The Divine Liturgy [1 ed.] 1597310751, 9781597310758

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J E A N

H A N I

THE DIVINE LITURGY

In memory of the great liturgist Mgr G. Khoury-Sarkis, Archbishop of the Syriac Catholic Church of Antioch

CONTENTS

Introduction

I - The Sacrifice…………………………………………………………………………………………………………... 7

II - The Holy Mysteries………………………………………………………………………………………………. 21

III - The Divine Liturgy……………………………………………………………………………………………… 40

IV - The Altar of the Lord…………………………………………………………………………………………… 69

V - Dramatis Personae……………………………………………………………………………………………… 100

VI - Liturgy of the Word…………………………………………………………………………………………….. 121

VII - Theosis…………………………………………………………………………………………………………….. 132

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INTRODUCTION

It is a custom among Eastern Christians that even laypeople, who take a keen interest in theology and liturgy, write a commentary on the Mass when they feel the desire to do so. Two works of this kind, authored by laypeople, are famous: one by Nicolas Cabasilas, who was sometimes wrongly considered a cleric, titled 'Explanation of the Divine Liturgy,' and the other, a smaller work, by the great Russian writer N. Gogol. It is first and foremost out of fidelity to this tradition that we have undertaken the present work, which is a means for the author to bear witness to their respect and attachment to the sacrament that is the center and heart of the entire life of the Church. The Western Christian is certainly convinced of the fundamental role of the Mass, but the rational and legalistic conception of post-Tridentine and baroque Catholicism, a conception that has not entirely disappeared today and in which liturgy was often bogged down and practically devoured by private devotions, has often deprived them of the desire to delve into the extraordinary depth of the mystery celebrated at the altar and has prevented them from grasping its full beauty. Indeed, the Mass is a masterpiece of beauty because it is a manifestation of Divinity, one of whose primary attributes is Beauty. This beauty of the liturgy had, however, struck some artists, like Claudel, who wrote, after a ceremony at Notre-Dame: “It was the deepest and grandest poetry, the most august gestures ever entrusted to human beings. I could not get enough of the spectacle of the Mass.”(¹) Another reason that conceals from the faithful the depth and beauty of the Mass is perhaps the use of the word itself. It must be admitted that this word is quite poorly chosen. "Mass" comes from the Latin "missa," the past participle of "mittere," which means "to dismiss." The Romans used, in their official ceremonies, the formula "missa est contio" to dismiss the gatherings, which is equivalent to "the session is adjourned." It is this formula that the Christian liturgy in Rome used, and from which "Ite missa est" is derived, where "contio" must be supplied: "Go, the session is adjourned." So, it was originally a simple dismissal formula.

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Then, around the 5th century, the word "missa" became a noun and gradually referred in Christian terminology to the assembly gathered for the Holy Sacrifice, and ultimately to the Holy Sacrifice itself. However, the word does not "speak" to the mind and does not direct it towards the content of the sacrifice. Eastern churches use words that all relate, in one way or another, to the idea of holiness or sacredness: the Copts designate the Mass with the Greek word "hagiasmos," meaning "consecration"; the Ethiopians use "qeddas," from a Semitic root that means "holy" (in Arabic, "Mass" is called "qouddas"); the Syrian churches say "qourobho," an Aramaic word meaning "approach" or "access," referring to the role of the Holy Sacrifice, which is to bring us closer to the altar, to bring us closer to God (the same root gives the Arabic word "tagarrab," meaning "approach the holy table," "communion"); and finally, the Greek rite churches use the well-known expression "Divine Liturgy," which roughly means "divine service." As you can see, all of these words have the advantage of emphasizing the depth and sacredness of the Holy Mysteries. If the book we offer to the public first and foremost intends to be a personal tribute to the Divine Liturgy, it also aims at another purpose. In the current crisis that the Western Church is going through, the effects of which we have already denounced in our essay on The Symbolism of the Christian Temple, the most serious symptom is undoubtedly the questioning of the meaning and content of the Mass itself, given that, as we mentioned earlier, it is the heart of the Church and its vital center. Therefore, we deemed it useful to make our humble contribution to its defense. However, we have no intention of getting involved in the theological disputes that are currently arising on this subject. Our perspective in this study is neither that of the theologian nor the liturgist. Certainly, we have consulted and studied the essentials of what has been written about the theology and liturgy of the Mass, and if we have refrained from citing any of the authors who have addressed this topic in the following pages, it is solely to avoid stirring up the disputes we mentioned, at a time when passions are so inflamed that merely mentioning a name can cause storms among opposing camps. But let the reader be assured, we have done everything necessary to say only what is perfectly orthodox; if we have made any missteps, may God forgive us. (¹): Contacts and circumstances, 1938. Cf. Marcel Proust in a Chronicle from August 16, 1914: “The maintenance of the greatest artistic ensemble that can be conceived, for the reconstitution of which no expense would be spared if it no longer existed, namely, the Mass in the cathedrals, imposes a duty on the government to subsidize the Catholic Church for the maintenance of a worship that is of greater importance to the preservation of the noblest French art than (other) societies with questionable artistic goals…” Poor Proust, if he were to return today!

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Our point of view, therefore, is neither that of the theologian nor that of the liturgist, but that of the historian of religions. What we want to demonstrate is that the Christian worship of the Mass is illuminated by studies related to the universal patterns of the sacred to which it conforms. Certainly, Christian worship has its specificity, but it is up to the theologian and the liturgist to explain that. Our intention is to identify the characteristics within Christian worship that connect it to the universality of the sacred.(²) It is certain that the history of religions, aided by anthropology, ethnology, and linguistics, has brought something irreplaceable to the understanding of Christianity, and we should not disdain the achievements of these sciences. Let us be clear: in our previous works, we have criticized, and at times seemed to reject, modern sciences. However, such an attitude would be surprising on our part, as we have spent the greater part of our lives conducting research in the fields of classical philology and the history of religions, and teaching these sciences to students. On the contrary, we believe that we should boldly utilize the results of these sciences to explain Christianity. What we reject, on the other hand, is the "spirit" or "philosophy," if you prefer, that motivates these sciences among most modern scholars and fundamentally distorts the direction of their development and their conclusions, without undermining the objective value of the documentary material they have gathered. This "spirit" is the principle of the autonomy of science from religious truth and metaphysics. This "spirit" is something that is proudly upheld, even among ecclesiastics. And this is one of the reasons why it seems urgent to us to view things in a different "spirit." Indeed, in recent years, a number of books have appeared, written by ecclesiastics or individuals associated with ecclesiastical circles, which also aim to use the history of religions, anthropology, ethnology, and linguistics to elucidate the facts of Christian religion and worship. Unfortunately, the authors of these studies, who often depend on the dominant ideology of our universities, have ended up supporting highly questionable theses in which the substance of religion eventually dissipates. The real results obtained mainly by the history of religions, with the modern research method, need to be reexamined in a different light and integrated into a higher perspective that regulates their use. As for us, we utilize these achievements by subjecting them, on the one hand, to theology, and on the other hand, to metaphysics and the universal Sacred Tradition. (²): This idea has already been outlined in our book on the temple, which led us, as one will understand and kindly excuse us for, to revisit here a number of "ideas already discussed there." This comment pertains to the current Chapter IV.

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The key contribution of the humanities, which we are discussing, to the understanding of liturgy concerns the role of ritual and symbol. One of the reasons for the stagnation of the liturgy, as we mentioned earlier, is indeed the sterilization of the imaginative side by intellectualism and the desiccating rationalism that prevailed from the 17th century onwards. In this regard, we cannot exaggerate enough the harm caused by late Aristotelianism and especially by Descartes. Gradually, under the influence of this mindset, Christians ceased to understand the rituals and the profound symbols that constitute the very essence of the liturgy. As a result, the liturgy was reduced to an official worship devoid of impact on the faithful. However, these symbols that breathe life into the rituals are essential for the life of the liturgy. The importance of both is increasingly recognized today by the humanities. We read, a few years ago, in a Parisian newspaper, the following lines, which one would surely not have found there one or two generations earlier: "Rites are the set of attitudes and actions that make the supernatural recognized, participated in, and benefited from... Man is very demanding when it comes to rituals; the more the everyday world changes, the more we cling to the permanence of the ritual. Any change in rituals causes astonishment, irritation, even incomprehension, criticism, and disaffection. It can also very likely be said (contrary to the conclusions of superficial reasoning) that rituals outlive beliefs, but beliefs do not outlive rituals. It is in any case a grave error to think that rituals can degenerate into anarchy without beliefs doing the same." (G. Fourastié in Le Figaro, 6-7-1973). In regards to symbolism, one can still observe at the present time an opposition among scholars and those who follow them, scattered here and there. This is under the influence of the all-too-famous Bultmann, who exacerbated the Cartesian influence on this matter. Bultmann rejected symbolism and myth as inadequate for both the modern scientific spirit and the evangelical message. Clerics in a break from tradition, eager to demonstrate their "liberation," enthusiastically embraced Bultmann's ideas, without realizing that this thesis, a product of religious philosophy from the "Age of Enlightenment," appeared completely outdated since studies in the history of religions, anthropology, ethnology, and also depth psychology, each through different paths, challenged the rationalistic view of myth and symbolism and restored their value by showing that they constitute an absolutely fundamental mode of human

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thought, even inscribed in their bodily being. These relevant sciences demonstrated the irreplaceable nature of the symbol as it expresses a reality that cannot be conveyed otherwise; it is the specific conduit of the sacred, one might say, and it is through its mediation that the Christic salvation penetrates deep into the soul. Religious representations that reject these symbols or allow them to fall into neglect, as happened starting from the 16th century in the West, or reduce their rituals to a schematic sequence, lose their efficacy. Sacred symbols, indeed, are linked to archetypal images that constitute the human soul, and through these images, the soul, in its state of unity with the body, receives the sacred message of the cosmos, which itself serves as the mediation through which the divine reaches and permeates it. Certainly, we did not need to resort to the human sciences to justify symbolism, which is sufficiently justified by the great sacred, universal, and eternal Tradition of a supra-human essence. But, after all, it is not bad to know that the secular point of view itself tends to converge, through its own methods, with a portion of transcendent truth. The intelligence of the symbolism of the Mass ritual is greatly aided by the liturgies of the Eastern churches, liturgies that are much more stable than those of the West and rich in abundant poetry. This leads us to say a few words about the way to conduct our study. This study primarily focuses on the Roman Mass, for an easily understandable reason(³). However, we will continuously refer to the texts of the Mass in the Greek, Syrian, Maronite, Armenian, Coptic, and Ethiopian churches to shed light on the various aspects of the Eucharistic celebration, which is undoubtedly one in its essential core across all apostolic churches but significantly different in its modes of expression elsewhere. It will also be an opportunity for us to introduce these liturgies, so often overlooked in the West, and to pay tribute, albeit modestly, to our Eastern Christian communities, venerable communities, the oldest of which trace back to the apostolic age. These communities have often endured martyrdom throughout history and even today, tragically, they suffer in total official indifference from major nations and almost complete indifference from Western Christians.

(³): We follow the text of the old Roman ritual. Indeed, for some years now, the Latin Church has been using a new ritual that curiously lacks certain characteristic features of the sacred, especially in the category of sacrifice, which notably distinguishes this ritual from those of all other apostolic churches. Therefore, this new ritual appears deficient in the eyes of the historian of religions.

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CHAPTER I THE SACRIFICE

The Mass, the Divine Liturgy, is essentially a sacrifice, as proclaimed by one of the names frequently given to it: the Holy Sacrifice. It is not, as some would have it, a mere sacrifice of praise, nor a simple meal of remembrance, nor even just the commemoration of a sacrifice accomplished in the past. As a memorial of a violent and bloody sacrifice, that of Golgotha, it is itself a true sacrifice, the same as that of Golgotha, and therefore endowed with a power of reconciliation and propitiation(¹). Certainly, the Mass has a broader significance and encompasses other supernatural realities than this bloody sacrifice; likewise, the notion of sacrifice has a wider meaning than the bloody immolation of a victim. We will have several opportunities to discuss this further. However, it remains that this notion of immolation is crucial, both in the theology of Redemption and in the Mass, which is its ritual perpetuation. Therefore, it is from this central reality of the Mass, which is like its core, that we must start to understand the Eucharistic celebration. The sacrifice of Christ, like His entire mission, unfolded in continuity with the Jewish tradition of the Old Testament. Therefore, we will begin by examining the various forms of sacrifice in the old Law, which will lead us to observe that the Cross of Christ summarizes and transcends the previous sacrifices, while still, to some extent, deriving its explanation from them. By thus reinserting the sacrifice of Calvary into its ethno-religious context, so to speak, we can then more effectively approach the analysis of the sacrifice itself from a (¹): Council of Trent, Session 22, canon 1 (Denziger - Umberg, n. 948): "If anyone shall say that in the Mass, a true and proper sacrifice is not offered to God, or that what is offered is nothing else than Christ given to us to eat, let him be anathema."; Canon 3 (ibid., n. 950): "If anyone shall say that the sacrifice of the Mass is only a sacrifice of praise and thanksgiving, or a mere commemoration of the sacrifice offered on the cross and not a propitiatory one, etc."

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phenomenological and metaphysical perspective. The Hebrews knew and practiced several types of sacrifice. Besides the offering of incense, which constituted a sacrifice and which we will discuss later, there was firstly a non-bloody sacrifice called "minhah," which originated from an offering of the first fruits of the land. In the "minhah," cakes made from fine flour, oil, and incense were offered, with a portion being burned, that is to say, consecrated, and the rest consumed by the priests. The most well-known form of "minhah" is the rite of the "showbread" (Lechem HaPanim), twelve in number, representing the twelve tribes of Israel; they were placed in the Temple on a golden table, and a little incense was burned on each of them. They were renewed every Sabbath, and the bread from the previous week was eaten by the priests. Among the bloody sacrifices, the most important and transcendent element of the worship was the holocaust, known in Hebrew as "olah"(²). The Greek word "holocaust" means "completely burned." Indeed, the victim, typically a bull or a young ox, after being bled, was entirely consumed by fire on the altar, signifying that it was wholly dedicated and offered to God. The Hebrew word is derived from the verb "alah," meaning "to ascend," alluding to the smoke rising towards the sky, symbolically towards the heavenly dwelling of God. The blood of the victim was sprinkled at the four corners of the altar. This ritual held great significance: blood, in fact, is related to the transcendent essence of man, seated in the heart. The slain animal was a substitute for man, as indicated by the preliminary rite of "semikha," in which the offerer laid his hand on the head of the victim and presented it to the altar; the shedding of the victim's blood signified that the offerer was connecting and offering himself to God through the altar, symbolically following the path of the animal whose flesh, elevated by fire, "ascended" to God. The zebah shelamim, the "peace offering," which was practiced during major solemnities(³), was a communion sacrifice with God. A portion of the slaughtered animal, the blood, and the fats were burned and offered to God, while the rest served as food for the faithful and the priests in a sacred banquet. There were three types of zebah shelamim, with the most relevant to us being the zebah todah, meaning the "sacrifice of praise" or "thanksgiving offering." These designations have been and still are applied to the Mass, (²): Lev. 9, 17 ; Nu. 28, 34 ; Ex. 29, 42 ; Ez. 46, 13, 15 ; 29, 39 ; Ezr. 3, 5 (³): Ex. 23, 18 ; 34, 25.

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which is also called the Eucharist, meaning "thanksgiving," and in the ritual text is referred to in Latin as "sacrificium laudis" on several occasions. The Hebrew rite began with a hymn of thanksgiving, followed by the slaughtering of the victim, during which a circumambulation was made around the altar. Additionally, bread and wine offerings were made, including a cup known as the "cup of salvation," a phrase taken from Psalm 116, one of the Hallel psalms (⁴), which we also find in the Roman Mass. During his communion, the priest says, "What shall I render to the Lord for all his benefits? I will take the cup of salvation and call upon the name of the Lord"(⁵). The hattat sacrifice was a purification and atonement ritual for sin; once again, the offerer laid hands on the victim (a bull, a goat, a goat, a lamb, two pigeons, or turtledoves), of which a part was burned, and the other part was consumed by the priests. This ritual was connected to the important annual ceremony called the Day of Atonement or the Great Pardon (Yom Kippur), which aimed to purify the priests and the entire people from sins of the year. It was celebrated on the 10th day of the month of Tishrei as follows: the High Priest first offered a young bull and a ram for his sins and those of the entire priesthood, laying hands on their heads and confessing his sins. He then offered two goats and a ram for the sins of the people. After incensing the sanctuary, he slaughtered the bull and sprinkled the sanctuary with its blood; he then slaughtered one of the two goats, again sprinkling the sanctuary with its blood, then the courtyard, and anointed the altar of burnt offerings. The second goat underwent a particular and well-known ritual: the high priest laid hands on it, confessed his sins and those of the people, and thus placed the sins on the animal's head, on which he tied a long scarlet cord because among the Jews, scarlet was the symbolic color of sin(⁶), after which a man led it into a desolate place and cast it from a high rock. The animal "carried away" the sins of Israel, hence its name "scapegoat."

(⁴): Psalms 112-117 (⁵): The course of this Hebrew sacrifice closely resembles that of the most practiced sacrifice in ancient Greece, the "thysia," which followed a similar ritual pattern, involving the sharing of the victim between the deity and the faithful, the singing of hymns, and a banquet (especially in the celebration of the Mysteries; see Sylloge Inscript. Graec. 736). This sacrifice was called "charistirion" and "eucharistirion," which means "Thanksgiving Sacrifice." It is evident that one should not conclude from this situation, as many have hurried to do, that the Christian sacrifice was modeled after the "thysia." Christianity had no need to draw inspiration from the Greeks, as we will see; it was sufficient for it to draw from the Jewish tradition, just like Jesus did. If the Greek "thysia" resembled the "zebah shelamim," it was simply because the religious era in question followed the same sacrificial rule inherited from the sacred Tradition adapted to that moment in history in various religions.

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If we have emphasized the Day of Atonement a bit, it is because it holds a certain importance in understanding the meaning and significance of Christ's sacrifice. As we have mentioned before, Christ incorporates all the previous sacrificial rituals. This is particularly clear when it comes to the Yom Kippur ritual, as Saint Paul has demonstrated. In the Epistle to the Hebrews, he compares Christ to the high priest who enters the Holy of Holies once a year, carrying "blood to offer for the sins of the people as well as for his own sins. Christ appeared as a high priest of the good things to come, and He entered a more excellent and perfect tabernacle, not made with human hands (meaning, not belonging to this creation), not with the blood of goats and calves, but with His own blood. He entered once for all into the sanctuary, obtaining eternal redemption for us. For if the blood of goats and bulls, and the ashes of a heifer, sprinkling those who have become defiled, sanctify for the cleansing of the flesh, how much more will the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered Himself unblemished to God, cleanse our conscience from dead works to serve the living God!" (Hebrews 9:7-14; cf. ibid., 15-28 and 13:1-14). The comparison made by Saint Paul applies to the other forms of Hebrew sacrifice. For the burnt offering, it is evident: Christ's sacrifice is the absolute burnt offering; the offerings of firstfruits and the zebah shelamim already outline the pattern of the Mass. But it is especially the Passover sacrifice, the sacrifice of the Paschal Lamb, and the meal that follows it that should capture our attention since it is this type of sacrifice that Christ chose to transform into the sacrifice of the New Testament. We will need to closely study the integration of the Jewish Passover into the course of the Divine Liturgy. For now, let us recall its essential points. The Jewish Passover belongs to this type of sacrifice where the animal victim offered is entirely consumed by humans in the name of the deity. It is a communion sacrifice, similar to the Zebah shelamim. The officiant was the head of the family, and also the priest, as the Passover sacrifice was also offered in the Temple. This rite held great significance for the Jews because it commemorated, as is known, the liberation from slavery in Egypt and the entry into the Promised Land(⁷). The Passover, whose name, "pesah," means "passage," symbolized that Christ only had to "revitalize," in a way, to make (⁶): See Isaiah 1:18. Similarly, among the Egyptians, red was also a symbol of evil (cf. J. Hani, "La religion égyptienne dans la pensée de Plutarque," Paris, 1976, pp. 272 et seq., 446, where it will be seen that the Egyptians undoubtedly practiced a rite comparable to that of the scapegoat. Similar rites are encountered elsewhere. In Greece, it was even practiced on men, called "pharmakoi" (op. cit., p. 278 with references).

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it an effective sign of the passage from death to life, from darkness to light; so that, through the Divine Lamb sacrificed, we are transferred to the Kingdom of the Father.

Sacrifice is considered so universal and practiced by all peoples of all ages that it is generally taken for granted, as a matter of course. People know and naturally accept that it is necessary for paying homage to God and atoning for sin, without thinking too deeply about it. However, in reality, when one reflects on it, the relationship between sacrifice on one hand, and praise and atonement on the other, a relationship that seemed self-evident, is not so easy to explain. It is important, therefore, to truly understand the phenomenon of sacrifice, to examine its nature and meaning more closely. What, at its core, is sacrifice? How can it be explained? What are its origins, nature, and significance? Sacrifices fall into the broader category of sacred rituals. Among these, a distinction must be made between fundamental rituals and auxiliary rituals. The former are those that introduce individuals into the realm of the sacred: all rites of incorporation into a traditional community, such as Christian baptism, various initiations, and funeral rites, for example. The latter are prayers and, specifically, offering rituals and sacrificial rites: they are called "auxiliary," but this should not obscure their importance, or rather, their necessity. Because incorporation rituals, for instance, only introduce individuals into the sacred in a virtual manner: individuals can effectively assimilate the sacred only through these practices that accompany every aspect of their existence, namely prayers and sacrifices. The notion of sacrifice is broader than its usual understanding, in which the word is purely and simply synonymous with immolation. As its etymology indicates, it refers in the broadest sense to the sacred; the Latin expression for (⁷): Ex. 12,25 and 27.

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"to sacrifice" is "rem divinam facere," meaning "to perform a divine act"; and the word "sacrificium," composed of "sacer" and "facere," has the same meaning: "sacred action"(⁸). The verb "sacrificare" means not only "to sacrifice" but also "to consecrate." Therefore, the term "sacrifice" precisely refers to its object, as we stated a moment ago, which is to introduce the being into the realm of the sacred. The concept of immolation, which is associated with it, comes afterward. One can define sacrifice as the act aimed at the dual purpose of offering a gift to God and sanctifying the person who gives. Why give to God? It is a gift in return. Indeed, life is a gift from the Creator, as well as everything, like food, that sustains this life. Conscious and responsible beings, in order to spiritually realize the meaning of this gift by referring to its symbolic quality and, at the same time, make this gift more prosperous and enduring, must offer back to the Creator a portion of what He gives. This explains certain secondary forms of sacrifice, such as libations at the table practiced in ancient Greece or India, or the tithe. In the first case, one does not eat or drink until offering the "God's share," as the medieval expression goes; in the second case, one gives up a tenth of what one possesses to attest through this gesture that everything one has comes from God, and, at the same time, to ensure the longevity of these possessions by preventing the circle of prosperity from closing. If one wishes to write the history, or more precisely the prehistory, of sacrifice and seek its origins, it is essential first to rid oneself of the true "pseudoscientific dogmas" proclaimed in most studies of the history of religions or anthropology. We have read under the pen of an author, whose work is considered one of the most serious on sacrifice, astonishing assertions based on the crudest evolutionary presuppositions. But what is even more serious is that these assertions are often taken into account without further examination by ecclesiastical authors, some of whom are renowned theologians today. It is truly disheartening to see "scientific" theories, purely profane and entirely lacking in solid foundations, honored in this way by individuals who, at the same time, refuse to take traditional sciences seriously (⁸): The Greek word "thysia" originally only evokes "smoke" from the sacrifice, of course.

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sciences that draw their value from both metaphysical principles and Revelation. Thus, we will never understand how a Catholic theologian can attempt to trace the origins of sacrifice from the evolutionary presupposition and the "primitive" man considered as "savage," even close to the animal, from whom he is "obviously" descended, while at the same time believing in the account of the early chapters of Genesis, without realizing the fundamental incompatibility that separates the two viewpoints, despite the vague speculations and highflying somersaults by which "Catholic" evolutionists have tried to reconcile them. Therefore, it is on the basis of the traditional doctrine, in both its metaphysical and religious aspects, that we should consider the problem of the origin of sacrifice. In a state of innocence, in the world of Eden, there was no need for sacrifice in the way we understand it. Not being subject to matter, man naturally practiced this gift to God, which is the obligatory response of the creature to the Creator, an absolutely pure and entirely spiritual gift: the gift of the heart. In a perfect outpouring of love, he surrendered everything created and himself to God. After the fall, it was no longer the same. Man was cast down from the higher, spiritual plane into the physical, material plane, his fault and his fall consisting precisely in the decision to selfishly appropriate the created instead of making an unconditional surrender to God. The consequences of this fall would have been irreparable if divine mercy had not intervened to mitigate them. It was then that the Heavenly Messengers — whatever they may have been, this is not the place to discuss it — gave humanity the sacrifice desired by God, ordained by God, as a means to partially repair the aftermath of the spiritual catastrophe. The purpose of sacrifice is to restore humanity to the level from which it has fallen, to place it back on the spiritual plane. To achieve this, it is necessary to undergo a transfer. Let us explain. In a certain way, the only way to rectify the sin and its consequences for humanity was death, because death precisely separates him from the physical and material world. We can indeed read in Genesis that God decreed that man, having become a sinner, would die. [However, he should not die immediately; humanity should not be annihilated, thereby nullifying the plan of creation. Man should live for a certain time outside the paradisiacal state, in the fallen and materialized state.

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Sacrifice was the means of symbolically and ritually effecting a "death" to the material world and a transfer to the primitive spiritual world. In a certain way, every sacrifice is fundamentally a human sacrifice, as demonstrated by the previously mentioned semikha rite, which we will discuss again soon. A physically performed human sacrifice is, of course, an aberrant and monstrous deviation, particularly among degenerate peoples in one way or another; but it is the deviation of an idea, or better yet, a profound necessity, but one that is understood in a crude manner. In the normally conceived sacrifice, the transfer of man to the spiritual world is accomplished through an intermediary and substitution. Man is transferred by another physical being or physical object that is substituted for him and is itself transferred through the ritual to the spiritual plane. The mechanism is as follows: the being or object is offered to the divinity, and in this way, it becomes sacred through the ritual that integrates it into the realm of the sacred. At the same time, by virtue of the substitution, it becomes identified with the man offering it, thus integrating that man into this domain. The sacrificed being or object becomes the mediator between the earthly realm and the realm above. We talked about the offered object. Indeed, it is not only a living being that can be substituted for a human: it can be a plant, flowers, for example, a food item, bread, wine, or even a manufactured object. Thus, for example, in ancient Egypt, the daily ritual included a double offering: that of the Eye of Horus, a solar symbol, and that of Maat. Maat is the entity that represents Justice and Truth, and, in a more general sense, divine energy(⁹). The priest presented a statuette of Maat in the sanctuary: through the offering of this statuette, the soul of the human joined the divinity in the spiritual universe. But most of the time, it was the animal that was substituted for man in the sacrifice, because the animal is a being close to man, at least the higher animal, and it is the one that was most often chosen for the sacrifice. The bloody sacrifice was the ultimate sacrifice. Today, we do not understand well why these immolations have ceased almost everywhere, the reason for the necessity of the bloody sacrifice, especially for the expiation of sin. However, this is an important question, because the most spectacular expiatory bloody sacrifice, if we dare say, was that of Christ, and it is important to understand why.

(⁹): A. Moret, Ritual of the Daily Worship, p. 148, and following, indicates that the name Maat, the neutral passive participle of maa, signifies both "what is real, true, just" and "what is offered."

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The bloody sacrifice is like a voluntary death: through the immolated animal, man "dies" willingly to the phenomenal and materialized world and, by this act, is, at least virtually, restored to the spiritual universe, as described in the process above. The animal, sanctified by the offering ritual, served in a way to graft man onto divinity. That is why, in certain cases, the offerer would don the skin of the sacrificed animal: by wearing it, man was reborn in the form of a supernatural being(¹⁰). It is in the light of this custom that the formula of Saint Paul speaking of "putting on the Lord Jesus Christ" (Rom. 13, 14) gains all its meaning and strength. Therefore, we see the necessity of immolation. This is to refute the assertions of certain authors who have claimed that the death of the animal, while necessary, was not an essential matter. Others, in the same vein, have argued that there is not always immolation in sacrifice, and they cite the cases of offerings of food, flowers, libations of wine, etc. Which, according to them, would strengthen the previous argument. But in reality, this is not accurate because it overlooks the fact that bread is already the result of the immolation by humans of wheat, beaten, ground, and "burned" through cooking; as for wine, it would not exist without the "passion," as it has been said, of the grape, crushed, crushed, and transformed by fermentation; all of which must ultimately "die" a second time when consumed after the offering, by the divinity, that is, the priest, or by the offerer. The same applies to the offering of incense, which is burned, or of the flower. The splendid flower is cut and dies to be offered; thereby, it testifies both to its beauty, a reflection of divine Beauty, and its nothingness in the face of absolute Beauty; its death in the offering attests to the supremacy of Essence. To return to the bloody sacrifice, one must also consider something of great importance to explain this type of offering. It is that, in nearly all traditions, blood is like the vehicle of the vital principle, of the living soul; this is particularly affirmed by the Bible (Deuteronomy 12:23; Leviticus 17:10-11); it is the medium through which psychic elements connect with bodily form. When one ate the meat of the victim or drank its blood, they absorbed and assimilated its life force, but, what is essential, a consecrated life force that, consequently, conveyed the energy of the god. The same consideration also explains purification rituals and covenant rites. We mentioned examples of

(¹⁰): For example, in Dionysianism or in the Egyptian rite called "tikenou," see Moret, Mystères égyptiens, Paris, 1923, p. 41 and following.

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the former above. As for the latter, they hold a central place in the Old Testament. The "covenant" between God and His people is sealed by a "blood covenant" (Exodus 24:8; Zechariah 9:11). The offered and sacrificed victim, accepted by God, seals the covenant through the following process: the animal represents the people, its blood represents the life of this people; the animal is offered and consecrated, thus "passing" into the divine world; its blood becomes charged with divine energy; then, God returns to the people the offering bearing His blessing, which means the adoption of the people with all the beneficial consequences of this act. We will fully appreciate the significance of this sacrificial covenant pattern when we see that it constitutes, on a higher level, the mechanism of the Christic sacrifice itself, that of the New Covenant. We made reference earlier to the ritual of the offering consumption, which leads us to emphasize a bit more on the ritual meals, the communion meals, which accompany many types of sacrifices. The meal, the sacred banquet, has gained so much importance in various cults that most modern scholars have wanted to see it as the origin of all sacrifices; it is certainly an error, but it should not hide from us the crucial role of the sacred banquet. Its use particularly developed in ancient Greece. Perhaps the most characteristic case is that of the prytanes in Athens. The prytanes, representatives of the tribes, formed a body responsible for organizing the deliberations of the Senate and enjoyed great prestige. Housed in the Prytaneion or the Tholos, they had their meals there near the altar of Hestia, which was the hearth of the Greek state; this meal, by its very nature, had a sacred character. The prytanes wore a crown, a sacred symbol also worn by priests for sacrifices, and their persons were themselves considered holy, at least momentarily, during this meal. The prytanes, in fact, ate there on behalf of the city, and this meal established a connection between the human group and the supernatural universe, concentrated in the hearth of Hestia, which provided mana to the community. In Athens, there are known to be numerous other ritual meals. For instance, those organized by tribes during major festivals such as the Dionysia and the Panathenaea, as well as the one for women that followed the sacrifice on the third day of the Thesmophoria festival. However, the most interesting ones are the sacred meals held within the thiasoi, religious brotherhoods gathering

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devotees of a deity, because this type of religious community bears some resemblance to the early Christian communities that, in Greece and Rome, organized themselves somewhat similarly and also practiced a similar rite known as the agape. In the thiasoi, the worship included not only the major festivals throughout the year but also a monthly sacrifice followed by a communal meal, which gained increasing importance as one approached the end of Antiquity. This ritual is encountered in the worship of Attis and Firmicus Maternus, who practiced it after converting to Christianity, spoke to us about it, and drew a parallel between the meal of Attis and the Christian meal(¹¹). The same thing occurs in the cult of Mithra, where a mixture of bread, water, and the sap of the plant called haoma was consumed, and in the worship of Isis and Serapis: in the Iseum of Pompeii, there is a special room reserved for the meals of the initiates, and curious invitations to this type of banquet have even been found there(¹²). To be honest, the ritualistic nature of the meal becomes evident within traditional societies, even during ordinary meals, because the ordinary meal already encourages man to direct his thoughts towards the Divine. Here, more than elsewhere perhaps, man appears as the one who receives: he must receive nourishment to survive, and he understands that this nourishment comes from Another, towards whom the prayer of thanksgiving ascends. "It is upon You," says the psalmist, "that the eyes of all are fixed; You give them food in due season. You open your hand and satisfy every living thing" (Ps. 144). Therefore, in normal societies, every meal is in some way a religious rite, the most important action of which was the libations to the gods, already mentioned earlier. The Greek meal began with a libation to Zeus Sotirios (Savior), accompanied by a prayer and the ritual wish agatho daimonos, "good luck!" In the ritual meal following a sacrifice, the process of sanctification of the faithful is always the same as we described earlier: the food and beverages are offered to the deity and, also, incorporated into the divine world; in return, the portion that man takes of it unites him with the divine world. The food is given to God, and God makes man a part of this gift, which vitalizes him and, to the limit, divinizes him through participation, (¹¹) F. Maternus, De errore prof. relig., 18, 1. (¹²) Here is one: "Chaeremon invites you to dine at the table of Lord Sarapis, in the Sarapieion, tomorrow, the 15th, at 9 a.m." Cf. Harv. Theolog. Rev. 41.

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hence the expression "eating the god." This final stage is particularly well-known in the Dionysian cult where the animal, usually a fawn, an incarnation of Dionysus, was sacrificed and, when consumed by the bacchants, triggered ecstasy in them through the incorporation of the god. The same applied to wine, another incarnation of Dionysus (¹³). The communal meal was known to the Hebrews, and as we have already mentioned, it provided the foundation for Christ's sacrament. We will need to study this in detail, and it will be an opportunity to see what the communion meal was like in the Old Testament. However, before we conclude this general exposition on sacrifice, we must say a word about the significance of the holocaust. In this type of sacrifice, the immolated victim is entirely consumed by fire. Originally, it is the transcendent fire, the fire from heaven that descended upon the altar at the officiant's prayer, when he had the power to bring it down, as we see in the Bible, whether it be Noah or the prophet Elijah, for example. Subsequently, the ritual fire replaced the heavenly fire: however, it was its symbol, and it was a fire that had still received the "blessing." The meaning of the Holocaust is evident. It is total, absolute sacrifice. The victim is not divided between divinity and man: it is entirely given to divinity. The divine fire that falls upon it takes possession of it, and the smoke that rises from it ascends to the heavens, carrying with it, towards the "celestial tabernacle," the subtle essence of the victim. The Holocaust symbolizes and realizes the total gift of the offerer. But it also has a broader meaning. It symbolizes and foreshadows the cosmic sacrifice. Indeed, it is the entire cosmos that must be offered and transferred into the divine plan. This cosmic dimension also belongs, and supremely so, to the sacrifice of Christ and to its memorial, the Mass. Here we are, once again, brought back to recall the operation by which Jesus integrated, recapitulated, and brought to their fullness, in His unique sacrifice, all types of sacrifice. But this time, we can specify the meaning of this operation. We have seen how, in the Epistle to the Hebrews, Saint Paul identified Christ with the Hebrew high priest, entering the Holy of Holies on the Day of Atonement, bringing His own blood for the remission of sins. Another fact would allow us to push the parallel (¹³): Cf. Euripide, Bacchantes, 284.

