From 17 - 19 December, the brothers of the English Dominican province gathered for an assembly, several months ahead of the provincial chapter, to discuss various reports pertaining to the life and mission of the province. The meeting was characterised by good humour and fraternal charity coupled with a zeal for preaching the Gospel and for our religious life. As we came together to pray, listen, reflect and discuss aspects of our life and work today, one could appreciate anew the words of the psalm: 'Behold, how good and how pleasant it is for brethren to dwell together in unity' (133:1).
Below are some photos from the assembly:
Two brothers were instituted as lectors, and another two brothers as acolytes in the Mass on 19 December celebrated by the Provincial. These are instituted ministries in service of the Word and the Altar, respectively.
Finally, below are sights and sounds from Vespers including a video of the O antiphon 'O Radix' sung at Vespers on 19 December together with the Magnificat in Latin.
'O Root of Jesse, set up as a sign for the peoples, before whom kings will stop their mouths, to whom the nations will pray: come to set us free, delay no more.'
Readings: Malachi 3:1-4,23-24; Psalm 24; Luke 1:57-66
‘O Emmanuel, our king and our lawgiver, the hope of the nations and their Saviour: come and save us, Lord our God’. The prophet Isaiah wrote: ‘therefore the Lord Himself will give you a sign. Look, the young woman is with child and shall bear a son and shall name him Emmanuel’ (7:14). Emmanuel means ‘God is with us’. In Matthew’s gospel (1:23) the Old Testament verse is obviously understood to be foretelling the birth of Christ. How might we understand the significance of this name of God’s anointed son?
The use of the name Emmanuel in this way by the gospel writer has the intention of guiding the hearer’s attention to the incarnation itself. How is God with us? God is with us in a human being who walked among us and underwent suffering similar to our own, unencumbered only by sin. God, in Christ, came to accompany us in our journey and struggles, not only in the spirit but in the reality of flesh and blood. Part of our struggle as human beings is the knowledge that we can only go so far in understanding and sharing the paths of our contemporaries: our love has its flaws and limitations. It is only God who can truly walk with all, for He came to share the space of each one of us for all time in Jesus, who blends human experience and divine perspective.
O Emmanuel, our King and lawgiver, for whom the nations wait, their Saviour: come to save us, Lord, our God.
Readings: 1 Samuel 1:24-28; Responsorial psalm: 1 Samuel 2:1,4-8; Luke 1:46-56
Any building whose foundation is unsound will fracture, become unstable and ultimately collapse, and buildings built on clay or marshy soil do not endure like those founded on solid rock. Hence, in 1 Peter 2:4-8, Christ is proclaimed as the cornerstone, echoing the prophet Isaiah who proclaimed that God was laying a “sure foundation” (Isaiah 28:16), and the permanence of this cornerstone is juxtaposed in today’s antiphon with the lowly clay from which we are fashioned. Because of Christ, we are no longer just transient clay bricks but “living stones” which are to be built into a “spiritual house” with Christ as the “head of the corner” (Psalm 118:2), thus giving the building permanence, strength and endurance.
A society which has rejected Christ – for example that of the proposed European Constitution – is one that cannot perdure and has no firm foundation, for “unless the Lord builds the house, those who build it labour in vain” (Psalm 127:1). Built on the shifting soil of popular opinion rather than truth and permanent values, such a society cracks and crumbles. Today’s antiphon proclaims that Christ is the One whom all nations desire because he alone brings harmony and unity, just as the cornerstone unites two walls, making them stand as one.
As Christmas dawns and we recall again “the wonderful deeds of him who called [us] out of darkness into his marvellous light” (1 Peter 2:9), let us implore the Lord to craft us into his “living stones”, so that, built on the “precious cornerstone” of Christ and his Gospel truth, we may be united as “God’s own people”. Thus, may we, sharing in the “royal priesthood” of Christ our King and Redeemer, help reconcile and unite humanity, and endue society with the permanence and endurance of the Truth.
The photo above, taken by the author, is of the keystone in the lantern of Ely cathedral.
O King of the Nations, whom they desire, and the cornerstone, who join two together into one: come and save mankind, whom you formed from the clay.
