Your Map and Compass to the TLM’s Rich Symbolism
Professor’s Bookshelf #9: Barthe’s “Forest of Symbols”
Among the best books I’ve ever read on the allegorical features of the traditional Roman Rite is Fr. Claude Barthe’s Forest of Symbols (Angelico Press, 2023; also available on Amazon). If you’re interested in an overall review of this book, along with many particular examples, you’ll find it at New Liturgical Movement here.
Today, in keeping with the modest purpose of the Professor’s Bookshelf, I will be sharing a bunch more passages from the book that caught my eye, as I hope they will catch yours. It is quite marvelous how Fr. Barthe, drawing on centuries of commentary, effortlessly unfolds the solemn liturgical life of the Church out of the templates provided in Sacred Scripture.
In parentheses I will indicate the page numbers from which the passages are taken; if there’s more than one paragraph, the page number will come at the end of the group of paragraphs. —PAK
The allegorical sense of liturgy
The allegorical or mystical meaning, or again the spiritual meaning, of the liturgy as a whole and of the Mass especially, has for a long time been poorly understood. Today’s task is to rediscover this meaning, just as we have rediscovered the whole importance of the spiritual sense of Scripture. The purpose of this work therefore is to put right an omission that long predates the period of chaos that has overtaken Christian worship since the 1960s.
The Christian liturgy, and the Roman liturgy in particular, developed and thrived, in the Middle Ages especially, within a tradition of commentary and meditation that was fundamental for its understanding. To enter the liturgy of the Mass without this key is like trying to understand a cathedral assisted only by an architectural summary and a background knowledge of Christianity. In fact, nowadays you are lucky if you have this background knowledge of Christianity. But even so, such a collection would not lead you into these “forests of symbols” to which Baudelaire refers in his poem Correspondances, in which he sees nature as a “temple” of “living pillars,” itself a metaphorical counterpart for a religious structure. (1)
Just as Christian worship was adapted, for example, after the Spanish and Portuguese conquests, to the cultures of South America, so it was thought that it needed to be adapted today to the modern world. But the promoters of this “inculturation” into modernity did not realize that they were naively trying to domesticate and incorporate into the Christian liturgy a worldliness that was not a matter of culture, but was essentially anti-liturgical, since it was radically anti-Christian. (2)
If we are to achieve this understanding of the divine cult, we must recognize the fundamental parallelism between the Bible and the liturgy. Holy Scripture was written, certainly, to be studied and to be understood in its theological import, but it was also written to be meditated upon in lectio divina. That means that the knowledge of the sacred texts, in the manner of the Fathers of the Church and the medievals, such as St Bernard (1090–1153) or St Thomas Aquinas (c. 1225–1274), starts, continues, and finishes in meditation: the Bible in reality is both human speech and divine speech, and God unveils its meaning progressively by granting knowledge of that meaning from on high. According to the principle of St Gregory, Scripture is received by the preaching of the masters and deepened under the action of grace. Scripture “grows in a certain way alongside those who read it.” St Bonaventure (1221–1274) applied the term “revelation” to this progressive discovery by the Christian soul, under the guidance of the Church, of the spiritual sense of Holy Scripture. This is ultimately nothing other than its Christic sense. Just as Holy Scripture, including the Old Testament, is the speech of Christ who reveals himself definitively, so the liturgy is the prayer of Christ who extends himself and spreads himself out in the souls of the faithful. (3-4)
Moreover, this spiritual commentary on the liturgy is already at work in the New Testament, particularly in the Apocalypse, but also in the Epistle to the Hebrews and in the Gospel according to St John. The Apocalypse itself proceeds in this way to complex mystical interpretations of cultic objects that will go on to serve as models for patristic and medieval authors: the seven lamps are the seven spirits of God (4:5); the gold cups full of perfume represent the prayers of the saints (5:8 and 8:3–4); and the fine linen with which the Spouse is clothed signifies the virtues of the saints (19:8). (10)
Here it is particularly important to underline the twofold character of the liturgical scenes in the Apocalypse: they are at the same time both sacrificial and royal. They describe this triumph of the sacrificed Christ that all the Christian liturgies will go on to elaborate. One could furthermore, on this subject, point to interlinked references between the Apocalypse and the Gospels, particularly the Gospel of St John: the epiphanies, or solemn appearances of the king, when he is enthroned in majesty, seen in the baptismal Epiphany of the Lamb of God (Jn 1:28–34) and in the slaughtered Lamb on its throne (Rev 5:6); the royal entries, or the great procession along the highway prepared for Priest and King to enable him to enter his country, his city, or his Temple, seen in Christ’s solemn Entry into Jerusalem (Jn 12:12–19) and in the Lamb on Mount Sion followed by the procession of men without spot (Rev 14:1–5); and the public and royal banquet, seen especially in the marriage of the king’s firstborn at Cana (Jn 2:1–11) and in the marriage of the Lamb (Rev 19:7).