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further and show how even in certain details, the action of Christ aligns with Jewish sacrificial customs. When Jesus, after declaring Himself king, was handed over by Pilate to the Roman soldiers, they placed a crown of thorns on His head and a red cloak, a purple cloak, on His shoulders to mock Him as a king; for among the Romans, as in most ancient peoples, purple was the color of kings. But by a coincidence that was not random, this red cloak showed that Jesus had become the "man of sin," as the Scriptures say. Indeed, as previously noted, red was the symbol of evil and transgression, and it was explained earlier that this was why the high priest attached a long scarlet strip to the scapegoat. Therefore, who does not see the extraordinary sign in this episode with Pilate: clad in this mocking royal purple, Christ appears to the eyes of the Jews not as a derisive king but as Azazel, the Scapegoat; and this circumstance perhaps gives a particular resonance to their cry: "Let His blood be upon us!" From Pilate's tribunal, Jesus walks to Golgotha where the sacrifice is consummated. It is then the holocaust of holocausts, the absolute and transcendent holocaust. Here, Christ sacrifices his mortal body, and this sacrifice represents the complete self-gift to the Supreme Being, revealing the existence of the "kingdom of God" as the only true reality. Christ is here both the sacrificed victim and the sacrificer: the victim, the offering, is supremely transferred from the earthly, physical world to the supernatural world, encompassing all victims and material offerings, which have now become unnecessary. The high priest of his own sacrifice, Christ "officiates" on the cross, a cosmic symbol, erected atop Golgotha, the cosmic mountain, as we will see in more detail regarding the liturgical celebration. In other words, the sacrifice of Calvary transfers the entirety of the human spatio-temporal cosmos into the divine world. Thus, the Fall is erased, so to speak, sin and death are destroyed, and the entire nature is redeemed, even though this transformation of the world is not yet visible to most people in their bodily condition. But, in order to understand, in its ultimate depth, the meaning of this sacrifice, both expiatory and transfigurative, and, in a general sense, the very meaning and function of sacrifice, one must know its metaphysical foundation. This foundation, as astonishing as the formula may appear, is the eternal sacrifice of God. The sacrifice of God is creation. Creation is, in a certain way,

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the humiliation of God in relation to His Absolute. God, who in His Absolute does not relate to anything other than Himself, becomes an absolute-relative: by positing the being of the creature, He enters into a relationship with it. This act of entering into a relationship is the sacrifice of the Absolute and the sacrifice of Love for this "other" that He Himself posits as created from nothingness. Furthermore, in God, the Son, who is in one of His aspects, the principle and the end of Creation, the "firstborn of creation," according to the Pauline expression, the Son, as such, is eminently the sacrifice of God. Thus, the Incarnation was inscribed in the "logic," so to speak, of the Son of God, with the purpose of accomplishing what must be done by necessity: namely, the reintegration of Creation into the Creator. For the very meaning of sacrifice, as a rite from earth ascending to heaven, is to respond to the divine sacrifice whose movement goes from heaven to earth, and thus to bring all things back to their divine Principle. Christ accomplished this return because, being God-Man, the archetypal Man, the universal Man(¹⁴): "For in Him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible, whether thrones or dominions or rulers or authorities — all things were created through Him and for Him" (Col. 1, 18-19); He gathers in Himself all that is created, which He can return to the Father-Origin. "I came from the Father and am going back to the Father." And, as a consequence, this also becomes true of the individual man, who is also a mirror and synthesis of creation, a microcosm, and thus, of all creatures, the only one capable of offering the sacrifice equally; and of reaping its fruits: "I prayed that where I am, you may also be." These two words of Christ define what can be called the theanthropic journey, first in Christ, and then in man. The Holy Sacrifice of the Mass has no other purpose than to lead us along this path, as the following prayer says: "May these holy mysteries, whose powerful virtue purifies us, lead us purer, Lord, to Him who is their source." (Secret of the first Sunday of Advent).

(¹⁴): See N. Cabasilas: “It is for the new man that God, from the beginning, created human nature (...). Christ was the archetype of our creation (...). The Savior, alone and originally, realized the true and perfect Man (De vita in Christo, 680).

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CHAPTER II THE HOLY MYSTERIES

The sacrifice of Christ, as we will have understood from what has just been said, has a much greater scope than is usually associated with the word; immolation and death are not the entirety of the sacrifice; truth be told, they are not even the essential part, although, as we have recalled, they are necessary. But this immolation and death are only the condition for the transition to another plane of existence, from the fallen physical world to the spiritual world. The death of Christ is only the prelude to His resurrection, to His birth as a man in the divine universe where, still as a man, He is glorified. It is from this perspective that one must understand the doctrine of expiatory and redemptive suffering in the human-divine domain. The role of suffering is explained because it, the consequence of sin, like the death to which it is similar and accompanies, tends to detach us from the sensory, from the phenomenal world, but on the condition of being assumed in the total sacrificial perspective, including death and resurrection, humiliation, and exaltation. The same applies to asceticism. Otherwise, when it is said that "suffering is pleasing to God" who "willed the sufferings of His Son," losing sight of this final goal of glorification and the ultimate foundation of sacrifice, one represents God as a denatured and sadistic tyrant. Thus, the death of Christ is a life-giving death and the prelude to resurrection. And this death leading to glory is the culmination of what Scripture calls the "Mystery of Salvation." This is a concept even broader than that of sacrifice, even in its widest sense, but sacrifice is both its core and ultimate purpose. The mystery of salvation is the revelation of God in the Logos, the incarnate Word; God reveals Himself to the world in human nature to bring about its

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salvation. This is admirably expressed by Saint Paul when he writes, "God has made known to us the mystery of His will, according to His good pleasure, which He purposed in Himself, for the fullness of times, to gather together all things in Christ, both which are in heaven and which are on earth" (Ephesians 1:9-10). This is "the mystery hidden from the beginning in God" (Ephesians 3:9). The mystery is the manifestation of Christ, in whom divinity and humanity have met, through whom the Spirit has descended to sanctify the world. It is the Lord's Passover, His death and resurrection, the saving mystery upon which the Church is founded; a mystery that is the source of life, the source of life in the Spirit, and transfiguring life. But salvation is not achieved by faith in Christ alone, who died once for all. The reality of redemption was meant to live within the Church, in a mystical and concrete presence at every moment throughout time. It is crucial to emphasize this point. The spiritualization of the idea of sacrifice, reducing it to a mere act of personal faith in the sacrifice of Christ accomplished in that time, and to prayers of praise, as is the Protestant position, not only undermines the concept of sacrifice but also the very idea of religion itself, for the sacrifice celebrated here and now is an essential constitutive element of any religion. This excessive spiritualization carries the risk of leading to a rejection of all forms and external acts, as happened in late Judaism. Religion then gives way to a religious sentimentalism, individualistic and subjective, in which people are more concerned with humanity than with God. Also, Christ, before His death, instituted the ritual that was to perpetuate, in a concrete and objective manner, the mystery of salvation at every moment and transmitted to the disciples the supernatural powers to perform this rite in a real way: "Do this in remembrance of Me; for whenever you eat this bread and drink from this chalice, you will announce My death and confess My resurrection until My return." "We commemorate Your death, Lord, we confess Your Resurrection, and we await Your second coming(¹)." By this rite, the Church, born of the Blood of Christ, is called to live by this blood, dying to the world and perpetually rising with Jesus. In a single Grand Work, Christ and the Church unite in mystery for salvation; a Grand Work in three acts: Baptism, Confirmation, Eucharist. But of these three, the greatest is undoubtedly the Eucharist. Certainly, the Eucharistic sacrifice differs greatly (¹): Words of consecration in the Syriac liturgy.

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from the bloody sacrifices of old; it is, as the liturgy says, a "spiritual sacrifice" (logiki thysia), but it identifies itself with an outward liturgy, the Mass. This is a sacred action that man performs outwardly, but which Christ, through the intermediaries of priests, accomplishes internally in each of us. This sacred action is also called the "Holy Mysteries" (ta haghia mistiria, sacra mysteria), and it is quite remarkable that the same word, "mystirion," is used to denote both the supernatural action of the Son of God for the salvation of humanity and the ritual action that applies it to humans visibly. The expression "Holy Mysteries" does not belong exclusively to Christianity; it is inherited from ancient Greece, where it was used to describe the liturgy of certain cults, more or less esoteric, such as those of Eleusis, which, unlike the official cult of the Olympian gods ensuring the security of the City, primarily aimed to ensure the salvation of the individual. Moreover, Greek mysteries are part of a much larger set of analogous cults, so that the word can be applied, mutatis mutandis, to a type of liturgy that is truly universal. The fundamental idea of all the mysteries is that of initiation into divine life for the purpose of salvation and immortality. These cults are essentially soteriological. They are based on a myth — myth in the etymological sense, that is to say, a sacred narrative — recounting the actions and sufferings of a god close to humanity, who once lived on earth, in illo tempore, and shared human suffering; thus, Greece presents us with the myth of Dionysus, killed and dismembered by the Titans under the name Zagreus; Greco-Egyptian religion presents the myth of Osiris, the principle of Good, killed by his brother Seth, the incarnation of evil, and also dismembered. However, in all these cases, these sufferings and deaths are a prelude to resurrection: Zagreus is resurrected under the name Dionysus; Osiris is reborn thanks to his sister-wife, the powerful goddess Isis. But what specifically constitutes the mysteries is the existence of an appropriate rite, also originating from that primordial time, a rite capable of renewing and making these divine actions and sufferings present, a means of perpetuating their efficacy for humans. These gods, in illo tempore, performed or endured an act by virtue of which all those who believe in it, the initiates (Greek mystis), enter into an ontological relationship with divinity, relive, during the initiation, the course and experience of the trials and triumph of the god, and thereby attain salvation and immortality. Finally, it should be added that this rite almost always takes on the form of a dramatic representation, either figurative or symbolic depending on the circumstances. In this general outline, one can easily recognize the Christian liturgy, the liturgy of mysteries which is the central activity of our religion. In the

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celebration of the Eucharist, the two essential elements of Christianity are intimately united: the prayer of praise and thanksgiving, and the divine sacrifice. The Eucharist is the combined action of Christ, in His mystery of death and resurrection, and the ecclesial community participating through the rite in this mystery of salvation. The mode of this salutary rite is designated as a memorial: the Mass is the "Memorial of the Lord." That is to say, in the Divine Liturgy, it is about "remembering" the sacrifice of Christ and the entire economy of salvation. "Do this," He said, "in memory of Me"; and the priest, in the anaphora or canon, continues with this divine word, saying, "Therefore, Lord,... remembering the blessed passion of Christ, Your Son, we offer to Your supreme Majesty the very gift we have received from You, etc." (Roman Canon); "we commemorate Your death" (Syrian anaphora); "Therefore, remembering all that has been done for us: the Cross, the Tomb, the Resurrection, etc., we offer You what is Yours of what is Yours, etc." (Byzantine Mass anaphora); "Christ, who was sacrificed for our salvation, has instructed us to commemorate His Death, Burial, and Resurrection. This sacrifice is the memorial of the passion, burial, and resurrection of Our Lord and Sovereign, Jesus Christ" (Assyro-Chaldean Mass). We could cite other liturgies as well: everywhere, as we can see, we find the same formula called "anamnesis" (Greek "anamnisis," meaning "commemoration," "remembrance"); and by examining the formula itself, we also see the importance it holds in the Mass because this anamnesis is directly linked to the offering of the Holy Species that have just been consecrated; this means that the celebration is made in memory of the death, the sacrifice of Christ, and His resurrection. We can see from here the danger of false interpretation, a danger that is not in vain, since this false interpretation is that of Protestantism. For Calvin, for example, the liturgy of the mass is merely a pure memorial intended to revive the memory of the blessings of Jesus, to awaken our memory, and to warm piety. It is important to examine this closely because this interpretation, which completely destroys the nature and content of the mass, is spreading throughout the Western Catholic Church. If the mass were nothing more than this theatrical fiction, or even a commemoration like that of the war dead in front of the Arc de Triomphe in Paris, it would not be worth dealing with for long, and one could, without much harm, eliminate it from Christianity to seek refuge in a purely internal worship. But it is not so: the Divine Liturgy is the very heart of the Church and the ecclesial community, the irreplaceable source

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from which it draws the necessary strength for salvation, the action in which, as we mentioned earlier, it participates in the mystery of salvation and the person of Christ. “Divine Goodness,” as we read in Saint Dionysius the Areopagite, “worked a total transmutation of our nature (after the fall). (God) delivered the secret dwelling of our souls from accursed passions.(II) He finally revealed to us that, in order to elevate ourselves spiritually to the beyond and to live in God, we must fully assimilate ourselves to Him... But how would we achieve this imitation of God if not by constantly renewing the memory of the most sacred divine operations through sacred chants and holy liturgies?” (Hier. eccl. 3, 11-12). The Protestant conception is completely foreign to the faith of the Apostolic Churches of the East and the West, for whom, despite certain theological divergences in detail, the Mass is a real sacrifice, brought about by the real presence of Christ in the offerings. The Latin Church says that in the Mass, Christ is "truly, really, and substantially" present(²). Before the consecration, in the Armenian Mass, the deacon proclaims: "Let no one among the catechumens, none of those with doubtful faith, none of the penitents and the impure, approach the Divine Mysteries, for the Body of the Lord and the Blood of the Redeemer are about to become present here." And this realization of His presence is inseparable from the sacrifice: "O God," says the Byzantine priest, "purify my soul and my heart, and make me capable, in the power of the Holy Spirit, after being clothed with the Grace of the priesthood, to stand at this holy table and to sacrifice Your holy and pure Body and Your precious Blood." Furthermore, it is said: "Grant us, Lord, to approach these Holy Mysteries worthily, for whenever this sacrifice is celebrated in memory of Your Passion, the work of our redemption is accomplished" (Secret of the 9th Sunday after Pentecost in the Latin rite). This final prayer perfectly summarizes the authentic theology of the Mass. But she invites us again, in her own words, to revisit the word "memory" that needs to be explained in order to understand its agreement with apostolic doctrine. In the Holy Mysteries, Christ becomes substantially present; He performs the same sacrifice of expiation and praise as at Calvary; the divine Victim emerges among us, and communion with His Body and Blood ontologically associates us with His sacrifice, His salvation, and His very person. This means that the words "memory" and "commemorate" do not have (²): Council of Trent, sess. 3, can. 1.

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concerning the Mass, the same meaning they have in modern languages because these languages convey a culture in which the very notion they express in traditional societies(³), which we will briefly explain, is absent. The commemoration, in an authentic religious context, is what we can call a ritual memory; it is the celebration of a divine work upon which a religious community is founded, a celebration that re-presents, in the etymological sense of the word, that is to say, brings back again, this divine work whose purpose is union with the deity and immortality. The ritual recitation of the divine story that establishes the community "is not, as excellently stated by M. Eliade, a commemoration (in the ordinary sense) of mythical events, but their reiteration. The figures of the myth are made present, and one becomes their contemporary"(⁴). The ritual recitation takes us out of ordinary time and places us back in primordial time where the divine event took place. This concept is absolutely universal in all religious contexts. A well-known example is that of ancient Greece, where Mnemosyne, that is to say, Memory personified, was the mother of the Muses. This sometimes surprises us, and we wonder why poetic and artistic inspiration in general was thus made dependent on memory. It is simply because memory was taken in the religious sense that we defined earlier: Mnemosyne allowed the poet to be present in the divine past, to join the time of ancient events, and above all, the mystery of origins, the genesis, as Plato explains(⁵). Remembrance, for the ancient Greeks, sought not to situate events in a temporal framework but to reach the depths of being, the original, the primordial reality, which is equivalent to (³): We would like to clarify here, once and for all, the meaning of the word "traditional" that we will often use. A traditional society is one founded on a superhuman, sacred tradition that constitutes the source of its deep life and from which all its activities flow, directing its orientation and modalities. In such a society, everything, albeit to varying degrees, possesses a sacred character, and nothing is truly profane. It is precisely the opposite of a secular society, like modern Western society, as opposed to the society of the Middle Ages, which was, indeed, a traditional society. It goes without saying that the adjective "traditional" applies, mutatis mutandis, to all human activities: crafts, art, architecture, doctrines, etc. As we can gather from what we have just said, the word "traditional" means something entirely different from "traditionalist." (⁴): In "Aspects du Mythe," Paris, 1963, p. 31 and throughout. The idea of ritual memory, of commemoration, can, in the case of the Mass, be an allusion to the minhah sacrifice (see above, p. 8); the portion of the minhah that was burned on the altar was called azkarah, which means "commemoration" (from the verb zaker, "to remember"), and it was expressed in Greek as anàmnisis, the word used in Greek to convey the concept of "memorial"; the term azkarah indicated the identity of the thing designated with that to which the term refers: thus, the blessed bread and life at the Last Supper became, in a sense, the azkarah of the Christic sacrifice.

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transcending time(⁶). Moreover, in Plato's philosophy, commemoration, anamnesis (anamnisis), an essentially Platonic term and the same one that denotes the action of the Mass, anamnesis, is the activity of the mind that leads us from the sensible world, subject to time, to the eternal world of Being. Another example, and more specifically related to religious matters, is provided by ancient Egypt. Regarding the ceremonies at the temple of Esna, S. Sauneron writes: "The divine act (which is the subject of the representations in these ceremonies) occurred only once, whether it concerns the creation of the world, the reception of Tefnout, the massacre of the rebels, or any other event from ancient times; however, the repeated portrayal of these acts on anniversary days is not a mere anecdotal recall of a distant history. It is a powerful act in itself, which recreates the event and its consequences through its ritual execution(⁷)." The death and resurrection of Christ are, in relation to us, archetypes that are reproduced in the liturgical action, and by participating in this action, we join these archetypes. The Mass is not an evocation of these archetypes, with the purpose of conveying to us the effects of Christ's sacrifice; it is an effective reproduction of the event and directly immerses us in it. It makes us contemporaries of Christ, His actions, and His person. Through this, we attain the "knowledge" spoken of in the Gospel, which is contact with the divine. Without the Divine Liturgy, redemption would be in the past; through the liturgy, we enter into the original mystery. The officiant precisely reproduces what Christ did and said, and in this gesture and word, the same thing happens as in the original archetypal event. Furthermore, the mystical drama is also an anticipation of the life beyond: "May the sacrifice we offer in Your Name, Lord, purify us and lead us day by day to the action of heavenly life" (Latin rite, Secret of the 2nd Sunday after Pentecost). It is important to emphasize that not only is the original act, the archetypal act, reproduced, but also the original actor is made present, or rather, makes Himself present in the ritual (⁵): Plato (Ion, 535 C). (⁶): See J. P. Vernant, Myth and Thought Among the Greeks, Volume I, page 80 and following. (⁷): S. Sauneron, The Religious Festivals of Esna, 1962, p. 60-61. (bis) It is important to see clearly, perhaps even more so today than in the past, that this "real presence" in the matter of the sacrifice is essential in major religions. For instance, in the animal sacrifice of Hinduism, a portion of the victim, known as ida, is set aside, upon which the priest recites an invocation (analogous to the epiclesis in Christian Mass). Following this, the deity truly incarnates in the offering.

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celebration(⁷ bis): "Lord Jesus Christ, come and sanctify us," says the priest, "You who are seated with the Father above and who are invisibly present among us here below, and deign to give us Your Immaculate Body and Precious Blood with Your mighty hand" (Byzantine Mass inclination prayer). This real presence of Christ in the oblations, the bread and the wine, as well as His real sacrificial action, could obviously not be attained solely through the words and liturgical gestures if these were merely ordinary words and gestures. As mentioned earlier, the liturgical act consists of a ritual recitation of the primordial and archetypal event, namely the narrative of the Eucharistic institution at the Last Supper on Holy Thursday. It is important to understand the meaning and significance of the word "ritual." In its strict sense, our ritual is a spoken word, a gesture, or a combination of words and gestures of supra-human origin, to which a spiritual energy is attached, capable of accomplishing what these words and gestures signify. Furthermore, these actions can only be performed by a qualified agent, one who has been invested with a particular power by the same divine authority that created the ritual, the power to precisely carry out this ritual. This is indeed the case with all Christian sacraments, especially the Eucharist. Jesus Christ Himself said, "This is my body. This is my blood." He ordained His apostles, and through them, the entire Church, to do this. He said, "Do this in remembrance of Me." He would not have given the command to do it if He had not been ready to impart the necessary power to perform it. So, what is this power? It is the Holy Spirit, the power from above that empowered the Apostles(⁸). In the Apostolic Churches, the priest has inherited this power through an unbroken transmission, which fundamentally distinguishes this priest from the Protestant minister, who is incapable of realizing the presence of the sacred because they no longer possess the operative power due to the rupture in their confession of the apostolic succession. We will not dwell any longer on this question of powers, and we wouldn't have even mentioned it, as it is self-evident in Christianity, if we hadn't deemed it necessary to remind ourselves of it because, at present, these things are often somewhat overlooked. Also, to clearly demonstrate that the concept of the archetype and repetition in worship, as well as the powers of the officiants, is not unique to Christianity but belongs to the very structure of any true religious institution, any religious anthropology, because it meets the deep expectations and fundamental needs of humanity, which, in its normal (⁸): N. Cabasilas, Explanation of the Divine Liturgy, 28, 2.

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state, demands a profound and total religious experience that cannot be satisfied with words or settle for sentimental and moralistic idealism, but rather seeks effective and real contact with divinity. However, it may be appropriate to pause for a moment on a more delicate matter, we want to talk about how the ritual memory, whose functioning we have recalled, can operate. When we have said that, through this ritual memory, we join the archetypal event and actor, one may wonder how the true chronological leap is realized, which takes us from the moment of duration where we find ourselves, to that primordial moment of the original event; how, at each Mass, the sacrifice of Christ can be replicated, and how, to use the terms we employed earlier, we join His person in the act of His sacrifice performed once, in illo tempore, at a specific moment in history. Most of the explanations proposed by theologians are quite unconvincing because they consider the problem without stepping out of the perspective of time, of temporal succession. The only truly satisfying explanation is the one provided by the metaphysical viewpoint, completely free from temporality. Some theologians, however, have indeed recognized where it was necessary to start in order to understand things. These are the ones who explain our problem by connecting the Mass to the heavenly liturgy; for example, M. Olier in the 17th century, who writes: "To make the mystery of the most holy sacrifice of the Mass understood, one must know that this sacrifice is the sacrifice of heaven. There is a sacrifice in Paradise, which, at the same time, is offered on earth, and the only difference is that it is presented here under veils."(⁹) The author, of course, refers to the great scene glimpsed by Saint John in his Apocalypse: the slaughtered but living Lamb on a throne, the 24 Elders worshiping Him while playing the harp and burning incense, and the multitudes of angels and all creatures singing praises to the Lamb and the eternal Amen (Rev. 5:6-14). This understanding of the sacrifice of the Mass is not, we must hasten to say, a personal theory that only concerns the theologians we are talking about. It is attested by the oldest liturgies, where we find prayers like this one: "Lift up your eyes to the heavenly realities and contemplate the mysteries currently being celebrated: the seraphim, in reverent fear, stand before the glorious Throne of Christ, singing praises for (⁹): Quoted in Gaby, Le sacrifice dans l'école française de spiritualité, Paris, 1951.

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the Body offered, the mixed Chalice. And here below, the people implore, the priest supplicates and asks for mercy for the whole world" (Prayer after the consecration in the Assyrian-Chaldean Mass). And also: "Holy Trinity, receive from my sinful hands this sacrifice that I offer on the heavenly altar of the Word" (Syrian Mass). Moreover, such texts do not only refer to Saint John. We find, in another form, the idea of the heavenly sacrifice in a passage from Saint Paul that we have already mentioned, in the Epistle to the Hebrews, where the Apostle tells us that Christ, at His Ascension, ascended to heaven to be the Supreme High Priest; He entered, as a man, a Perfect Man, of course, into the heavenly sanctuary, like the high priest of the Jews on the Day of Atonement, bringing His own Blood to intercede for the multitude of men (Hebrews 6:19; 20:20). Thus, the Mass has its prototype in the heavenly sacrifice of the Lamb described in the Apocalypse. It is futile to object, as some profane individuals do, that this way of conceiving things is merely a projection of earthly liturgy, imagined to unfold in such a manner in heaven. For the spiritual perspective, in fact, the reverse is true, as it understands that visible liturgy is only the symbolic refraction, in the realm of corporeality where humans move during earthly existence, of the invisible reality from Above, just as music is but an approximate expression, as Marcel de Corte has stated, of an essential silence. The Scripture texts we have cited describe for us in a tangible form a spiritual reality and present us in a temporal unfolding with something that, in reality, has never ceased to exist and belongs to eternity. This is clearly evident from another essential passage in the Apocalypse, where we read that the Lamb was “slain from the foundation of the world” (Rev. 13:8), and also from a passage in Saint Peter's writings that says Christ is the “Lamb without blemish and without spot; who verily was foreordained before the foundation of the world, but was manifest in these last times” (1 Pet. 1:19), words that align with Saint Paul's teaching on “the mystery (of Christ) which hath been hid from ages and from generations” (Col. 1:27). The Mass is not the repetition or reproduction of the historical act that was the sacrifice of Calvary, which is, moreover, impossible; it is not even, fundamentally, a representation of it, a term we have used previously and which is valid as a first approximation but does not correspond exactly to reality. The consecration by the priest who performs the sacrifice is, more precisely, the visible manifestation of an eternal act: it tears through the 'illusory' veil of the conditions of space and time that separate the human spirit from the contemplation of eternal realities. From a metaphysical

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viewpoint, once we consider this, all difficulties of explanation disappear. Time does not exist from this perspective; it has only an “illusory” existence: time possesses any reality only in relation to earthly existence. For God, there is no time; He possesses His Being and all of His existence in the “indivisible present,” Aristotle's “exonon nyn,” and all His acts are performed simultaneously; all His operations outside of Himself, i.e., creation, are accomplished in one and the same eternal instant, as Meister Eckhardt said: “God creates the whole world now, in this instant. All that God created six thousand years ago, and when He created the world, God creates it instantaneously now... where time never enters. He creates the world and all things in this present Now.”(¹⁰) Divine operations and various events appear in a successive, temporal mode, but essentially, everything is already done, everything has already happened for all eternity. Time is, according to Plato's magnificent formulation, only “the moving image of eternity” (aiônosikôn kinitis). Everything occurs as if events, gathered at a single point, were then unfolded, projected, onto a circle with a moving circumference, which is time. This image is traditional and corresponds to the nature of things: time, says Boethius, following Plato, is a circumference whose fixed central point is eternity(¹¹). Thus, the liturgy celebrated at any given moment is only the visible, here and now, form of the eternal, timeless Mass of Heaven, as described in the Apocalypse(¹²). This heavenly archetype of liturgy is the true liturgy, always present, perpetually in action. The visible, earthly Mass is merely the medium through which we enter into a relationship and participate in the heavenly Liturgy. Finally, the sacrifice of Calvary itself, as a historical fact, is only a manifestation — to an extraordinary degree, certainly — on earth, of the eternal Sacrifice of the “Lamb slain from the foundation of the world,” which is precisely the heavenly Liturgy. This eternal sacrifice is that of the Word, from everlasting to everlasting, the priest of His Father, who has been offering the infinite sacrifice to Him from eternity: He Himself is this sacrifice as the substantial Glory of the Father, (¹⁰): Ed. Pfeiffer, p. 190, 192, 207, 266, 297. Cf. Plutarch, On the E of Delphes, 20: God is "the only Being who fills the Always with a single Now." It is worth noting, in passing, that this perspective allows for the resolution of theological difficulties that would otherwise be insurmountable, such as the relationship between human freedom and Providence. (¹¹): Boethius, Consolation of Philosophy 4, 6, 15-16. Editions of La Maisnie, 1981. The concept is also echoed by Ruysbroek, De septem custodis, 19. (¹²): See above, p. 46

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returning to its source through the substantial Love of the Holy Spirit. Simultaneously, the Son offers homage to the Father on behalf of all Creation, as He is the "Firstborn of all Creation (prototokos pasis ktises), because in Him all things were created, in heaven and on earth, visible and invisible" (Col. 1, 15-16). So, as we can see, we are reiterating what we have already developed previously about the universal nature of sacrifice. The eternal Son offers a double oblation to the Father, that of His Person and that of the universe, and this dual aspect of oblation corresponds to what we have called the Sacrifice of Divinity: God “emerges” from His Absolute and generates ad intra His Son, and through the prototokos Son, produces ad extra the universe with all its creatures. To this Sacrifice of God, “emerging from God,” must respond the Sacrifice of Creation, which, by this means, “returns” to God. We have seen that this is the metaphysical foundation of all sacrifice, and we have said that the Sacrifice of Golgotha possessed eminently this cosmic quality, that it transferred, along with humanity, which summarizes it, the entirety of the spatiotemporal world into the divine world, effecting this reintegration of all of Nature to which Saint Paul alludes. We have also said that the Mass has this cosmic dimension, and it is on this aspect of the Divine Liturgy that we would like to emphasize a little in concluding this chapter because it is there that the “Mystery of Christ” truly appears in all its strength. “We offer You this spiritual worship for the whole universe,” says the priest in the Byzantine Mass. The Divine Liturgy is, first and foremost, a worship of praise for the entire creation; it is the office of the cosmos turned toward its eternal Principle. The unanimous nature proclaims the glory of God, says the Psalmist (Psalm 19), but nature is unconscious. The praise of the world must pass through the heart of man to become intelligent and living harmony. Man is the consciousness of the world because he is a microcosm, a summary of the world, as Saint Gregory, for example, says: “Man has something in common with every creature. He, for whom everything was created on earth and to whom, at least in some resemblance, nothing is foreign.”(¹³) And Bossuet: “Man has a spirit and a heart that are greater than the world, so that, contemplating the entire universe and gathering it within himself, he offers it, sanctifies it, dedicates it to the living God; so that he is not merely the beholder and the mysterious summary of the visible nature but also, through holy love, the priest and worshiper of the invisible and intellectual nature.”(¹⁴) (¹³): Hom. in Ev. 292 (PL 76, 121,413). (¹⁴): Second sermon on the Annunciation.

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In the Divine Liturgy, man is the chanter of creation before God. This hymn of the universe was elaborated at length in the ancient anaphoras, especially in the anaphora of the Apostolic Constitutions, where the officiant reviewed all aspects of the world in order to give thanks to God before consecrating the offerings: "You established the heavens as a vault and stretched them out like a tent; You placed the earth upon nothingness, by Your will alone; You created the firmament; You made the night and the day; You drew light from Your treasures; and to protect from it, You conceived darkness for the rest of the living, who die on the earth; You placed the sun in the sky to govern the days and the moon to govern the nights; You established the choir of stars in the sky to sing Your magnificence. You created water for refreshment and purification, the living air to inhale and breathe, to produce sounds when the tongue strikes the air, and to assist hearing in grasping the spoken word. You created fire to console us in darkness, to aid our needs, to warm and illuminate us. You separated the great sea from the land, making one navigable and the other suitable for walking on solid ground; You filled the first with small and large animals, the second with domestic and wild animals; You adorned it with various plants and covered it with herbs; You decorated it with flowers and enriched it with seeds. You established the abyss, containing it with massive barriers; the vast ocean of salty waters, You enclosed it with sandy shores; sometimes You lift it by the winds to the height of mountains, sometimes You smooth it like a sheet; You agitate it with raging storms or grant it serenity and gentleness to allow sailors an untroubled voyage. You veined the universe You created with rivers, plowed it with torrents, and made inexhaustible springs gush forth; You surrounded the solid land with mountains. You filled Your universe with fragrant and beneficial herbs, with numerous and varied animals, both powerful and small, suitable for food or labor, tame and wild; with hissing serpents and singing birds; You endowed it with the rhythm

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of years, months, and days, with a succession of storms, with the movement of clouds that bring rain to ripen the fruits and aid the living; the winds blow, but You govern them (¹⁵)." “With the Eucharist,” says Saint Irenaeus, “we offer the first fruits of creation: in Christ, the entire creation is recapitulated and offered to God”(¹⁶). These first fruits are the oblations, the bread and wine, which are a gift from God and which must, in a certain way, return to Him, therefore be offered to Him. And they are offered in and through Christ who, as the divine Word, is the immediate author of Creation. This meaning of the oblations is very clearly evident from the formulas, variable in their form but essentially the same in their content, that the priest pronounces in all the Western and Eastern anaphoras: “We offer to You what is Yours, out of what is Yours” (Byzantine Mass). “We offer to Your supreme Majesty the very gift we have received from You... It is through Him (Christ) that You continually create all these goods, sanctify them, give them life, and give them to us” (Roman Canon).(¹⁷) This offering of the firstfruits of nature has as its primary purpose to return to God what comes from Him. However, the second purpose, which stems from the first and is its consequence, is to once again obtain from God these same blessings that we offer Him. We should not underestimate or, even less, disregard this aspect of the Mass in the name of hyper-spirituality. It is certain that the Sacrifice of the Mass, like many other types of sacrifice, partly aims to ensure material prosperity. The great litanies that are recited at the beginning of the Mass (they have practically disappeared from the Latin rite, except in the Good Friday service) include supplications in this regard: "For favorable weather, abundance of the fruits of the earth, and peaceful times, let us pray to the Lord" (Byzantine Mass); "Through this sacrifice, grant us good weather, fertility of the fields, and prompt healing for all the sick" (Armenian Mass); "Accept this sacrifice for the living and for the peace of the world, for the (¹⁵): In A. Hamman, Prayers of the Early Christians, 1952, n9 168. (¹⁶): Saint Irenaeus, Adv. Haer. 3, 18, 1; (19, 3; 21, 10). (¹⁷): Cf. Saint Paul, Colossians 1, 15-20: "In Him, everything has been created, etc."

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changing of the seasons, that it may be fruitful and fulfilled according to Your Will" (Assyro-Chaldean Mass). While the Latin liturgy may not be as explicit in the ordinary of the Mass, requests of this kind are no less implicitly included in the sacramental formulas of the Offertory and the Canon that we mentioned earlier, which relate explicitly to the gifts of nature, and then explicitly again in the Lord's Prayer: "Give us this day our daily bread." This "temporal" aspect of sacrifice is not at all contradictory to its "spiritual" aspect, as the two are, in fact, complementary, for there is no such opposition, neither in humanity nor in the world, since everything comes from divinity. For every religious spirit, in all known religious forms, sacrifice has had the purpose, among others, of ensuring the fertility of the land, an indispensable condition for human life. Why? Because the celebration of sacrifice, which must, moreover, be perpetual for this purpose, maintains the endless "flow of prosperity" that descends from heaven like rain and fertilizing sunlight, which, passing through plants and animals, become our nourishment and then return to heaven, symbolically in the smoke of the consumed offering, and more spiritually in the Christian offering. Heaven distributes its blessings to the earth, and the earth sends them back to heaven; the offering, raised by the officiant, ascends to the Above, from where the blessing descends once again to the Below: thus, the energy circuit, the vital current, is maintained, activated, or restored. Sacrifice, from this perspective, is the enactment of vital power itself. What is surprising about this, since God and, more specifically, the Divine Word, is the one "in whom is Life" and "by whom everything was made" (John 1:1). What sacrifice aims for in this domain is to maintain cosmic balance. The idea was particularly developed and highlighted in the ritual of ancient Egypt(¹⁸), but it is included in all sacrifice. This balance, constantly threatened, as we unfortunately know — can only be maintained or restored by God, "He who sustains all things by the power of His Word" (Hebrews 1:3). This idea that God is the "link" that holds all things together is often forgotten these days; however, it is magnificently expressed in many liturgical hymns, such as the hymns of the daily office in the Latin rite: God, the power that holds things together, remaining unchanging in Yourself,

(¹⁸): See in particular Ph. Derchain, Le Papyrus Salt 825.

