitrary. It is chronologically linked to the Gospels, particularly that of Luke. Both in the Gospel and in the Acts of the Apostles—which was also written by St Luke—we find that Jesus spent forty days appearing to his disciples so that they could rejoice because the bridegroom was still with them (see Luke 5:33-39). And, when Jesus “parted from them and was carried up into heaven” (Lk 24:51), although the bridegroom was taken from them, we still find them waiting in anticipation for the coming of the Holy Spirit fifty days after Easter with joy and enthusiasm: they remained united daily in prayer and they chose Matthias to replace Judas.

During these fifty days we also journey with the early Church as she takes her first steps in the mission Jesus entrusted to her to go to the ends of the earth. Not every step was successful, but many of the obstacles changed into opportunities, and with every door that closed others opened.

This is why, liturgically, we continue to use white: because we know that, although we cannot see him physically, the Bridegroom is still with us. We can hear him speaking to us through His Word and experience His presence powerfully in the sacraments, through which we also receive the Holy Spirit who continues to journey with us in our ordinary lives—when the liturgical colour changes to green during Ordinary Time—where it is necessary to continue to receive and give life.

Quasimodo and the Second Sunday of Easter

One of the most well-known characters of the French author Victor Hugo is undoubtedly the Hunchback of Notre Dame—a person born disfigured who in the novel experiences a tragic end, unlike the Disney version in which he ends up living happily ever after.

You might say: “But what does this have to do with the Easter Season that we have just begun?”  Indeed, it does!  The Archdeacon Monsignor Claude Frollo finds this infant on the Second Sunday of Easter, named after the introductory antiphon of the Mass (in the same way that Gaudete Sunday in Advent and Laetare Sunday in Lent take their name):

Like newborn infants, you must long for the pure, spiritual milk, that in him you may grow to salvation, alleluia.

Here, the Liturgy uses an old translation of this verse from St Peter’s Second Epistle (2:2), taken from St Jerome’s Vulgate.  The antiphon in Latin reads as follows:

Quasi modo géniti infántes, rationábile, sine dolo lac concupíscite, ut in eo crescátis in salútem, allelúia.

It was precisely the first two words of the antiphon that Frollo used to name the infant when he baptised him on the last day of the Easter Octave: Quasimodo.  In the novel, it seems that the author is trying to enter into the mind of the archdeacon to discover what his intention was when he gave this infant a most peculiar name:  maybe because he wanted to mark the day in which the infant was found, or to stress how imperfect and defective this infant was.  Through the act of Baptism—perhaps without realising—the Archdeacon declares the human dignity of this deformed individual.

Maybe we all have a little of Quasimodo in us—imperfect and defective—but deep within us lies our humanity and the image of God that gives us dignity.  Therefore, the Good News of Easter, which is renewed for us again on the Second Sunday of Easter, speaks precisely about how our imperfections can reach their fulfilment and perfection if we long and search for the pure milk of grace that the Church gives us in the Sacraments and in the Word.  Only in this way can we arrive at declaring unequivocally with Thomas: “My Lord and my God!” (Jn 20:28).

The Run with the Risen Christ

A characteristic element of the Easter celebration in Malta is the traditional run with the Statue of the Risen Christ. This tradition has become practically synonymous during these processions, so much so that most of those present are eagerly awaiting the moment when, after the altar boys and the clergy have processed quite a way forward, those carrying the statue shoulder high begin their sprint, which has sometimes ended badly.

It is believed that behind this tradition there could be historical roots tied to the time of British rule when there was a time limit imposed on these processions and, to avoid being fined, the last part of the procession was completed with a sprint. It is certain that this tradition was well established by the first half of last century. And this is verified by the fact that the Regional Council of Malta in 1935 prohibited these runs with religious statues. However, after the Second World War, these traditional runs were resumed particularly in Cospicua and Vittoriosa, to which ecclesiastical authorities of the time turned a blind eye.

But for this run to become more than just an attraction and find its place in the procession, which is first and foremost a liturgical action, it is essential that this deeply ingrained Easter Sunday tradition is grounded theologically to reflect the core of what Easter really means. Without a doubt, the sprint is an expression of joy, not only the joy of being together and socialising, but above all the joy that the Good News of Christ’s Resurrection from the dead brings. This is the joy that can truly gather and unite us together.

Also, in Biblical accounts of the resurrection, we do accounts of people running not only to the tomb—who thus were still marked with the darkness of the Sabbath (See Jn 20:3-4)—but also running from the tomb after encountering the Risen Lord according to his command to make known this news. We find the women, notably Mary of Magdala, who ran to give the news of the Resurrection to the disciples (Mt 28:8; Lk 24:9). We find the disciples of Emmaus, who, upon realising they had spent the day with the Risen Lord, returned to Jerusalem to share the news (Lk 24:33). It is a run marked by a heart on fire (Lk 24:32) because, within their hearts, they are carrying the Lord to share him with others.

In life’s breathless run, may we carry the Lord in our hearts and, even if we feel weary, let us share his joy with our brothers and sisters—a joy that goes beyond the euphoria of the moment. It is a joy that irrupts into each moment of our existence, and thus can be experienced even in our daily struggles.

Why rejoice on the Third Sunday of Advent?

Many find it strange when they see the priest coming out to celebrate mass wearing a rose-coloured chasuble, since the colour is used only twice a year: once during Advent and once during Lent. Liturgically, the colour rose is a colour that communicates a sense of joy and hope. In Advent this colour is used on the Third Sunday which we call ‘Gaudete’. This word means ‘joy’. At the beginning of Advent, the prayers during Mass refer to the Lord who is coming, but from the Third Sunday onwards, the liturgical prayers focus on the fact that the Lord’s coming is near.

The theme of joy and the name ‘Gaudete’ given to the Third Sunday of Advent come from the words of the entrance antiphon: “Gaudete in Domino semper: iterum dico, Gaudete. Dominus enim prope est.” In English this translates to “Rejoice in the Lord always; again I say, rejoice. Indeed, the Lord is near.” The words of this antiphon are taken from the letter of St Paul to the Philippians (4:4). In fact, in the Second Reading of the Third Sunday of Advent St Paul tells us: “Rejoice always,pray constantly,give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.” (1 Thess 5:16-18).  May we truly seek that joy which comes from choosing God’s will and that of Jesus Christ in everything!

Why is purple used during Lent?

Throughout the Lenten Season, the colour purple is predominant.  And, although we associate this colour with both Lent and Advent—except for Gaudete Sunday on the Third Sunday in Advent and Laetare Sunday on the Fourth Sunday in Lent—the significance of the colour purple does not come automatically. It is also the colour used at funerals, and while celebrating the Sacraments of healing, by which we mean the Sacrament of Penance and the Anointing of the Sick.

In the history of the Church, different rites, places and traditions had different colours that were not always used for the same purpose.  It appears that, while the main colour used was white, in time three other colours emerged: red, green and black. Purple is mentioned as a colour that is used occasionally. With the passage of time, the Church replaced the use of black with purple during the Advent and Lenten seasons.

At face value, there doesn’t seem to be a specific meaning for these colours, apart from the connection between white and purity, red as a symbol of blood and the fire of the Spirit, and black for mourning. Yet, mystically, we can associate the colour purple with the colour of bruising and death, and thus instilling in us feelings of sorrow and melancholy.

Since it is not a vibrant colour, it fits well with the penitential character of Lent that gradually turns our gaze to the bruised body of Our Saviour during the passion, which the Church urges us to focus on in the fifth week of Lent and during Holy week in preparation for the Easter Triduum.