Moreover we find this liturgical coloring of the book of the Apocalypse, whose sources are in the Gospels (that is to say, are based on Christ’s words and actions as they are reported by the inspired authors) in the most liturgical of the four Passion narratives, that of St John: the Ecce Homo of Christ clad in the crown of thorns and the purple mantle (Jn 19:5); the procession to Golgotha and the royal superscription (Jn 19:17–21); and the Church, the Spouse of the Lamb, issuing from the side of the new Adam with the blood and water of the sacraments (Jn 19:34). So, as we note the fundamentally priestly and royal character of the book of the Apocalypse (consider the institution of a royal people of priests, 1:6, 5:10, 20:6), we can legitimately say that the great visionary canvas of Scripture’s final book contains the spiritual archetypes of all the forms that Christian worship will go on to take.
One could cite many other references, particularly related to the three main aspects mentioned above of the reverence that was given to rulers, and developed in many profound ways, first in the world of the biblical and Hellenistic periods, then in the Christian society of Late Antiquity, and finally in the medieval world; namely first, the solemn entry of the king; second, the appearance of the king to receive his subjects’ solemn homage; and third and last, the participation of the king’s favored friends in festive celebrations.
Christian worship has thus borrowed, as much as it has inspired, the ceremonial that accompanied public life in the periods of its greatest development. So, we will find that, along with other elements of this type, such as lengthy prayers modelled on petitions to the sovereign, gestures demonstrating allegiance, and the reproduction in the communion rites of rituals associated with the receiving of gifts, all Christian liturgies will contain the following three elements. First, the solemn entrances, of which three are particularly important: the entry at the Introit (the entry of Christ in the form of his ministers); the entry of the Gospel (the Gospel procession, the entry of Christ in the form of his word, corresponding to the Little Entrance of the Gospel in the liturgy of St John Chrysostom); and the entry of the oblations (corresponding to the Great Entrance in the liturgy of St John Chrysostom, the entry of Christ in the form of the Eucharistic elements). Second, acts of adoration of the Lord that take place at various times but particularly at the elevations, introduced in the medieval period, of the consecrated elements. Third, the communion rites at the sacred banquet reuniting the friends of the Lord.