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and determining time through the phases of light. (None Hymn.) Powerful Master, true God, who governs the course of things, extinguish the flames of quarrels, remove the nuisance of the heatwave, grant health to our bodies. (Sext Hymn.) But here again, we have only the lower degree of this cosmic aspect of the Holy Sacrifice. In its highest sense, it is the operation by which the God-Man, the “Firstborn of Creation,” brings the entire universe back to God, elevating it from the visible plane to the invisible plane. Through the Eucharist, humanity regains the original strength by which God gave life to the world and the strength by which He restored it in His Death and Resurrection. God resurrects both humanity and the world to their original purity and saves them from Evil. “Christ,” Saint Irenaeus exclaims, “was hung on the cross in such a way as to summarize the universe,” because the Cross itself, as we will see later, is the symbol of the universe. Saint Andrew of Crete also sings, following Saint Paul, in one of his hymns: “O Cross, reconciliation of the cosmos, boundary of the earthly expanses, height of the heavens, depth of the earth, bond of creation, expanse of all that is visible, breadth of the universe (cf. Eph. 3:18-19).” Redemption does not only entail the reconciliation of man but, as this hymn sings, the entire cosmos, of which man is a summary and an individual reflection of the God-Man. While salvation is already assured for the individual man, unfortunately, the cosmos is not yet effectively redeemed, and “nature groans” (Romans 8:22). However, this redemption of the cosmos is virtually achieved, and even though its effects may not yet be apparent, it has certainly been restored to its primordial purity, identical to that of the “new earth and new heavens” foretold in the Apocalypse. Referring to the drama of Calvary, a Latin hymn of Good Friday expresses it thus: Thorns, nails, and spear pierce his tender body from which water and blood spring forth: earth, ocean, sky, universe, in these waves, everything is cleansed.

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The ancient liturgies had integrated this cosmic aspect of the redeeming mystery. This is normal because every traditional ritual always refers to the origin, primordial time, the original creative moment, as every sacred act derives its efficacy from its coincidence with the moment when the supernatural power that founded it burst forth. This is why a sacred rite almost always includes a narrative of cosmogony, of creation(¹⁹). This narrative was found in the ancient Christian liturgies, as seen in the excerpts from one of them that we have reproduced earlier. This is because restoration can only occur through a recapitulation, a return of the entire history of creation to its origin. Most anaphoras, while becoming lighter, have considerably reduced this cosmogonic narrative or even made it disappear, as in the Roman Canon; they have retained only the mention of the creation of man, but from there, they still trace the history of humanity to reach redemption and glimpse the Parousia and the heavenly Kingdom because, once again, all of this is what the sacrifice of the Mass represents. Among the living liturgies at the present time, it is the anaphora of Saint Basil in the Byzantine rite that offers the most comprehensive and grand expression of this commemoration of the history of man and the world. We reproduce it in its entirety to conclude this chapter, as it will be the perfect summary of it. Saint Basil's Anaphora: "Master and Lord, Almighty God, adorable Father, indeed, it is right and just, and worthy of the excellence of Your holiness, to praise You, to sing to You, to bless You, to adore You, to give thanks to You, to glorify You, truly one God; also to offer to You, with a contrite heart and in a spirit of humility, this spiritual sacrifice, for You have given us to know Your truth. Who then can exalt Your power, make all Your praises heard, or proclaim, Lord, at all times, all Your wonders?... …Master of all things, Lord of heaven, earth, and all visible and invisible creatures, who sits on the throne of glory and probes the depths, eternal, invisible, incomprehensible, inexpressible, unchangeable, Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, our great God and Savior, our hope, image of Your goodness, identical imprint that manifests You, O Father, living Word, true God, eternal Wisdom, Life, Sanctification, Power, true Light, through whom the Holy Spirit (¹⁹): One can clearly see it in the Easter Vigil where the first chapters of Genesis are proclaimed. We have analyzed this service in our book “The Symbolism of the Christian Temple”.

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has been revealed, Spirit of truth, Gift of adoption, Pledge of the future inheritance, Firstfruits of eternal goods, Life-giving Virtue, Source of sanctification, by whom, strengthened, every intelligent and spiritual creature serves You and offers the eternal hymn of glory. For every creature is at Your service: it is You, indeed, whom the Angels, the Archangels, the Thrones, the Dominations, the Principalities, the Powers, the Virtues, and the Cherubim with countless eyes celebrate; it is You whom the Seraphim with six wings surround, veiling their faces with two wings, their feet with two wings, flying with the other two wings, and continuously crying out to one another in unceasing praise, singing the hymn of triumph, acclaiming You, imploring You, and saying: Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord Sabaoth. Heaven and earth are full of Your glory. Hosanna in the highest. Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord. Hosanna in the highest. "With these blessed Powers, O loving Master, we also, sinners, cry out and say: You are holy, infinitely holy, and there is no limit to the splendor of Your holiness. You are holy in all Your works, for everything has come to us through You in righteousness and by just judgment. Having created man, formed from the dust of the earth but honored with Your likeness, O God, You placed him in a paradise of delight, promising him immortality and the enjoyment of eternal blessings if he observed Your commandments. But having disobeyed You, the true God who created him, and being deceived by the cunning of the serpent, he submitted to death through his own fault. In Your just judgment, O God, You cast him out of paradise into this world, sending him back to the earth from which he had been taken but preserving for him, in Your Christ, the salvation of regeneration. "For You have not turned away forever from Your creation, and You have not forgotten the work of Your hands, but in many ways, You have visited it in Your merciful kindness. You sent prophets, You performed wonders through Your saints, pleasing in Your eyes from generation to generation. You spoke to us through the mouths of Your servants, the prophets, announcing salvation through them. You gave us the law to guide us, You appointed angels as our guardians. And when the fullness of time came, You spoke to us through Your own Son, through whom You created the ages, He who, being the splendor of Your glory and the image of Your essence, upholding all things by His powerful

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word, did not seize equality with You, God and Father, as plunder, but as God Himself from all eternity, He appeared on earth, living the life of humans. Taking flesh from the Holy Virgin, He humbled Himself, taking on the appearance of a slave, like our body of misery, in order to conform us to the image of His glory. And as through one man sin entered the world, and through sin death, it pleased Your only Son, who is in Your bosom, God and Father, born of a woman, the Holy Mother of God and Ever-Virgin Mary, who was under the law, to condemn sin in His flesh, so that those who were dying in Adam might be made alive in Him, Your Christ. Having lived in this world, giving us the precepts of salvation, and having delivered us from the seduction of idols, He brought us to know You, God and Father, and thus acquired us for Himself as a chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation. After purifying us with water and sanctifying us with the Holy Spirit, He surrendered Himself as a ransom to death, which held us captive, as we were sold under the dominion of sin. After descending by the Cross into Hades, in order to accomplish everything by Himself, He delivered us from the pangs of death; rising on the third day and opening the way of resurrection from the dead to all flesh (for it was not possible for the author of life to be subject to corruption), He became the firstfruits of those who had fallen asleep, the firstborn from the dead, so that He Himself might be all things, having the preeminence in all. Revealed in the heavens, He sits at the right hand of Your majesty, in the highest of heavens, and He will come to render to each according to their deeds. "He left us this memorial of His salvific Passion, which we have presented to You according to His commandment, for, on the verge of His voluntary and ever-memorable life-giving death, on the night when He gave Himself for the life of the world, taking bread in His holy and pure hands and offering it to You, God and Father, giving thanks, He blessed it, broke it, and gave it to His holy disciples and apostles, saying: Take, eat, this is My Body broken for you for the forgiveness of sins. Likewise, taking the cup of the fruit of the vine that He had mixed [with water], giving thanks, He blessed it, sanctified it, and gave it to His holy disciples and apostles, saying: Drink, all of you, this is My Blood, the Blood of the new covenant, shed for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins. Do this in remembrance of Me, for as often as you eat this bread and drink from this cup, you proclaim My death and confess My resurrection. Therefore, we also, Lord, remembering His salvific Passion, His life-giving Cross, His three days in the tomb, His resurrection from the dead, His ascension into the heavens, His sitting at Your right hand, God and Father, and His glorious and awesome second coming — we offer You what is Yours, of what is Yours, in all things and for all things."

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CHAPTER III THE DIVINE LITURGY

In the previous chapter, by demonstrating that the Mass was a commemoration, and more precisely, a "ritual memory," our focus was primarily on recalling the nature of this ritual memory and, furthermore, its realistic, effective, and operative character. It is now appropriate to explore its content, the way it unfolds, and its structure. To clear the ground, we will begin by recalling the most apparent structure of the Mass, which will lead us to recall and study its origin, and from there, we will delve deeper into the very substance of the rite and its internal structure. Everyone knows that the Mass is ordinarily divided into two main parts: the first, which goes from the beginning until the reading of the Gospel and the homily, is called — very improperly, by the way, we will come back to this — "Before-Mass" or "Preparation"; the second, which includes all the rest of the sacred function: the offertory, consecration, and communion, is the actual Mass, following the usual terminology. The first part is essentially composed of readings and praise songs: the assembly of the faithful plays the main role in it, while in the second part, it is rather the priest. This entire part is a continuation, adapted, from the synagogue worship, where readings and prayers replaced sacrificial worship since the destruction of the Temple, readings and prayers partly oriented towards the expectation of the New Covenant, the work of the Messiah, and the Great Sacrifice that would seal it. And this worship continued even after the reconstruction of the Temple, outside of Jerusalem and in Jerusalem itself, and it still endures. But to fully understand the adaptation of synagogue worship to

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Christian worship, one must go back further, before the destruction of the Temple, and remember what the "Assembly of the faithful," the qahal, was: the people were summoned to listen to the word of God and give an official response to it. A qahal was presented as a ceremony in four acts: 1) the summoning of the people; 2) who listen to the solemn reading of the divine Word; 3) and accept it with jubilation, praise, and prayer; after which, 4) the covenant with God was renewed and confirmed by the sacrifice(¹). So, what did the Apostles do? They summoned the new chosen people to gather them and make them hear the Word of God and seal the new covenant through the finally realized Great Sacrifice. It is also necessary to remember, in order to understand the Mass well, the Jewish liturgy of meals, especially the Passover meal, since it was, after all, the framework chosen by Christ Himself to institute His sacrament. The Passover meal constituted, in a way, a family version, and therefore a more restricted one, of the great qahal meals mentioned earlier. In the time of Jesus, liturgical meals, modeled after the Passover meal, were celebrated on the eve of the Sabbath and on every major feast among devout communities (the habouroth). The way these meals unfolded also helps us understand the course of the Last Supper on Holy Thursday. Before the meal, they served what are now called appetizers, known today in the East as meze, and passed around wine cups, all of which were blessed. The "first cup" at the Last Supper, mentioned by Saint Luke (22:17), was one of them. Then the guests washed their hands with scented water, and the actual meal began. It commenced with the solemn breaking of bread by the head of the family or the leader of the community, who pronounced this thanksgiving formula: "Blessed are You, Lord, who has brought forth bread from the earth." It was probably at this moment that Christ consecrated the bread. They then brought in various dishes, which were blessed, and wine cups, with each person blessing their own cup. At the end of the meal, the last cup was solemnly blessed by the leader of the community: "Blessed are You, Lord... who has created the fruit of the vine." This rite was preceded by the lighting of lamps and the offering of incense, and a second handwashing. Here, Jesus replaced it with the washing of the Apostles' feet. (¹): See, for example, 2 Kings, 23.

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The solemn rite of the last cup, in which water was mixed with wine, was accompanied by a great thanksgiving (eucharistia) in which the leader of the community recalled God's blessings, both material and spiritual, from the exodus from Egypt. It was here that Jesus consecrated the wine, sealing the new covenant. Following His example, in the early Christian communities, this type of celebration was practiced, consisting of the kerygma, the proclamation of Jesus' Word calling the people of God, the praises of the assembly invoking this Word made flesh, through prayers inherited from the synagogue, and finally, the sacrifice, the "breaking of bread," proclaiming the death and Resurrection of the Savior, sealing the New Covenant indefinitely through time, "until He returns"(²). It's not only the general structure of synagogue worship and these meals — sacrificial meals, we should remember, and not simple feasts of friendship — that has passed into that of the Mass. Traces of these rituals can still be found, even in the details of the chants and formulas. The priest's greeting to the faithful, in the West: "The Lord be with you," and in the East: "Peace be with you" or "Peace be with all," comes directly from the Jews; the first formula is that of Boaz addressing his harvesters (Ruth 2, 4; cf. 2 Chr. 15, 2; Judg. 6, 12), the second is the traditional greeting "shalom lakem" (cf. Arabic "salam âleikoum"). The conclusion of the little doxologies at the end of prayers, "...unto ages of ages," is an exact copy of the Hebrew liturgical formula "min ha-dlam àd ha-ôlam." As for "Amen" and "Alleluia," preserved in their original language, they are directly linked to the rituals we have just mentioned: "Amen" served as an acclamation after the doxology, as it does now in the Mass, expressing the people's agreement with the praise; "alleluia" would deserve a lengthy discussion that we cannot provide here, but it is certain that this word has a much greater significance in the service than it may initially seem. Most people do not know or remember its meaning; it is considered a cry of joy, which is not untrue, but in the end, the formula has a completely different meaning. "Hallelu-yah" means "Praise God," "God be praised"; it comes precisely from the "Hallel," a series of psalms(³) that were sung at the Passover meal and recount the wonders performed by God; after each verse, the people would exclaim "Hallelu-yah." What remains of it for us in the Mass are the three "Alleluia" chants, also sung after the few verses of the psalm that come before the Gospel. This invocation of the name of God takes on its full meaning when we compare it to a verse from Psalm 115, one of (²): See, Acts 2, 42. (³): Ps. 112-117

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the songs of the Hallel, which the Latin priest says at the moment of his communion: "What shall I render to the Lord for all the benefits He has given me? I will take the cup of salvation and call upon the name of the Lord." This means that there is a very close connection between partaking of the Bread of Life and invoking the Name of God. But delving deeper into this idea would take us too far; our remarks will, in any case, be enough to make some people reflect. We finally preserve one last formula from the thanksgiving prayer of the synagogue service, which is none other than the solemn beginning, found in all liturgies, of the anaphora (called the "Preface" in the West): "It is truly worthy and just, fair and beneficial, that we always and everywhere give thanks to You, Lord, etc." Indeed, after the memorial of God's action for His people and the recitation of the Shema (Deuteronomy 6:4 ff.), the presider would say: "True and worthy, faithful and unchangeable, just and truthful is the promise that has been made to us"; then he would move on to the thanksgiving prayer which included, as it still does in the Mass, the invocation of the heavenly hosts and the singing of the Sanctus. So it is quite certain, following everything we have just said, that the framework, the general orientation, and even many of the formulations of the Mass come directly from Jewish liturgy, synagogue liturgy, and Paschal liturgy. This fact is now thoroughly demonstrated and definitively dismisses the thesis, once supported, especially, to be honest, by rationalistic and Hellenizing criticism, which derived all of the Mass liturgy from ancient Greek, Oriental, or Greco-Oriental mysteries, as we have already discussed. That said, one should not fall into the opposite extreme, which could be called that of Judaizing theologians and liturgists, who emphasize to such an extent the Hebrew character of the divine liturgy that they deny any relationship, we say: any relationship, with the mystery religions in question. However, there is a first fact that should still catch their attention: the use of the principal terms from the Greek vocabulary of mysteries by the liturgy, starting with the term that designates the Mass itself, "Tà Hierà Mystiria" (The Holy Mysteries). But that is not the essential fact. The analysis that can be made of the synagogue service and Jewish Passover liturgy clearly shows that the content and spirit of these rites are radically different from the Christian rite. Jewish rites appear to us as the expression of a deep religious spirit, certainly, but essentially attached to earthly matters, tangible and material benefits.

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Among these benefits, the belief in a monotheistic God, faith in a single transcendent God, is also placed. But this is precisely the point of rupture between the two religions and the two rites. The essential part of the Christian Mass rite, namely, the consumption of the dead and resurrected God and the assimilation of the faithful into the resulting God, is entirely foreign to Judaism, at least in its exoteric form(⁴), where the profession of such ideas appears as the height of sacrilege. These ideas, on the other hand, are the very same as those of ancient mysteries. It is true that, once again, to support their thesis, the Judaizers present us with a completely inaccurate conception of ancient mysteries. We think, in particular, of a famous theologian who, when dealing with these problems, claims to follow the latest conclusions of research and characterizes ancient mysteries as "agrarian and magical rites." This perspective is completely outdated today. Thus, the analyses of K. Kerenyi and Ch. Picard on Eleusis, in particular, have refuted this theory, which was still that of P. J. Nilsson, and demonstrate the authentic spiritual value of the Eleusinian religion. As for the mysteries of Isis, having dedicated many years of our research to this subject, we must say that the judgment of the author in question can only be laughed at. In fact, we do not claim that the Christian rite comes from ancient mysteries; it certainly comes, in its external form, to a large extent — although not entirely — from Judaism. But its essential idea, foreign to Judaism, coincides, on the other hand, with that of the mysteries, not because it derives from them, but because the spiritual path it proposes corresponds to a universal constant that, as we will see, is not limited to the Greco-Oriental ancient world. Moreover, if the holy fathers adopted the language of the mysteries so extensively, they who "knew," and in particular knew that language is not foreign to the reality of things, it is because they recognized in these mysteries the fundamental and universal pattern of "inner" religion. It is important, in our view, to consider a little more closely this parallelism between the Christian rite and the other mentioned rites, not for the sake of engaging in "comparison," as they say, solely for informational purposes, but because this examination, by revealing a universal pattern of spiritual realization, will allow us to understand how deeply Christianity is rooted in the traditions of humanity and thus responds to the fundamental spiritual needs of people of all races; all of this without prejudicing the unique Christian (⁴): But it is quite difficult to understand the Jewish esotericism of the Old Testament. In any case, we have no intention of addressing this issue here.

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Revelation, which, far from being weakened by these comparisons, emerges, one might say, strengthened in the eyes of many. This, moreover, as we repeat, is one of the main goals we aim to achieve in writing this book. We have seen earlier(⁵) how, in what is commonly referred to as "mystery religions" (an inaccurate term, but one we use for convenience), whose center is a suffering, dead, and resurrected god, the faithful enter into the intimacy of the god through the rituals he inaugurated, perpetuated by tradition, and which provide assurance of salvation. We have outlined the myth, or sacred story, of some of these religions and briefly mentioned that this story was reproduced in a kind of mystical drama that incorporates soteriological rites, a drama in which officiants and the faithful participate. It is on this last point that we will revisit in our comparison between non-Christian mysteries and Christian liturgy. Let us note, to begin with, that the word "drama," when used to describe these matters, is an ambiguous word that could lead to confusion. Let us temporarily keep it as a first approach, and we will see better, at the end of the analysis, what to replace it with. The ritual of the mysteries consistently included the following elements: purification, sacrifice, and sacred meal, representation of the divine story (what we have called the memorial), communion with the god. But what we do not always know exactly is which cultural elements, among those we are familiar with, were reserved solely for initiation ceremonies or were repeated in regular services. This issue, to be honest, is not of great importance for our purpose at the moment because we are only concerned with the rite of the Mass. However, we will see later that this rite is a recapitulation of the entire Christian initiation and, consequently, includes more or less all the elements of mystery religions. If we start with the Eleusinian ritual, we find the purification bath of the mystics, a sacrifice, that of Demeter's piglets, a sacred meal, the "dramatic" representation of the story of Demeter and Kore, and various rites including the consumption of a sacred drink, the kykeon, and the touching of sacred objects, the hiera. These last two rites symbolized the union of the initiate with the Goddess, a union which was, on the other hand, guaranteed by the hierogamos (sacred marriage) consummated by the pontiff of Eleusis with the (⁵): Above, page 23 and following.

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priestess, an image of the union of Demeter with Zeus, the supreme god, and the condition and pledge of the initiate's union with the Goddess. After the hierogamos, the temple would light up, and the birth of the divine child, Brimos, would be announced: the archetype of the initiate who, from then on, became the "newborn" (neophyte), participating in divinity. The Eastern mysteries of Attis have, since the early centuries of our era, been closely associated with Christian rites by an author who himself was a Christian, Firmicus Maternus(⁶). Attis, too, was a god who died and was resurrected, much like the Eleusinian Kore. The grand ceremony of his cult took place during the spring equinox. After the sacrifice of a bull on March 15th, they commemorated the Mourning for his death on March 22nd, symbolized by a cut pine tree adorned with ribbons and accompanied by lamentations. Finally, on March 25th, there was the ceremony of the god's resurrection, still symbolized by the tree. We also know that the initiation involved, in addition to a taurobolium and a criobolium, serving as a form of baptism, the consumption of food and a sacred drink, two rites that F. Maternus likened to those of the Last Supper. Lastly, there was a mysterious ritual referred to as "slipping under the curtains," meaning entering the bridal chamber, where the initiate was received as the spouse of Cybele, the Mother(⁷). The initiate had "died" symbolically with the sacrifice victim, the bull to which he was identified, and had been regenerated simultaneously through this act, "reborn" in the womb of the Mother, united with divinity. Very close in their conception to the mysteries of Attis were the Greco-Egyptian mysteries of Isis and Osiris. Their ritual, which aimed to initiate the candidate into the very destiny of Osiris, another god who died and was resurrected, included a commemoration of the passion of Osiris, and the initiate underwent, like him, a descent into the underworld; after which, he was reborn and ascended toward the light of the sun and appeared as a kind of hypostasis of the celestial body, which meant that he had attained immortality(⁸). (⁶): F. Maternus, De errore..…, 18. (⁷): This comes from the formula pronounced by the mystic and transmitted to us by Saint Clement of Alexandria, Protr. 2, 15: "ek tympânou éphagon, ek kymbâlou épion, ékernophôresa, hypà tôn pastôn hypédyn." One should not think that the tambourine and the cymbal served as a plate and a cup. (⁸): On Egyptian mysteries, the essential texts are Plutarch's "On Isis and Osiris" and Apuleius's "The Metamorphoses," Book XI. See our book "Egyptian Religion in the Thought of Plutarch".

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Tertullian emphasized the similarities between the Christian rite and that of the Mithraic mysteries of Iranian origin(⁹). The myth recounts that, in the beginning, Mithra slew the divine bull from which all beings originated; the soul of the bull ascended to the gods and became a protective spirit. Similarly, at the end of times, the same bull will be slain by Saoshyant, and its fat, mixed with the juice of the white haoma plant, will be the elixir of immortality for the chosen ones. This bull, in fact, which Mithra is depicted killing with a sword, is none other than the god himself. We are confronted here with a pattern that is not surprising, that of the god both as sacrificer and sacrificed, a motif encountered in many religious traditions. However, in Mithraism, the flesh of the bull is not consumed; the sacrifice serves only for the initiation baptism, where the initiate is sprinkled with the blood of the victim. Communion with the god in the Mithraic banquet was symbolized by bread, which, understandably, struck the Christian Tertullian. Furthermore, we know from Justin(¹⁰) that a cup of water was presented alongside the bread. This bread and water served as substitutes for the bull, and thus for Mithra. Justin also informs us that over these elements, the "Father," an initiate of high rank, pronounced consecration formulas. Finally, it should be added that the water was not pure water but likely contained the juice of certain plants to make it a substitute for haoma, the drink of immortality, much like what is done in India for the corresponding beverage, soma. To remain faithful to what we were saying earlier and to demonstrate that the pattern of rituals we are studying is found elsewhere than in the Greco-Roman mysteries, we will mention, in conclusion, an Aztec rite reported by a missionary from the 16th century(¹¹). This annual rite bears the characteristic name of Teoqualo, which means "eating the god." Using crushed and ground thorny poppy seeds, a paste was made to shape a statuette of the god Uitzilo-pochtli. Then the priest, representing Quetzalcoatl, "killed" the god with a lance; the paste body was cut up and shared among the participants. As we will see shortly, the gesture of the Aztec priest is evocative for us when we compare it to a certain ritual in the Mass, which we must analyze after this detour.

(⁹): Tertullian, De praescr. 40; De corona, 15. (¹⁰): Justin, I Apol., 66. (¹¹): History of Friar Bernardino de Sahagun

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We talked earlier about mystical drama, and in the examples we just provided, we saw that this drama includes, in addition to the representation of the god's story, most of the other essential rites found in the corresponding initiation. The same applies to the Mass. However, to dispel any ambiguity, let's clarify how we should understand the expression "mystical drama." The mistake would be to equate this type of representation with theater, from which it differs radically. To better understand it, let's draw a parallel between the Mass and the "Passions" of the 15th century performed in front of cathedrals. In both cases, the subject is the same: the sacrifice of Christ; yet, everyone immediately senses that there is hardly any connection between these two representations. In short, let's say that the difference lies in two essential causes: First, the Mass actually operates an objective event, as true — even truer — than the events of our lives, while the theater play is only fiction, which presents a historical event in the case mentioned but in a necessarily "illusory" image that stirs the imagination and sensitivity but does not act on the ontological level. Second, and this point is important, these images are concrete representations of what one wants to depict, whereas in the Mass, there are only symbols because symbols, transcending the sensory realm, are the only means to truly evoke the invisible, ontologically. This is the characteristic mark of any ritual action. Therefore, to avoid the ambiguity we were talking about, it would be preferable to use, instead of the expression "mystical drama," the expression "ritual drama," or even better, to include what concerns symbolism, the expression "ritual mimodrama," which implies that the gestural expression in it is non-figurative and purely symbolic(¹²). One more word to put an end to these preliminaries. We have just stated that symbols are the only adequate channel to bring about invisible realities. It is necessary to insist on this point to dispel another ambiguity due to the modern mentality; a certain number of books have appeared lately, purporting to study Christian rites in the light of the 'human sciences' so much in vogue, but, of course, they consider things only from a profane perspective, that of official science; we have already mentioned this in our introduction. The thing itself would not be surprising if, on the other hand, the authors of the books we are talking about, who are clerics, had not become completely imbued with the profane spirit proper to the teaching of these so-called sciences and had not undertaken their research in this spirit, employing the very specialized (¹²): We borrow the term “mimodrama” from the anthropological works of Father M. Jousse, who had applied it to the Mass himself. See M. Jousse, “L'Anthropologie du geste,” Paris, 1969, p. 92. The word is, moreover, implicitly patristic; thus, Saint Justin, Cat. mystag. 2, 5 (PG 33, 181), when speaking of the ritual of baptism, refers to it as a “mimisis.”

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jargon of the 'mandarins' of these sciences, a pseudo-scholarly jargon that may impress the layman, but in any case succeeds in drowning out the real issues. In any case, to focus solely on the question of symbols, there is much talk today about “symbolic efficacy” in the circles we are discussing, to “scholarly” explain to us that among the “primitives,” as they say, this efficacy is based on the belief that the symbolized thing is identical to the symbol, and that, under these conditions, the symbol can have an effect by acting on the mind. One immediately sees the danger of such an error when it comes to religion. The relationship between symbol and thing symbolized is not one of identity but of analogy, and in this regard, it is true that the symbol exerts a psychological influence. However, this is not the cause of its efficacy, for then it would not go beyond the individual domain. The symbol does not realize the presence of the sacred by itself. For this, it must be “vitalized” by the spiritual influence, of which it is, in essence, only the “carrier wave,” to use an image borrowed from physics. In this way, we see the abyss that separates ritual reality from profane rants, even when the latter are the work of clerics. In the unfolding of the mime drama of the Mass, the sequences are organized in a dual structure, depending on whether they are considered from the perspective of the Divine Victim or that of the officiant and the faithful. From the first perspective, it is a mime drama of the life and actions of Christ; from the second, it is an integration of the entire Christian initiation. It goes without saying, naturally, that these two perspectives merge when one stops considering the dramatis personae. Under this last report, the pre-mass is a true renewal of Christian initiation, of baptism. In the Latin rite, the sprinkling of water is a reminder of the baptismal water. In any case, in all liturgies, the sacred function begins with a renewal, in one form or another, of this initial purification that has transformed the "profane" into a "sacred," that is to say, a "separated" one, separated from the impure, an indispensable condition to offer the sacrifice and participate in it(¹³). The same purpose of purification governs the recitation of public confession: through the confession of sins that may have clouded the purity of baptism and through prayer seeking forgiveness, the faithful, as previously mentioned, anticipate the Judgment: before the divine Majesty and the saints, they accuse themselves and "judge themselves" so as (¹³): A confession before offering the sacrifice was required in the Old Testament: Lev. 1-4; 2 Esdr. 9, 2.

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to "not be judged." This same line of thought is present in the recitation of Psalm 42, which is found in many liturgies at this point: "Separate my cause, O Lord, from an impious nation; rescue me from the wicked and cunning man." This text evokes the fierce battle against the lower forces that the catechumen had to engage in during baptism, the battle against the Dragon. The "wicked man" is the fallen man, the selfish self, the opposite of the new man. Interestingly, this Psalm 42 was sung by the newly baptized as they processed from the Baptismal Font to the altar to partake in communion. It is not in vain, as we can see, that this part of the Mass is called the Mass of the Catechumens. Some may wonder why it retains this name, since now there are hardly any catechumens to dismiss before the Eucharistic sacrifice. This overlooks one of the purposes of the Holy Liturgy, which allows the Christian to periodically renew and relive their baptismal initiation. Moreover, the continuation of this pre-Mass follows the steps. After the exorcisms, the catechumens "received" the Gospel, the Creed, and the Lord's Prayer, and on the eve of the final initiation, the actual baptism, they had to "return the symbol" (the Creed), meaning they had to recite it publicly as a profession of their faith; hence, at Mass, the readings of the Gospel and Epistles and the solemn chanting of the Creed. This repetition, in the Pre-Mass, of the catechumen's steps is even more necessary today since baptism is administered to the newborn, and they can have no memory of the initiation rite that had such a profound effect on adults. Beyond the offertory, the faithful recapitulate the other two stages of their complete initiation: the reception of the Holy Spirit and communion in the body of Christ; the descent of the Spirit is linked to several rites we will study, just as communion is foreshadowed by a number of other rites that punctuate the sacrificial mime. Thus, from the perspective of mystical theology, this sacrificial mimodrama is a synthesis of the three stages of the "way": the purgative way, the illuminative way, and the unitive way. From the perspective of the Holy Victim, the unfolding of the mimodrama occurs once again through two new structures. The first one can be called the structure of sacrifice with its three crucial acts: offering, immolation, communion. This initial structure is embedded within a larger one, which symbolically evokes the main events of the Savior's life before and after His sacrifice, constituting the representation of the entire "mystery of salvation" we have discussed. These two structures, to be honest, intertwine and overlap in such a way that they can hardly be dissociated in the analysis, but one must

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keep them in mind to truly grasp the composition of the mimodrama. Furthermore, it should be noted that some of the events mentioned are not presented in the chronological order of their historical appearance, which is often disrupted. This should not surprise us: it has been said that the time of ritual memory is not ordinary time but a time, so to speak, outside of time, more like an eternal moment. Therefore, in this case, as all events are simultaneous, there is no need to establish a chronological order. So the mimodrama sometimes presents them in anticipation, or even repeats the same event in two different forms, according to the order of pedagogical design, or rather, the "mystagogical catechesis" that the liturgical mimodrama constitutes. Finally, the two structures in question are dominated by the two major symbols of Bread and Wine, which synthesize all the elements. It is through them that we will begin our analysis. These two symbols are certainly the most fitting for the very purpose of the Holy Sacrifice, the source of spiritual life, as they are for a large part of humanity the primary sustenance of natural life. Their symbolism operates on several levels and thus constitutes a wonderful introduction to the Eucharistic mystery. From the early days of Christianity, bread and wine on the altar have been seen as a sign of unity, a recapitulation of the multiple into the one. In the Eucharistic anaphora preserved in the text called the Didache, "Teaching of the Apostles," we read these lines: "Just as this broken bread, once scattered on the mountains (when it was only grains of wheat), was gathered together to become one, so may your Church be gathered together from the ends of the earth into your kingdom." Likewise, just as wine has flowed from many grapes into a single cup, so too should the faithful become one in Christ. These images have found their way into the Syrian anaphoras. Furthermore, the cultivation of wheat and the making of wine and bread are striking images of sacrifice and spiritual rebirth. The ears of wheat "scattered on the mountains" come from the grain buried in the soil: "Unless a grain of wheat falls to the ground and dies," Jesus said (Saint John 12:24), and He too was laid in the earth, died, and then rose again, multiplying within the faithful who are also raised with Him. It is a mystery of death and resurrection. Similarly, to become bread and wine, wheat and grapes undergo a kind of "passion": the grain is crushed, the grapes are pressed, but both, after this "death," are "resurrected" in a more noble form, as bread and wine. To this symbolism

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inherent in nature itself, we can add, regarding bread in particular, a particularly remarkable significance found in Scripture. "Bread" and "flesh" in Hebrew share the same root l h m; in the word lihoum, it means "flesh," and vocalized as lehem, it means "bread." This highlights the close linguistic connection and the sort of wordplay in the words of Christ: "This (the bread) is my body (flesh)." Lastly, let us recall the extraordinary sign represented by the birth of Christ in Bethlehem, the "House of Bread," as Christ defined Himself as "the living bread that came down from heaven," a descent that was indeed realized in Bethlehem. The symbolism of wine is so rich, so extensive, that it would take an entire volume just to catalog all its aspects. Let us content ourselves with recalling the essential(¹⁴). In Christianity, wine plays the role of the elixir of immortality, which, in other traditions, has been fulfilled by various beverages, either pure water (obviously sanctified) or a mixture of different plant juices, as we mentioned earlier with regard to soma. It is first its resemblance to blood that led to the choice of wine for this function: wine is "the blood of the grape," as we read in Deuteronomy (32:14). Just as blood is the vessel of the "soul of life," as Scripture proclaims (Deut. 12:23; Lev. 17:11-14), it was naturally chosen to be the image of the divine Blood, the principle of higher, spiritual life that Christ commands us to drink in the form of wine. Jesus Himself called Himself the Vine (John 15:1), and this passage from the Gospel inspired this magnificent stanza from a Byzantine hymn: "O Christ, like a vine attached to the wood (of the cross), You have watered the earth with the wine of immortality."(¹⁵) From this context of ideas and images, the famous theme of the Mystic Winepress emerged in the 15th century in the West. On the central panel of Jean Bellegambe's triptych, "The Mystic Bath," you can see the cross planted in the middle of a vat; blood flows from the side of Christ and into the vat, where people are bathing. Sometimes the symbolism goes even further, with the vertical branch of the cross becoming a screw press. An ancient sequence by Adam of Saint Victor captures the powerful beauty of this theme of the bath of blood: "Beneath the sacred press of the Cross, the cluster pours forth into the bosom of the beloved Church; expressed with force, the wine flows, and its liquid plunges the firstfruits of the gentiles into joyful intoxication."(¹⁶) This (¹⁴): Cf. K. Kericher, Die sakrale Bedeutung des Weines im Altertum. (¹⁵): Friday of Triodion, first week of Lent

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mystical intoxication induced by the spiritual wine has been sung by all contemplatives, from the Song of Solomon (1:6-14), through Saint Bernard(¹⁷), and up to Saint John of the Cross(¹⁸). The physiological effects of wine, which abolish the everyday condition and allow euphoria, explain how it can symbolize the spiritual operation by which man is torn from his limited, individual condition, departs from himself to be embraced within the divine Personality, which is properly, as we will come back to, the purpose of communion with the flesh and Blood of the Savior. In this regard, wine is the symbol of the Great Eucharistic Mystery in its two aspects: the transubstantiation of the offerings and the transformation of the faithful; this is indicated to discerning minds by the "identity" of the two Hebrew words: "yain," meaning "wine," and "sôd," meaning "mystery," which have the same gematria number: 70.(¹⁹) One word, to conclude this brief excursion, on the symbolism of the chalice, the "cup of salvation." Here again, we encounter a multiplicity of meanings. We will only focus on one of them, which is the most important for understanding the Sacrifice of the Mass, namely, that the cup is a symbol of the heart, because every vessel, in fact, is a symbol of the heart, which is a "vessel of blood." Furthermore, in several traditions, the same pattern represents both, that of an inverted triangle.

