Culture

Skeletons and Corpses in our Churches?!

While the cranium is chosen and favoured over the rest of the remains of the relics of a saint, complete skeletal remains were once obtained for the veneration of the faithful. Under several altars in our churches, we find preserved bones of numerous saints whom, although their names have been lost through the passage of time, we know that they existed in an environment in which they would have lived a life worthy of being raised to the honour of the altar, as well as meriting them the veneration of the faithful. In Scripture we find examples that help us understand the value of the bodies of those who cooperated with the salvific plan of God. In the Second Book of Kings, we read that a gang of robbers came upon a group of men who were burying a man. Out of fear these men threw the body in the tomb of the Prophet Elisha. When the man’s body came in contact with the bones of Elisha he came back to life (2 Kings 13:21).

The same did not happen when the protestants in northern Europe destroyed the relics of the saint that the Church had under her care. However, these churches did not stay without relics for long. When the Catacombs of ‘dei Giordani’ where discovered at Via Salaria in Parioli in 1578, various translations of relics of saints from Rome began anew to northern European countries ensuring that the Christians who inhabit that part of Europe would not be deprived of holy relics.

Locally, this practice had nothing to do with this. In Malta, this custom became more common between the 17th and 18th centuries. We find that in these two centuries no less than 24 relics of the saints were brought to Malta. For example, we find that the Inquisitor Ruffo sought permission from the Pope to obtain the relics of St Beninus for Vittoriosa, as well as the relics of St Victor for the Parish of Naxxar from the Inquisitor Giovanni Mancinforte.

The arrival of a saint’s relics meant grand celebrations: vigils and processions, fireworks and orchestral performances. The veneration of these relics was so strong that not only were earrings, rings and necklaces donated as in the case of St Consolata of the Discalced Carmelites in Cospicua, but in certain villages, children were also given the names of these saints at Baptism. We find for example that even in recent times in Ħaż-Żabbar the name of Felix and other derived names of St Felicianus, who’s relics are found in this locality, were given to children in his honour. In this particular case, a confraternity was also established in honour of St Felicianus with the aim of undertaking charitable initiatives.

St Martin’s Bag

On 11 November the Church celebrates the feast of St Martin of Tours. This saint was born of pagan parents, but he was inclined towards the Roman Catholic faith from a young age. He followed and practised the monastic and eremitic ideal for many years before he was chosen as bishop of Tours, France, in the year 371. During his episcopate, he built various monasteries and he died during a visit to one of the dioceses with the hope of bringing unity to this diocese. The cult of St Martin is very popular in the Roman Catholic world, and was one of the first people to be revered as saints even though he didn’t suffer any martyrdom.

Undoubtedly, one of the famous traditions associated with this Saint is the bag of St Martin (il-borża ta’ San Martin). Traditionally, it used to be a bag filled with different types fruit and a small sweet bun—nowadays sweets are included in it as well, to make it more inviting for children.

The origin of this tradition, which is still very strong amongst us even today, are quite interesting. Although popularly associated with acts of charity that St Martin is known for—like the legend of the mantel that St Martin teared to share with a poor man, who later is revealed to be Jesus himself—the origins of this the borża ta’ San Martin are rooted in liturgy.

Besides the celebration of baptism during the Easter Vigil, some were baptised on 6 January when the Church commemorated the Baptism of the Lord before establishing that day specifically as the feast of the visit of the Magi. Even today, the liturgy of the Epiphany includes also the Baptism of the Lord together with the miracle during the marriage in Cana, as part of the celebration of the mystery of God who showed himself in the person of Jesus Christ.

Consequently, just as forty days of fasting were observed in preparation for Baptism—which eventually developed in the liturgical season of Lent—likewise, even before the celebration of the feast of the Epiphany a forty days period of fasting was observed. Eventually, particularly in the Gallican Church (of France), this fast was associated with Christmas, thus starting the day following the feast of St Martin. The borża ta’ San Martin functioned in the same way as sweets during Carnival, just before lent starts. This observance gradually led paved the way for the Church to establish the period of Advent—a time which didn’t maintain its penitential character, yet its aim of opening our hearts in preparation for the coming of the Lord remains.