In summary, the Apocalypse is a key source for one of the essential lines of spiritual interpretation of the Mass: the triumph of the immolated Christ, given in communion to his disciples. This victorious aspect of the sacrifice of Christ, which is repeated on the altar and whose merits are applied to the church, is certainly at the root of all mystical interpretation of the Christian Mass and of the Roman Mass in particular. (10-11)
One of Amalarius’s principal ideas, which he acquired as part of an already well-established tradition and which became a key element in the spiritual interpretation of the Eucharistic sacrifice, is that there is a link between the unfolding of the Mass and the history of salvation: the Mass represents the mission of Jesus Christ, from the proclamation of his arrival on earth, to which the Introit corresponds, sung by the choir, who in their turn represent the choir of prophets who foretold Christ’s arrival, up to his Ascension, to which corresponds the Ite missa est, the dismissal of the faithful (we will return to this), with which those assisting at the Mass are dismissed just as Christ dismissed his apostles on the Mount of Olives. From the ninth century to the end of the twelfth century, the age of the cathedrals, this genre of explanatory descriptions of the allegory of the Mass, the expositiones missae, underwent an extraordinary flowering. (14)
But what has been called “the crisis of the European mind” was growing unavoidably, with its complex thrust that comprised a positive element, the demands of rationality, but also a negative element, rationalism. This led to a crisis of the mystical sense in the interpretation of Scripture and the liturgy, as well as elsewhere a crisis in mysticism, in the sense of passive prayer, something that is a separate story, though caused by the same developments. This decline accompanied the rise of scientific criticism in the study of the Bible. Though this criticism was a positive development, its rational method was often confused with rationalism, and in fact the application of the historico-critical method to the Bible, as with the liturgy, progressively eliminated all interest in tracing the spiritual meaning. Even from the point of view of the historical knowledge of the text, this is an aberration in that we cannot separate the development of the spiritual hermeneutic of both Bible and liturgy from the story of their transmission and composition. (15)
And if the spiritual exegesis of the Bible is now regaining its former glory, that is still far from the case for the spiritual exegesis of the liturgy. Now, without understanding this wave of allegory in which an entire Christian and sacral society was immersed, we can no more understand, even scientifically, the Roman liturgy, and the Roman Mass especially, than we can understand the planning and construction of the early Christian basilicas and of their successors, the cathedrals. (16)
Mary’s womb
Mary’s womb was like a sacristy: there the Son of God put on his fleshly vestments before entering the world for the great liturgy that he was going to carry out there, which ended with the holy Sacrifice of Calvary. (30)
Why so many signs of the cross?
The sign of the cross, a summary of faith in Christ, is moreover the most specific cultic symbol, unlike other gestures known also from the usage of the courts of Late Antiquity, like processions and censings. (38)
Childlikeness
The ministers, as they approach the altar [reciting Psalm 42], express their wish to recover the baptismal purity of spiritual children. (38)
The memory of Greek
The texts, the quotations, and the biblical references are in fact the backbone of the liturgy; and the clergy had now sufficiently digested the Latin of public life, of the orators, the rhetors, the officials, for it to be possible for them to render the liturgy in a Latin of adequate nobility. Nevertheless, no one forgot that Greek had been the first language of Christian prayer in Rome (more because it was the language of culture and the Bible than because it was the vernacular). Its retention at this point by the Roman liturgy [i.e., in the Kyrie eleison] thus affirms the fundamentally traditional nature of the sacred action. (47)
Why a crucifix above the altar
We cannot emphasize too highly the fact that always, and right from the start, the sacred action is directed and oriented towards the glorious and victorious Cross, whose representation stands over the altar. (49)
Perfection of Latin style
For this purpose liturgical prose makes use of different Roman rhetorical registers—the petition, the supplication, the celebration—and of stylistic devices highly valued by the very literate, including antitheses (earthly goods vis-à-vis heavenly goods, for example), parallelism and balance, asyndeton (between nouns or adjectives, for example), assonance (repetition of a sound), hyperbaton (separation of a subject from its verb, of a noun from its qualifier), chiasmus, and wordplay with similar-sounding words, paronomasia, etc. The literary success of this renewal of Latin solemnity and of the Roman gravitas is the achievement of a Christian Rome that was determined to surpass the ancients in the honor of Christ. The best examples of this style are the Collects, with their rhythm, their concision, their balanced antitheses, their oratorical flow; as also are the Prefaces; and, with its tone at once solemn and well constructed, the unsurpassable masterpiece of Christian Latinity, a sublime piece of poetry in prose: the Roman Canon. This liturgical Latin of Late Antiquity became a mold imparting its shape to a greater or lesser extent to all the subsequent compositions; much as the basilican plan, reinterpreted by Christian worship, remained visible in all the subsequent architectural variations. (53-54)