(¹⁶): See our essay "Les Métiers de Dieu", p. 149 ff. and illustration on page 97. Also, include the famous stained glass window from the Parisian church of Saint-tienne-du-Mont. (¹⁷): Treatise on the Love of God 11, 32. Cf. the Sermons on the Song of Songs, throughout. (¹⁸): Spiritual Song, stanza 17. The same theme of wine and mystical intoxication can be found in a Muslim contemplative, the Sufi Omar ibn-al-Farid, The Praise of Wine (Al-Khamriya). (¹⁹): Gematria is a traditional auxiliary science aimed at interpreting the meaning of a word through the numerical value of its constituent letters. It goes without saying that such an operation is only possible in languages such as Hebrew, Arabic, Greek, or Sanskrit, where each letter has a numerical value.

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One immediately sees that if one extends the figure, starting from the lower tip, with a vertical line, we have the perfect depiction of a chalice or a stemmed glass. Thus, the symbolism of the chalice complements that of the wine: it represents the Heart of Christ filled with His Blood(²⁰).

If the first part of the Mass, the Pre-Mass, is more specifically an office of praise and instruction, we should not exaggerate its difference from the central part of the liturgy. The ritual mimodrama is a homogeneous whole and forms a harmonious ensemble that represents, as we repeat, the entire mystery of salvation: “All the redemptive work of Christ,” writes N. Cabasilas, “is reproduced on the bread, during the rites of the Holy Liturgy, as on a tablet; symbolically, we see Him as a little child, then led to death, then crucified, then pierced in the side; then we witness the transformation of the bread itself into this most holy body that has truly endured these sufferings, that is resurrected, that has ascended to heaven, and that sits at the right hand of the Father.”(²¹) In essence, the Liturgy of the Catechumens refers to the life of Christ on earth, and the Liturgy of the Faithful to His death, His resurrection, and His ascension. It is in the Byzantine Mass, and in Eastern liturgies in general, that this symbolic representation is most developed and apparent. But we will see that the essence of it can also be found in the Roman Mass. In the Byzantine Mass, the preparation of the Holy Gifts holds a particular importance, which we will emphasize shortly in relation to the offertory, given their close connection. Nevertheless, there is a symbolism in this initial rite that needs to be (²⁰): It would be interesting to discuss here the Holy Grail, the cup of which, according to legend, Christ used at the Last Supper, and into which Joseph of Arimathea collected, after Christ's death, the blood flowing from his wounds. Joseph of Arimathea is said to have brought it to Brittany, but the Grail has been lost. The search for it is the occasion for the exploits of mystical knights, primarily Perceval (Wagner's Parsifal). The connections between the Grail and the Eucharist are evident. However, the question raises too many problems for us to consider only sketching it here. Finally, let us recall that the Eucharistic chalice is not unrelated to the hermetic vessel (we are, of course, speaking of orthodox and spiritual hermeticism). On the other hand, the connections that have been suggested between the Grail procession described in medieval romances and the Byzantine liturgy are extremely doubtful. (²¹): N. Cabasilas, Explanation of the Divine Liturgy, Chapter 37.

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mentioned now because it opens the representation of the earthly life of Christ. The oblations, in this initial stage of the Mass, represent the body of the Lord in His early age, as N. Cabasilas tells us(²²), because they are not yet consecrated. After preparing them in the manner we will describe, the priest places them on the paten, places the asterisk and the veil above them. The asterisk is a cross with a foot and a vertical screw from which a small star hangs, hence its name (in Greek, astiriskon). And, as the priest places the asterisk, he pronounces the words from Saint Matthew 2:9: "The star came to rest over the place where the child was." Moreover, the paten is assimilated to the manger, and the altar of the prothesis to the Nativity cave. Finally, the priest covers everything with the veil because, as Cabasilas also tells us, the divine power is hidden before the time of Jesus' manifestation. This symbolic manifestation takes place at the moment of the Little Entrance, that is, during the procession of the Gospel. The officiant, after the chanting of the antiphons, proceeds to the showing of the Gospel book: facing the faithful, he raises the book high, and this gesture signifies the showing of the Savior beginning to manifest Himself to the crowds. The same thing is suggested, although in a much more subdued form, by the small procession of the Gospel in the Roman Mass. With the offertory, we enter into the structure of the sacrifice itself, of which it constitutes a fundamental and indispensable element. In antiquity, the offertory had a magnitude and solemnity that are no longer conceivable today, at least in the West. In Rome, the faithful brought their offerings, such as bread, wine, etc., during the Mass, after the Gospel. This was also the case in Gaul. From these offerings, those necessary for the sacrifice were set aside. In the East, offerings were brought before the Mass; the portion set aside for consecration was solemnly carried to the altar, as we read in Dionysius's the Areopagite(²³). The essence of the rite is preserved in the Great Entrance of the Byzantine rite: the officiant and the deacon, preceded by torchbearers and the thurifer, depart from the sanctuary with the oblations and cross the nave of the church before returning to the altar; a symbol of the triumphant procession of the universal king accompanied by angels. One cannot overstate the importance of the Offertory in the ritual of sacrifice, contrary to the attitude of some Western liturgists who see it only as a simple preparation of the offerings. It might be said that originally, the oblation was (²²): Ibid., ch. 11. (²³): Hier. eccles. 3, 2.

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done in silence, a simple material disposition of the oblates on the altar, and that the current Offertory is only an anticipation of the anaphora, the canon, which is the true moment of the offering. However, this is a viewpoint that cannot be accepted. First of all, the history of religions reminds us that everywhere, the phase of offering in the sacrifice is highly ritualized and accompanied by appropriate gestures and words. For example, in ancient Egypt, there were two distinct times for the "placement" (wah) of the offering on the altar and its "elevation" (faÿ). Furthermore, the offering of the Offertory is not exactly the same as that of the canon: in the former case, it is the offering of the faithful, while in the latter case, it is the offering of Christ through the intermediary of the priest. It is not false to say, on the other hand, that there is an anticipation of the canon in the current Offertory. And this is quite normal; as we have mentioned, the mimodrama of the sacrifice is homogeneous because the sacrifice more or less directly commands all its elements. The Offertory is already, and necessarily, a sacrificial act. That is why in all the liturgies of the East and the West, we observe the same phenomenon of anticipation, if one wishes to use that term, of the anaphora. In the Roman Mass, it is very clear(²⁴), but it is just as evident in other liturgies, such as the Coptic and Ethiopian: “Make, Lord, this offering (of bread) pleasing in Your sight, make us worthy to offer it to You in expiation of our sins and the negligences of Your people; may it be sanctified by the operation of the Holy Spirit, etc.” (Coptic Mass). “May this offering bring forgiveness and remission of sins to Your people” (Ethiopian Mass). We can see that in both cases, the oblates are treated in advance as if they were already consecrated, in the same way as in the Roman Mass. However, it is in the Byzantine liturgy that the sacrificial and propitiatory character has developed the most. We have already seen the extent to which the procession of the oblates has grown, but this procession was originally preceded by their preparation. Currently, this preparation (proskomidie) has been moved to the beginning of the service, where it has expanded to become a small mime drama within the overall mime drama, which bears a striking resemblance to the Aztec rite of Teoqualo mentioned earlier. On the small altar called the prothesis, placed to the left of the main altar, five loaves of bread have been placed. On the first bread, the priest takes a central piece marked with a cross and the following letters:

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That is to say: "Iisous Christos nika" (Jesus Christ victorious). This piece of bread is called the "lamb," a significant designation. The priest takes a small lance and thrusts it into the right side, saying, "Like a lamb, He was led to the slaughter," then into the left side, saying, "and like an immaculate lamb, He is silent before the one who shears Him, so He did not open His mouth." After that, he thrusts the lance above the imprint of the letters, then diagonally to the right side, removes the holy lamb, and places it, reversed, on the disk (paten). Then, he "sacrifices" (thyi) the lamb by deeply cutting it in the shape of a cross and saying, "The Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world is sacrificed (thyété) for the life of the world and its salvation." Then he turns it so that the imprint of the cross is above, and he pierces the Lamb on the right side, saying, "One of the soldiers pierced His side with a lance, and immediately there came out water and blood." Afterward, wine and water are poured into the chalice. It is clear that, as N. Cabasilas said, “everything that is done at that time is like a narrative in action of the sufferings and death that cause our salvation(²⁵).” The rest of this little offertory drama aims to highlight the union of the entire Church with the sacrifice of its Leader. On the second of the 5 loaves, the priest takes a portion in honor of Mary; on the third, 9 portions in honor of 9 saints; on the fourth, an undefined number of portions for the living to be recommended; finally, on the fifth, portions for the deceased. All these portions are arranged on the disk, brought to the altar, and placed to the left of the chalice. The pieces of the first three loaves form the first row with the lamb in the center; the others are below in two parallel rows (see illustration). The West once knew a similar arrangement of the oblations. At Mont-Cassin in the 12th century, the hosts were placed in the shape of a cross on the disk. In Spain in the 9th century, 5 loaves were placed in the shape of a cross, and at Christmas, 17 loaves, including 5 in the shape of a cross (see illustration). In all Masses, both in the East and the West, the Offertory includes a very important rite that was alluded to earlier, namely the mixing of water with wine in the chalice. This rite is clearly inspired by the Gospel of Saint John and represents one or two events from this Gospel. When referring to Eastern liturgies, one must think of the Piercing of Christ at Golgotha. Thus, in the Syrian liturgies, while making the mixture, the officiant says: "One of the soldiers pierced the side of the Lord with a lance, and immediately blood and (²⁴): We are talking about the old Roman rite. Because, in the new one, the offertory is so impoverished that one might wonder if it still exists. (²⁵): N. Cabaslas, op. cit., 6 and 8.

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water flowed out, a pardon for the whole world. He who saw it has borne witness, and his witness is true (Jn. 19:33-36)." The memory of this event is all the more significant as the chalice symbolizes the heart. The Piercing and the Flow of water and blood are a central theme in Saint John's writings, and he returns to it in an epistle: "Jesus is the one who came by water and blood, Jesus Christ, not with the water only but with the water and the blood. And the Spirit is the one who testifies, for the Spirit is the truth. There are three that testify: the Spirit, the water, and the blood, and these three are in agreement (1 John 5:6-8)." The prayer of the Latin rite is different: "O God, who created human nature in an admirable way and even more admirably restored it, grant us, through the mystery of this water and wine, to share in the divinity of Him who deigned to unite Himself with our humanity, Our Lord Jesus Christ, etc." This prayer implicitly connects the mixing to the miracle at the Wedding at Cana. This miracle, which only Saint John recounts, is the first miracle of Christ, and Christian tradition rightly attaches exceptional importance to it because it foreshadows the entire teaching life of Jesus and the very purpose of His earthly mission and manifestation. This transformation of water into wine is a sign of our regeneration. It is the reintegration of purified Nature (water) into the intoxicating path of spiritual life (wine), leading fallen humanity towards the possibility of becoming "children of God." The miracle at Cana is, on the other hand, like the prelude to the Last Supper, where the second phase of the mystery is fulfilled: the wine (and the water mixed with it) becomes the Divine Blood, the vehicle of Divine Life, in the spiritual Vine. This second interpretation of the rite does not exclude the first, but rather, the two events are closely related. One could also relate water (as Grace purifying Nature) and blood (Atonement and Revivification) to the dual regeneration that Christ emphasizes to Nicodemus: "Truly, truly, I say to you, unless one is born of water and the Spirit, he cannot enter the kingdom of God" (Saint John 3:5), as the Divine Blood is the vehicle of the Life-Giving Spirit. It is important to note that the thought of the immolation of Christ, which will only be ritually realized at the Consecration, fills all the steps of the Offertory. In the Syriac rite, the death of Christ is commemorated throughout the part of the Mass from the procession of the offerings to the epiclesis. The procession represents Christ going to his passion; the placement of the gifts on the altar represents the laying down of the victim to be sacrificed and, in addition, the placing in the tomb. Furthermore, the silk cloth on which the offerings are placed, called the antimension, bears a representation of the burial of the

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Savior. The Latin cloth, the corporal, plays the same role and is assimilated to the shroud. In the Syriac rite, always, the offerings placed on the antimension are covered with a veil, which is likened to the stone rolled at the entrance of the sepulcher; when the priest removes it by waving it after the consecration and before the epiclesis, he pronounces these words: "You are the hard stone that was placed on the tomb of Our Lord." In the Latin Rite, just before the Recitation of the Institution, the priest extends his hands over the offerings while uttering a prayer that leaves no doubt about the meaning of this gesture. We know it: it is the ancient gesture of semikha, as we have discussed, which signifies the transfer from the one who offers to the one who is offered, a transfer through which the offerer, at the same time, designates himself as the gift he offers and unburdens himself of his sins. The consecration of the offerings is naturally the pinnacle of the liturgical mimodrama. After giving thanks to God at the beginning of the anaphora and recalling, at least in summary, in the anaphoras that have remained faithful to their origin(²⁶), the stages of human history and salvation, the officiant arrives at the conclusion of this history, which merges with the mystery of Christ, with the passion of Christ, with His sacrifice, and with the institution of the Eucharist. The narrative of this institution is the heart and summit of the ritual mimodrama that it dominates with its majestic simplicity and superhuman grandeur. The text of the narrative is the same, with a few details differing, in all the liturgies, and the reason for this is easily understood: nothing was to be changed in the words that effect the sacrifice. We provide the text of the Roman Mass, which is undoubtedly the most complete: "On the day before His Passion, He took bread in His holy and venerable hands, and with eyes raised to heaven to You, O God, His almighty Father, giving You thanks, He blessed it, broke it, and gave it to His disciples, saying: 'Take this, all of you, and eat of it, for this is My Body, which will be given up for you.'" "In a similar way, when supper was ended, He took this precious chalice in His holy and venerable hands, and once more giving You thanks, He blessed it and gave it to His disciples, saying: 'Take this, all of you, and drink from it, for this is the chalice of My Blood, the Blood of the new and eternal covenant, which will be poured out for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins.'"

(²⁶): Only the anaphora of Saint Basil still contains a recapitulation of the history of salvation. The old Roman canon has completely abandoned this recapitulation, except for reintroducing some fragments of it in the Prefaces. In the new Roman ritual, it is true that anaphora No. 4 takes up old formulas from this recapitulation; unfortunately, it is almost never used.

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We are here in front of the perfect type of ritual memory: the qualified character, the priest, solemnly reads the sacred narrative recounting the divine act that is to be actualized in the rite; at the same time, the priest, identifying with the God himself, repeats the gestures and precisely utters the divine words. This way of operating is universal(²⁷). The Christian priest, therefore, while reading the text, physically reproduces the primordial action of Christ; when reading, “He took the bread in His hands,” he takes the host in his hands; “raising his eyes to heaven to You, O God,” the priest raises his eyes upward; “He blessed it,” the priest blesses the host with a sign of the cross; after which, he solemnly pronounces the consecratory words. We say “solemnly” because, normally, the consecration is done aloud, following a particular rhythm and melody that emphasize its sacred nature in the Eastern rites, especially in the Syrian, Maronite, and Assyrian-Chaldean rites, where the liturgical language is Aramaic, and you hear the holy words proclaimed in the very language in which they were spoken in illo tempore. The same scenario naturally repeats for the consecration of the chalice. In this central rite of consecration, two facts should be distinguished: transubstantiation and immolation. The oblations, bread and wine, change their nature and are transformed into the body and blood of Christ. On the other hand, consecration takes place in two separate acts for the bread and wine, and these two separate consecrations constitute the immolation of the victim, from which the life-bearing blood is withdrawn from its body. For Latin traditions, the rite stops there(²⁸). In the East, the Narrative of the Institution is followed by the Epiclesis, which is the invocation of the Holy Spirit. In the Syrian Mass, for example — but things happen in a similar way in other masses — the celebrant waves his hands over the oblations, mimicking the descent of the Spirit, while the deacon says: "How awesome is this hour, and how dreadful this moment, my beloved, when the Holy Spirit descends (²⁷): Thus, among the Karok, Hirpa, and Yurok tribes (California), during the New Year ceremony known as the "Restoration of the World," the priest embarks on long pilgrimages to sacred sites, during which time he embodies the Immortals. (Reference: M. Eliade, Aspects of Myth, p. 59 et seq.) In Africa, among the Dogon people, the priest of the Nommo completely identifies with the Nommo in their rituals. (Reference: M. Griaule, God of Water, p. 114.) In ancient Egypt, during the enthronement festival of the king, two priests are assimilated with the gods Horus and Seth to invest the king with dominion over the land. Similarly, in funeral rites and those of Isis, a priest is assimilated with the god Anubis. In both cases, the assimilation is emphasized by the fact that the priests wear the mask of the god they embody. (²⁸): In the new Roman order, an epiclesis has been reintroduced, but placed before the account of the institution.

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from the sublime celestial spheres, comes upon this Eucharist, and consecrates it. Stand and pray in silence and with reverence." Then the priest pronounces the epiclesis: "We prostrate ourselves before You and beseech You, Almighty Lord and God of the Holy Powers, to send Your Holy Spirit upon us and upon the offerings before us, and to make this bread the venerated body of Our Lord Jesus Christ, and this chalice the blood of this same Jesus Christ, Our Lord." This invocation of the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of fire, is naturally the Christian version of the fire from heaven descending upon the sacrifice under the Old Law, for example, during the sacrifice offered by Elijah (1 Kings 18:36, 37, 38; Cf. Ezekiel 37:9): "Lord, hear me, Lord, hear me." Then the fire of the Lord descended and consumed the victim." These words of Elijah are incorporated into the epiclesis of the Maronite Mass. During the communion, other significant rites take place, the main ones being the breaking of the bread and the mingling of the Holy Species found in all Eastern and Western liturgies. The breaking of the bread is a truly essential rite, as it is of divine institution, to the extent that, in the early centuries, the expression "breaking of the bread" often served to designate the celebration of the Eucharist. It can be performed in various ways; in the Roman rite, the priest divides the host into three parts. In the Byzantine rite, he breaks the Holy Bread into four parts and arranges them on the cross-shaped disc.

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In saying, "He is broken and shared, the Lamb of God, the Son of the Father, He who is broken but not divided, eaten everywhere and nowhere consumed, but who sanctifies those who participate in it," these words clearly indicate the symbolic meaning of the act of breaking; it is a mimisis of the violent death of Christ, in accordance with His Word: "Take and eat all of you: This is My body which, for you and for many, will be broken and given for the remission of sins and eternal life" (consecration of the bread in the Syrian Mass). "Take, eat, this is my body which is broken for you, for the remission of sins" (consecration in the Byzantine Mass). After breaking the Sacred Bread, the priest places a portion of it into the chalice so that it mixes with the wine. This is called the commixture. This ritual is a mimicry of the resurrection: the body is reunited with the soul, symbolized more specifically by the blood, as we have already mentioned(²⁹). In the Assyrian-Chaldean rite, after the commixture, the priest removes the veil that had surrounded the chalice since the beginning of the Eucharistic sacrifice; this veil is called "Golgotha" because it symbolizes the tomb and the stone of the tomb. It is removed after the commixture because at that moment, the resurrection has taken place. We would like to address here the objection raised by some liturgists against the validity of this symbolism of the breaking and commingling. According to them, these two rites were originally merely utilitarian gestures: the bread was broken to distribute it, and a portion of a consecrated host from the previous day or from the bishop's mass was mixed with the Holy Blood to mark (albeit somewhat symbolically) the continuity of the Eucharistic sacrifice. The symbolism of death and resurrection would have been added later and would have only secondary importance. This reasoning, based as always on a purely historical and genetic conception, is, in reality, without value. Even if it were indeed the case originally as these liturgists claim — which is far from being proven, given that the symbolism we are discussing appears very early in liturgies and liturgical commentaries, both in the East and the West — it remains that the symbolism in question would not have been artificially added. It should be remembered, in fact, that any image, like any gesture, can have multiple meanings by its very nature, without all (²⁹): Very ancient symbolism already, for the West, in Amalarius, De eccles. off., 31.

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these meanings necessarily appearing at the same time. Furthermore, if the image or gesture, which is also a kind of image, is integrated into a whole, it is important not to consider them in isolation: the whole constitutes a global structure in which all parts and elements are interrelated and interact. The dominant element or elements of the structure regulate and guide the symbolism of the various images. Thus, in the case at hand, it is evident that the action of breaking bread and that of mixing bread with a liquid necessarily include, among their possible meanings, the most general one, namely: any act of breaking an object and any act of bringing two objects together. Moreover, since the dominant element of the mime-drama is the representation of the mystery of Christ under the species of bread and wine, which become His flesh and blood, it necessarily follows that breaking the host also signifies, and even fundamentally, breaking His body, and mixing the host, that is to say, His body, with the wine, which is His blood, necessarily signifies uniting His soul (the blood) with His body, thus resurrecting the being. It matters little, then, whether this symbolism was not perhaps immediately perceived; it is nevertheless inherent in the gestures themselves inserted into the overall structure. If we have dwelled somewhat extensively on this issue, it is because the problem arises and will arise again many times for other cases of symbolism regarding which the same objections have often been made by the same individuals. We will now immediately see a few examples of this. In the Armenian Mass, after the consecration, the priest raises the Holy Elements, saying that he commemorates in this way the Ascension of the Savior; then he gently moves them to the left (in relation to him), saying that he thus recalls the Sitting of the Son at the right hand of the Father. In the Roman rite, the Ascension is commemorated, according to liturgists, by the prayer "Supplices te rogamus": "We implore You, Almighty God, to command that these offerings be borne by the hands of Your holy Angel to Your sublime altar, in the presence of Your Divine Majesty... (cf. Rev. 5:6; 8:3-4)." Before communion, the Byzantine liturgy practices a rite that is not found anywhere else: the zon. This Greek word, which means "boiling," refers to the hot water that the priest pours, in the form of a cross, into the chalice, accompanied by these words: "The fervor of faith, filled with the Holy Spirit." This gesture commemorates the descent of the Spirit by Christ upon the Church after the conclusion of the redemptive work, since the sacrifice is accomplished.(³⁰)

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And indeed, the rituals we have just described commemorate, through word and gesture, all the stages of the mystery of salvation: if the consecration of the Holy Species accomplishes the immolation of the victim, the following rituals recall the resurrection, ascension, sitting at the right hand of the Father, as proclaimed in the very prayer of the anaphora(³¹), and, finally, the outpouring of the Holy Spirit that seals the economy of salvation. Thus, the God who is about to give Himself in communion is not a dead God but a living God; or, more precisely, He is a God both dead and alive, sacrificed and resurrected, and here we find what is essentially the essence of sacrifice, as we have defined it, death and resurrection, passing through death to enter into the divine world following God(³²). The final step of the sacrifice is communion. We have seen how participation in the offering through the consumption of it or a part of it is encountered in a large number of sacrifices: "eating the god" in order to revive with him, from his life, such is the end of the sacrifice. "If you do not eat My flesh, if you do not drink My blood, you will not have life within you." Christ could not find a more suitable means for our participation in His sacrifice than this one, which has come from the depths of ages and is common to all humanity. Food is the most appropriate symbol to represent the mystery of participation and communion with the divine. In itself, food is already a mystery. Eating is not merely a physiological act but a religious one, because we consume God's creations. Furthermore, each meal connects humans to the creative forces emanating from the eternal life of Divinity. This sentiment, so often forgotten in the modern world that has lost the religious sense of organic functions, still thrives among some peoples referred to as "savage." For example, the Kanak people in New Caledonia always eat in silence and are scandalized by the Europeans who chatter during meals because, for them, food is still the living vessel of the nourishing virtues of the soil and requires fervor and silent consumption(³³). Through food, humans therefore participate in a higher reality: they consume something that is rich (³⁰) See N. Cabasilas, op. cit. (³¹) See above, p. 39, and all the references after the Consecration. (³²) See above, p. 21 ff. cf. p. 17. (³³): Leenhardt, People of Grande-Terre, cited by Van der Leeuw, Religion as Essence and Manifestation, p. 349.

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because it comes from God, and in doing so, they partake in a mystery — the renewal of their bodies through the transubstantiation of the substances into their flesh. But in the sacrificial meal, the symbolism of food and its operation undergoes a radical change. There, indeed, the food, having been consecrated, is imbued with a power vastly superior to that which originally resides in food, and even in the case of the Eucharist, this food is entirely identified with Divinity. Thus, the relationship between man and this food is no longer that of ordinary meals. By virtue of the law that the greater necessarily surpasses the lesser, the consecrated food prevails over the one who consumes it. Man, undoubtedly, begins by “eating the God,” but immediately, through a complete reversal, it is “the God, one might say, who eats man,” assimilating him and elevating him to His own suprahuman plane of existence. This is what Saint Augustine understood and expressed well. In the Eucharist, man is assumed by Christ, Bread and Wine, and incorporated into Him, so that, according to the words of the Apostle Paul, “It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.” This intimate union of the soul with God in the Eucharist is also expressed through images of a different nature, belonging to the symbolism of marriage. The Eucharistic meal is not only a sacrificial meal, but it is also a wedding feast. The symbolism of marriage in Christianity is too well-known and extensive for us to consider explaining it here in detail, which, moreover, would go beyond the scope of this chapter. We will content ourselves with recalling its essential features to shed light on this aspect of the Eucharist. The conjugal union has always been regarded as the symbol of the union of Christ with the Church, both presented as the Bridegroom and the Bride. The most explicit passages in Scripture regarding this are found in the Epistle to the Ephesians and in the Book of Revelation. Saint Paul says that Christ loved the Church as a husband loves his wife. The husband loves his wife as his own body, and "he who loves his wife loves himself." We are members of the Body of Christ, and he then recalls the text from Genesis 2:24, "A man shall leave his father and mother and be joined to his wife, and the two shall become one flesh." "This is a great mystery," adds Saint Paul, "but I speak concerning Christ and the Church" (Ephesians 5:25-32). And elsewhere, he says to the Corinthians, "For I have betrothed you to one husband, that I may present you

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as a chaste virgin to Christ" (2 Corinthians 11:2). Similarly, in the Book of Revelation, especially in the final chapters, there is only talk of the "marriage supper of the Lamb" in the heavenly Jerusalem, which is His bride (Revelation 19:8 and 21:2, 9, 17), and the elect are invited to the "wedding feast of the Lamb" (Revelation 19:9), a feast of immortality where the Lamb Himself is given as food to the elect. Here, we grasp the point of connection between the nuptial symbolism and the symbolism of nourishment, two symbolisms whose proximity is well known in psychology and anthropology. Let us add that in Christianity, nuptial symbolism is an inheritance from the Jews, among whom the community of Israel was often likened to the Bride of the Eternal, and this theme received splendid development in the Song of Solomon, from where it passed on to the entire lineage of mystics. Here, it is not just the "community" of the faithful but the soul of each one of them that is the spouse of Divinity. However, it is not so much this reference to Judaism that will hold our attention, for here we are less concerned with biblical typology than with universal typology. What interests us is to observe that the use of nuptial symbols in a sacred mystery, a mimed drama like the Mass, is, just like the use of symbols of nourishment, a practice that belongs to the very core of humanity and universal sacredness. In both cases, it is a realization of the sacredness of physiological functions. But, with love, one naturally reaches a much higher level. In human love, if it is intense enough, one easily discovers a metaphysical essence in one of its characteristics, which is transcendence: transcendence in relation to the individual being. Love is one of those things that transport the individual beyond oneself, that shift the center of oneself beyond oneself. It is one of the paths that open a door to the individual's instinct to go beyond their limits. In love, indeed, a person comes into contact with the divine creative Energy, and it can be said that love is an extension of the creative act(³⁴). All of this is well-known in traditional societies where marriage is assimilated to a sacred mystery. In ancient Greece, for example, marriage (gamos) took place according to a ritual similar to that of initiation, which sometimes bore the (³⁴): According to Mohyiddin Ibn-Arabi, in his book Fuçuç-al-hikam, "The conjugal act corresponds to the projection of the Divine Will onto that which, at the very moment He created it, He created in His own form to recognize Himself therein." The woman is "like the Universal Nature (at-tabi'ah) in relation to God. It is in the Universal Nature that God brings forth the forms of the world through the projection of His Will and through the Divine Act, which manifests itself as a sexual act in the world of forms constituted by the elements and as a spiritual will in the world of spirits of light."

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name tlos or tlia, and during which the same formula was pronounced: "I have escaped evil, I have found the good(³⁵)," which signifies the awareness of a new life beginning and containing a new power. In India, the conjugal act is expressly considered as an extension of creation, as we were discussing earlier: the husband is assimilated to Purusha, the creative principle, and the wife to Prakriti, the universal Nature, with the creation of the universe being produced by the union of the Divinity with universal Nature(³⁶). The same perspective explains the hierogamies of the ancient Mysteries we mentioned (³⁷), which served as a representation of union with divinity. This is the context in which the nuptial symbolism of the Eucharist is situated, expressly linked by Saint Paul, as we have seen, to the marriage of spouses. For, according to Genesis, "the man and the woman are no longer two but one flesh," and "he who is united to the Lord (in communion) is no more than one spirit with Him (1 Corinthians 6:15-17)." The union of the spouses is sealed with a kiss, and this occupies a very important place in the mimodrama of the Mass. To focus on the essentials, we will only mention the most characteristic one, the kiss at the altar. It is known that the altar is assimilated with Christ himself, and we will talk about this soon; therefore, the kiss at the altar is the kiss given to Christ, it is the kiss of the Bride to the divine Bridegroom, through the priest who represents the assembly of the faithful. In the Roman rite, the priest kisses the altar up to eight times during the Mass; especially before turning towards the faithful to greet them with "Dominus vobiscum." One can see the highly suggestive meaning of this gesture: through the kiss, which symbolically reiterates the union with Christ, the priest receives strength from above, and he turns towards the faithful, hands extended to pour out graces upon them. The priest "takes" Christ through the kiss and transmits Him to the people: "May the Lord be with you," with you in the nuptial union that He has desired. It is not just a simple greeting but a transmission of grace. Likewise, for the kiss of peace before communion. The priest kisses the altar (³⁵): Ephygon kakôn, hèvron àminon. (³⁶): It is a conception similar to that of Ibn-Arabi: above, note 34. (³⁷): Above, pages 45-46.

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and, through the deacon, imparts the kiss of peace to the people: "May peace be with you." It is Christ who gives the kiss to His Bride, a symbol of the communion of the faithful with each other — peace — a union that leads back to Christ. "The divine kiss," as Maximus the Confessor says, "is the sign of the union of all souls in God... Through this union, those who are worthy attain intimacy with the Word and with God; for the mouth is the symbol of the word 'through whom all men communicate with one another,' being endowed with the faculty of speech and thus participating in the only Word, the cause of all words(³⁸)." And we will conclude with a magnificent comment by Saint Dionysius the Areopagite, who places the rite of the kiss of peace in the final perspective of the entire Divine Liturgy: "We exchange the most divine kiss of peace in a holy manner, for it is impossible to gather ourselves to attain the One, nor to participate in the peaceful union of the One, if we remain divided from ourselves. If, on the contrary, through the lights that come to us from the contemplation and knowledge of the One, we manage to gather ourselves and unify ourselves in a truly divine way, we will never succumb again to the diversity of those desires that foment material and passionate dissensions among peers. It seems to me, therefore, that it is this unified and indivisible life that the sacred ceremony of the kiss of peace prescribes, merging the one who assimilates to God in the One who is the source of this assimilation(³⁹)."

(³⁸): Mystagogie, 1, 21; 17. (³⁹): Hierarch. eccl. 3, 8.

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CHAPTER IV THE ALTAR OF THE LORD

A mimodrama is not an abstract creation detached from the conditions of time and place. The words and gestures performed by its actors are connected to the space, and mimodrama cannot do without a "place," which is just as necessary for it in a certain way as the characters who play it. The "place" of the mimodrama of the Mass is the Altar. The altar is the most sacred object of the temple, the reason for its existence and its very essence since, in case of necessity, one can celebrate the divine liturgy outside of a church, but it is impossible to do so without a stone altar or, in the Byzantine rite, a substitute for the altar, the antiminsion, a sacred cloth on which, by the way, the Gifts are placed even when celebrating on an altar. "The altar," as N. Cabasilas says, "is the starting point of every sacramental function. The true temple is the altar... the rest of the building is merely a complement, an imitation of the altar(¹)." One can grasp the eminent sanctity of the altar by remembering the care that the ritual provides for its consecration(²). The august sanctity of the altar does not always appear to the eyes of the faithful since the Latin Church has made it a table in the shape of an elongated rectangle, too often, moreover, cluttered with undesirable superstructures when the altar is improperly attached to the wall of the apse. The altar, indeed, is not merely a "table," the table of the Eucharistic banquet; it is also, and foremost, a "stone," the stone of sacrifice(³). The altar, in the (¹) N. Cabasilas, Life in Jesus Christ, chapter 5. (²) See, in particular, the issue of Maison-Dieu on the Altar and, for the East, the Consecration and Inauguration of a church according to the ritual of the Russian Church (Byzantine ritual), Chevetogne, 1957.

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strict sense, what is called the "fixed altar," is a unique natural stone resting on a base, itself made of stone or, at the very least, four stone pillars. In wooden altars, only the stone embedded in the center of this table deserves to be called an altar and is, properly speaking, a "movable altar." The true form of the altar is that of all early Christian altars, that is, the cubic altar, of small dimensions (about 1 meter on each side), made either of a solid single stone or, as mentioned earlier, a stone slab supported by four columns of the same material (see illustration). Such is still the altar in the East, at least where the East has not sought to imitate the Latin Church, as unfortunately happens all too often. Standing prominently in the apse without any untimely surroundings, adorned simply with the large cross of the luminary and, possibly, a few offerings of flowers, this altar truly exudes a hieratic presence and a sacred character in accordance with the celebration it hosts. For the Christian altar derives its sublimity from its heavenly archetype, the Altar of the heavenly Jerusalem, where the Lamb "has been slain since the foundation of the world." Furthermore, it is also the successor and synthesis of the Hebrew altars, just as the Mass is the synthesis and sublimation of the sacrifices of the Old Law. What a striking connection, for instance, between the altar raised by Moses at the foot of Sinai, where the blood of the victim is offered, half to God and the rest sprinkled upon the people to seal the First Covenant (Exodus 24:4-8), and the altar of the Mass, upon which the blood of the New Covenant is poured out to the Lord, then distributed to the people, sealing the reconciliation of man with God! In the Temple of Jerusalem, there were three altars: between the courtyard and the "Holy Place," there stood the proper altar of burnt offerings, where the daily sacrifice of the lamb was made. In the "Holy Place," with the seven-branched candlestick, were located the altar of incense and the table of the showbread, that is, the offering; finally, in the "Holy of Holies," there was not an altar per se, but a particularly sacred stone, the Foundation Stone, upon which the Ark of the Covenant rested before its disappearance. In the Christian temple, which replaces the Temple of (³): From the apostolic age onward, both terms were used concurrently. Saint Paul, in the same context in 1 Corinthians 10:14-21, speaks of the "table of the Lord" (trapeza tou Kyriou) and participation in the "altar" (thysiastirion); the latter term is applied to the Cross in the Epistle to the Hebrews 13:10. The original use of ordinary tables for the Eucharist can be explained by historical circumstances, as the celebrations originally took place in private homes. However, this primitive practice was abolished in both the East and the West in the 5th century. It is quite instructive to remember that in England, a decree in 1550, renewed by Queen Elizabeth, ordered the replacement of the old church altars with simple tables to be more in line with the representation of a simple commemorative meal (see J. Coblet, Hist. du sacrement de l'Eucharistie, Paris, 1886, vol. II, pp. 66-67; J. Braun, Der Christliche Altar, vol. 1, p. 71; R. Zinhobler, Linzer Theolog. Quartalschrift, Issue 3, 1970, p. 147).