Readings: Song of Songs 2:8-14 or Zephaniah 3:14-18; Psalm 32; Luke 1:39-45
Yahweh your God is there with you, the warrior saviour. He will rejoice over you with happy song, he will renew you by his love, he will dance with shouts of joy for you, as on a day of festival ( Zephaniah 3:17-18)
I find this prophesy by Zephaniah very interesting. It is true that the prophesy speaks about what will happen to us 'when that day comes'. However, at the same time, we get an insight into how God will respond on that day. This is what is interesting, we get to see how the almighty God will re-act on that day.
This information, though, causes us to reflect carefully on the manner in which we are going to do what we are going to do. Clearly, the festive season is not just about us, about us getting gifts and giving gifts. In all our rejoicing have we considered, when God sees all that we are doing, will he dance with shouts of joy over all that we are doing? The prophet, Zephaniah, is telling us, in a sense, that God too seeks to rejoice with us. He seeks to dance with us. He seeks to shout with us. He seeks to rejoice with us. In all our preparation thus far to celebrate the birthday of the Christ, have we considered these points?
O Rising Sun, splendour of eternal Light and sun of righteousness: come and shine upon those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death.
O Clavis - the unruly infant who unlocks our prison
O Key of David and sceptre of the House of Israel, who open and no one shuts, who shut and no one opens: come and bring out the captive from the prison house, him who sits in the darkness and the shadow of death.
On each of the seven days before Christmas – in Catholic Churches – an antiphon is sung. Seven days, seven antiphons. Each of these antiphons is a kind of scriptural meditation on the meaning of Christ’s coming. Today’s antiphon speaks about Christ as a key and he is a key because he opens a door, the door to a prison. Human beings are in the prison house and in the darkness and in the shadow of death. This key opens the door and opens it from the outside.
So what is being said is something strong and sober. Christ is a liberator, he comes to set people free. There is no mincing of words in the antiphon about what life is sometimes like: it can be like a prison house. The antiphon does not shrink from the ills that assail us, from the fact of human guilt, from the horror of the ways in which people behave towards each other, from suffering, from all the ways in which people imprison themselves and through no fault of their own are imprisoned. But in the face of the bleakness, the antiphon amazingly proclaims a victory. There is no evasion; the antiphon has the realism of the gospels. Its hope may strike us in the same way that other aspects of the Incarnation may strike us: here was a man who lived through a human life with all that ordinarily entails (and much worse) and yet – in spite of everything – could still proclaim trust in his Father and the goodness at the heart of creation.
What this does mean, naturally, is that the antiphon jars with many of the traditional ways of talking at Christmas. While the antiphon speaks of the unfathomable power of Christ to set people free, Christmas carols often dwell principally on his infant dependency, and in a peculiar way. They talk about the child gentle and dear and talk of rocking him and letting him sleep. Perhaps all this seems harmless enough, just a bit of fun, something for the children.
It is only when you start to think about it, though, that you see a side to it that can be disturbing. Because the carols imagine a very domesticated faith. Everyone needs tenderness and gentleness, but there is a difference between that and the domestication of God. Sometimes the deep-seated human urge to trim God down to size has a field day at Christmas.
People tame God in all sorts of ways. Presently it is often done through sentimentality, people sometimes paint a very sentimental picture of God and then are surprised when he does not play the part. In the past perhaps people were more inclined to domesticate God through their intellects, by thinking they knew more of what he is and how he judges than they actually do. Sometimes the mechanism is more complicated and involves more of our life: sometimes it takes the form of systems of morality and religious observance or spirituality which are used to reassure us that they make us alright with God, to assure us of his approval, and to stop him saying anything to us that we don’t like. Then there are other more sinister ways of domesticating God. Sometimes God can start becoming our God, the God who belongs to us, our ally against others.
At a superficial level, Christmas can reinforce some of these ways of thinking. On occasion it can feel as though the child Jesus is being wheeled out to take part in our celebrations. He is conveniently meek and mild and so he is not going to say anything to disturb anyone. Certain questions need never be asked. While we sing, it sometimes feels as though God is silent, made an accessory to our needs and prejudices, but actually busy about his more pressing business.
There can be a basic lack of reality in faith. A refusal to see and to hear, those words which figure so largely in the gospels.
I recently read an essay, which dissected aspects of this lack of reality, and traced it back to the infant Jesus in the manger. The infant in the manger, in some of the carols anyhow, is not like a real human child at all. There are many examples but the funniest is ‘Away in a manger’ where – to put it bluntly – he is woken up by some cows, but no crying he makes. But everyone who has ever come across a real baby knows that it is not like that.