Shrek, Leonard Cohen, and the Saints

Hallelujah, released in 1984, is perhaps the best-known song of the singer songwriter Leonard Cohen. But, unfortunately, we hardly think of him when we hear it. What most likely comes to mind is the animated movie Shrek as it helped popularise the song again in our time. Occasionally we hear this song’s refrain during Mass at the Gospel acclamation. This song is even sung in church during weddings, even though it is not a liturgical hymn. Worse than that, it is very difficult to reconcile the lyrics of this song in the context of the celebration of a Sacrament of Marriage. The first verse of this song mentions the adultery committed by David with Bathsheba (2 Samuel 11: 1-27) weaved with details of the story of Samson and Delilah (Judges 16: 4-22).

The ability of this Canadian artist is revealed in the way he managed in his lyrics to intertwine the erotic with the sacred, the profane with that which is most holy, without any blasphemous intent or ridicule of the Judeo-Christian religious traditions. Although he was of Jewish faith, he admired and appreciated Christ, to the extent that you would think he acknowledged him as the awaited Messiah!

Apart from music, lyrics and poems, Cohen wrote also novels in a similar vein. Although fascinating within a poetic framework, when it comes to prose it is too graphic and controversial. In one of his novels, Beautiful Loser, he gives a limited but concrete description of what is a saint. It is limited because there is no reference to God—perhaps because he did not feel the need to specify it, since it was self-evident for him. It is truly concrete because it is very human to describe a saint—a person who has succeeded in attaining holiness by being genuinely human—in the context of our messy and disordered reality. As we begin the month of November with the Solemnity of All Saints, it would not be a bad idea to take a look at the description below of what a Saint is without further explanations …

“What is a saint? A saint is someone who has achieved a remote human possibility. It is impossible to say what that possibility is. I think it has something to do with the energy of love. Contact with this energy results in the exercise of a kind of balance in the chaos of existence. A saint does not dissolve the chaos; if he did the world would have changed long ago. I do not think that a saint dissolves the chaos even for himself, for there is something arrogant and warlike in the notion of a man setting the universe in order. It is a kind of balance that is his glory. He rides the drifts like an escaped ski. His course is a caress of the hill. His track is a drawing of the snow in a moment of its particular arrangement with wind and rock. Something in him so loves the world that he gives himself to the laws of gravity and chance. Far from flying with the angels, he traces with the fidelity of a seismograph needle the state of the solid bloody landscape.”

Leonard Cohen, Beautiful Losers

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.

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.

The Christmas Crib of my Childhood

What is your first memory of a Christmas Crib?  Could it be the small crib you received from your catechism class?  Or maybe a larger crib that with great attention was put together and decorated at home?  Whatever your memory is, it surely centred around a crib with the Baby Jesus, Our Lady and St Joseph together with a cow and a donkey.  Dun Karm, Malta’s national poet, at the age of sixty, reminisced about this typical Maltese tradition in his poem Presepju ta’ tfuliti (The Christmas crib of my childhood).

However, Dun Karm does not stop at what he once experienced and remained imprinted on his mind, or for better words imprinted in his heart, while gazing at the Christmas crib of his childhood:

I felt my heart overflowing with happiness and joy,

           because I could swear that at that point in time

Jesus was there observing my gaze

           and through my eyes he understood what I had in my heart:

In this young child’s heart was the same desire that was in the heart of the Infant Jesus:

an admirable desire that this small crib

           remains imprinted on my mind for as long as I live.

And maybe this is the whole point of Christmas.  When confronting the problems and difficulties we experience, Christmas reminds us of our profound calling: to welcome Jesus—and others—as small children do.  Maybe we’re invited to go beyond our pride and beyond justifying ourselves, and, before this great mystery, remember this outpouring of love that once made the shepherds, Dun Karm and ourselves blush, to continually live it anew.

Shh, cover Him, so that Herod won’t find him!

In our parish, we have a tradition of covering the statue of the infant Jesus with a purple veil on the feast of the Holy Innocent, which is celebrated on 28 December. The veil is a square drape according to the liturgical colour and used for covering the chalice—a liturgical norm which vanished almost completely. The purple colour symbolises the sorrow for the lost lives of these babies. In fact, until 1961, the liturgical colour for this feast was purple, eventually substituted with the red of the martyrs, as is still customary today.