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Jerusalem, the main altar is the synthesis of these different altars: the altar of burnt offerings, where the Lamb of God is sacrificed, along with the table of the showbread, that is, the Eucharistic bread; it is the altar of incense where incense is burned, as we will revisit; finally, it is not an exaggeration to say that it plays the role of the Foundation Stone supporting the Ark where the Shekinah, the "Glory" or the "Divine Presence," was manifested, since here God becomes substantially present, especially considering that the Shekinah has certain connections with the earthly manifestation of the Word(⁴). The grand preface of the Roman Pontifical for the consecration of the altar ritually connects the Christian altar, not only to the altar of Moses but also to that of Jacob, to that of Abraham; even better, it links it to all the altars of humanity, from Abel's to Melchizedek's(⁵). It is worth emphasizing the altar of Jacob a little more because it reveals a completely essential aspect of the altar in general and its symbolism. The event from which one must begin is the anointing by Jacob of the Stone of Bethel (Gen. 28, 11-19). Jacob, on his way to Mesopotamia, stops and sleeps on the ground; a stone serves as his pillow. During his sleep, he dreams of an open sky and a ladder connecting the earth to heaven, upon which angels ascend and descend; and at the top stands the Eternal. Upon waking, Jacob exclaims, "This place is awe-inspiring, it is the House of God (Beth-El) and the Gate of Heaven." And he poured oil on the stone, thus making it an altar to commemorate his vision. In the consecration ritual, the priest repeats the gesture of the Patriarch by pouring holy oils on the sacred stone, while singing a chant recalling Jacob's gesture. Thus, the altar stone is ritually assimilated to Jacob's stone. (⁴): The word "shekinah" is derived from the Hebrew verb "shakan," which means "to dwell under the tent." This tent served as the temple for the Hebrews during their wilderness wanderings and continued to refer to the place of the Divine Presence in Jerusalem. The Greek word "skéné," which was used to translate "shekinah" in the Septuagint (e.g., Lev. 23:34; Matt. 10:6), may perhaps have some etymological connection with the Hebrew word, as it reproduces the three consonants of the root verb. In any case, this "assonance" carries symbolic significance in terms of what can be called symbolic etymology. What is particularly remarkable regarding the relationship between the incarnate Son of God and the Shekinah is that the Gospel of Saint John (1:14) precisely employs the Greek verb "skénoun," an exact translation of "shakan," to convey that the Word made flesh "dwelt among us": "και ο λογος... εσκηνωσεν εν ημιν," which literally means "pitched His tent among us." For further insight on this matter, refer to L. Bouyer, "La Shekinah: Dieu avec nous" (The Shekinah: God with Us), "Bible et Vie chrétienne" 20, 1957, p. 7 ff. (⁵): One cannot exaggerate enough the importance of Melchizedek from various perspectives concerning the Judeo-Christian tradition because it was through him that the Jewish people received, before Moses, the deposit of primitive orthodoxy.

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If this stone is surrounded by such veneration, it is because it holds a great mystery, and this mystery resides in the fact that it is located at the "center of the world"(⁶). The notion of the "center of the world" is the foundation of many rituals in all religions. This "center of the world" is not a geographical center, at least not in the sense of modern geographical science; it is a symbolic center (which does not mean imaginary, quite the contrary), based on geometric symbolism. Since the universe is represented by a sphere or a circle, and the center is the most precious point, as it is the one that generates the entire figure, in a spiritual sense, we symbolically place at the "center of the world" and on the "axis of the world" any sacred object or place that allows one to connect with the spiritual Center, that is to say, God Himself, who is the center, the origin, and the end of the entire sphere of creation. Jacob's altar is located at the "center of the world," as the sacred text suggests when it speaks of the "angels' ladder." This ladder represents the "axis of the world," with its lower end resting on the earth and its upper end constituting the "gate of heaven." It serves as the natural path for angels, who act as "messengers" from Heaven to Earth and as executors of celestial will. The altar materializes the point of intersection of this axis with the earth's surface. Thus, through the consecration rite, the Christian altar, like Jacob's, becomes the "center of the world" and is positioned on the earth-heaven axis, making it suitable to become the site of a theophany, a divine manifestation, the place where the celestial world makes contact with the earthly world. It is this place that the Son of God has chosen to offer Himself for us, as it is written in the Psalms: "You have worked salvation in the midst of the earth" (Psalm 73). Through this sacrifice, He restores the axial communication with God, reopens the "gate of heaven," and truly makes the temple a Bethel, a "house of God." We have previously stated that in the Temple of Jerusalem, there was a sacred stone called "shethiyah" upon which the Ark rested. This stone also represented the "center of the world"; its name means "cornerstone," and according to Hebrew tradition, it was upon this stone that God built the world. It is the center of the great cosmic circle, which is why the Holy of Holies and,

(⁶): According to tradition, Jacob's stone is said to have been transported to Mount Zion, where it became the Rock of Ornan, above which David erected the altar of burnt offerings. This is El-Sakhra, "the Rock," which can still be seen today in the Mosque of Omar. See Ch. Ledit, "The Mosque on the Rock."

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consequently, the entire city of Jerusalem were situated at the "center of the world." There is no doubt that the altar stone, as well as the entire altar, has certain connections with the shethiyah stone, as we will soon see. Let us immediately state that the cosmic pattern of cardinal directions is reproduced on the altar stone; indeed, five crosses are engraved on it, one in each corner and one in the center. "The four crosses," as Durand of Mende explains, "signify that Christ redeemed the four parts of the world... The cross in the middle of the altar signifies that the Savior accomplished our redemption at the center of the world, that is, in Jerusalem(⁷)." But there is more; the altar stone and the altar itself are likened to Christ Himself. On this point, all the Fathers agree. Saint Ignatius of Antioch writes: "Come together, all of you, in the same temple of God, at the foot of the same altar, that is, in Jesus Christ(⁸)." The altar is Christ, says Saint Cyril of Jerusalem, for "Christ is the chosen stone, the cornerstone, the precious stone(⁹)." Similarly, Symeon of Thessaloniki states: "The altar symbolizes Jesus, called the 'Rock of Life' (pétran zoïs) and the 'cornerstone' (lithon gonias)(¹⁰)." This identification of the altar with Christ seems to be based on a passage from Scripture that says, speaking of Christ: "We have an altar" (Hebrews 13:1), and this passage should be related to the famous verses from the first Epistle to the Corinthians (1 Corinthians 1:4): "Our fathers were all under the cloud, and they all passed through the sea, and they were all baptized into Moses. They all ate the same spiritual food and drank the same spiritual drink; for they drank from a spiritual rock that followed them, and that rock was Christ (hi ptra d in ho Christs)." This statement by Saint Paul is in line with the most authentic Hebrew tradition. The Lord had long been associated with the stone and the rock, and it was from Him that the Israelites claimed to be descended: "You have forsaken the Rock who bore you, and you have forgotten the Mighty God" (Deuteronomy 32:18). "Look to the rock from which you were hewn, and to the quarry from which you were dug" (Isaiah 51:1). This

(⁷): Rationale, I, 7. (⁸) Ad Magnes, 6. (⁹) P.G. 68, 592-593 et 647. (¹⁰) De sacro templo, 107 (P.G. 155, 313). Cf. Hesychius de Jerusalem (P.G. 93, 796-797 et 828); Saint Ephrem, Hom. on the crucifixion (Lamy I, 660) : Symeon the New Theologian, De sacra liturgia, 98 (P.G. 155, 293) ; Moïse Bar-Kepha, Expl. des myst. de l’oblation (Connoly, 675 ; Denys Bar-Salibi, Expos. de la liturgie, C.S.S.O. 93, p. 87 et 93.

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symbolism of the stone also pertains to the Messiah. The text from Isaiah, "I will make a tested stone the cornerstone, precious, and firmly placed; he who believes in it will not be put to shame" (Isaiah 28:16), is applied to the Messiah by Saint Peter (1 Peter 2:5-6) and Saint Paul (Romans 9:33)(¹¹). Inside, Christ is both the “cornerstone” (shethiyah) and the “keystone” (rosh ha-pinnah) in Hebrew. The cornerstone is cubic, symbolizing, in the architectural realm, the earth; spiritually, it is the Word in the world. The keystone, or capstone, located at the top of the structure, has a “heavenly” appearance and represents the glorious Christ, seated at the right hand of the Father, “completing the construction” of the Church. In the temple, the shethiyah stone (altar) below corresponds to the keystone or capstone in the vault, the “top of the corner.” These two stones are positioned on the same vertical line, which is the “central pillar.” This pillar is “virtual” in the sense that it is not materialized (except in the case of pendentive keystones, which constitute a partial materialization). However, this does not prevent it from playing a crucial role, as the entire structure is organized around it. It represents the axis of the world. Finally, the ciborium or canopy repeats and clarifies all this symbolism. The canopy is a piece of furniture consisting of a dome supported by four columns and, in principle, should cover the main altar. (Many churches still adhere to this rule of the canopy.) The canopy's design is a cube (the four columns) surmounted by a half-sphere, which is the very schema of the sanctuary, the entire temple, and the universe (the sky above the earth). One cannot better suggest that the altar is at the center of the world. The axial pillar that connects the two Christic stones is the "path of salvation"; the keystone is the "gate to heaven" (janua cœli) like the summit of Jacob's Ladder. Cosmologically, this axis is the Axis of the World, and theologically, it is the Way, that is to say, Christ Himself, who said: "I am the Way."

(¹¹): We summarize here the considerations that we have developed on the relationship between the cornerstone and the keystone in our Symbolism of the Christian temple. The Christic symbolism of the stone is emphasized by the fact that in Hebrew, the word for stone 'aben' (pronounced 'eben') is synonymous with 'aben,' a reinforced form of 'ben,' meaning 'Son.' It is also noteworthy that the number for 'aben' and that of 'dabar,' 'the Word,' obtained by reduction, is the same: 8. And the triple repetition of this number, 888, is that of the name of Jesus in Greek.

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The axial nature of the altar's position is further emphasized by another symbolism. The steps, which are customary for the erection of an altar, remind us that it stands on the "Holy Mountain," which is an image of the world and paradise(¹²). This is already demonstrated by the liturgy of the Mass when the priest recites the Psalm Judica me at the very beginning, a psalm that the Israelites sang as they ascended Mount Zion to go to the Temple: "Send me Your light and Your truth; they will guide me and lead me to Your holy mountain and into Your tabernacle. And I will come to the Altar of the Lord." The Christian altar is also Mount Zion, where the Cenacle was located, but even more so, the mount of Golgotha, where Christ offered himself as a victim on the altar of the Cross, which is concretely recalled by the large crucifix placed on the Christian altar for the celebration of the Divine Liturgy. And if this sacrifice took place on Golgotha, it necessarily holds a meaning linked to the spiritual significance of the mountain, as suggested by the fact that it was on a mountain that Christ often withdrew to pray and performed essential acts of His mission: the Mount of Beatitudes, the Mount of Tabor, the Mount of Olives, which is both the mountain of agony and the mountain of the Ascension. The mountain belongs to the category of these great universal symbols, constituting the natural language of every sacred action and every liturgy. The mountain is indeed a striking image. It is the place where the earth comes closest to the sky; vertical, its peak reaching towards the heavens, it invites us to ascend to God; surrounded by clouds, the seat of terrible storms, it appears as a privileged manifestation of divine power; it is both the place of theophany and the symbol of our spiritual ascent. Reduced to its schema, the pyramid, it is an ordered volume around an axis, a volume that is self-sufficient and thus offers a summary of the world: rooted in the earth, resting on the ground, touching the sky with which it mysteriously unites through lightning, it connects the three "levels" of the world: underworld, earth, and heaven. This axis of the mountain is identified with the Axis of the World. This explains the various traditions related to this cosmic mountain, which is almost always identified with Paradise. In Iran, Mount Alborz marks the center of the world; the source of life forms a lake in the middle of which the Tree of Life — (¹²): Let's immediately address the objection of those who see in the stands only a means to elevate the altar and make it more visible to the congregation by saying that symbolism does not eliminate the utilitarian role, but inversely, the utilitarian role does not eliminate symbolism, at least true symbolism, because it is inherent in the very nature of things; which is evident in the case at hand.

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another axial symbol — rises, and its waters flow down into four rivers towards the four regions of space. In India, Mount Meru is the highest point on earth, the place where one reaches the sky. It is the center of everything and the North Pole, that is, the fixed pole of the world. On Meru, there is also a lake where the water of life gathers, along with a garden of delights and the Tree of Bliss, the apple tree. Everywhere, the holy mountain is the one where, after the flood, the ark of salvation came to rest; Noah's ark, for example, came to rest at the summit of Ararat, and it was from this summit that the new humanity originated. As the determinant of the world axis, the place where the earth unites with the sky, the mountain plays a symbolic role similar to that of stone and tree in religious rites. It is certain that altars were often erected and temples built at the summit of a mountain, representing the cosmic mountain. It is also known that the Hindu temple is modeled after Mount Meru in its architectural layout: stairs allow one to ascend to the peak, and the faithful who climb them engage in a ritual ascent towards heaven, with the summit identified with the latter, as the original paradise was located at the top of the cosmic mountain. The same idea can be found in Durand of Mende's discussion of the Christian altar. The steps of the altar, he says, recall the fifteen steps that led to the Temple of Solomon and that were climbed while singing the fifteen psalms known as the "psalms of degrees." Both of these, he continues, symbolize the fifteen virtues that lead to heaven; that is why the steps are also the degrees of Jacob's Ladder, which also led to heaven.(¹³) In light of all that precedes, the Sacrifice of Calvary takes on striking significance: Jesus wanted His death, through which the new creation was accomplished, to take place on the mountain, a synthetic image, the center and summit of the world, on this axis that connects the earth to heaven and where the original Paradise reappears. The complete symbolism of the mountain of salvation has often been depicted in early and Byzantine Christian art. We see Christ standing or sitting at the top of the mountain from which the rivers of paradise flow; sometimes, He is seated in the Tree of Life, merged with the Cross, next to which the Fountain of Life springs forth, (¹³): Durand of Mende, Rationale 1, 2. It is presumably because of the number of steps in the Solomonian temple that the number of steps of the altar is necessarily odd. In general, there are three steps, in relation to the constituent triad of man: body, soul, spirit; which does not distance us from the ascending symbolism, for these three elements of the human microcosm correspond to the higher levels of the macrocosm: earth, air, empyrean, themselves corresponding to the three planes of existence: material, subtle, spiritual, and, from another perspective, to the three degrees of initiation (in Christianity: baptism, confirmation, Eucharist).

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divided into four branches. Christ, the new Adam, restores paradise. He is the Tree of Life and the Source from which the living waters of eternal life flow to the four regions of the universe. This image is a remarkable plastic expression of the Eucharistic mystery, renewing the sacrifice of Golgotha, restoring the world to its primordial purity, and reestablishing communication between heaven and earth. Therefore, when, after the initial prayers of the Mass, the priest ascends to the altar, he climbs the Mountain of Salvation and, at the center and summit of the world, renews the sacrifice that is to save him.

The symbolism of the altar is expressed on another plane as well, that of light. Lit candles on the altar are obligatory for celebrating the Divine Liturgy because Christ is "the Light of the world." In the Syriac liturgy, the lighting of candles is part of the service itself, and during this rite, two beautiful prayers are sung: "By Your light, we see the light, Jesus full of light. You are the true Light that illuminates all creatures; enlighten us with Your beautiful Light, O Icon of the Heavenly Father." "O Pure and Holy One, who dwells in the realms of light, distance from us evil passions and impure thoughts. Grant us the ability to perform works of justice with purity of heart." But this general meaning of the candles in themselves is accompanied by a specific meaning that results from their number. There should be six candles on the altar, three on each side of the cross. However, it is almost certain that these six candles should indeed be seven, as demonstrated, in particular, by the rule for the episcopal mass, which requires seven candles, and the practice of the Byzantines who use a true seven-branched candelabrum. In any case, the central cross plays the role of the seventh candle, as we will see. This luminary is the Christian version of the seven-branched candelabrum of the Hebrews, called the menorah, which was made of a central straight branch and six branches curved in concentric half-circles. The seven branches were connected by internal channels filled with consecrated olive oil that fueled the lamps. Like the Ark, the menorah had been executed according to a heavenly model seen by Moses on the mountain (Numbers 8:4; cf. Exodus 25:34; 37:20-23; Leviticus 24:2-4; 6:5-6). If the menorah has been incorporated into Christian worship, it is because it also belongs to the New Testament. In the

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Apocalypse, Christ appears surrounded by seven candlesticks (Revelation 2:1), and this appearance closely resembles the one seen by the prophet Zechariah (Zechariah 3:9). The number of lamps, seven, has a cosmological and theological significance. Seven, considered as 3 + 4, is the sign of divine relations with Creation, with 3 representing the divine world and 4 representing the created world. Hence, the seven days of Creation, an expression in time of the relations between the created and the uncreated, of which the seven planets are an expression in space. Philo and Clement of Alexandria affirm that the seven branches of the menorah represent the planets, with the middle one being the sun, which gives its light to all, and which Clement identifies with Christ, the "Sun of Righteousness"(¹⁴). For cosmic symbolism encompasses theological symbolism. The latter is based on the mystical doctrine of the Sephiroth, which is also found in Saint John(¹⁵). The Sephiroth, which are aspects of Divinity, or even His Energies, numbering ten, are divided into two groups: the three upper Sephiroth relate to the divine Nature, and the seven lower ones are the Attributes of God, or also the Energies or Powers that preside over Creation. The lower Sephiroth are the radiations of God, the influences He spreads throughout the universe, the lights through which the Unfathomable reveals Himself, the instruments by which the divine Architect constructs Creation and maintains its harmony. These Sephiroth are commonly referred to as "Voices," "Thunders," "Lamps," and "Eyes," which allows us to understand the passage from the Apocalypse (5, 6) where it is said that the Lamb has seven eyes, which are the seven spirits of God. These "eyes" are the same as the "seven burning lamps" before the throne (4, 5). Similarly, in the prophecy of Zechariah (3, 9), seven eyes are engraved on the mysterious stone, which we have mentioned earlier and which represents the Messiah. In all these cases, it concerns the seven lower Sephiroth or creative powers of God, and in particular, the divine Word. It is easy, therefore, to understand the profound significance of the luminary on the altar. The seven lights (most often reduced to six, with the seventh merging with the central Crucifix) recall the seven spiritual lights before the heavenly throne of (¹⁴): Philo, Vit. Mos. 2, 102 ss. ; Clem. Al. Strom., V 6, 34,8 ss. (¹⁵): See A. Frank-Duquesne in Cahiers du symbolisme chrétien 3, 1938.

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Christ; they represent the entire world and, more precisely, the world transfigured by the divine presence of Christ, whose seven powers are in action within him. This world, restored in its purity, exists today only within the sanctuary and thanks to the divine operation of the Mass: this spiritualized world that the lamps point to in our sight is ultimately the Church and the Mystical Body, the Church with its seven sacraments, originating from the altar, the Stone with seven eyes! illuminating the faithful and uniting them to form the Mystical Body, which is already "the new earth and the new heavens." The divine liturgy of the Mass fully realizes the meaning of the Hebrew liturgy, especially that of the Feast of Tabernacles and the Sabbath. The Feast of Tabernacles (Sukkot) extended over 7 days dedicated to the 7 patriarchs, who "embody" the 7 sephiroth guarding the harmony of the world. Similarly, the Sabbath liturgy, or the 7th day, celebrated the universal balance through blessings descending from the 7 sephiroth or spirits of God. The relationship between the altar lamp and the celestial candlestick of the Apocalypse was sometimes emphasized in Romanesque churches by the paintings decorating the vaults of the apse above the altar. This vault, an image of the celestial dome, regularly bore the icon of the Pantocrator seated on the royal throne. However, in some cases, for example, in the crypt of Saint-Etienne in Auxerre, the seven-branched celestial candlestick is painted in front of the throne of Christ. Thus, through truly sacred art, it was suggested the purpose of the liturgy which, through the altar, restores communication between earth and heaven and brings down upon the world, for its renewal, the grace and peace emanating from the Sevenfold Light.

It is still the light that determines another characteristic of the altar: we want to talk about its orientation. We are addressing here a problem that is very important in itself but has become even more so in recent days due to the controversies that have arisen about it. The altar must regularly be oriented to the East, toward the apse in normal

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churches, that is to say, churches themselves oriented to the East. Let us hasten to say, moreover, that the orientation of the temple is a consequence of the orientation of the altar, and that this, in turn, is a consequence of the orientation of prayer(¹⁶): This is where we must start; the fundamental fact that governs everything is this: the priest and the faithful pray and sacrifice facing the East. This rule has been attested since early Christian antiquity, for example in the Apostolic Constitutions (2, 7). We also read that in the house of Hipparchus, one of the members of the early Judeo-Christian communities, there was a room arranged for prayer: a cross was painted on the eastern wall, and it was there that, facing the East, Hipparchus prayed seven times a day(¹⁷). The antiquity of this rule of prayer and its early generalization of church orientation is now a well-established fact that we need not revisit(¹⁸). The orientation for prayer and sacrifice is not a particular habit in Christianity; it is universal and meticulously regulated in all religions. The reason for this is that every human act, but especially every sacred act, must be performed in harmony with the cosmic environment, because it simultaneously exerts certain subtle influences on human beings and their actions, influences that should not be neglected at all. On the other hand, it is full of symbols that "speak" to humans of divinity and help them concentrate all the powers of their minds on the act to be performed. This is particularly true of light and the sun, which have always been privileged symbols of divinity everywhere. God is light, and natural light naturally leads us to this transcendent Light. The light of the sun is the cause of sensory perception and knowledge, as well as physical life, just as God is the cause of knowledge and life for the spirit. "In You," says the psalmist, "is the source of life, and in Your Light, we see light (Psalm 35)." But special attention must be given to the movement of the sun, whose daily course rhythmically shapes life on Earth, and whose different "stations" in the signs of the zodiac determine the year, seasons, and, on a much higher level, the great cycles of human evolution. It is primarily the daily cycle that is considered in the (¹⁶): See J. Hani, op. cit., pages 51-58. (¹⁷): The Acts of Hipparchus and Philothea cited in J. Daniélou, Theology of Judeo-Christianity, 1960, p. 292. (¹⁸): See, on this subject, the definitive studies by Cyril Vogel, "Sol æquinoctialis," Rev. d. Sc. Relig., 1962, 175-211; "Versus ad Orientem," La Maison-Dieu 7, 1962, 67-99; "L'orientation vers l’Est," L’Orient syrien 9, 1964, 3-35. Previously: E. Peterson, "La croce e la preghiera verso l’Oriente," Ephemer. liturg. 59, 1945.

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orientation of prayer and sacrifice, especially the rising sun, a sign of rebirth. "The heavens," the psalmist says, "declare the glory of the Lord, and the firmament reveals the work of His hands... He has set a tent for the sun, which, like a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, rejoices as a strong man to run his race. Its rising is from the end of the heavens, and its circuit to the end of them, and there is nothing hidden from its heat" (Psalm 18). This is the profound reason for liturgical orientation: "The East," says Clement of Alexandria, "is the image of the rising day. From this direction, light emerges from the darkness where ignorance stagnates and from which the day of knowledge of the truth has emerged, just as the sun rises. It is therefore normal for prayers to be directed toward the dawn(¹⁹)." In the Old Testament, the symbolism of the rising sun received remarkable confirmation in one of Ezekiel's visions: the prophet, led by God to the eastern gate of the temple, saw "the Glory of the God of Israel coming from the East. The Glory of the Lord entered the house through the gate facing east" (Ezekiel 43:2, 4, 7). Genesis also tells us that the primordial Paradise was located in the east (Genesis 2:8). Furthermore, Christ, who said, "I am the light of the world" (John 8:12), was announced by the prophets as the "rising sun" and the "sun of righteousness" (Malachi 3:2). In Zechariah, God says, speaking of the Messiah, "I will bring my servant, the Branch, from the east" (Zechariah 3:8), a motif remembered by another Zechariah when, holding the infant Messiah in his arms, he proclaimed, "The Sunrise shall visit us from on high to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace" (Luke 1:79-8). Finally, in the New Testament, the East took on a distinctly eschatological character. Christ announced His return at the end of times in these terms: "For as the lightning comes from the east and shines as far as the west, so will be the coming of the Son of Man" (Matthew 24:27). Moreover, Christ had also said that at the moment of His Parousia, "the sign of the Son of Man" would appear in the sky (ibid., 3), which is the Cross, celebrated by Saint Ephrem in one of his hymns "as the scepter of Christ the great King... surpassing the brightness of the sun and preceding the coming of the Master of all things." Therefore, the early Christian communities, as we mentioned earlier with regard to Hipparchus, placed a cross on the eastern wall of their places of worship; thus, during their services, their gaze was directed toward this anticipation of the Parousia. This practice continued during the early centuries and is what has given us those magnificent apses (¹⁹): Strom. 7,7. Cf. Origen, De orat. P.G. 11, 555.

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decorated with mosaics representing, against a starry background, a vast golden cross, as seen, for example, at San Vitale in Ravenna. The same eschatological symbolism, in a different form, is offered in later periods by the decoration of the apse vault with the image of the glorified Christ from the Book of Revelation, the Pantocrator, as discussed earlier. This rule of the orientation of temples should clarify and resolve the irritating issue of celebrating Mass "facing the people." Indeed, since the Latin Church undertook its famous liturgical reform, we have seen another altar emerge everywhere in front of the old high altar, often made of a wooden table, oriented in the opposite direction of the old altar, that is, facing the congregation, to allow the priest to celebrate while looking at the faithful. The proponents of this practice, who saw it as a means of strengthening the bond between the celebrant and the faithful, attempted to justify their reform by claiming that it was the primitive way of celebrating Mass. However, their argument is entirely fallacious. It is true, certainly, that in most Roman basilicas, especially at Saint Peter's, Mass was and still is celebrated at an altar located at the transept crossing and facing the congregation. The real reason for this state of affairs is that these basilicas, built according to the customs of the ancient Romans, have their entrance in the East and their apse in the West; consequently, the celebrant turned towards the East and, thereby, faced the congregation. But in properly oriented churches, the celebrant, for the same reason of orientation, turned his back to the congregation. There was never originally any theory of Mass "facing the people"; only orientation was considered. Therefore, the argument put forth by the promoters of the current liturgical reform is simply an archaeological blunder, and it backfires on them, who generally make a profession of disregarding the rule of orientation. It was to avoid the inconvenience — for it is one, as we shall see — presented by Roman basilicas that people everywhere thought to build churches, mainly in Eastern countries, with their apse in the East, in which the altar, celebrant, and congregation are all turned in the same authentically sacred direction, based on Scripture and, furthermore, canonical, which seems to be forgotten. Indeed, the inconvenience in the case of Rome was that if the celebrant was properly oriented, the faithful were not. Now, this is important because in the oldest Christian symbolism — as in most traditions — the West is the land of death and darkness because it is where the sun disappears. It is known that in the ancient baptismal ritual, the candidate was solemnly invited to turn towards the West to renounce sin and the Devil, symbolically located in that

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direction, and then to turn towards the East, i.e., towards the Christ-Sun, to begin their new life(²⁰). The central axis of the Christian temple is formed by this same West-East line; the baptistery is built to the West because it is the place of passage out of darkness, the Red Sea symbolized by the pool, which must be crossed to leave the world of darkness and death and then undertake the journey toward the light. The newly baptized, after the baptismal bath, processionally enters the temple and moves toward the altar, located like the apse to the east, representing the kingdom of eternal light. This direction also governs the position of the Christian assembly and the celebrant for the Divine Liturgy, which is also a journey toward the Christic light and an anticipation of the eschatological Kingdom. This is why, in properly oriented churches, celebrating Mass "facing the people," turning one's back to the light, is an aberration, and more serious than one might think, as it brings about a true rupture in the journey from darkness to light that we have just mentioned. We are facing a reversal of the symbol. Now, the inversion of symbols is a serious act. Those who currently celebrate Mass in this way probably do not know, but the small group of those who decided on this reform knew what they were doing, or at least were "guided" by others who "knew" and had the means to push them through certain "suggestions," without the "subjects" even realizing it. All of this, obviously, is hardly understandable to most of our contemporaries, including the hierarchical Church itself, even among its highest representatives, who no longer know the real nature of the symbol or, especially, its potentialities. When a symbol, sanctified by ritual and spiritual influence, is deliberately reversed, it almost certainly risks conveying an influence of an opposite nature to the first. In this case, it is appropriate to say: "Let those who have ears to hear, hear!" In churches that are not oriented — which is unfortunately becoming increasingly common since the 16th century — seeking the correct orientation for celebration is difficult or impossible because, most of the time, the apse is not even to the West but directed to the North, South, or even along an intermediate line. The only solution is the usual one, which consists of acting as if the apse were indeed to the East and celebrating in that direction because, in this case, one can always consider that the apse and the altar are (²⁰): Saint Cyril of Jerusalem, Catech. Mystag. 19, 1 (P.G. 33, 1074)

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symbolically in the east, if, at least — but this is not always the case — the altar is surmounted, according to the rule, by the cross, the cross announcing the Second Coming: thus, the Divine Liturgy will be celebrated "facing God"(²¹), which, in any case, is better than "facing the people," for isn't the goal of the Holy Sacrifice to lead the people before the Face of the Lord?

The priest's orientation towards the East integrates him and the entire celebration into the cosmic schema: the space defined by the lines connecting the four cardinal points, the cross that "crucifies the world." This integration is necessary because man, a bodily being, an integral part of the cosmos, must be in harmony with it, both on the material and subtle planes. In this case, the priest and assistants are particularly in harmony with the movement of the sun, the master of space and time. But this integration of the liturgy into the cosmic order goes even further. A brief analysis of a certain number of keywords and gestures that punctuate the course of the Divine Liturgy will allow us to observe it. If we take, for example, that of the Roman Mass, we see that its sequences develop around repetitive patterns, there are two of them, which command the overall structure and ultimately determine its meaning. In the preparatory prayers, at the bottom of the altar, there are three striking elements: the psalm "Judica me" evokes the "holy mountain," where the celebrant asks God to lead him; the "Confiteor" addresses the entire heavenly court, and finally, these prayers conclude with a supplication to God: "Let my cry reach You!" The song of the "Gloria" is summarized in the first verse, "Glory to God in the highest, and peace on earth to men." The "Credo" addresses God as the "creator of heaven and earth," then it mentions the Son who "descended from heaven and became man," "died, descended into hell, rose again, and ascended into heaven," from where He "will come again." (²¹): This is the title of the excellent little book by J. Fourne, "La Messe face Dieu," Collection "Una Voce" 5, Paris, 1976; this work, perfectly documented, provides, in about forty pages, an overview of the entire issue and its reasonable solution.

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During the Offertory, the priest raises the bread and the chalice towards heaven; he prays for the Holy Spirit to "come" and "bless" the Gifts; the incensation ritual once again evokes heaven with the incense altar to the right of which stands the Archangel Michael, then the celebrant incenses, saying: "May this incense rise to You and may Your mercy descend upon us"; the beginning of the Eucharistic prayer is marked by the Sursum Corda invitation. "Lift up your hearts!" and the response: "We lift them up to the Lord!" The preface constitutes a true revelation of the heavenly court, where the angels sing the praise of God, and to their voices, we join our own on earth; it is the "Sanctus" song and the evocation of divine glory filling heaven and earth; a new appearance of the heavenly court during the Canon with the "Communicantes" prayer; consecration: the priest repeats the words and performs the gestures of Christ "raising his eyes to heaven"; the anamnesis recalls in the ongoing sacrifice the death of the Lord, His descent into hell, His resurrection, and His ascension; then the "Supra quae respicere" prayer inserts the Mass's sacrifice into the lineage of earlier sacrifices since Abel; the "Supplices" prayer asks God to send His angel to take away the Holy Gifts and carry them to the heavenly altar; followed by the "Memento," a propitiatory prayer for the departed who still rest, that they may enter the place of peace and light (heaven); a new and third appearance of the heavenly court where the priest asks that we may be admitted one day; finally, the "Pater" prayer again calls for the coming of the Kingdom on earth as it is in heaven. To these different sequences of words, it is important to add all the gestures performed by the celebrant, with the most characteristic being the arms in a cross, horizontally, in prayer, and the gestures of elevation, raising the eyes to heaven, and elevating the gifts, as we have already noted(²¹ ᵇᶦˢ). This analysis reveals that the Mass unfolds according to a dual scheme that determines its internal structure: a horizontal scheme and a vertical scheme. (²¹ ᵇᶦˢ):We cannot study all the gestures of the officiant here; however, this study would be very interesting because, like all ritual gestures and postures, the gestures of the priest are laden with meaning related to the rite. Let us briefly mention the gesture that, along with the outstretched arms, is the most common during the Mass: the joined hands. This is the opposite gesture of the outstretched arms. Its symbolism is twofold. Firstly, the hands, which are the operative limbs, are brought close together, immobilized, and, at the same time, the flow of energies, which, as is known, escape from open hands, is closed off. This fact is conducive to concentration and adoring meditation. Furthermore, the two hands, pressed together, become one; the two polarities, of the right and left, are symbolically unified. Lastly, if we consider the fingers of the hand, which number 5 and add up to a total of 10, we see that, with the hands brought together, we have 10 = 1 + 0 = 1, another concrete expression of unity.

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The horizontal scheme pertains to the earthly realm: it encompasses the celebrant and the congregation, not only those in a particular church at a specific moment but all priests and all believers who, at that moment, all over the Earth, offer the sacrifice. Furthermore, this horizontal scheme represents time, the measure of the world's manifestation, from the time of Adam in the past to the Parousia in the future. As we have just seen, the Roman Mass evokes the time of Abel, while the Syrian Mass remembers "our father Adam and our mother Eve." This scheme, which belongs to the Church militant, ultimately constitutes a ritual integration of the entire cosmic duration. The vertical scheme concerns the other world in its two modalities: heaven and hell. At the top of the vertical line are God, the Angels, and the Elect or the triumphant Church; at the bottom, the "place" of the deceased who are not yet entirely delivered and constitute the suffering Church. The combination of these two schemes is immediately reflected in the following figure:

Heaven

Origin of the world

End of the world Parousia

Hell

Yes, now, if we bring closer to this figure, which incorporates the two schemes we have just discussed, the figure related to the orientation of the priest and the altar, a figure indicating the four cardinal directions in the horizontal plane:

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We are led to carry out a second integration, which will be that of the two figures: the vertical axis, sky to underworld, of the first figure is, cosmologically, the line connecting the two poles of the universe, represented materially by the North Star and the Southern Cross; the horizontal axis, the temporal axis, coincides with the horizontal plane of the second figure, that of the cardinal points. In this figure, the two lines East-West and North-South, which we always consider in the horizontal plane, correspond, relatively, to the two lines joining, respectively, the two solstitial points and the two equinoctial points. It is the horizontal cross, forming the plane in which the sun moves in its diurnal and annual motions, and for this reason, it is the plane of time. The vertical axis or axis of the poles, perpendicular to the celestial equator, intersects exactly, in our final integration, at the point of intersection of the lines joining the cardinal points; the two figures fit perfectly together, thus giving rise to a 6-dimensional structure known as the solid cross or volumetric cross. The combination of these two integrated crosses, which share the same center, defines the structure of space and a space characterized by the cardinal directions, which are also related to the movement of the temporal cycle and the sun around the immovable Axis, the Axis of the World, an image of the "Unmoved Mover." The branches of this solid cross constitute the 6 directions of space, which, along with the center itself, form the septenary. Now, the directions of space correspond to divine Attributes, as they polarize, with respect to a center, the undifferentiated space, which is like the divine Unity. Clement of Alexandria tells us, indeed, that from God, the "Heart of the universe," extend the boundless expanses that go in one direction up, in another down, one to the right, one to the left, one forward, the other backward; "directing His gaze toward these six expanses as if they were always equal, He completes the world; He is the beginning and the end; in Him, the six phases of time are completed, and from Him, they receive their boundless extension: this is the secret of the number Seven." This cross determines, as we have mentioned elsewhere(²²), the structure of the Christian temple. However, this underlying structure is primarily a gestural one, that of the celebration of the Holy Mass. Therefore, the temple, which serves as its location, is merely the crystallization of the gestural dynamics of the liturgical celebration, which harmoniously adheres to the structure and dynamics of the cosmos, a "natural" manifestation of the divine Word as Creator. (²²): J. Hani, Symbolism of the Christian Temple, ch. 3, 5, 12.