As this essay pointed out so well, babies may be dependent but they are not passive and are not usually silent. They make their presence felt, they make noise, they demand attention, they keep people up at night. They turn their parents’ lives upside down and inside out and change them forever. In a baby, people are faced with a life they can’t fully control. People’s lives are bonded closely to their infants and at the same time babies are hard to understand and can be unnerving: parents don’t know what babies want, whether they are cold or hungry or lonely or ill. You only get to know what they want, you only get to learn their mute language, through consistently attending to them.
Actually – in many ways – a real baby is a much better image for what the coming of the Son of God is like. The Son of God makes his presence felt in human lives in ways that are not anticipated and planned for. He disturbs us, and changes lives for good. He struggles in our arms as we try to hold him and turn him into a doll. His ways are strange. Anyone who wants to listen needs to listen closely to his language, before he even starts to understand.
This brings us back to the antiphon.
Christ comes into the world to set us free. Notice that the gospel says that he comes to the world (God so loved the world) and not just to a particular group of people. It is through his unruly presence that he starts to do that. It is he who acts first of all; it is he who unlocks the door from the outside. He promises to do what human beings cannot possibly do for themselves. He is not a fantasy child, who warms our hearts for a moment and then leaves them colder and deader than ever. He will not fit into our schemes and that is a relief because our schemes are not for the good and sooner or later we see through most of them ourselves. He does not give us certain kinds of answers: the prison house is still there. Yet his whole life speaks of an unsentimental and powerful compassion.
O Key of David, and sceptre of the house of Israel, who open and no one shuts, who shut and no one opens: come and bring out the captive from the prison-house, him who sits in darkness and in the shadow of death.
Readings: Judges 13:2-7, 24-25, Psalm 70:3-6, 16-17, Luke 1:5-25
Let’s try for a moment to imagine that all we know about Jesus is some vague notion that he has something to do with God, that he is someone who will change our lives and that we will find out how on Christmas day. Then when Christmas day comes we discover that Jesus is God incarnate, God come into the world as flesh and blood. Can we imagine how this incredible news might dramatically change our lives, not just on Christmas day, but forever? For most of us it is hard to imagine what this might feel like. We are all too familiar with the story, so we pass over it almost without a second thought. During these last days of Advent we must prepare for Christmas in such a way that when we hear the Christmas story, it comes to us afresh, as if for the first time.
In today’s Gospel, Zechariah seems to be world weary, set in his ways and caught up in the routine of daily life. So much so that he is not a man prepared to receive God’s message, a message which is God’s gift. This probably resonates with our own experience. But see how God brings Zechariah two gifts: the gift of a son, and the gift of silence. The silence gives him the time to be prepared, time for his idea of an inferior, predictable God to be swept away, preparing him to receive God’s love more fully. Regardless of how good or bad this Advent has been there is still time left for us to be silent, to allow God to shape us into people who will willingly accept his Son this Christmas. It is an opportunity not to be missed.
O Root of Jesse, set up as a sign for the peoples, before whom kings will stop their mouths, to whom the nations will pray: come to set us free, delay no more.
Readings: Jeremiah 23:5-8; Psalm 71; Matthew 1:18-24
The prophet Jeremiah lived at a time when God’s chosen people faced the catastrophe of invasion and deportation to Babylon in the north. Jeremiah did not shrink from warning the people of the tragedy that was about to befall them. Yet at the same time he was able to hold out the hope that God would not neglect his people in their adversity. The Lord ‘will raise up a righteous shoot to David’ who will reign as a just and wise king so that the people may live securely in their land.
Later in the Book of Jeremiah the prophet will tell of God’s promise of a new covenant with his people, one that offers a deeper salvation than rescue from invading armies. For God will enter into a more intimate relationship with his people and will forgive their guilt and never more call to mind their sin (Jeremiah 31:34).
In the Gospel today we see these promises coming to fulfilment. A new king is to be born from the house of David who will save his people from their sins. Again this message of hope is made known in the midst of anxiety - this time Joseph's anxiety about Mary’s pregnancy. Today’s readings suggest that it is often easier to recognise God’s plan for our lives when things don’t appear to be going well. Certainly, it is in times of adversity that we most need to cry out in hope ‘O Adonai - O Mighty Lord… come to redeem us with outstretched arm’.