In spite of the fact that this tradition has been going on for some time now, people are curious and ask why the infant Jesus is covered. Of course, the answer reply is: “Well, so that Herod won’t find him.” Although some of the people are intrigued, others think that you’re taking them for a ride—and they’re not completely mistaken.

This symbolic gesture somewhat reminds me of the babies’ stages of development when, at first, they still haven’t acquired the ability to understand that an object still exists even though it cannot be seen. And that is why, when we’re playing with very young babies, we sometimes hide our face or some toy and start asking, “Where is it, eh? Where did he go?” and they start turning their eyes around. But when you uncover your face or show them the toy, they immediately smile and laugh.

Surely, Herod was well beyond this stage of development scientifically know as object permanence, so much so that he killed a lot of people, including some of his own children to eliminate any presumed threat to his power.

Ma nafx intix se tgħattih il-Bambin jew le. Wara kollox, kulma hi tradizzjoni mingħajr l-ebda tifsira teoloġika profonda. Imma jalla ma tgħattihx f’ħajtek lil Ġesù, mhux għax tibża’ li l-Erodijiet ta’ żmienna jsibuh, imma għax tittama li ma jarakx tgħix ħajtek kif jogħġob lilek u mhux kif jogħġob lilu.

This tradition may be judged as ridiculous or just sweet. But I think that, like Herod who never managed to see Jesus, we too tend to act like babies without any sense of object permanence—in this case the sense of permanence of Jesus … when we go out of church and return back to our normal life, as if nothing has happened … when we don’t allow our conscientious to be enlightened by the Gospel and end up justifies anything … when we stop at our fascination with the infant Jesus and avoid looking at an adult Jesus who is assertive, servant and crucified, as though the babe of Betlehem and the crucified hanging outside the walls of Jerusalem aren’t the one and the same Son of God who became man to redeem us.

I don’t know if you’re going to cover up the statue of the infant Jesus or not. After all, it is just a tradition without any profound theological meaning. But I do hope for you and me that we don’t cover Jesus in our life, not out of fear from the many Herods of our times, but because we hope that He doesn’t see us living your life according to our likes and not according to his will.

What does the word “Lapsi” mean?

In the Maltese language, the Solemnity of the Ascension of the Lord is referred to as Lapsi. We also have places in Malta that bear this same name. the use of this word shows the influence of the Eastern Church in the development of the history of the Christian faith in Malta. The word ‘Lapsi’ derives from the Greek ἀνάληψις (análēpsis), which at times is used to describe this feast in the Eastern Churches. The word literally means “to be taken up,” and thus evokes the mystery of the Son’s return at the bosom of the Father.

Thus word is used only once in the New Testament, when Luke starts his narrative of Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem—which forms the core of Luke’s storyline—writes:

When the days drew near for him to be received up, he set his face to go to Jerusalem.

Luke 9:51

Although using different terminology, this discourse about Jesus’ departure is also found in the last supper speeches passed on to us in John’s Gospel. Although the news of his departure causes distress to the disciples, when he appears to them risen and ascends into heaven, the disciples are filled with joy:

Then he led them out as far as Bethany, and lifting up his hands he blessed them. While he blessed them, he parted from them, and was carried up into heaven. And they returned to Jerusalem with great joy, and were continually in the temple blessing God. Luke 24:50-53

Therefore, it comes to no surprise that this is one of the traditional Maltese feasts which ended with a picnic by the sea and possible even a first swim. And Saint Leo the Great, in one of his sermons for this feast, explains the reason for rejoicing on this day because, not only Christ, but also our humanity was ‘taken up’:

And truly great and unspeakable was their cause for joy, when in the sight of the holy multitude, above the dignity of all heavenly creatures, the nature of mankind went up, to pass above the angels’ ranks and to rise beyond the archangels’ heights, and to have its uplifting limited by no elevation until, received to sit with the Eternal Father, it should be associated on the throne with his glory, to whose nature it was united in the Son.

Saint Leo the Great, Sermo de Ascensione, 2-4 (PL 54.395-396)