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These considerations lead us to perceive the metaphysical significance of the Cross of Christ. The text from which we should start is that of Saint Paul: "Be rooted and firmly established in love, so that you can understand, along with all the saints, the width, length, height, and depth and know the Love of Christ (Eph. 3:18-19)." All the Fathers understood these lines in reference to the Cross and more precisely to the extension of the Cross to the universe. Recalling the famous passage from Timaeus where Plato shows that the entire celestial vault revolves around the great X formed by the plane of the equator and that of the ecliptic, they applied it to Christ, the Logos, the builder of the world: hanging on the "cross that crucifies the world," he contains the cosmos and makes it depend on the mystery of this cross. Thus, the cross "recapitulates" the entire cosmic process: "He who, through obedience to the cross, erased on the wood the ancient disobedience, is Himself the Logos of the Almighty God who pervades us all with an invisible presence, and that is why he encompasses the whole world, its width and length, its height and depth. It is through the Logos of God that all things are guided according to order, and the Son of God is crucified in them, while He has affixed His imprint to all of them in the form of the cross. It was therefore just and appropriate that, by making Himself visible, He would impress upon all that is visible His communion in the cross with everything. For His action was meant to show in visible things, and in a visible form, that He is the one who illuminates the heights, that is, the heavens, who reaches into the depths and foundations of the earth, who extends the surfaces from the east to the west and spreads the distances from the north to the south, and who calls from everywhere everything that is dispersed to know His Father(²³)." This text, very enlightening for our purpose, is by Saint Irenaeus, who elsewhere, in the same spirit and with vigorous words, says: "Christ was hung on the cross in such a way as to summarize the universe within Himself(²⁴)." This echoes an hymn by Saint Andrew of Crete for the Feast of the Exaltation of the Cross: "O Cross, reconciliation of the cosmos, demarcation of earthly expanses, height of heaven, depth of the earth, bond of creation, extent of all that is visible, breadth of the universe(²⁵)." The words "extent of all that is visible" are significant: the Crucifixion of Christ symbolizes the extension of Redemption to the entire cosmos. (²³): Saint Irenaeus, Demonstr. 1, 34. (²⁴): Id., Adv. Haeres. 5, 18, 3. (²⁵): In sanct. crucem.

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This symbolism is complemented by that of the tree. The cross is the Tree of Life, the very one that was planted in the center of Eden and at the foot of which the source of the four rivers of Paradise sprang forth (Gen. 2:9-1). It is also found at the center of the heavenly Jerusalem (Ezek. 47:12; Rev. 2:7; 22:2), which Scripture identifies with divine Wisdom and the Word (Prov. 3:18). The cross, as the Tree of Life, takes the place of the one in Eden and is situated like it at the central point of the world. At the summit of Golgotha, the tree reaches up toward the heavens and encompasses the world at the very spot where, it is said, Adam was created and buried, so that the rivers of water and blood flowing from the Crucified, now become the "Fountain of Life," may flow over the body of the first man to resurrect him from the dead. The Cosmic Tree, growing both vertically towards the sky and horizontally towards the expanses of the world, is the symbol of the extension of Redemption to the entire universe. Hippolytus of Rome has admirable words to sing this wonder: "This Tree, reaching up to the heavens, has risen from the earth to the heavens. It is the solid fulcrum of the All, the resting point of all things, the foundation of the entire world, the cosmic pole. It gathers within itself, in unity, all the diversity of human nature... It touches the highest peaks of the sky and supports the earth with its feet, and the vast middle atmosphere that lies in between, it embraces with its infinite arms(²⁶)." A Greek commentator, Oecumenius of Trikka, explains the passage of Saint Paul concerning the four dimensions of the Cross as follows: the length, he says, signifies that the mystery of the cross was foreseen from all eternity; the width, that all have benefited from it; the depth, that Christ extended His blessings even to the depths of Hell; the height, that the One who descended is also the One who ascended above all powers (Ephesians 4:9-1). As one can see, this encompasses the entire mystery of salvation and its application to the world, time, and space. The text of Saint Irenaeus has shown us the importance of the central point of the cosmic cross, which is both the heart of the world and the Heart of God; this point is indeed where the vertical axis intersects the horizontal axis; it is the center of the world, the place where what lies on the horizontal, earthly axis comes into contact with the heavenly realities of the vertical axis. The horizontal axis indicates the sense of "breadth," the extension of the mystery (²⁶): Hippolytus of Rome, Hom. on Passover, 6.

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at the very level of our world, our human condition, its extension to all times and all regions of the earth. The vertical axis indicates the sense of "exaltation," the ascent to higher states of Being, heaven; this is for the part of the axis located above the horizontal. As for the part located below, it represents the lower states of Being, the "infernos" in the broadest sense — lower states, obviously in relation to the human condition. The altar where the Divine Liturgy is celebrated is set right at the central point of the cosmic cross, and, identified there with Christ Himself, as we have mentioned, it is the place where the human world can meet the divine world. The vertical axis is the axis of Redemption: Christ, who descended from Heaven to Earth and even into the depths of hell, "ascended on high, leading captive a host of captives" (Psalm 68:18-19, antiphon of the Feast of the Ascension). The vertical branch of the cross determines the theanthropic path, the way by which God descends to humanity and humanity ascends to God; the path by which Christ leads the world to the Father, as the Supreme Pontiff, raising the Church from the Earth to the heavenly assembly and the eternal Liturgy described in the Epistle to the Hebrews and the Apocalypse. The cross thus determines the internal architecture of the mass mimodrama, the axis of prayer, and the axis of sacrifice. The axis of prayer, because, once again, the entire structure we are studying, if it is that of the cosmos, is also that of the human body, built on a vertical axis commanding its upright posture and length and corresponding to the polar axis, and a horizontal axis determining its width; to which must be added, in the realm of body and psyche dynamics, the importance of the specific vertical ascending pattern, unique to the human species, which is the psychosomatic source of all images of ascent, so important in our behavior and representations(²⁷). The most specific posture of prayer, that of the priest during the celebration, that of the ancient orant, is the standing posture, eyes raised to the sky, arms outstretched horizontally; this posture exactly reproduces the figure of the cross. The vertical axis of the cross is also that of sacrifice. As we have seen already, on several occasions, the priest raises the Holy Gifts and prays to the Lord to take them away to transport them to the heavenly altar. This dynamic of offering corresponds to a fundamental and universal aspect of the human psyche; we have encountered this gesture in ancient Egypt(²⁸), (²⁷): See, on this subject, G. Durand, The Anthropological Structures of the Imaginary, Paris, 1969. (²⁸): See above, page 56.

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and it would be easy to find numerous examples of it, even in degenerate traditions such as Shamanism(²⁹). But we still have a magnificent specimen of it in the Mass during the incensing ritual. This ritual, inherited from the Old Testament(³⁰), serves a triple role: apotropaic, cathartic, and sacrificial. Apotropaic role: The priest's circumambulation around the altar is primarily intended to ward off "malevolent influences," which, as we know, always tend to invade the places where a sacred action is performed because, throughout history and everywhere, incense — or its substitutes — has had the power to ward off demons(³¹). Cathartic role: Incense also plays a cathartic role; it purifies from evil and sin: "We beseech You, Lord," as they say in the Syriac Mass, "to accept the fragrance of this incense... for our sins and failings," and that's one of the reasons why the faithful are incensed after the altar has been incensed. Furthermore, to this negative aspect, a positive one is added: certain essences, like incense in particular, reduced by fire to their subtlest elements, create an environment conducive to receiving beneficial influences, blessings that descend during the celebration. Perhaps that's why the fragrance of incense has been considered the "sweet odor of Jesus Christ" that spreads from the altar into the souls of the faithful(³²). But there's more: the incensing ritual constitutes a true sacrifice, and it's on this point that we would like to emphasize to return to our topic. Here we find the archetype of the ritual in the heavenly liturgy of the Apocalypse: an angel stands near the altar of incense (Rev. 8:3), and there is a reference to it in the Roman Mass during the incensing of the Offertory. In another passage, we read that "the elders fell down before the Lamb, each holding a golden bowl full of incense, which are the prayers of the saints" (Rev. 5:8). In the offering of incense, the "earthly" resin is sacrificed in a true holocaust, its coarse form is abolished by fire, the substance becomes evanescent, and its subtle essence rises to heaven. It is the sign of the sacrifice of the heart, which the Divine Fire must ignite: "May the Lord," says the officiant, "kindle in us the fire of His love and the flame of eternal Charity"; and Saint Gregory the Great comments as follows: "The holy soul makes its heart like a censer that exhales its fragrances before God." (²⁹): The Tungus Shaman carries the sacrifices to the sky; among the Yakuts, he uses a 9-rung tree for this rite, which he climbs with the offering (M. Eliade, Shamanism, p. 195 and 222). (³⁰): The high priest could not begin the service without censing (Leviticus 16, 12). (³¹): For ancient Egypt, for example, see H. Bonnet, Reallexikon d. ægypt. Religionsgeschichte, p. 624 ff. In the Brahmanic sacrifice, the priest walks around the offering with a brand in hand, with the same apotropaic purpose (Goblet d’Alviella, Beliefs, rituals, institutions, 1911, vol. 1, p. 8-9). (³²): Saint Dionysius the Areopagite, Ecclesiastical Hierarchy, 3 and 4. Simeon of Thessalonica, On the Holy Temple.

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The rite of incensing follows the same pattern — as we analyzed earlier — as the entire Mass. Incensing is performed in three forms: circumambulation around the altar, cruci-circular incensing, and vertical incensing. We have already made reference to circumambulation when discussing the apotropaic role of incense. This ritual walk is not unique to incensing, as it also occurs, at least in the Byzantine rite, during the procession of the Gospel. In fact, a procession is always more or less a circumambulation, whether it takes place outside the temple, circling the altar if it is inside. In both cases, it is a march around the center, the omphalos, and this march imitates the movement of the sun and the flow of life around the immobile axis of the world. This ritual march aims to imbue itself with the "virtue" emanating from the center and to radiate it onto the world(³³). It is evidently the same purpose pursued by the cruci-circular incensing that takes place during the offertory and before circumambulation. It occurs in all rites, but we describe it based on the Syrian ritual where its significance appears more strongly. The officiant first incenses the offerings in the form of a cross, and the rubrics specify that this is done to send the incense to the four cardinal points in the following order: east, west, north, and south. Then, he incenses the offerings in a circular shape. Thus, incensing is done in a figure consisting of a cross inscribed within a circle, which is the diagram of the universe, as we have seen earlier. This figure also represents the terrestrial paradise and the cosmic mountain, with the oriented four rivers symbolizing it. It is very significant that this figure is traced with incense above the offerings placed on the altar because the altar represents Golgotha, and the mountain of Zion with the Lamb sacrificed, from which the four rivers flow from the fountain of life, an image of the recovered Paradise, of the regenerated universe. According to us, there is no doubt that the rite of cruci-circular incensing is a new way of affirming and realizing the extension of redemption to the entire universe, symbolized by the Cross, whose four branches correspond to the cardinal points(³⁴). But it is also, in another way, a concentration, a synthesis of the universe brought back to its divine center and marked with the sign of salvation. The world, thus gathered from the four horizons, is going to be offered and, for this purpose, raised towards the sky; this is the purpose of the third incensing, the vertical one. It takes place in (³³): Usually, circumambulations go from left to right, following the direction of the sun's movement. A particular point of concern for our discussion is that the circumambulations in our liturgy occur in the opposite direction, to the left. These are related to a polar orientation (this is known in Islam). However, there are hardly any traces of a polar orientation in Christian liturgies. (³⁴): The ritual of the Syriac Jacobites includes this prayer for incensing: "The entire creation is saturated with the fragrance of Your divine sweetness. Grace has been poured out upon all creatures."

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front of the crucifix image, but its significance goes beyond a simple homage to the Christ icon, as evidenced by the accompanying prayers: "May this incense," says the priest, "blessed by You, Lord, ascend to You, and may Your mercy descend upon us." "May my prayer ascend to You, like the smoke of incense in Your presence, and my raised hands, like the evening sacrifice." The column of smoke that rises follows the direction of the axial pillar, which it materializes in a way, joins the cornerstone or keystone, thus uniting it with the altar stone, and finally symbolically surpasses the vault to continue its path to the top of the sky, an igneous vehicle that carries the prayer to the divine throne and brings back its blessings to earth. "Incensum istud ascendat ad te et descendat super nos misericordia tua." The interpretation we provide here is not the product of our imagination, but is based on a fundamental and universal pattern of the sacred. This has been decisively demonstrated in the case of Vedic sacrifice: the smoke of the sacrifice is assimilated to the axis of the world; it conveys the prayer up to the vault of the temple, to the eye of the dome, an opening that plays the same role as the keystone in our buildings and is identified with the gate to heaven, and then beyond the celestial vault. The soul of the officiant and that of the faithful ascend "in the wake of Agni" (the Divine Fire), and celestial grace descends in return towards the earth following the same axis(³⁵). The ritual of the calumet, the principal rite of the Sioux Indians, fits into the same pattern and is executed according to the essential cruci-circular figure in their tradition. The calumet's bowl is filled with pinches of aromatic herbs(³⁶), linked to the directions of space, symbolically concentrating all creation in the bowl: "In this herb is the earth and all that dwells in it," and offering it to God: "We offer Him everything in the universe." Man, who embodies all creatures and thus occupies a central position in the world, identifies with the calumet and the ember that transforms the herb into smoke to send it to heaven, thereby announcing that all creation returns to God: "May the path of your people be like this smoke(³⁷)." Thus, the ritual of incensation unveils to us, like the liturgical texts themselves, the intimate architecture of the Mass ordered around the cross, which in turn reveals to us the full extent of the holy sacrifice. This is truly the (³⁵) A. K. Coomaraswamy, Janua Coeli in Zalmoxis, II, 1939 (1941). (³⁶) The ritual tobacco, which plays the same role as incense among these peoples. (³⁷) Hehaka Sapa, The Secret Rituals of the Sioux Indians, Paris, 1953.

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spiritual integration of the universe and humanity, and their Transmutation. Along the horizontal axis of the cross, the entire universe, summarized within the temple, and all humanity, from all eras, symbolized by the assembly of the faithful, are brought together into unity around a center, the altar stone; the first phase of the holy Mysteries: the transition from the periphery to the center, the "gathering" of what was "scattered." On the altar stone, which is the point of intersection of the horizontal axis of the grand cosmic cross with its vertical axis, the second phase of the Mysteries takes place, the assumption of the integrated universe and humanity into Christ, rising along the axial pillar toward the "gate of heaven," the keystone, passing through it, and reaching the dwelling of the sun.

Alongside this geometric structure, which can be described, we discover in the mass at least traces of a numerical structure. This is not the place to delve into the importance of number symbolism, nor its foundation; we also do not intend to comprehensively study this symbolism in the mass. We will simply point out the presence of the principal significant numbers and clarify their value and role in the position they occupy in the Divine Liturgy. First, the number three. It is very evident in the Kyrie, the Agnus Dei, and the mea culpa of the Confiteor. But it also appears, albeit more discreetly, in the prayers at the base of the altar: the verse from Psalm 42, "Introibo ad altare Dei," is repeated three times. Let's add the three crosses that are made on the face before the reading of the Gospel, the three crosses that the priest makes at various moments over the Holy Gifts: at the "Te igitur," for example, at the "Per quem omnia," at the "Pax Domini" (fraction of the host). Three is the trinitarian and creative number, and there is no need to emphasize its importance in the Mass, which is celebrated in glory of the Holy Trinity, whose three persons are perpetually invoked at the end of all prayers. In the Kyrie, the number 3, repeated in a triple ternary, gives the number nine, which is its square. Nine represents complete development; indeed, three is the creative number, and its square signifies multiple creation, announcing its transition to the number ten, which symbolizes fullness. This is why the choirs of angels, who are the spiritual creation, number nine. Thus, the triple ternary of the

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Kyrie, while glorifying the Trinity, also expresses, as if in the background, its overflowing into creation. The number five commands a certain number of sequences, the most remarkable being the five signs of the cross that accompany, in the Roman Canon, the prayer "Quam oblationem" and the grand proclamation that concludes it: "Per Ipsum, cum Ipso et in Ipso." The number five is the sign of life in the world, of animation, and, as is well known, the sign of man. In the "Quam oblationem" prayer, just before the consecration, the five signs of the cross, or five blessings, announce the transformation that will take place for the Gifts from inert matter to life, and what a life it is! In the proclamation "Per Ipsum, etc.," the five signs of the cross announce that He who called Himself the Life (Ego sum via, lux et vita) is now present on the altar to reconcile everything between earth and heaven; He, the God-Man. The number seven, whose sacred symbolism is known to everyone (the 7 days of Creation, the 7 gifts of the Holy Spirit, the 7 spirits before the Throne of God in the Apocalypse, etc.(³⁸), and which is, according to Saint Augustine(³⁹), the sign of perfection and fullness, also governs both the luminary, as we have seen, and the greetings of the priest to the assembly: he utters the words "Dominus vobiscum" seven times. What other fullness of perfection can one wish for, indeed, than that which should arise when "the Lord is with us"? From the ascent to the altar until before the final blessing, the priest kisses the altar eight times. We have explained the meaning of this kiss: it is the symbol of the nuptial union of the Church with Christ(⁴⁰). Moreover, the significance of the number eight confirms this symbolism. As Saint Augustine says, it is the number of resurrection (⁴¹) because it signifies the union of man, represented by 5, with the Creator, represented by 3, which was fully realized in Christ and consequently in his faithful. This is why baptisteries, where this resurrection of man takes place, often had an octagonal shape in the early centuries (⁴²). All traditions have attached great importance to the number ten, the Decade. (³⁸): See above, p. 77 ff. (³⁹): Quaest. 42 ; In Heptat. 5, 42. Cf. Tertullian, De anima, 37. (⁴⁰): See above, p. 66 ff. (⁴¹): Saint Augustine, Epist. 56. (⁴²): See our Symbolism of the Christian Temple.

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It is the symbol of totality, of the universe; indeed, it is considered the composed unity, with the One being the synthetic unit; the One is the first cause, the ten the total effect, a reflection of the Cause. In the Roman Mass, the society of saints is named ten times to remind us that the Divine Liturgy is the work through which the integration of the whole Church takes place. The ten is found again, but in a hidden way, in the chant of the Sanctus, which is an integration of the universe(⁴³). It is somewhat the same reality evoked in the mass by the number twelve. In itself, it is the number of the cosmic functioning regulated by the 12 signs of the Zodiac, hence the 12 months of the year. But the signs of the Zodiac and the months have been associated with the 12 tribes of Israel and the 12 Apostles(⁴⁴): just as the signs revolve around the visible sun, the apostles surround Jesus, the "Sun of Justice." In the Roman Mass canon, after the Memento for the living, in the Communicantes prayer, the celebrant mentions the 12 apostles following the Most Holy Virgin, and he adds the names of 12 martyrs of the Church of Rome, thus obtaining the number 24, which is that of the Elders of the Apocalypse (4:4); this means that the priest, and with him, the entire assembly, unite with the triumphant Church(⁴⁵). In the final prayer of the Canon, "Nobis quoque peccatoribus," which develops the same theme, the priest mentions fifteen names of apostles and martyrs. The number fifteen plays a significant role in Christian symbolism. According to Saint Jerome, it represents the fullness of knowledge, and according to Saint Augustine, it symbolizes the union of the two Testaments: 7 for the Sabbath and 8 for the Resurrection(⁴⁶). Let us also recall the 15 mysteries of the Virgin in the Rosary and its 15 decades, which we will discuss shortly. Finally, note that 15 is the number of the divine Name "Yah," which we have encountered in the exclamation "Halleluyah" and is an abbreviation of the Tetragrammaton YHWH. "Yah" is written with the two consonants YH (since vowels are not written in Hebrew as such). Now, H=5, and Y=10. The union of H and Y, according to Jewish tradition, gives birth to the heavenly river, which is like the outpouring of Divinity into the cosmic manifestation. (⁴³): Cf. below, p. . (⁴⁴) Saint Augustine, on Ps. 103,3. (⁴⁵) See our Symbolism of the Christian Temple. Cf. J. Daniélou, Primitive Christian Symbols, Paris, 1961, p. 131 ff. (⁴⁶) Saint Jerome, on Gal. 1, 1; Saint Augustine, In Ps. 89, 10; 150, 1. Cf. Saint Hilary, on Ps. 118; Saint Ambrose, Epist. 44.

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The prayers at the base of the altar consist of seventeen prayers or invocations. The Gloria, on the other hand, is composed of seventeen verses. This fact deserves our attention because the number 17 is one of the most important and mysterious numbers in Christianity, and it is undoubtedly not without reason that it is inserted twice during the Mass. Seventeen is the eighth prime number; if treated through triangulation, which means adding the sequence of numbers from 1 to 17, you get 153(⁴⁷). Now, 153 is mentioned in connection with the second miraculous catch of fish by Saint John (21:1-14), which tells us that the apostles, after casting their nets into the sea, brought in a great catch where they counted 153 fish. It would be quite astonishing for the Evangelist to provide such precision regarding a fishing event if this precision did not have some secret message to convey to us. Saint Augustine is credited with deciphering the passage from verse 11 of Saint John. He starts with the number 17, considered as 10 + 7, where 10 represents the Law (the Ten Commandments) and 7 represents the Holy Spirit with its seven gifts called the "Seven Spirits of God." The number 17 signifies that the Holy Spirit, sent by Christ, is added to the Law (7 + 10), and thus, the "spirit" enlivens the "letter." Then, Saint Augustine triangulates 17 and connects it to Saint John's 153, interpreting it as follows: 153 is the symbolic number of the saints who live by the spirit of God in accordance with the Law; indeed, 153 = (50 x 3) + 3; 3 represents the Trinity, and 50 = (7 x 7) + 1, which refers to the Gifts of the Holy Spirit squared, meaning they are spread across individuals, and the additional 1 reminds us that the Spirit remains one despite the multiplicity of His actions. Furthermore, 50 is related to the Holy Spirit because He was sent 50 days after the Resurrection. Thus, Saint Augustine concludes that the miraculous catch of 153 fish is a sign of the regeneration of humanity through the enlivening of the Law's letter, 10, by the Spirit of Jesus, 7(⁴⁸). Lastly, through the operation of reduction, 17 = 1 + 7 = 8. This number 8, as we have seen, is a quintessential Christic number: it is the number of the Resurrection. In the Gloria, which comprises 17 verses, there are 8 for the Father, 8 for the Son, and 1 for the Holy Spirit; therefore, 8 + 8 + 1 = 17, and on the other hand, 17 = 1 + 7 = 8. If we bring these two operations together, we get the number 8 three times. Now, 888 is the numerical value of the Name of Jesus in Greek, as we have already mentioned(⁴⁹). (⁴⁷): The triangular value is obtained using the formula n (n + 1)/2; in the case at hand, 17 (17+1)/2 = 153. (⁴⁸): Saint Augustine, 122ⁿᵈ treatise on Saint John. It should be noted that the Rosary is composed of 15 tens, which is 150 Ave, to which should be added the 3 preliminary Ave, making a total of 153 Ave. This is certainly not accidental. (⁴⁹): IΗΣΟΥΣ: I (10) + H (8) + Σ (200) + O (70) + Y (400) + Σ (200) = 888

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During the Roman Mass, the celebrant makes thirty-three signs of the cross. This number is not chosen at random; 33 holds a multitude of meanings which we cannot delve into here. Let us only recall that 33 is the number of years of Christ, which perfectly aligns with the action of the Mass, which is the Act of Christ Himself. Furthermore, this number governs the entire structure of the Divine Comedy, whose mystical meaning is well known. We will conclude this quick review of the numerical harmonies of the Mass with the most beautiful one, that of the Pater, the "Lord's Prayer." It is beautifully structured according to a septenary pattern. Indeed, the Pater consists of seven petitions, divided into three petitions concerning God and four concerning humanity. Now, as we've already mentioned, the number 3 symbolizes the divine world, and 4 represents the earthly world. Thus, we can grasp the full significance of the "rhythm" imparted to the prayer by this numerical harmony of 3+4=7, which is the very same as the Creation according to Genesis. Furthermore, this structure directly corresponds to the seven Christian virtues, which include the three theological virtues and the four cardinal virtues, related respectively to the divine and human earthly worlds:

Our Father who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy Name, (Faith) Thy Kingdom come, (Hope)

3

Thy will be done on Earth as it is in Heaven; (Charity) give us this day our daily bread, (Fortitude) and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us; (Justice) lead us not into temptation, (Prudence) but deliver us from evil. (Temperance).

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4

Another report, quite interesting, is the one that emerges from the geometric construction corresponding to the number 7, namely the triangle, 3, a divine symbol, overlying the square, 4, a symbol of the earth. This figure represents the "cubic stone with a point," a symbolic piece that played a significant role in the organizational structures of builders. We cannot delve into this subject here. However, it is easy to understand the "message" of this figure: the square of the cardinal virtues, firmly established and unshakeable, is, for the individual, the essential foundation and support to ascend to the triangle pointing towards the sky, that is, to enter the divine world through the three theological virtues. Thus, through its numerical structure, the Pater reveals to us that it is the perfect act of piety summarizing the entire process of sanctification and salvation(⁵⁰).

(⁵⁰): The pointed cubic stone is composed of a pyramid atop a cube. The pyramid is related to the tetractys (sequence of numbers 1, 2, 3, 4), and the traditional side length of this stone's cube is 4. It has been observed that the expanded value of the tetractys above the square with a side length of 4 results in 1 2 and

3 4

4 4

10 16

which is 26, that is to say, 26 is the number of the great divine Name YHWH.

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CHAPTER V DRAMATIS PERSONAE

In the vast setting provided by the temple, the altar is the focal point around which the actors of the mimodrama of the Mass move, speak, and perform. These actors form a whole, the synaxis, which means the assembly, the assembly of Christians. This assembly is hierarchical, in the sense that at its head is the priest, who plays a prominent role both from a theological perspective, as the consecrator, and from what could be called a dramatic perspective, as he directs, along with the deacon, the dramatic performance of the sacrifice(¹). However, it is important to clarify right away that he is not the only actor in the liturgy, as many people still believe, despite the teachings of the Church. To understand the meaning and significance of the Mass, it is therefore necessary to clearly see the specific roles of each participant. The priest is the main actor in the Divine Liturgy, and this is a fact that cannot be contested. He is the main actor because he takes on the role of Christ Himself. In fact, the true and only actor is Christ, both Priest and Victim of the sacrifice, as taught by all orthodox theology. However, by the very will of Christ, clearly expressed at the Last Supper, He is represented and visibly acts through the man who is invested with His own priesthood. During the celebration, especially during the proclamation of Scripture and even more so during the Eucharistic anaphora, the priest is completely identified with Christ. And here, once again, we observe that this theological and liturgical truth of Christianity corresponds to a universal reality of the (¹): It goes without saying, but we still remind you that, if the Mass unfolds in the manner of a theatrical performance, it is not theater, as specified earlier, p. 48.

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sacred. In all traditions, there are numerous examples of rituals where there are very close ties between the officiant and the deity. We have already mentioned the case of Egypt, where priests represent the gods Horus and Seth(²). It often happens that the priest wears the attire or mask of the God(³), bears his name(⁴), or finally appears as his total incarnation. Thus, in the Dionysian mysteries, the leader of the ritual dance was completely identified with Dionysus(⁵). This investment of the priest by the god responds to a profound and dual human need: first, the need to be sure of the effectiveness of the rite — for only the god, in one way or another, has the power to make it effective — second, the need for the actual, direct or indirect, presence of the deity, so to speak, tangible. One of the most sensitive signs of the sacred character of the officiant is their attire. We would like to emphasize this matter a bit, first because the officiant being an actor, clothing is not something trivial for an actor, and secondly, because, at the present time, a trend has emerged in the Western Church that downplays the importance of this accessory or even aims to eliminate it from worship. There is a serious danger in this for the reasons we will attempt to explain. Is it necessary to say that wearing special clothing to celebrate mass is a very strict rule of the Church, and one cannot exempt themselves from it except in cases of absolute necessity, which are very rare? It is entirely in vain to invoke here, to exempt oneself from it, the fact that at the beginning of Christianity, priests celebrated mass in ordinary clothing. Indeed, if they did so, it was precisely for the reasons we have just mentioned: the insecurity created by persecutions, the often lack of true places of worship, the need to celebrate almost "on the run," so to speak. Furthermore, one should be sure of what one is claiming and perhaps consider the countries in question, because, on the other hand, we know that Saint John, to celebrate the Divine Liturgy, wore a kind of golden crown on his forehead, imitating the high priest of the Hebrews, and one can infer that it was not the only sacred ornament he possessed and that he wore special garments. Moreover, it should not be forgotten that (²): See page 60, note 27. (³): O. Gruppe, Greek Mythology, Volume I, page 924. (⁴): Frazer, Golden Bough, Volume 1, page 300. (⁵): Same source, ibid., Volume I, pages 286, 343, 368, 370; Volume II, pages 2, 27. Among the Dogon people, the priest of the Nommo, during his consecration, is completely identified with the Nommo; see M. Griaule, Gods of Water, 1966, page 114.

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ordinary clothing in antiquity was not, like those of our time, entirely secular; it had a certain sacred character, as we may have the opportunity to explain, so celebrating mass in Rome or Milan, for example, in a toga, had nothing in common with doing so in a business suit. In any case, as soon as worship could be celebrated openly, freely, and organized, special clothing was used, as evidenced by a passage from Saint Jerome saying, "We must not enter the Holy of Holies and celebrate the Lord's sacraments in the clothes that serve us for other purposes in life. Divine religion has one attire for ministry and another for common use"(⁶). It is true that civilian clothing was kept, but it was transformed, in addition to blessings, by the insertion of Christian symbols, starting with crosses. This rule can only be well understood from an accurate knowledge of the true nature of clothing and its use, knowledge that has become quite foreign to modern mentality, unfortunately. In traditional societies, great importance is attached to clothing, and there are precise rules regarding its form, construction, and use, rules derived from a true science of costume, itself more or less directly dependent, like any science, on metaphysical principles. In any case, even without a special science applied to it, clothing possesses certain fundamental characteristics that are easy to accept if one reflects on them for a moment. First of all, it is the outward sign of the personality that carries it, and more specifically of their position in society: it externalizes and manifests the individual's function. This is still true even in the modern world, to some extent at least: the soldier, the lawyer, the judge, the religious leader, the king, all wear uniforms that signal the role they play. But it's not just a sign; the influence of the uniform extends into a much broader domain. By expressing the function, it manages to influence, complement, or even change one's personality. If a French proverb says, "Clothes do not make the monk," there is a German proverb that says just the opposite: "Kleider machen Leute," which means "clothes make the person"; and this is not entirely untrue. Everyone can observe how wearing a particular garment can alter our behavior; it's because the individual tends to fade into the background in front of the function, so they are somewhat reshaped by the clothing. And this is true, perhaps in a less precise but (⁶): Saint Jerome, In Ezech., 44.

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fundamentally similar way, for clothing that is not strictly uniforms. The choice of a particular garment, its color, its ornaments, reveals the soul and character of its owner. In a more spectacular manner, for example, the Indian sari truly reveals the soul of the culture. The case of the priest, in all religions, is even clearer. More than in any other role, the man who dons the garments of an officiant fades away — because he must fade away — in the face of the priestly function. The priestly attire "sacrifices" the officiant, in both senses of the word "sacrifice": it erases the individual, in a way, but on the other hand, it bestows upon the person a sacred character because it is conceived as the visible sign of the religious, divine principle of priesthood. Hence all the details of form, color, and ornamentation that aim to clarify the various aspects of this principle. It is no different for the priestly garments of the Christian priest. But, to be honest, it is not only them who are concerned; the issue of clothing is of interest to all Christians, who, as we will soon see, bear a certain priestly character. The concept of clothing in Christianity is founded on the passage from Genesis describing the state of humanity after the Fall, on one hand, and, on the other hand, on the Pauline doctrine of the "new man." Adam, in Paradise, was clothed in a garment of light, which was the "glory" radiating from his body, a reflection of the Glory of God Himself(⁷). He was stripped of it due to his sin, and "seeing that he was naked," he made for himself and Eve a "garment of fig leaves" (Gen. 3:6 ff.); then God gave them "garments of skin" (Gen. 3:21). However, Christ in the Transfiguration and Resurrection restored to humanity its garments of glory: it is the "garment of immortality" (endyma aftharsias) (⁸), which is Christ Himself according to Saint Paul: "You have put on Christ" (Gal. 3:27). This is the work of baptism where we receive the robe of immortality, which, in the powerful expression of the Syriac liturgy, "is woven from the water of baptism"(⁹), a concept beautifully illustrated in the traditional icon of the Baptism of Jesus, where the waters of the Jordan descend vertically upon the standing body of the Lord and envelop Him like a (⁷): Saint Irenaeus, Adv. haeres, 3, 23, 5; Saint John Chrysostom, In Gen. 16, 5; Saint Greg. of Nyssa, De virginit., 3. (⁸): Saint Greg. of Nyssa, Hom. baptism. P.G. 46, 420 C. (⁹): Sachau, Syrische Rechtsbücher, I, p. 9.

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mantle. The white robe of the newly baptized is a symbol of this garment of glory: in baptism, one lays aside the clothing of the "old man," the "garments of fig leaves," and the "garments of skin," and can sing, "The Lord has renewed me with His garment and clothed me with light"(¹⁰). It is the wedding robe that makes us worthy to enter the banquet hall (Matt. 22:11), which is why, in the Roman rite, the priest says to the recipient, "Receive this white garment to wear unstained before the judgment seat of Our Lord Jesus Christ, so that you may have eternal life." This white robe is the specific garment of the Christian, whether lay or priest. In the case of the priest, it is the alb, a white linen tunic (alba vestis), the first garment he puts on before celebrating. However, it is the entirety of the vestments — amice, stole, chasuble — that, in addition to their particular symbolism, are traditionally likened to the "garment of glory" of the regenerated man. The vesting prayers in the Armenian rite are particularly instructive in this regard. The priest recites the following prayer: "O Jesus Christ, Our Lord, who is clothed in splendor like a radiant garment…(¹¹) O Lord, make your light clothe me..." During this time, the choir sings: "O profound mystery! Incomprehensible! You have adorned the Principalities above us with an inaccessible light, and You have clothed the Angels with transcendent glory. Through the Passion of Your only Son, all creatures were renewed, and from the new beautiful man, they became immortal and were adorned with a garment that no one can strip away." The beauty of the priestly vestments, the richness of the silks, the brilliance of the fabrics and gold embroideries, and sometimes even the precious stones embedded in them, all serve to materialize and symbolize, in our fleshly eyes, the transcendent light that emanates from God and envelops His creatures, especially the one who embodies God Himself during the sacrifice. That's why the priest, adorned with all his vestments and insignia, is an object of contemplation for the congregation, something called "darshan" in India. Simply looking at, benefiting from the darshan of this figure, is to imbibe the intangible aspects of his appearance and the active symbolism of his sacred attire. Virgil Gheorgiu (¹⁰): Odes of Solomon, 12. Cf. a sedra of the morning prayer, on the Sunday before Christmas: "Today we have laid aside our garments of shame that we had worn from the beginning, garments of fig leaves, and we have adorned ourselves with garments of splendor, glory, and beauty (L'Orient Syrien, vol. 1, 1956, p. 93)." (¹¹): "The Lord is king, clothed in majesty, draped in splendor (Psalm 92)." "Lord, my God, You are infinitely great! You are clothed in splendor and majesty, draped in light like a cloak (Psalm 103)."