Ritualized readings
This part of the holy mysteries joins two cultic acts: a ritual proclamation of the word of God and a meditation based on a psalm, with the whole having the manner of a solemn ceremonial prayer. As we have seen in the case of the Gloria, these proclamations of the sacred texts can just as well remind us of a herald’s proclamation. The ritualization of the announcement is part of the message: it is a sacred and mysterious word, passed on and receive as such. We can note also in the course of a solemn or pontifical Mass a progression in the dignity of those playing a role: the lector sings any lessons that precede the epistle, the subdeacon sings the epistle, the deacon sings the Gospel, and the bishop, the teacher of his people, pronounces the homily, and if he does not pronounce it himself or is not present, the priest who preaches does so with at least the tacit delegation of the successor of the apostles. The same would be true of a homily preached by a deacon. (58)
Number of readings
From the sixth century, there were never more than two readings in Rome: the epistle and the Gospel. Originally, there were probably more readings (the common practice among the Gallican, Milanese, Visigothic and yet other rites was to have three readings: an Old Testament reading, an epistle, and a Gospel). Even today, in certain Masses during the Ember Days and at certain vigils (Ember Saturdays being regarded as vigils), the epistle can be preceded by up to five readings (or even, before the reforms of the 1950s and 1960s, six or twelve prophecies).20 Generally, however, the Roman liturgy, like the liturgy of St John Chrysostom, has preserved only one text before the Gospel, often taken from the New Testament, but sometimes from the Old. (59)
Direction of reading
Even if the text that is read or sung is most frequently taken from the New Testament, it is still considered as a preparation for the preaching of the Gospel. At the altar, the priest reads the epistle on the left-hand side, from the point of view of the cross, the Old Testament side. The subdeacon sings it on the same side, which is of course the right-hand side from the point of view of the faithful, and he sings it at the foot of the altar steps, or at the corresponding ambo, or from the right-hand half of the rood or chancel screen, the large and high screen closing off the choir, from the top of which the readings of the Divine Office were read, preceded by the reader’s request to the celebrant: Jube, Domine, benedicere, “I beg you, Father, bless me,” from where the screen derived its French name of the jubé. Since this reading is the final preparation for the Gospel of Christ, this announcement is identified with that of St John the Baptist, the last of the prophets (Mt 11:9), who sums up in himself the entire Old Testament. It is sung facing the altar, that is, facing east, in other words towards the Christ who will return “as lightning cometh out of the east, and appeareth even into the west” (Mt 24:27). (60)
Ceremonial detail
It will be seen that after reading the epistle the subdeacon kneels before the celebrant, in order first to kiss his hand, as a sign of peace, and then to receive his blessing; unlike the deacon, who after reading the Gospel comes to the celebrant to kiss his hand and to receive his blessing, but does not kneel. That reflects the fact that the prophets, though certainly joined to the power of Christ the Word of God, did not enjoy an intimate relationship with him until much later, when he descended to hell. The apostles, by contrast, who are represented by the deacon, received Christ’s peace and blessing at his Resurrection, by the virtue of his death, receiving therefore the power to preach and to announce the Gospel of the Word of God. (61)
The Gradual is a follow-up to the epistle: the Alleluia is an introduction to the Gospel. (62)
(Good commentry on Gradual, Alleluia, Sequence, and Tract: see pp. 61–64.)
Ceremonial for the Gospel
The ceremonial of a low Mass, and even more of a solemn Mass, shows that, with the Gospel, we enter one of the great moments of the celebration. Up until that point, everything has effectively taken place on the left-hand side of the altar cross, the “epistle side,” representing the Old Testament. Now, the altar missal moves to the right-hand side of the altar cross, the “Gospel side,” representing the New Testament.
In a solemn Mass, the minister of the Gospel (that is, the deacon) undergoes a double preparation, like an apostle of Christ. First, at the altar, on his knees on the highest step of the altar on which he has placed the Gospel book, he asks God for a purification similar to that undergone by Isaiah in the Temple at his calling (Is 6:6–7): Munda cor meum ac labia mea. . . (Cleanse my heart and my lips, O God almighty, who didst cleanse the lips of the prophet Isaias with a live coal: vouchsafe, of thy gracious mercy, so to cleanse me, that I may worthily proclaim thy holy Gospel).