O Adonai, and leader of the house of Israel, who appeared to Moses in the fire of the burning bush, and who gave him the law on Sinai: come to redeem us with outstretched arm.
Now there are only seven days left before Christmas. The coming of Jesus Christ is very near. The Liturgy shapes this week in a unique way in order to help Christians concentrate on the coming of the Messiah and prepare them for Christmas Eve. One of the most beautiful features of these seven 'Golden Nights' is the singing of the 'O' antiphons, sung at Vespers each evening between December 17 and December 23. These short songs of praise accompany the Magnificat, Mary's prayer recorded by Saint Luke at the moment of Mary's visit to her cousin Elizabeth (Luke 1:46-55).
The 'O' antiphons have a particular musical structure and a remarkable theological depth. Their history can be traced back to the first centuries of Christianity. Each antiphon, beginning with 'O', addresses Jesus with a unique title taken from the prophecies of Isaiah and praises him for being what each title indicates he is. Each ends with a petition for God's people and with the Advent cry: 'Come'. The well known hymn 'O come, o come Emmanuel' is actually a paraphrase of these antiphons.
The seven titles attributed to Jesus in the antiphons are:
1 Wisdom (Sapientia) 2 Ruler of the House of Israel (Adonai) 3 Root of Jesse (Radix Iesse) 4 Key of David (Clavis David) 5 Rising Dawn (Oriens) 6 King of the Nations (Rex gentium) 7 God With Us (Emmanuel)
Taking the first letter of each and reversing the order - Emmanuel, Rex, Oriens, Clavis, Radix, Adonai, Sapientia - gives the Latin words ero cras which means 'tomorrow I will come'. These great antiphons carry us from our Advent preparation to its joyful climax on Christmas Eve.
Godzdogz will present these antiphons each day, sung by the Dominican student brothers in Oxford, with the Latin text, chant and a translation. They are sung according to the Dominican antiphonal which varies slightly from the Roman chant books.
In his book Hallowing the Time, Geoffrey Preston OP writes as follows about these antiphons:
In the Great Antiphons of Advent, we turn to Christ with the longing expressed in the O itself. This longing is the groaning of the Holy Spirit in us when we do not know how to pray, when we have no other words than this primordial word so close to the roots of our western experience. For our O is strictly comparable to the Hindu OM, the mystic syllable in that other part of our Indo-European tradition, the OM beyond which there vibrates that absolutely primordial and eternal unheard sound which is itself the first Cause of the universe.
The Advent Os of the Christian West go back at least to the eighth century, to those ages that we somewhat inaccurately, yet appropriately in this context, call 'dark'. From the dark ages men have called out to the Messiah to come ... We too as we sing these antiphons stand in the dark ages, vergente mundi vespere as the Office Hymn puts it, as earth draws near its evening hour ... So we pray for him to come at either end of the Song of Mary, the Magnificat.
We put all we have into that praying. In the monastic tradition it is surrounded by all the wealth of ceremonial of which the brethren are capable ... In monasteries the abbot himself in full pontifical vestments comes and stands before the great pulpit in the midst of the choir and intones O Sapientia. Night after night the senior members of the community in full vestments come out to take up the cry to the Messiah. The bells of the monastery sound throughout the singing of the Magnificat, sung as it is to the most solemn chant in the book. All that the community has to show for itself, all by which it might cut something of a figure in the world, is wheeled on; and it sings 'O come!'
O Wisdom, who came forth from the mouth of the Most High, reaching from one end to the other, powerfully and sweetly ordering all things: come to teach us the way of prudence.
Jesus, the Word or Wisdom of God, is like a bridge reaching from heaven to earth and from earth to heaven. We are invited to journey towards our Father by stepping on this bridge and following where it leads. Walking this 'way of prudence' helps to make the kingdom of God visible in our time. The one who utters the invitation is none less than the Messiah himself.
"Blessed Jordan, worthy successor of St Dominic, in the early days of the Order, your example and zeal prompted many men and women to follow Christ in the white habit of Our Holy Father. As patron of Dominican vocations, continue to stimulate talented and devoted men and women to consecrate their lives to God. Through your intercession, lead to the Order of Preachers generous and sacrificing persons, willing to give themselves fervently to the apostolate of Truth. Help them to prepare themselves to be worthy of the grace of a Dominican vocation. Inspire their hearts to become learned of God, that with firm determination they might aspire to be 'champions of the Faith and true lights of the world'. Amen."
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