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recounted that the first image that struck him in his childhood was that of his father dressed in priestly garments to celebrate the Divine Liturgy: "My father, dressed in golden and silver vestments, no longer had anything of this world and of the earth. The priestly vestments signify that the priest has completely severed all ties with the world and is the personification of God"(¹²); and in another passage(¹³), he wrote that his father resembled an icon. This is indeed the case: the icon is an object of contemplation because it visibly reveals the invisible reality. This impression is particularly palpable in the liturgical appearance of the Byzantine or Armenian priest: draped in rich white silks, gold and silver, crowned with a tiara surmounted by a cross, he truly appears as an earthly hypostasis of the Eternal Priest draped in the splendor of divine Light. It is out of the question to provide a complete exposition of the sacred vestments here, as it would be too lengthy and go beyond the scope of our study. Nevertheless, we would like to highlight some aspects of the issue that will help us better understand the spirit of the Divine Liturgy. On his common attire, the priest dons, as we have already mentioned, the alb, a white linen tunic symbolizing purity, which replaces the "skin tunic" and the "fig leaf garment." Among the Jews, the high priest could not enter the sanctuary without first wearing the linen robe (Leviticus 16). This is the robe of the chosen ones in the Apocalypse (Revelation 7:13-14), the one that allows them to approach the Lamb. Therefore, when putting it on, the priest recites this prayer: "Make me white, Lord, and purify my heart, so that, purified in the blood of the Lamb, I may be granted to taste eternal joys."(¹⁴) The Latin priest then places on his head and wraps around his waist a cloth called the amice, which had a purely utilitarian purpose among the ancient Romans but has taken on a spiritual meaning in the liturgy, as indicated by the recited prayer: "Lord, place on my head the helmet of salvation to repel the assaults of the devil." The image of the helmet comes from Saint Paul, who, in the Epistle to the Ephesians (Ephesians 6:13-17), enumerates the spiritual weapons that the Christian must possess to combat the Devil. The amice, therefore, has an apotropaic role, and the same applies to the cord with which the priest girds himself over the alb. The prayer he recites shows us that this belt complements the role of the alb: "Gird me, Lord, with the belt of purity and extinguish in my loins every carnal attraction that is contrary to continence and chastity." (¹²): Reference to Saint Simeon of Thessalonica, On the Holy Liturgy 79.5 (¹³): Virgil Gheorgiu, From the twenty-fifth hour to the eternal hour, p. 61-62 and p. 8-9.

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There will be no shortage here of addressing the objection raised by some contemporary liturgists who consider the symbolism of the garments we are talking about, and others that we will mention later, as artificial. They argue that these garments did not have a spiritual meaning before being used in the liturgy, and that a purely conventional meaning has been attached to them. To this, we will respond once again that true symbolism is never conventional — like an emblem or an allegory — but rather inherent to the object, resulting from its form, color, material, etc. However, it may only be latent with several possible meanings, and this symbolism naturally becomes explicit when it is integrated, as we have seen earlier, into an overall structure that allows a particular aspect of the symbolism to emerge clearly by fitting into the guiding patterns of the structure in question, here, the liturgy of the Mass. Let's not discuss the symbolism of the alb, which no one disputes, as it is based on Scripture itself. However, that of the amice and cord, while less obvious at first glance, is nonetheless real. Since the amice was placed on the head, it fell into the general category of head coverings, whose symbolism is multifaceted, with the helmet being a particular type as a protective headgear in combat; from there, one naturally transitions to the idea of spiritual combat. As for the cord, it falls into the well-known category of protective circles; it plays this role both with respect to the external and internal aspects of the celebrant: first and foremost, it forms a closed circuit against "wandering and malevolent forces," which we have already discussed, saying that they particularly seek to infiltrate places and individuals during sacred actions; in this regard, the cord, in relation to the celebrant, plays a role analogous to that of the circle traced with incense around the altar. Furthermore, when placed as a belt on the body, it separates, at the level of the navel, the lower parts of the physical and subtle organism, the seat of animal passions, from the upper part, the heart and head, which are the only ones to act during the liturgy. Thus, the terms of the prayer recited while it is put on are explained(¹⁵). The two highly specific sacred ornaments are the stole and the chasuble. The word "stole" comes from the Greek "stoli" through Latin "stola." In antiquity, it referred to a long garment open at the front and adorned with two (¹⁴): The white robes of celestial beings signify the divine form in relation to fire and light, according to Saint Dionysius the Areopagite, Hier. Cel. 15, 4. (¹⁵): Speaking of the representations of the Incorporeal beings of the heavens, Saint Dionysius writes about their belts: "They signify the care with which they preserve their generative powers; the power they have to gather themselves, to unify their mental powers by turning inward, folding harmoniously upon themselves within the unbroken circle of their own identity (Celestial Hierarchy 15, 4)."

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vertical bands of precious fabric on each side of this opening. According to most historians, the current stole originates from these two bands that "separated" from the rest of the attire. However, according to others, the stole may have originated from the ephod of the Hebrew high priest, a sash whose ends were fastened by a brooch on the chest, similar to how the ends of the stole are currently connected by a cord: monuments from the early centuries depict Saint Peter and Saint Paul wearing this ornament(¹⁶). Regardless, the stole is the very symbol of priesthood, and its wearing is mandatory for any sacred action. It is equated, like the alb, with the robe of innocence: "Grant me, Lord," says the priest when putting it on, "the garment of immortality that I lost through the fault of our first father, and though unworthy as I am to approach Your holy Mysteries, grant that I may nevertheless deserve eternal life." The stole always bears two crosses among the Latins and seven crosses among the Greeks, similar to the Latin pallium. The chasuble, which comes from the Latin "casula," meaning "little house," is made up of a fabric disc with a hole in the center for the head to pass through, and it falls down to just above the ankle. This is the true chasuble, a magnificent garment, quite different from the ridiculous ornament called the Roman chasuble, which is made of a stiff fabric rectangle for the back and a kind of violin-shaped cutout for the front of the body. Such attire is no longer a garment, no longer natural, and therefore loses all true meaning. Fortunately, it is increasingly disappearing in favor of the so-called "Gothic" chasuble, that is, the chasuble as it has existed from the beginning. The vesting prayer for the chasuble, in the Latin rite, ascribes a symbolism to it that, in this case, is not genuine and falls into those artificial meanings that have been mentioned(¹⁷). The true symbolism of the chasuble is given by the cross, the initials of Christ: I H S, or the Chi-Rho, which are depicted on the back, signifying that the chasuble clothes the celebrant in a new personality, that of Christ. Originally, it was not a cross that was represented, but two bands of fabric of a different color from that of the garment itself, which descended from the shoulders and joined in a central band. In the Gothic period, the central band was extended upward to form a forked cross. It would probably be necessary to investigate the meaning of this design which, in its two forms, could well be related to the Tree of Sephiroth, the subtle constitution of man, and the doctrine of the Universal Man(¹⁸). (¹⁶): R. Gilles, Symbolism in Religious Art, Paris, Ed. Guy Trédaniel, p. 155. (¹⁷): "Lord, who said: My yoke is easy and my burden is light, make me carry it in a way that makes me worthy of Your holy Love."

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The general symbolism of priestly garments is complemented by the symbolism of their color. On this point, we will be brief as the issue of colors, which is very important, would require far too much development to be adequately explained. Let us only say that the symbolism of colors is one of the most important because it is connected to that of light, which is probably the most suitable symbol of Divinity. Indeed, colors are nothing but differentiations of light, as everyone knows from elementary experiences with the spectrum and the phenomenon of the rainbow. Essentially, the seven natural colors are like the unfolding of white light and are absorbed into it, just as all numbers emerge from unity and return to it. The colors used in liturgy are white, red, yellow, blue, green, purple, and black. White is, in essence, the absence of color due to an excess of light. It is the symbol of Being and absolute Truth. In Thabor, in the Apocalypse, Jesus appears with garments shining as white as wool and snow. This is the symbol of divine Unity and, for humanity, the soul united with Divinity, regenerated and pure. Until the 4th century, only white garments were used in worship. Subsequently, red was added to it, symbolizing fire, divine love, and the Holy Spirit as the Fire of this regenerating Love for mankind; red ornaments are used for the feasts of the Holy Spirit and the martyrs, not so much because of the color of blood, but because of the love they demonstrated through their sacrifice, a love undoubtedly inspired by the Holy Spirit. Yellow is the color of gold. It is the revelation of the love and wisdom of God, (¹⁸): What is interesting is that the two upper bands start from the shoulders in a saltire shape: the celebrant's head corresponding to Kether, the two bands corresponding to Hokhmah and Binah; their tips would converge at Tiphereth; the central band would connect Tiphereth to Kether, upwards, to Yesod and Malkuth downwards.

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transmitted by the Light, the Word, because, subtly, "alchemically," yellow is produced by red (Love) and white (Wisdom). The golden fabric ornaments, which can be used in place of others, except for black and purple, signify this revelation of God transmitted by the Light. Blue, which is no longer used in the Western Church, is a specific symbol of the Spirit, the Holy Spirit, no longer considered as devouring Fire, but as breath, air (the blue of the sky), and as wisdom. In the icon of Christ, the Savior is sometimes clothed in two robes, one red and one blue. These two colors represent the two aspects of the Holy Spirit, the "Spirit of Jesus." Green, the synthesis of yellow and blue, symbolizes the act resulting from the creation by the Wisdom and Love of God and the revelation of these divine virtues to the human intelligence through the Breath, the Pneuma. It is also a symbol of regeneration, as well as of life. Green ornaments are used between Epiphany and Septuagesima, and then between the third Sunday after Pentecost until Advent, because these times recall the two great events in the life of the world: natural life through creation and the life of Grace through the Resurrection of Christ, hence hope (green is the color of hope, of immortality). Purple, derived from red and blue, which is to say the love of truth and the truth of love, signifies the union of these two colors. It is also interpreted as coming from red and black: it symbolizes penance, an act of pain for what we suffer (the black) and an act of love in the motive that drives us to suffer. Black, the negation of light, generally has a pejorative meaning. However, in liturgy, it is simply a sign of mourning in the external sense, and, more intimately, the preliminary stage to resurrection, the "work in black"; Good Friday prelude to the Resurrection of Christ. It is worn at the funerals of the faithful, their death being only the necessary passage to another life. All these symbols, shapes, and colors, harmoniously combined, contribute to creating the subtle atmosphere conducive to sacred action.

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What we have just said shows clearly that the priest is the main actor in the mimodrama of the Mass. However, he is not the only one. All the faithful are also actors in it. That is why expressions like "hear Mass" or "attend Mass" are completely inadequate, as they suggest that laypeople play only a purely passive role. It must be said that a certain attitude of the clergy, which has taken hold in the Western Church, has contributed to spreading this opinion. Compelled by the Protestant Reformation, which eliminated the ministerial priesthood and thereby destroyed the Mass, the Church strongly and rightly emphasized the specific role of the priest. But the blow, if one can use this familiar expression, went too far and practically made people forget thereafter that there is a "priesthood of the faithful." And it is truly astonishing that many among the Christians, who are faithful to tradition, seem to persist in ignoring this reality, which is grounded in Scripture. Saint Peter himself, in his first letter, referred to the entire Church as a "kingdom of priests" and stated that the disciples of Christ received a "royal priesthood" (1 Peter 2:9). Moreover, this passage from his letter is read on the Saturday after Easter, in connection with the newly baptized, which is quite remarkable because it announces the priesthood of all Christians to those who have just entered the Church. The affirmation of this truth has been constant in Tradition since the time of the Apostles. Saint Irenaeus said, "It is we, like the priest, who offer"(¹⁹), and Saint John Chrysostom, speaking of the beginning of the Canon with the Sursum corda and the subsequent prayers, said, "It is not only the priest who celebrates the thanksgiving (the Eucharist), but the people celebrate with him(²⁰)." We will refer to the Pontifical Encyclicals: "The sacrifice of the New Covenant constitutes this perfect homage in which the High Priest, Christ, and with Him and through Him, all His mystical members glorify God by rendering to Him the homage that is due to Him" (Pius XII, Mediator Dei); "By becoming 'sons of God' (John 1:12), adopted sons (Romans 8:23), we become at the same time, in His likeness, 'a kingdom of priests,' we receive 'the royal priesthood' (1 Peter 2:9; Revelation 5:10), that is, we participate in this unique and irreversible restoration of man and the world to the Father that He, both the eternal Son and true man, accomplished once and for all" (John Paul II, Redemptor hominis).

(¹⁹): Adv. haer. 4, 17, 18. (²⁰): Hom. on II Corinthians 18 (P.G. 61, 527). Another witness, Gregory of Tours: (a woman), celebrates daily the solemnities of the Mass and offers the oblation for the memory of her husband. Cf. Saint Augustine: "The word 'priest' is not only used for bishops and priests, who are properly priests of the Church, but also for all Christians, because of the mystical anointing that makes them members of the same priest, Jesus Christ" (Civitas Dei 17, 4).

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Thus, one should not hesitate to boldly declare, along with a Byzantine rite archpriest, that "the faithful co-celebrate with the priest." Moreover, the very texts of the liturgy invite us to do so; the Roman Mass even seems to emphasize this. For example, before beginning the Canon, the priest, facing the assembly, says, "Pray, my brothers and sisters, that my sacrifice, which is also yours, may be acceptable to God"; during the Canon, before the Consecration: "Remember, O Lord, your servants. We offer it for them, or rather they offer themselves this sacrifice of praise for themselves and for their own"; "Here is the offering that we present to You, Your servants, and along with us, Your entire family." After the Consecration: "Therefore, in memory, O Lord, of the blessed Passion of Christ, we, Your servants, and with us, Your holy people, present to Your Divine Majesty... the perfect victim." These texts make it clear that it is not only, as is often repeated, through the hymns of praise during the "pre-Mass" and its acclamations, and at the Offertory, that the people participate in the liturgy: they are actively involved in the sacrifice itself. To understand things properly, it is important to remember that it is the ecclesia, the holy assembly, that is the subject of the Divine Liturgy. Christ handed down His priesthood to the universal Church so that, through the ministry of priests, she may accomplish the mystical sacrifice. The Church consists of all the faithful, the mystical Body; symbolically, the local assembly, the synaxis, represents the Church and, in this capacity, offers the sacrifice. Indeed, it is an assembly with a hierarchical structure, and it offers the sacrifice through the priest, and it is from this hierarchical structure that it derives its effectiveness. Why? Because it is an image of the total mystical Body. The universal Church is a Body with Christ as its head; in the local church and in the liturgical assembly, the head is the priest, as the representative of Christ. But the union between the priest and the faithful is as intimate as that of the members of a physical body with its head: it is an organic unity in which the parts cannot be isolated. This is why the entire local church, the entire assembly, actively offers the sacrifice because all the members are incorporated into the head of the one who is ultimately the only true priest: Jesus Christ. This doctrine of the priesthood of the faithful finds its fulfillment in that of the mystical wedding to which we have already alluded. The Church, the universal Church, but also the local church, is the Bride, whose gaze is fixed forward

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towards the Lord who announces the wedding: "The Spirit and the Bride say: Come (Rev. 22:16)." The Church is the "spotless Bride of Jesus Christ"(²¹). The unanimity of hearts and voices in the assembly forms a single voice, that of the Church, the Bride of Christ. Between the Bridegroom and the Bride, there is established this dialogue, which is that of the Song of Songs and the one that resounds in the Apocalypse (22:17-20). The efficacy of liturgical prayer is founded on this nuptial love.

It is important, we believe, to emphasize this idea of dialogue because every dramatic play, and the Mass is one, is made up of an exchange of gestures and words. The Mass presents itself as a double dialogue: a dialogue between the priest, the leader of the play, and the faithful, a dialogue between the congregation and God. The first is a "horizontal" dialogue, earthly, while the second is "vertical," heavenly, and, as we can see, once again, the Mass, as a dialogue, fits into the cruciform internal structure that we previously studied. The more important of the two dialogues, and ultimately the only one, is the second one. The first one serves only to send, in a way, from the congregation to the altar, the acclamations and prayers that will rise from there to the heavens. To fully grasp the nature and scope of this dialogue, it is necessary to recall once again that the Mass is simultaneously celebrated on Earth and in Heaven, "for there is one Church up there and down here... The Divine Liturgy is performed at the same time up there and down here, with the difference that up there it is without veils and symbols, and down here through symbols, because we are burdened with this flesh subject to corruption"(²²). In the Mass, there is an extraordinary moment. It is the one that opens the anaphora, or canon, through the Preface and the chant of the Sanctus, the chant of the angels, for then it is like a door that opens in heaven where we glimpse the mysteries of the Beyond and where we are invited to sing with all the celestial beings the glory of Divinity. The liturgy then appears as what it (²¹): Mediator Dei, 27, based on Eph. 5, 21. (²²):Symeon the Theologian, P.G. 155, 337-340.

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truly is, an anticipation of heaven, of the heavenly life of the elect: "After breaking down the wall of separation between heaven and earth," says Saint John Chrysostom, "Christ brought us from heaven this canticle of praise(²³)." "Join the holy people and learn the hidden words," writes Saint Gregory of Nyssa, "proclaim with us what the seraphim with six wings proclaim with the Christian people(²⁴)." The presence of angels during the Mass and our union with angelic choirs have always been strongly emphasized; it is a very ancient tradition that must date back to the Apostles themselves, for the chant of the Sanctus is found in all liturgies. In the Eastern liturgies, the presence of angels is invoked from the beginning; when entering the sanctuary, the Armenian priest says: "Lord our God, who has established in heaven the choirs and armies of angels and archangels for the service of Your Glory, make, at this moment when we enter the sanctuary, that Your holy Angels also enter and be our ministers and glorify Your goodness with us." A similar prayer exists in the Byzantine liturgy. The importance of this mention of angels lies in the fact that the world of faithful Incorporeals is the one where God received a perfect thanksgiving, whereas it was not the same in the human world, which did not follow the angelic world. But Redemption intervened and brought back the human world to the state of the angelic world; the Eucharist brings men back into the angelic ranks and allows them to participate in the Eucharist of the angels expressed in the Sanctus. The Sanctus consists of two parts: the song of the Seraphim and the messianic acclamation. The song of the Seraphim is taken from the vision of Isaiah (6, 3): "Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus Deus Sabaoth, pleni sunt cœli et terra gloria tua." (The text of Isaiah says: "The earth is full of Your Glory," while that of the Mass, more explicit, says: "Heaven and earth are full of Your Glory.") The acclamation is taken from Psalm 118 (Hallel) and a passage from the Gospel: "Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini" (Psalm 118:16), "Hosannah in excelsis" (Matthew 21:9). The passage from Saint Matthew is the one that recounts the triumph of Palm Sunday: "The crowd that went ahead of him and that followed him were shouting, 'Hosannah to the Son of David! Blessed is the one who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosannah in the highest heaven!'" This is the royal entrance of the Messiah, son of David, on earth, in a way (²³) Saint J. Chrysostom, P.G. 56, 138. (²⁴) Saint Gregory of Nyssa, P.G. 46,421 C

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sanctioned by the great theophany of the Divine Majesty in heaven among the Seraphim. Likewise, at the Baptism and on Mount Tabor, the earthly scene is sanctioned by the heavenly theophany, and at the Nativity, by the singing of the Angels, the Gloria in excelsis, which is part of the Roman Mass(²⁵). Moreover, both hymns, Gloria and Sanctus, have a similar structure, developing in two registers: in excelsis (in heaven) and in terra (on earth); in heaven, the splendor of Divinity (Gloria in excelsis, Hosannah in excelsis), and on earth, peace to men (pax hominibus); because, thanks to the coming of the Envoy of God, the One "who comes in the name of the Lord" in the mystery of Christmas, from Palm Sunday, in the glorification of his Passion, commemorated immediately after the Sanctus in the Canon, the "Glory," that is, the Radiance of Divinity itself, descends to earth. The deep meaning of the Sanctus, which is initially a text from the Old Testament, becomes apparent in the light of Hebrew mystical theology. According to this theology, God, who is the Infinite, does not manifest Himself directly in the world, which would be impossible, but, as we have already mentioned(²⁵ ᵇᶦˢ), through His Names or Attributes, which the Jews call Sephiroth and which are, in a way, the Divine Energies, the Divine Powers. There are ten of them, constituting the Fullness of Being, as God determines and manifests Himself. The three upper Sephiroth, Crown, Intelligence, Wisdom, constitute the divine world, while the following seven correspond to the lower worlds, or more precisely, they are the divine Forces that create and sustain these worlds. It is evident that this number ten is symbolic: a number of perfection, it has a primarily qualitative value; it signifies the Fullness of Being and, in fact, the indefinite number of degrees of universal Existence, worlds, and beings, reflecting the Divine Infinity. The six degrees or sephiroth that come after the divine world correspond to the spiritual worlds or angelic states; the tenth sephira, called the "Kingdom" (Malkuth), corresponds to the earth and the human world. In the perfect creation, as it came from the hands of God, the spiritual influx emanating from above, from the Crown, descends and flows normally, like blood in the physical organism, through all the states, worlds, and beings corresponding to the sephiroth, up to the tenth, that of our (²⁵): There is, moreover, like a progression from the Gloria to the Sanctus, a progression that follows that of the Mass itself; the Gloria is the song of the lower angels, and that's why, according to Saint John Chrysostom, it is accessible to catechumens in the first part of the Mass, while the second introduces us to the mystery of the Trinity and, as a result, "is reserved for the initiated, for the baptized" (In Col. 3, 8). (ᵇᶦˢ): See page 78.

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world: it is a state of grace (grace being precisely this spiritual influx), where God is present in the world. This divine Presence is the Shekinah or Divine Glory. On the contrary, in a state of sin, with the current of grace no longer flowing, the earthly world is, in a way, cut off from God; it is a state of exile, symbolized by the deportation to Babylon and the loss of the Ark in which the Shekinah manifested before the deportation. It is then said that "the Shekinah is in exile"; it is the great tribulation of Israel, and pious Hebrews pray for the return of the Shekinah: "Lord, fill Your people with Your Glory" (Eccl. 36, 16); "The salvation of God is near for those who worship Him, so that Glory may return to our land" (Ps. 84). It is precisely this return of Glory among the people of God, accomplished by the Incarnation and Redemption, that the Sanctus and the Gloria sing. In accordance with the teachings of the rabbis, the structure of the Sanctus mirrors that of the Sephirot. Here's how the chant of the Seraphim is explained: The three Sanctus addresses the three upper Sephirot: Crown, Intelligence, Wisdom(²⁶); Dominus Deus addresses the next three: Love, Severity, Beauty; Sabaoth addresses the following three: Victory, Honor, Foundation; pleni sunt cœli et terra gloria tua, is directed towards the last Sephira: the Kingdom(²⁷). Thus, the seraphic hymn embraces and summarizes Creation in all its extent and the divine Presence within Creation; it leads us into the mystery of the uncreated Being giving Himself to Himself in the Trinity and making all beings participate in His own infinite life, a terrible mystery before which even the Seraphim themselves veil their faces. But at the same time, this hymn, like the Gloria, proclaims the love of God, making His Glory shine throughout the Created and illuminating heaven and earth. It is precisely this love that constitutes the good news of "He who comes in the name of the Lord" in the sacred mystery of the divine liturgy. Et in terra pax hominibus. The peace He brings is not external peace, the peace "as the world gives it"; it is the "Peace of the Lord," "the reconciliation of all things in God through the blood shed on the cross" and the fullness of the state of grace in the soul; the "Peace of the Lord" is the "return from exile of the Shekinah" that "finds its residence on our earth" because "the Word became flesh and dwelt among us"; in nobis, but (²⁶): This does not contradict the trinitarian nature of the Sanctus because there is an analogy, if not identity, between the three divine persons and the three higher sephiroth. Thus, for example, the luminous triangle, which is related to this Trinity, is a Christian symbol, as much as it is Hebrew. (²⁷): Isaac Askenaz in J. Mever. On the mystery of the Holy Trinity.

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also "within us," since "the Kingdom of God is within you." And thus, one can see the full meaning of this word "kingdom": malkuth, it is the name of the tenth sephira, the indwelling of God and His Glory among men, His birth among us and within us(²⁸). The integration of the Sanctus into the Eucharistic anaphora reminds us of the cosmic significance of the Mass sacrifice that we have previously studied(²⁹), and allows us to sing and exalt in a truly worthy manner (vere dignum) the great mystery of creation and its regeneration through Christ. The Sabaoth, the "armies" of the Lord, while specifically referring to Victory, Honor, and Foundation, also designate the stars (and the angelic choirs that correspond to them analogically) because the entire hierarchy of these choirs rises from the earth to the Supreme Being, just as the different planetary heavens above us, beyond the sphere of fixed stars, and finally the empyrean where the eternal fire of Divinity burns. Thus, we have a truly sacred image of the world, which was that of our ancestors, much more "true" in reality than that of our modern scholars; an image of a world that has itself become a song, a concrete hymn to the Lord: "Cæli enarrant gloriam Dei" (The heavens declare the glory of God). Man, at the center of the cosmos, joins in this silent hymn, which is also the hymn of the angels. And since, in the visible world, it is only man who possesses the gift of speech, both words and song, it is up to him on Earth to express, through words and song, the silent praise of things, to be their spokesperson, and to celebrate this cosmic liturgy that the angelic choirs celebrate in heaven. That is why, at the end of the Preface, the Church invites us to blend our voices with those of the angels to sing the Sanctus: "We beseech Thee, O Lord, permit us to join our voices with theirs, to continually repeat: Holy, Holy, etc." Participation in the liturgy here is the union with the angels who are mingled with the assembly of the faithful. "The angels," Saint John Chrysostom says, "surround the priest. The entire sanctuary and the space around the altar are filled with the heavenly Powers to honor the One who is present on the altar(³⁰)." In several Eastern liturgies, circular fans called riphidia, on which (²⁸): Among the Hebrews, the Shekinah is often assimilated to malkuth, the Kingdom. Furthermore, the word "Shekinah" comes from a verb meaning "to rest," and this sense is analogous in many ways to that of "peace." (²⁹): See above. (³⁰): De sacr. 6, 4.

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seraphim are painted or engraved, are used. They are carried during the Great Entrance and waved above the offerings placed on the altar. If the Mass is the earthly representation of the heavenly liturgy celebrated by the incorporeal Hierarchies, we must, in a sense, concelebrate with them, since we are "fellow citizens with the saints and members of the household of God" (Ephesians 2:19) and have come "to Mount Zion and to the city of the living God, the heavenly Jerusalem, and to innumerable angels" (Hebrews 12:22)(³¹).

The dialogue between the celebrant and the faithful is constantly punctuated by the word "amen," which signifies their agreement with the prayer or praise. The frequency of the word "Amen" in worship is perhaps paradoxically the reason why it is seldom given much attention. However, it is only natural to wonder why this word is so commonly used and why it clearly holds such significance. "Amen" is a Hebrew word, and if the holy founders of the liturgy, under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, preserved it in its Hebrew form (along with a few others like "alleluia," "hosanna," "sabaoth"), it is undoubtedly for powerful reasons. The preservation of "amen" in its Hebrew form is a sign that it is an exceptionally sacred word. Indeed, Hebrew remains, in principle, the only sacred language of Christianity. Various circumstances have forced Christianity to use other languages, both in its teachings and in its liturgy. But while Greek, Latin, Syriac, and Arabic are "liturgical" languages, they are not "sacred" languages in Christianity, meaning they are not the immediate custodians of the Divine Word. All the teachings and formulas of Christianity are ultimately based on and trace their roots to Hebrew. And if certain Hebrew words have been retained in the liturgy, it is partly to remind us of this truth. However, there are also much deeper reasons for this. Thus, the sacred word "amen" contains a mysterious teaching that can only be expressed in the Hebrew form and conditions its spiritual efficacy in both public and private prayer. The word "Amen" is related to the verb "aman," which conveys the idea of "stability," "constancy," "faithfulness," and "truth." The root of this word (³¹): The Byzantine liturgy is even more explicit than the Roman one. Before the singing of the Cherubim, the choir expresses itself as follows: "We who mystically represent the Cherubim, sing to the life-giving Trinity, the thrice-holy hymn..."

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exists in Arabic with a similar meaning. The word "Amen" is sometimes an adverb, meaning "yes, truly" (which Jesus often used, saying, "Truly, truly, I say to you"), and at other times, it is an adjective and a noun, signifying "true," "faithful," "truth," and "faithfulness." It is as an adverb, "yes, truly," that "amen" is used to conclude prayers; it constitutes the ritual acquiescence of believers to divine praise or a request addressed to God. This usage is borrowed from Judaism. For example, in Deuteronomy (27:15-26), the people respond "amen" twelve times to Moses' twelve curses (on idolaters, adulterers, etc.). In the Book of Revelation, "amen," sometimes immediately followed by "alleluia," is the cry of the four living creatures and the twenty-four elders; they seal with an "amen" the praises of all creatures to God (Revelation 5:14; 7:11; 19:4). Furthermore, "amen" is a name, more precisely a Divine Name, for example in the Book of Isaiah (21, 1; 65, 16), with the meaning of "true and faithful God," and especially in the Apocalypse, where Christ is called "the Amen, the faithful and true Witness, the Beginning of God's creation" (3, 14; cf. 1, 5). It is this latter usage that we would like to focus on, as it contains the great mystery of "amen." The word, indeed, in addition to its common and external meaning, possesses an inner sense that opens up perspectives on the mystery of regeneration. It is possible to approach the inner meaning through certain well-known methods of interpretation of the early Fathers of the Church, which are specific to sacred languages. First of all, the word "amen" is considered in Jewish tradition as an abbreviated Divine Name, meaning that the three letters A, M, N (the vowels, here represented by 'E', are not counted in Semitic languages) form an acronym and are the initials of the three names: Adonai, Melek, Ne'eman, "Lord," "King," "Faithful." Applied to Christ, as in the passage from the Apocalypse mentioned above, this name first signifies fidelity to the Father's will, and then the unshakable character of His Kingship, "whose reign will have no end," and the certainty that He will fulfill His promises, since He has "the words of eternal life." Elsewhere, the symbolic value of each letter is considered. The 'A' designates the primary source, the Principle, the divine Absolute; 'M' is the sign of Water,

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the Water from the first chapter of Genesis, which is to say, the entirety of universal possibilities, the "chaos" that must be "organized" by Fiat lux; 'N' is the sign of Nature, not so much the nature of modern physicists, but the transcendent Nature (Natura naturans), through which divine Energy creates worlds. Thus, the word "amen" designates the action of the divine Creator Principle on universal Nature. This is precisely the definition of the divine Word "through whom all things were made" (Saint John, 1:3). Finally, the study of the word through gematria confirms the previous meaning. In "amen," by replacing the three consonants with their corresponding numerical values, we have: A (1) + M (40) + N (50) = 91. This sum of 91 can be interpreted in two ways. If we add the two constituent numbers (an operation called sacred addition), we get: 9 + 1 = 10 = 1 + 0 = 1, which splendidly confirms the meaning obtained through the symbolic value of the letters. This means that in "Christ-Amen," and through Him, all the multiplicity of creatures in nature (M - N) is brought back to the Unity of the Father (A), because "Christ-Amen is 'the Beginning of God's creation'" (Revelation 3:14) and "the Firstborn of all creation" (Colossians 1:15). On the other hand, the total 91 is the sum of 26 and 65. Now, 26 corresponds to the numerical value of the divine Name (YHWH), and 65 to that of the word "hikal," meaning "temple." From this perspective: Amen = YHWH + hikal, which means this: when Amen is realized, the Lord stands in His temple, and thus, in the world, of which the temple is the symbol; the divine Presence illuminates all beings. Now, it is in Christ-Amen, once again, that the Presence of God is perfectly realized in His creation: the Fullness of God, as Saint Paul teaches, dwelt bodily in Him; in His body, which is the temple (St. John 2, 21). These considerations find their full meaning and justification at a solemn moment during the Mass: the end of the great Eucharistic prayer. The priest, at that moment, offers to God the entire creation, represented by the bread and wine, the matter of the sacrifice, transformed into the Body and Blood of Christ, and he proclaims: "Through Him, constantly, Lord, You create these things, You sanctify them, give them life, bless them, and give them to us. Through Him, with Him, and in Him. To You, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, all honor and all glory throughout the ages." At this moment, the officiant raises the Holy Gifts, and the faithful respond: Amen!

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In the early centuries of Christianity, it is said that this "Amen" from the people resounded like thunder in Rome. It is the great "Amen," the people's adherence to the sacrifice of expiation and praise; it imitates the "Amen" sung by the Blessed Ones in the heavenly Jerusalem. On the other hand, since the ritual assembly of believers gathered in the temple for the prayer of sacrifice is, in a certain way, the mystical Body of Christ, the "Amen," at that moment, appears as the activation of this divine Name: it is the total Christ, head and members, who says "Amen" to the glory of God, in accordance with this passage from Scripture: "The Son of God, Christ Jesus, was not 'yes' and then 'no'; in Him, there is only one 'yes' (amen); all the promises of God, in fact, have found their 'yes' in His Person (Amen = King, Faithful Witness), and it is through Him that 'Amen' is pronounced to the glory of God through our ministry (2 Cor. 1:19-20)." The Jews say that when one pronounces the word "amen" with all their might, it opens the doors of heaven. Indeed, at that moment of the Holy Sacrifice, when the Victim is offered, the channel of Grace, broken by the fall, is restored, the state of Eden is renewed, and the true Man, the heavenly Man, the New Adam, stands upon the holy stone of the altar, the supreme Mediator between earth and heaven. It is noteworthy that immediately after the great "Amen" is pronounced, the Pater is chanted. This prayer of the God-Man is, in fact, the call for the Kingdom symbolized by the word "amen." When "Amen = 91" is realized (and it is virtually achieved through the Mass), the Will of the Father is done, the Bread of Life abounds, offenses are forgiven, there is no more temptation, and evil is banished, for the Presence of the Lord (YHWH) fills the temple (hikal) and the world. So, when we say Amen, not only at this moment of sacrifice, but in any prayer, we express our unconditional yes to the divine will, in union with the Man-God, and we proclaim that in Christ all of creation returns to God, and that truly, heaven joins with earth in the Man-God in whom we live, being members of His mystical Body.