Then, in front of the celebrant, the deacon, holding the Gospel book against his breast, comes to ask the blessing of the celebrant (Pray, sir, a blessing. The Lord be in thy heart, and on thy lips . . . ). After the deacon has been blessed by the celebrant, the celebrant places his right hand on the Gospel book and presents it to the deacon to be kissed as an indication that Christ confers his power and his virtue on his apostles, giving them the gifts of his spirit that flow out from him, especially from his hand, the source of good works. Christ passes on to him in particular the gifts of languages, of speech, and of the voice, with the hand of the celebrant touching the purified mouth of the deacon and the purified mouth of the deacon kissing the consecrated hand of the celebrant. From then on, the Lord’s right hand passes on his Spirit, which alone can give an understanding of the mysteries, uncovering what is hidden within them, can give the grace necessary to talk of them, and can communicate the power to make them heard. This kiss is a kiss of respect, but it is even more designed to plumb the depths of the divine force of Jesus Christ’s holy humanity, and in particular the force of his humano-divine speech.
The triumphal procession that escorts the Gospel is a real entrance of Christ in the form of his Word. It moves forward thus: the thurifer walks at the head, his censer smoking with the incense that burns on the fiery heart of Christ and that spreads abroad the sweet fragrance of the virtues of the Lord, breathing out the prayer that rises perpetually from his holy humanity; the two acolytes follow, with their candles representing the light of Jesus Christ expressed in his Word, spread by the apostles, the bishops, and the doctors (or again by the two Testaments, the Old containing Christ in figures, the New containing Christ unveiled).
When the procession arrives at the place from which the Gospel is to be proclaimed, the Gospel book, representing Christ, is censed three times in the same way as the celebrant or the Holy Sacrament. The book is supported by the subdeacon, who functions as a sort of living lectern (if the book is laid on a lectern, the subdeacon stands behind it and places his hands on it). The subdeacon represents the Old Testament, which supports the New Testament that it foretells….
The Gospel is sung facing north, that is, towards the icy land of the infidels, which is going to be enveloped in the fire of the preaching of the apostles (in the same way that the altar missal is placed, for the reading of the Gospel, at an angle on the north corner of the altar….
All his assistants, all the members of the choir, all the ministers, including the celebrant, face towards the Gospel book, which during the singing of the Gospel extract becomes the axis around which the entire church revolves; for this Gospel book, held up, illuminated, censed, is nothing other than the representation of Christ speaking through the mouth of his apostles and the voice of his Church.
This then remains the situation until the celebrant has respectfully kissed the Gospel on the incipit: the subdeacon brings the book back to him for him to do this, without any genuflection or other form of greeting, as if he were carrying the Blessed Sacrament itself. This kiss of respect and love given to the start of the text is accompanied by a short apologia recited by the celebrant (By the words of the Gospel may our sins be blotted out), which shows that the Gospel has the power of a sacramental to wipe out venial sins. […]
Finally, after the Christ-book has been kissed by the celebrant, Christ the Priest, he is censed three times: the same honor is thus shown to the image of Christ in the form of the altar cross, the word of Christ in the form of the Gospel book, and Christ in the person of his minister, in the form of the celebrant, as will be shown to Christ when he is really present at the Elevation. (64–68)
Oblations
The veiling and unveiling of the oblations had great importance in the ancient forms of the liturgy. (81)
One can with equal justification draw attention to another formal “doublet” (among many others, for imitative repetition is a characteristic of the rhythm of a liturgy): just as in the Byzantine rite, the Great Entrance of the oblations is a more imposing doublet of the Little Entrance of the Gospel Book, which is transferred solemnly and placed on the altar before the chant of the Trisagion, so in the Roman rite, the honors paid to the oblations are a doublet of those paid previously to the Gospel. (89)
The Roman Canon
