Candlemas

In my time praying [parts of] the Divine Office, I have found it spiritually rewarding in many ways, not least of which has been my sharpened sensitivity to the liturgical year. The Little Chapter for Daytime Prayer during Ordinary Time - "Owe no man anything but to love one another. He who loves his neighbor hath fulfilled the Law" - has often leaped to mind at opportune moments of frustration or anger. Certainly it expresses well the theological implications of Ordinary Time; that of the continued work of the Holy Spirit in the life of the Church. Similarly, I have become quite attached to the antiphons in honor of Our Lady that close the recitation of Night Prayer. The Salve Regina is predominant throughout most of the year and is probably the best known. The Regina Caeli is used during Easter, the Ave Regina Caelorum during Lent and pre-Lent, and the Alma Redemptoris Mater from the beginning of Advent until today. Today is the Feast of the Presentation of the Lord in the Temple (once known as Candlemas), which commemorates the 40th day since Christmas and marks the end of the portion of the liturgical year that deals with the mysteries of God's incarnation and self-revelation. We have come to the pre-Lenten season that is traditionally called Septuagesima which is Latin for seventieth as it is approximately seventy days til Easter. In the older form of the Roman Rite, the Alleluia is suppressed and purple vestments are worn in preparation for the beginning of Lent in a few weeks. Since I do not often attend a traditional parish, I will not notice these changes during Sunday Mass, but, since the Office has changed the antiphon to the Ave Regina Caelorum I will be reminded each evening that the joy of Christmas has transitioned toward the sorrows of Lent. So, then, for one last time this liturgical year, the Alma Redemptoris Mater:

 

Four months of the Divine Office

 The other day marked the fourth month that I've been praying (some of) the Hours of the Divine Office with (some) regularity. I will be forthcoming with my admission that it is still not as habitual as I would like, but, then again, the spiritual life is not meant to be a cake walk. "Take up your cross and follow Me" doesn't necessarily get visions of sugar plums a-dancin' in my head.

That broad caveat understood, I would like to give an update. I have found the experience of praying in this manner very beneficial, on several levels. Firstly, as I am an absolutely horrific creature of habit, I appreciate the ordered, rhythmic nature of structure of the Divine Office in general. There is enough variety day-by-day and hour-by-hour to keep my wandering mind focused, yet, the constant underlying structure and logic means that it's easy to jump right back in if I've missed a day or two (or, five... like I said, it's a work in progress). At this point, I have enough familiarity with the Psalms and Readings contained within that the subtle moods of each Hour have become more apparent as well.

Speaking of the Psalms - how ignorant I have been of them for too long! Granted, at least one is sung or chanted at every Mass and much of our better hymnody is inspired by them, but the Psalms have largely escaped my consciousness for much of my consciously Catholic life. In grade school, our Biblical studies generally revolved around either the liturgical season or a theological lesson (i.e. Creation, Covenant, Morality of this or that), and while the Psalms embody many of these themes in a more poetic way, they are often not the clearest expositors that grade school teachers have at their disposal. High school was similar in many ways. I had one class on the Old Testament, which, while rewarding in many ways, also overlooked the Psalms and much of the Wisdom literature in favor of the some of the more over-arching themes.

All this is to say that I enjoy getting to know the various Psalms at what amounts to a more personal level. Most Hours contain just three Psalms apiece, so the effort of mentally digesting them is not Herculean by any stretch. The Hours that contain more than three Pslams (Sunday Lauds and Vespers, for instance) tend to have a more obvious thematic correlation, so they are more easily read as a group. In any event, the Psalms are the heart of the Divine Office, and it is both a challenge and a joy to pray them with the mind of the Church, considering how each might give voice to a petition, a sorrow, or a joy much wider than my own existence.

One last note is on the edition I have been using. It is a side-by-side Latin/English edition. Every couple of days, especially on Hours that have become more familiar, I attempt to pray only using the Latin. It has been a marvelous learning experience to commit a Psalm almost to memory in English and then consider the Latin version. Luckily, the English translation, from what I can tell, is quite literal. So, if I get stuck on a word, it is fairly easy for me to find my place. Not only is this helping my rudimentary Latin skills, it is also opening up a somewhat different mode of prayer than what I'm used to. Since I have what the Zen masters would call a "Beginner's Mind" about Latin, I am much more focused on considering the various words and phrases. This slows me down a bit and gets me to consider an inflected meaning that could be gleaned from the Latin version but not from the English.

If you may permit me a brief example (not that I can hear your protesting in vain!). The first antiphon for Monday Compline (Night Prayer):

English: Rescue me, Lord, because of Thy kindness
Latin: Salvum me fac, Domine, propter misericordiam tuam.

While the English conveys quite a beautiful sentiment, a deeper dimension is added when the Latin is considered. Rescue me conveys a sense of urgency - a dire longing to be free of our sins, perhaps. The Latin inflection of Salvum me fac completes the image by importing the language of salvation (salvum) more directly. We are asking for God to rescue us from sin by granting us His salvation. Are they the same meaning theologically? Perhaps, but there is, I maintain, a richness in the slight differences. Misericordiam also offers an interesting study. This particular word is quite common in the ecclesiastical lexicon, and is most commonly translated as mercy. Here, the translator has chosen kindness. Does this not beg a meditation on the relationship between God's mercy and God's kindness? If we break down the word Misericordiam we can see within it miser, which is approximately wretched, and cor, which is heart. So, God has a wretched (perhaps grieved?) heart for our salvation. Is this not His compassion? Is not His mercy moved by His compassion? Was it not His compassion and mercy that prompted Him to send His only Son to accomplish (fac) our salvation (salvum).

This is but one fairly in depth example, but there are (I'm sure) many more to be found. Translation is a delicate art, to be sure, as no one language directly equals another (as any multilingual person will tell you). In that regard, it is both intellectually and spiritually rewarding to occasionally veer down these translator's rabbit holes for the possible gain of an added insight.