It must be emphasized that the principal characteristic of the Roman Eucharistic liturgy is the unique position of its Eucharistic prayer, already attested at the beginning of the fifth century. The very name itself, Canon actionis, unchangeable “action,” given to this unique Eucharistic prayer brings out the specific character of the rite that is being celebrated (in this case, the Roman Mass) and its immutability (the same is true of other immutable liturgical Canons, such as the central part of Matins, the orthros, in the Byzantine rite, an invariable Canon formed of nine poetic odes). In this case, the term Canon missae therefore reminds us of its uniqueness, of its invariable nature, of the immutable rule of the faith, since Rome asserts that she is completely free from all error, including, and above all, in the heart of hearts of the sacramental life: let us not forget that Rome was slow to introduce into the Mass the Credo, of which, from the Christological and sacramental point of view, the Canon was already the living expression. There is therefore nothing more characteristically Roman than its unique Eucharistic prayer, its Canon missae, which is a veritable and venerable statement of belief regarding the Eucharistic sacrifice. (104-5)
The Kiss of Peace
The celebrant starts the Canon by raising his hands and by bowing, just as at the start of the hymns and of the Preface, except that here, at this particularly solemn moment, he bows in a deep bow that he completes by kissing the altar. More so than all the other solemn embraces of the sacred stone, this kiss, given at the entry into the sanctuary of the Canon, embodies the symbolism of which we have already spoken: it is the kiss of the most holy marriage of humanity and divinity in the Son of God incarnate and it is the kiss of the Christ, who at the Ascension, glorious and victorious over death, returns in his humanity to his Father. The celebrant again extends his hands in the attitude of the orant, since the Canon continues the great priestly prayers that began with the Preface and was interrupted by the triumphal insertion of the Sanctus. More than at any other moment, the celebrant, an alter Christus, is in the position of Moses, interceding for his people at the battle against the Amalekites (Ex 17:11–12). (106-7)
Scripture is more extrinsic to the Mass
The Mass does not take place when the holy scriptures are read in the church, but when the gifts are offered and the Body and Blood of the Lord are consecrated. For you can just as well read the lessons at home, whether they are taken from a prophet, from the Apostle, or from the Gospel, or you can listen to other people reading them; but you can hear and watch the consecration of the Body and Blood of Christ only in the house of God. That is why anyone who wants to participate in the entire Mass and benefit his soul thereby must stay in the church, in a humble posture and with a contrite heart, until the moment when the Lord’s Prayer is said and the blessing is given to the people. (126: a quotation from St Caesarius of Arles, d. 542)
The Resurrection phase
The final blessing, a repetition of the blessing after the Fraction and the Commixture, which eventually became the only blessing, finds its allegorical explanation in a certain parallelism between this final part of the Mass and the final part of Our Savior’s life on earth, namely his Resurrection. This entire section of the Mass, consisting of the ceremonies of the Fraction and the Commixture (with or without a solemn blessing), the Communion, and then all the ceremonies that follow, envelops the celebrants and their assistants in the spiritual climate experienced by the apostles and the first Christians between the first Easter and the Ascension. (131)
On Christ processing to us, not we to him
The thought of “approaching the Lord” invites us to ask whether we can talk about a “Communion procession” and so about an antiphon to accompany this procession. Yes, we can, but it is not a procession of communicants. The reality is that here the Body of Christ draws near to those who are going to receive him and who present themselves to him, as we will recall, in due order, at least as far as the clergy are concerned, but also, normally, as far as the magistrates and the people are concerned. Consequently, if there is a procession, it is rather the Holy Sacrament that processes, accompanied since the High Middle Ages by the torches of the torchbearers. (141)
At a solemn Mass today, one will usually see the priest, accompanied by the deacon and subdeacon, “processing” from one kneeling communicant to the next. In this way Christ is the one who comes to meet us and give Himself to us.
Every little detail
When the prayer is over, the missal is closed but without being moved away. (The missal is left with the spine facing south and the fore-edge facing north, so that it is ready to be opened again to face those without faith in order to spread the warmth of the Word.) (144)
Postcommunion
The Oratio ad Complendum is therefore said on the Jewish side of the altar, on the other side from the Gentile or New Testament side (which covers those who convert to Christ). This is because the preaching of Christ and of his Gospel started with the Jews, then transferred to the Gentiles, and will at the end return to the Jews, who will enter the Church of Jesus Christ. In between the two, the middle of the altar represents the faith in Christ that draws the two peoples together and makes them into one (Eph 2:14), “the people of God” (1 Peter 2:10). (144)