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CHAPTER VI LITURGY OF THE WORD

By studying, in a previous chapter, the unfolding of the Mass, we have mentioned how inadequate the commonly used expressions "before-Mass" and "preparation" are to describe the first part of the celebration. These terms imply that this phase of the liturgy is not properly the Mass and that the latter term only applies to the following phase, that of the sacrifice. However, this is entirely untrue. This first part of the celebration is an integral part of the Divine Liturgy and forms an inseparable whole with the following part. This part of the Mass is a magnificent example of the dialogue between man and God that we have talked about: it is composed of the prayers of praise and intercession of the faithful addressing God and God's response that comes through the reading of the Bible, the Gospels, and the Apostolic Epistles. This reading of sacred texts, which constitutes the high point and center of this part of the Mass, is the very voice of the Son of God resonating once again in the ears of Christians. That is why this moment is particularly sacred, and it is a fortunate initiative to designate it, in recent years, as the "Liturgy of the Word." The Mass thus appears to be composed of a double liturgy: the liturgy of sacrifice and the liturgy of the Word, each responding to the other and complementing each other. Analyzing this formula, specifying its nature and scope, will be the subject of the following pages. It is quite wrongly that some have criticized the expression, claiming that the word "liturgy" could only apply to the phase of the sacrifice that begins at the offertory. Indeed, the formula "Liturgy of the Word" has a particularly solid foundation since it is a passage from Saint Paul, Rom. 15:16; the Apostle refers to the grace he received from God "to be the minister (litourgon) of Christ among the nations, celebrating (hiérourgounta) the Gospel of God, so that the

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offerings (prosphora) of the nations may be acceptable, sanctified by the Holy Spirit." We have indicated in Greek (and not in the inaccurate Latin Vulgate) the three important words; Saint Paul is the "liturgist" of Christ: the word litourgos always applies, in the Greek of the New Testament, to the minister of a cultic function; this is confirmed by the word hierourgounta; the verb hierourgin denotes an act of worship, the performance of a sacred action (hieron, ergon); finally, the third word, prosphora, is the same one that designates in the Mass the offertory and the Holy Gifts. So the entire passage refers us to the context of the Divine Liturgy, and the same words that are used to designate the offering and the priestly function in the sacrifice are employed here to define the ministry of the Word, the proclamation of the Gospel, which is thus integrated, through the terminology itself, into the liturgy of the sacrifice. This state of affairs can be easily explained if one remembers that it is the oldest tradition of the Church, and never interrupted, that the Word of Christ preserved in Scripture is something entirely similar to His Body under the appearance of bread. Saint Ignatius of Antioch said that the Gospel was his refuge "like the flesh of Jesus"(¹); and Origen: "The bread of which Christ says it is His Body, is the Word that nourishes souls"(²); Tertullian: "The Word of life is like the flesh of the Son of God"(³); Saint Caesarius of Arles: "The word of Jesus Christ does not seem less valuable than His body; therefore, as much caution as we take not to let the body of Jesus Christ presented to us fall to the ground, we should also take as much caution not to let the word of Jesus Christ that is announced to us fall from our hearts; because the one who listens negligently to the holy word is no less guilty than the one who, through his fault, allows the very body of Jesus Christ to fall"(⁴). This is why Saint Augustine wrote: "Let us listen to the Gospel as if the Lord Himself were speaking... The Lord dwells on High, but the Lord is also here as Truth"(⁵). This tradition of the Church can be followed through the ages: it suffices to recall this passage from the Imitation that speaks of two tables placed in the treasure of the Church: one on the holy altar, where the consecrated bread is found, and the table of the divine Law, containing holy doctrine, teaching true

(¹): Ad Phil, 5, 1. (²): In Matt. hom. 35. (³): De resurrect. 37. (⁴): Cited by Bossuet, Sermon on the word of God. (⁵): Treatise 30 In Joh., 1 (P.L. 35, 1632).

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faith, and leading us inside the veil where the Holy of Holies is found(⁶). This text is quite interesting because it suggests that a particular divine grace, coming from the mystical union between the proclamation of the Word and the Eucharist, operates during the Mass. The soul is prepared by the initial prayers; then the Word falls on fertile ground to make it sprout (Mark 4:8); then comes communion, to which the soul is elevated by the readings that have revived its faith. This doctrine of analogy between Word and Bread explains the marks of veneration that surround the Gospel book. From the beginning of the Mass, it is placed on the altar to clearly show that it represents Christ. In the past, in councils and synods, it was placed on a throne to preside over the assembly. In Syrian basilicas, the bema, a large platform in front of the sanctuary intended for readings, had a small altar topped with a canopy supported by four columns, a altar quite similar, therefore, to the main altar, on which the Gospel book was placed. This was a custom inherited from the synagogue, where a throne is likewise reserved for the Torah. The solemn procession that precedes the reading of the Gospel with the lights, the incensing of the book, the kiss to the book reminiscent of the kiss to the altar — which "is" Christ — all of these rites go in the same direction of a true liturgy and adoration directed toward the Word of God(⁷). But why, one might ask, this reading of the Gospel, as well as the Epistles which are but its commentary? Wouldn't it suffice for each believer to read the Holy Scriptures in private? No. For intrinsic reasons, the Holy Scriptures must be communicated during divine worship. First, because they were written for this purpose, to be the catechesis addressed to the ecclesia, the assembly, the synaxis, gathered for the liturgy; then, because, as we have recalled above, the Church believes that Christ is alive in the words of the Apostles and the Evangelists, and that the Christ who speaks through these texts is a Christ present in the assembly. This presence of Christ is guaranteed by Christ Himself to the faithful gathered in His Name: "Where two or three are gathered in My Name, I am in their midst(⁸)"; and the synaxis is the privileged place and moment for the communication of the Word of God. There is an action of God in the "proclamation" (kerygma) of His Word, to which the believer adheres through his "acclamation": Laus tibi, Christe, Doxa si, Christe. (⁶): Imitation of Jesus Christ, Book 4, Chapter 11. (⁷): In the East, during the Mass, the priest blesses the assembly with the Gospel book, just as with the cross.

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It is necessary to fully grasp the reality before us and its mode of production. The words revealed in the Scriptures are actualized through ritual recitation. Among the rabbis, liturgical reading is assimilated to the direct emission of the Divine Voice at Sinai. This is precisely why liturgical reading must follow a certain rhythm, which we will discuss later, and if it is not chanted, it should be recited in a plain tone; there is no greater mistake than trying to make the Gospel or the epistle a "expressive" reading, according to the rules of secular diction, because then, inevitably, man adds something of himself to it; whereas, in this case, the personality of the human individual must yield to the transcendent personality of the divine Master. The solemn and ritual reading of the Word of the Master realizes the immediate presence of the original act by which it first manifested itself, in illo tempore. The spoken words bring forth the original act once again, and the reality of salvation, which they bear, becomes present among us (⁸ ᵇᶦˢ). This is accomplished in the manner we have already described for the sacrifice: just as, for the consecration of the Bread and Wine, it is the power of the Holy Spirit that descends through the Church, which enlivens the action of the Church, of the celebrant. Thus, this solemn reading of Scripture is truly a sacrament of the Word, and we now better understand the close connection between Word and Sacrifice in the Mass. The word that speaks in the liturgy is the Word by whom the world was created, the Word, by whom the world must be recreated, which is the very purpose of the Holy Sacrifice as the restoration of the original world. In this word, its Author is indeed present. That is why one must not regard the passages from Scripture proclaimed at Mass as articles of dogma, expressions of ideas, or concepts in the manner of academic study texts; no, they constitute, as previously mentioned, a "call": the people of God are called by the Word to do and become what the Word proclaims. In response to this call, the people make a commitment; the liturgical celebration engages the people, as the Mass, as we have said, is the worship of the Mystical Body. Therefore, the proclamation of Scripture at Mass is something entirely different from any ordinary reading, no matter how interesting it may be. The entire Mass is ultimately a "Liturgy (⁸): Saint Matthew 18, 20. This statement is drawn from Jewish tradition. In fact, we read in Pirke Aboth 3, 8: "From where does it come that when ten men gather to pray, the Shekinah is among them? And from where does it come that when two gather to study the Law, the Shekinah is among them?". We have already had the opportunity, it seems to us, to discuss the relationship of Christ with the Shekinah, which is the "dwelling of God among humans," see page 71, note 4. (ᵇᶦˢ): This fact is consistent in all religious contexts; for example, the ritual reading, which is a celebration, of the cosmogonic narrative constitutes a reiteration of creation; for instance, during the Babylonian New Year festival. (See M. Eliade, The Myth of Eternal Return, p. 90, 91, and Aspects of Myth.)

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of the Word"; the liturgy of a single Word that spoke at the origin of the world, that "in the end of times" spoke as the Word made flesh (Verbum caro factum est), and which, at this moment, during the Divine Liturgy, speaks to man once again and gives itself to him as nourishment, so that it can, from the very heart of man, sing the praise of the Father in the Holy Spirit. An important point on which we emphasize is that the sacred texts preserving the word of God must be orally communicated to the faithful by the priest. Here, once again, we are confronted with a constant in the universal sacred, especially in the cults we have studied concerning sacrifice and ritual memory, known as "mysteries" following the Greeks, which exist in most traditions and to which Christian worship is linked in form. It has been observed that the characteristic of these cults is to involve the believer, the "initiate," in the destiny of the god through rites that can be categorized into three types: liturgical actions (dromena), displays (diknymena) of sacred objects, and sayings (legomena). This last type of ritual involves revealing to the believer the history of God, which is a history of salvation. This is precisely what we call "liturgy of the word." However, in all these cults, the transmission of the history of God is the oral transmission of a secret, the secret of salvation (sotiria), and this transmission occurs from mouth to ear; the priest "transmits" (paradidosi), and the believer "receives" (paralamvani). Saint Paul expresses it no differently when he writes, "We constantly thank God that when you received (paralavontes) the word of God that you heard (logon akoïs) from us, you accepted it not as a word of men but as what it really is, the Word of God, which is also at work in you who believe... (1 Thess. 2, 13)." The mystagogue "speaks," and the initiate "listens" and "receives." They receive the divine word not in writing but orally, in a living process, a living contact, and from the mouth of someone who has received it themselves through a transmission (paradosis), or if you prefer, an uninterrupted tradition, dating back to the founder of the cult, in the case of Christianity, through the "apostolic chain." Saint Paul emphasizes the necessity of the oral transmission of the evangelical message: "Faith comes from hearing," he says, and he adds, "hearing comes through the word of Christ" (pistis ex akoïs, hi dè akoï dia rimatos Christou) (Rom. 10, 17). "Faith comes from hearing," the hearing of the voice of the Apostle and the voice of the Church, because the voice of the Church is the emanation of the divine Word.

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The validity of this oral communication of the Word of God has been particularly highlighted by the research of Father Jousse on the anthropology of speech and gesture, which has paved a new way to understand Scripture. This scholar recalled that the word designating a thing can be the thing as much as the thing itself because the word itself is fundamentally concrete. This is especially true of the languages of traditional societies, such as that of the ancient Hebrews, where the word and the name (Hebrew "shem") are synonymous with essence, nature, a being, or an object. The word is fundamentally an articulation projected outward by breath and received by the ear. The organ of articulation is the mouth of the speaker; and the mouth, which is the organ of speech, is also the instrument of mastication. Father Jousse could have, in this regard, pointed out a passage from Plato who had already remarkably highlighted the ambivalent role of the mouth: "It is by virtue, both of necessity and of the best, that our creators (the gods) have equipped it with teeth, the tongue, and lips, as it is arranged today. And they have provided together the entrance of food, a matter of necessity, and the exit of words, a matter of the best. Indeed, everything that enters through the mouth to provide nourishment to the body is necessary; and, on the other hand, the source of words, which springs forth outward to serve the mind, is, of all sources, the most beautiful and the best(⁹)." The word, as Father Jousse continues, is embodied (and one must give this word all the strength that comes from its etymology and which means "to make enter, penetrate into the body"), it is embodied by the bones and the eardrum of the one who listens; but, furthermore, it is also embodied by his mouth because man is, by nature, a mime, and he repeats, in microgestures, the visible oral gestures of the speaker. Thus, speech, a meaningful vibration, leaps from the body of the speaker and becomes a part of the body of the one who hears it, and this happens through listening and through "miming." It is on this psycho-somatic process that teaching is based in traditional societies, particularly in the Palestinian milieu which was that of Christ. Buccalization, as Father Jousse says, is the human gesture chosen by God for His teaching. Now, buccalization is both speaking, reciting, and eating, as has already been mentioned. Furthermore, in this same Palestinian milieu, the teacher gave his lessons with a rhythm-melody that facilitated its penetration into the student, along with appropriate gestures and mime, so that one received the teaching (⁹): Timaeus, 75 D.E.

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through the eyes as well. Through the irradiation of this melody and mime, the master literally incarnated himself in the disciple. The teaching penetrated deeply into his psycho-somatic being through a phenomenon of intussusception (from the Latin suscipere, "to receive," "to take in," intus, "inside," "in intimacy"). In this type of teaching, the disciple reenacts the lesson of the master; he "repeats it in echo" (in Greek catecho, from which the word catechism derives); this is what the Jews call the mishna. In this way, the Torah was learned: one "echoed" the Word of God, and this was the practice of the synagogue liturgy; it is the normal function of the distribution of the word, with the synagogue being considered as a replica of Mount Sinai. This is also the fundamental concept of Christian worship. What is most characteristic in this intussusception of speech is what Fr. Jousse calls the manducation of speech: one takes the master's words into their mouth and consumes them. Thus, when God spoke to Ezekiel, He said, “‘Open your mouth and eat what I am about to give you.’ I looked, and I saw a hand reaching out to me with a scroll… ‘Son of man,’ He said to me, ‘eat the scroll I am giving you and fill your stomach with it.’ So I ate it, and in my mouth it was sweet as honey” (Ezekiel 3:1-3)(¹⁰). We also find a similar sequence in Apocalypse 10:8-9. Every teacher, as Father Jousse says, nourishes themselves to the best of their ability; true pedagogy consists in embodying the entire being of the teacher in the disciple. Jesus, who is the Almighty, perfected this at the Last Supper. "The Last Supper," Father Jousse says, "is indissolubly the buccal, oral intussusception of the flesh and blood of the Teacher and the buccal and oral intussusception of the rhythmo-catechism of this teacher. It is the Last Supper and the Discourse after the Last Supper (of Saint John)(¹¹)." This statement by Father Jousse, following the summary of his anthropology that we have just presented, clearly illustrates how the Church, following the example of Christ and the Apostles, conceives the heart of its teaching: the solemn proclamation of Scripture, the Word of God. Furthermore, it is worth noting that this solemnity is enhanced by a rhythmic melody that, as previously mentioned, (¹⁰): Cf. Ps. 118: “Wonderful are Your declarations; my soul observes them. I open my mouth wide to breathe them in, for I am eager for Your commandments.” Cf. the common expression: “drinking in someone's words.” (¹¹): Here we summarize the essentials of two works by Father Jousse: "The Anthropology of Gesture," Paris, 1969, and "The Mastication of the Word," Paris, 1975.

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aims to facilitate the intimate penetration, embodiment, and intussusception of the Word into the psycho-somatic being of the believer. This rhythmic melody is inherited from Hebrew usage: while reduced to a very simple line in the Latin rite, it has retained all its richness and efficacy in the Eastern rites. One must hear, for example, the solemn proclamation of Scripture in Arabic or the extraordinary rhythmic melody arranged by Rachmaninoff for the Epistle to the Romans in the Byzantine-Slavic rite to grasp the vast difference that separates such a proclamation from the meager "expressive" reading that has become widespread in the Western Church. Here, it is a small human breath with little significance, which is ill-suited for the sublimity of the message; there, on the contrary, it is truly an echo of the Great Voice that resounded at Sinai or on the Mount of Beatitudes, a proclamation worthy of the divine Word. The studies of Father Jousse clearly highlight the connection between the proclamation of the Word of God and the Eucharist, and consequently, between the Eucharistic liturgy and the liturgy of the Word. In both cases, the goal is to incorporate us, in two different ways, "the flesh and the blood," that is, according to the biblical expression, the entire being of the Son of God, the divine Word. Thus, if this conception conditions the manner of proclaiming the Word in the liturgy, it also dictates our attitude toward this Word of God and how it should be received. The Word must be consumed because it must become flesh of our flesh and spirit of our spirit. We must allow ourselves to be infused by it and by the power of the Spirit, a substantial word must form in the heart, through a kind of infusion similar to the infusion of consciousness into the body. And this is what the three crosses refer to, which are traced on the forehead, mouth, and chest before the Gospel is heard; these parts of the body correspond, indeed, to three centers of the subtle organism that condition the spiritual "awakening"(¹²). According to symbolism familiar in Scripture, it can also be said that the Word of God must fall, like the grain of wheat, into the "earth" of our body and heart in order to germinate there (Matt. 13, 4-23). This symbolism goes very far, as it leads us to the threshold of the mystery of the Incarnation; in the text of the Maronite Mass, we read these words placed in the mouth of Christ Himself: "Our Lord said: I am the Bread of Life come down from heaven to earth so that the world may live through Me." (¹²): In Hindu terminology, it concerns the three chakras called ajna (at the forehead), vishudda (at the throat), and anahata (at the heart).

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The Father sent Me, the Incorporeal Word: like a delightful grain of wheat in fertile soil, the womb of Mary received Me. The Word, the Word, must be born in us as in the womb of the Virgin. But how was it born there? Through listening. This is the mystery of the Annunciation, the great Announcement of the Word, the Verb. Now, according to Saint Augustine, the Virgin first conceived through hearing, through listening to the Word, and it is through obedience to the divine Word that she became worthy to conceive in her body(¹³): "fiat mihi secundum verbum tuum, et Verbum caro factum est." Mary's fiat, the same word that brought forth creation — "fiat lux, et lux facta est" — conceives the divine Word, the divine Verb, in a human body. The Annunciation is thus the archetype of listening to the Word of God. To illustrate this mystery of the Annunciation and, consequently, also of listening to the Word, we will cite the page written about it by the Sufi Al-Baqli, which describes well the process of this spiritual generation: "The substance of Mary is the very substance of original Holiness. Educated by the Real (the Divinity) in the light of Intimacy, in each of her breaths, she is magnetized by the signs of Proximity and Intimacy, toward the home of divine lights; she watches, every moment, for the rising of the sun of Power in the East of the Kingdom. She withdrew from all created beings, through her elevated aspiration, penetrated by the light of the hidden Mystery. She turned towards the horizon from which shine the gleams of the Essence and Attributes of God, inhaling the breezes of union that blow from the world of Eternity. Towards her came one of the breezes of eternal Encounter, and upon her rose the sun of contemplation of Holiness. When she contemplated the manifestation of the radiant East of the Eternal, His lights filled her, and His secrets reached the depths of her soul. Her soul conceived through the Breath of the hidden Mystery. She became the bearer of the highest Word (the divine Word) and the Light of the highest Spirit. When her state became magnificent through the reflection in her of the beauty manifesting the Eternal, she hid herself from creatures, placing her joy in the union with the Supreme Reality(¹⁴)."

(¹³): Cited by Bossuet, Sermon on the Word of God. (¹⁴): Cited by Father Abd-el-Jalil, Mary and Islam, Paris, 1950.

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CHAPTER VII THEOSIS

After having, in the last chapters, studied several modalities of the Divine Liturgy, we must now, at the end of this work, return to its central object in order to further analyze it and measure its ultimate significance. The central object of the liturgy, as we have mentioned, is the mystery of Christ, and the mystery of Christ is exhausted in the reality of sacrifice understood in its broadest sense. We will not repeat everything we have already said about these two realities. Let us simply recall that the mystery of Christ encompasses His entire economy of incarnation, death, resurrection, ascension, and the outpouring of the Holy Spirit, and that the sacrifice of Christ also encompasses all of this, which is actualized for humanity in the rite of the Divine Liturgy. And, precisely, we would now like to resume the examination of these two realities, considering them more specifically in their reason and ultimate purpose, namely the sanctifying transformation of man. On the nature and scope of this transformation, there can be no doubt: it is deification, theosis. This is clearly evident from the great discourse delivered by Christ Himself after the Last Supper: "That they all may be one, as You, Father, are in Me, and I in You, that they also may be one in Us, so that the world may believe that You have sent Me. I have given them the glory that You gave Me, that they may be one as We are one; I in them and You in Me, that they may be perfectly one... (Saint John, 17:21-23)." And in another passage, Jesus prays to the Father that, He says, "where I am, they may also be."

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Here we have the fundamental charter, so to speak, of the theosis. In different language, Saint Paul will reiterate the same thing: "God... has brought us to life with Jesus Christ; He has raised us up with Him and made us sit in the heavens in His Person (Eph. 2, 4-6)." This is commented upon in an evening hymn for the Feast of the Ascension in the Byzantine rite: "The nature of Adam, which had fallen to the depths of the earth, this nature that You have renewed, O God, You elevate today with You above Principalities and Powers; in Your love for it, You establish it where You reside." Similarly, Saint Leo says: "Today, we have not only been confirmed as possessors of paradise, but in the person of Christ, we have entered the highest heavens... The Son of God has incorporated them (humankind) and placed them at the right hand of the Father(¹)." In another form, Saint Paul again announces the same transformation when he says: "Christ is the image of God" and "we are transformed into this same image, increasingly radiant, and it is the work of the Lord who is Spirit" (2 Cor. 4, 4 and 3, 18). What Scripture expresses in existential or figurative terms, the Fathers and Tradition, after it, translate into metaphysical terms, where the essence of the mystery becomes quite clear. "After completing the creation of man, who was entirely new and beautiful," writes Saint Gregory of Nyssa, "God said to him, 'Man, you shall be the master of the earth and superior to everything that exists in the universe. You shall be equal to Me, your God. As a pledge of your resemblance to God, I give you now the supreme divine prerogative: freedom(²).'" This was only a first degree, so to speak, as indicated by the expression "from now on," an expression that implies that something else was to follow. Man was called to a higher realization of the "equality" alluded to. In another passage, the same Father writes this concise formula that resounds like thunder: "Man was created with the order to become God(³)." This formula is not isolated but can be found in other Fathers: "God mixed His blood with ours to make us, men, one being with Him(⁴)"; "Christ became incarnate so that man may become God"(⁵); a formula that summarizes the theanthropic journey.

(¹): Lesson from the second nocturne of the Ascension, in the Latin rite. (²): Saint Gregory of Nyssa, P.G. 46, 524. (³): The same, P.G. 36, 560 A. (⁴): Saint John Chrysostom, Hom. 46, 2 (P.G. 49, 260).

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Such is, at its ultimate core, the mystery of Christ that we have been discussing since the beginning of this book: it is deification. And this deification is realized in the Mass, as Christ Himself implied when uttering the words we mentioned earlier, just after the Last Supper, where He instituted the Eucharistic sacrament. Saint Maximus the Confessor expressed it vividly: "Through the holy participation in the pure and life-giving mysteries (the Mass), man receives intimacy and identity with God: through it, man obtains to become God, from being a man(⁶)." The liturgy itself reminds us of this; as in the Latin rite, this secret prayer states: "God, who through the wondrous exchange effected in this sacrifice, make us partakers of Your unique and sovereign Divinity, grant that, knowing Your Truth, we may also attain it through a worthy way of life(⁷)." And above all, always in the Latin rite, the prayer that we have already discussed above and that accompanies, at the offertory, the mixing of water and wine: "O God, You who by a miracle created the dignity of human nature and, by an even greater miracle, reformed it; may we, through the mystery of this water and wine, share in the divinity of Him who deigned to unite with our humanity, Jesus Christ." We will also, in a moment, need to revisit this rite of the mixing once again. All the texts we have just cited clearly state that the Mass is the place where deification is achieved through a true transmutation of man. Therefore, the process of the Divine Liturgy is not without analogy to that of alchemy; in both cases, indeed, there is a transformation, transmutation, of both a material element and the person engaged in the operation. Do not be surprised to see us discussing alchemy here. We know that, in general, among the public, especially the Catholic community, alchemy does not have a good reputation; it is classified among the cursed sciences, more or less satanic. This is unjust, however. Undoubtedly, there have been dubious (⁵): Saint Augustine, cf. Saint Irenaeus, Against Heresies, 5 (P.G. 7, 1120); Saint Athanasius, On the Incarnation of the Word, 54 (P.G. 25, 192 B); Saint Gregory of Nazianzus, Poemata Dogmatica, 10, 5-9 (P.G. 37, 465); and again, Saint Gregory of Nyssa, Orationes Catecheticae, 25 (P.G. 45, 65 D). For the continuation, see Eckhart: "The soul unites with God as food to man, becoming eye in the eye, ear in the ear; thus in God, the soul becomes God, for I am what absorbs me rather than myself (Evans I, 287 and 380)." (⁶): Saint Maximus the Confessor, Mystag. 24 (P.G. 91, 704) (⁷): Secret for the 18th Sunday after Pentecost

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alchemists, even sometimes satanic ones, like the legendary Doctor Faust. But this should not overshadow true and genuine alchemy, the one practiced by real alchemists who include illustrious men of faith and sanctity, such as Basile Valentin, Gerbert, who became a pope, the Franciscans Roger Bacon and Raymond Lulle, Saint Albert the Great, the teacher of Saint Thomas Aquinas, who, although he did not practice alchemy himself, held this science in high esteem, as well as genuine astrology. It is regrettable that most Catholic authors who write about these traditional sciences are, for the most part, ignorant of their true nature and only know their more or less occult deviations. Alchemy, in the narrowest sense, aimed to achieve the "Philosopher's Stone" capable of transmuting various metals into gold. In general, what is commonly remembered about alchemy is this latter aspect, which is not the most important. The most important goal was not so much the transmutation of ordinary metals into gold, but the attainment of the Philosopher's Stone through the transmutation of a primal matter. This "primal matter" of alchemical work was a mixture of three substances: Sulfur, Mercury, and Salt, which were, in truth, considered less for their physical nature than as carriers of three cosmological principles. The "Great Work" consisted of transforming the combination of these three substances, placed in the "Philosophical Egg" and subjected to the heat of the athanor; the process involved three phases called, in the successive order of their appearance, the work in black, the work in white, and the work in red; the material obtained at the end of the process was the famous "Philosopher's Stone," a sublimated substance, a receptacle of universal energy, the spiritus mundi, capable of transmuting metals into gold. Such was the operative alchemy whose work was accomplished in the laboratory. However, in the case of true alchemists, this work was only the external aspect of alchemy. Operative alchemy was merely the outward expression of what was called spiritual alchemy, whose goal was the transformation of man, his spiritualization. In essence, in the case of a particular profession, there was the same dual structure as in other traditional societies' professions; those of an architect, for example, or a potter, etc.; because in these societies, professions are regarded as vehicles, each suited to a particular vocation, for the spiritualization of those who practice them. The various elements and tools of the profession become symbols of spiritual realities and, as such, enter into the rituals of the profession; for, in a

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profession designed in this way, all operations are rites(⁸). Thus, in alchemy, the raw material represented the ordinary man, the common man; the Philosopher's Stone represented the spiritualized man, at the end of the three stages of progression represented by black, white, and red. This symbolism can be found, to mention just one example, in the writings of the German mystic Angelus Silesius, who uses these material operations of alchemy to symbolize the phases of mystical apprehension of the Divinity. If the analogy between the Mass and alchemy is evident when considering both in their general purpose, is it possible to also discover analogies in the details? Sometimes attempts have been made to relate the three phases of the Great Work to certain sequences of the liturgy, but the results obtained are not at all convincing and often come from arbitrary and forced comparisons. In reality, what should be related to the three phases of the Great Work are the three degrees of Christian initiation: baptism, confirmation, and Eucharist. Baptism corresponds entirely to the "work in black," as it is, like it, a symbolic "death." Confirmation, as a complement to baptism, is like the "work in white," a "resurrection" in a new form through the power of the Spirit. Finally, the Eucharist, the sacrament of union, is like the "work in red," the final fulfillment of transmutation. So, in its general purpose, the Mass corresponds quite well to the "work in red," and there is, in our opinion, no need to search for correspondences at the same level in the overall structure with the first two phases of the alchemical process. That being said, one cannot help but discover certain analogies between several elements of the Eucharistic celebration and those of alchemy. Among Christian alchemists, it is rightly acknowledged that Christ, already assimilated to the Stone of Jacob, as we have shown in relation to the altar, can be compared to the Philosopher's Stone, a symbolic expression of the transcendent man. Another certain analogy is between the cup of sacrifice, the chalice, and the "Philosophical Egg," also called the "hermetic vessel": both are receptacles for the "raw material." In the preparatory phase of the Eucharistic sacrifice, the priest mixes wine and water in the chalice, and we have seen the crucial importance of this ritual in understanding the meaning of the Mass. Here, the wine is already the blood, as suggested by the prayer that accompanies the rite in Eastern liturgies, which refers to the centurion's spear thrust and the blood mixed with water that flowed from the crucified side. Now, in the Gospel of John, we read this statement: "There are three that bear witness on earth: the Spirit, the Water, (⁸): You can see a first approach to this problem in our book "Divine Craftsmanship," Paris, 1975.

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and the Blood (John 5:6-7)." The water and blood are in the chalice, and immediately after mixing, in the Latin rite, the priest invokes the Spirit to descend upon the Gifts. It has been noted that the triad of Blood-Water-Spirit is reminiscent of the alchemical triad: Sulfur-Mercury-Salt, which, as we have seen, constitutes the mixture placed in the Philosophical Egg. In spiritual alchemy, the animic mercury becomes a "water" ignited by the influence of sulfur, corresponding to blood, which is wine transformed by salt, representing the Spirit. These analogies become clearer when one remembers that, in spiritual alchemy, the three bodies are symbols of the process of human transformation. In both cases, the "matter" prepared before the Great Work and before the Consecration represents the ordinary, common, individual human who will be transmuted and become a spiritual person, and in the Eucharist, the Archetypal God-Man of all renewed creation. Or, to use the language of Saint Paul, the "old man" disappears to make way for the "new man," of whom Christ is the Archetype. From this perspective, in the Divine Liturgy, one can see something corresponding to the "work in black": the faithful, by participating in the Eucharistic mystery, "die" with Christ, meaning they put to death the "old man," for, as Saint Paul says, "the old man has been crucified with Him (Christ)" (Romans 6:11). This death precedes resurrection — the "work in white" — but in the consecration, the "work in black" and the "work in white" are simultaneous because it is theurgy, an action performed directly by God, for whom there is neither before nor after. The Christ present in the Offerings is, in a single instant, both the Christ who died and the Christ who rose, and the same applies to the faithful who participate in His mystery in communion, which can then be considered from the perspective of the faithful as the "work in red." If we have delved a little into the relationship between the Mass and alchemy, it is because their examination allows us, it seems to us, to better outline the profile of the operation carried out in the Divine Liturgy, shedding new light on the notion of sacrifice. It is worth noting from this examination that the operation unfolds on two levels: that of the objective reality of this operation and that of the subjective reality of the person engaged in this operation. The objective reality is that of the Gifts transformed in the very person of Christ, and the subjective reality is that of the faithful transformed through participation in the consecrated Gifts and, thereby, incorporated into the Person of Christ. Through this means, but with greater clarity, it seems to us, we find the

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mechanism of sacrifice. Let us recall, as a reminder, the highly suggestive definition given by Hindu Tradition: "The sacrificant(⁹) passes from the state of humans to that of gods." How? "The sacrifice is the other Self of the gods. Therefore, the sacrificant, having made the sacrifice, his other Self takes his place in heaven, the world of the gods(¹⁰)." This can be translated into a series of three "equations" that are articulated in the following syllogism: The sacrifice, the offering, "is" the god; now, the sacrificer identifies with the sacrifice; thus, the sacrificer identifies with the god. The driving force, so to speak, of this mechanism, as we explained in the first chapter of this book, is that the offering has an ambivalent nature: it is both the faithful and the god at the same time. It is the faithful insofar as it is given by him; it is the god insofar as, being offered, it passes from man to god. In alchemical terms, there is therefore a double transmutation: that of the matter of sacrifice and that of the sacrificer into a single divine entity. In the case of the Divine Liturgy, this mechanism of sacrifice is admirably explained: it emerges from the text, already cited several times, which accompanies the mixing of wine and water, and from many passages of the liturgy; it was well highlighted in the ancient rite of the offertory, unfortunately abandoned for a long time, where the faithful brought the matter of sacrifice to the altar in procession. It doesn't matter; the reality remains the same. Man brings his gift, which represents him, God takes it; He transforms it into His own Being and, in communion, gives it back to man so that he, in turn, is transformed and enters the divine Being. The entire Eucharistic liturgy ultimately boils down to this very simple but absolutely transcendent pattern, which perfectly expresses the sacramental realization of the theanthropic mystery. In the end, sacrifice is the sacrifice of man, the sacrifice that man makes of himself, as we have shown at the beginning of this book. The offering, whether a living being or an object, which constitutes the material of the sacrifice, is a substitute for the sacrificant. The offering is a part of the personality, a part that, by a kind of existential metonymy, stands for the whole and acts as such in the operation of sacrifice. Fundamentally, therefore, sacrifice is the sacrifice of the person; sacrifice, in its already noted ambivalence, should be understood as both immolation and sanctification: in the act of sacrifice, the personality of (⁹): The sacrificant is the one who offers the sacrifice, the faithful; the priest is the sacrificer. But it goes without saying that what is said about the sacrificant can also apply to the priest, to the extent that he also acts as a sacrificant. (¹⁰): Shatapatha Brahmana, VIIL, 6, 1, 10.

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the sacrificant undergoes both immolation and sanctification simultaneously, in the sense that it is removed from the profane world to be transferred to the divine world. Thus, we find the notions developed in our first chapter and the alchemical process explained a moment ago. But what do immolation and transfer into the divine world consist of? In this, fundamentally, sacrifice is the sacrifice of the Ego and the emergence of the Self. The personality of man, indeed, is formed of the Ego and the Self. The Ego is the empirical individuality, the exterior of man; it is something limited, infinitely surpassed by the Self. Let us say right away, to avoid any misunderstanding, that we do not mean by the Self the sense that modern psychology, especially the school of Freud or even the school of Jung, gives it, which is very limited, despite what is said, because these schools consider the study of man only from the psychological point of view. As for us, we use the word Self in the traditional sense, that is to say, we see it as a reality of a much higher order, of the ontological and even metaphysical order; the Self is the very foundation of the person in the strong sense, it is the transcendent personality, completely spiritual, and whose center is what mystics call the "inner castle," and Eckhart calls the "Ground," Grund. It is a hypercosmic reality, it is "God in man," and, to use the terms of Genesis again, the "image of God in man." In sacrifice, immolation is directed towards the Ego: the limiting elements of personality, the source of separation, conflicts, sin, and, in short, the source of egoism, are immolated with the Ego as a whole, as the concretion of egoism, and, at the same time, the Self, somehow imprisoned by the Ego, is liberated. From then on, man is established in his own center and his fundamental identity as a "son of God." This is what the Christ, God-Man, accomplished in His sacrifice, once and for all, for man; this is why He is the Archetype of the total sacrifice through whom the sacrifice of other men can take place. Christ, as Saint Paul says, "crucified the old man," that is, the Ego, and thus He rose as the "new man," in the corpus glorificationis (glorification body), that is, the Self, and He became the one who, so to speak, gives birth to the Self in every man who is incorporated into Him. This is what is actualized in the Divine Liturgy, on both the objective and subjective levels that we have mentioned. The Gifts, which are the offering of man, are virtually immolated at the offertory and actually at the consecration. They lose all their materiality, symbolically expressed by the elevation of the offering towards heaven, the spiritual world; they "sublimate" themselves,

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become a volatile body, as the alchemist would say, and ultimately are completely transubstantiated into the Body and Blood of Christ, becoming a corpus glorificationis. This is on the objective level. But, as the Gifts also represent the one offering, on the subjective level, the one offering, through them, is immolated in terms of their Ego(¹¹), also sublimated, and ultimately seized by divine power and incorporated into the Lord in whom their Self finds fulfillment. The person who, thus, "through Christ, with Christ, and in Christ" (per ipsum, et cum ipso et in ipso), has abandoned their Ego, and in whom the Self has emerged, is thereby established in their own center, from which they see everything, within themselves and around them, with the very eye of God. This is the personal realization of the theanthropic nature, which led Saint Paul to say, "It is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me." The place and instrument of this transubstantiation of man, a consequence and fruit of the transubstantiation carried out at the altar, is the Cross, where, with Christ, the "old man" is put to death to rise again as the "new man." The structure of the Cross, as discussed earlier in relation to the structure of the celebration, is the symbolic expression of this transubstantiation: its two axes symbolize, on the universal level, the entire expanse of the created, as mentioned before, and on the individual level, all the constituent elements of personality, the tendencies of the Ego — the horizontal axis — and spiritual inclinations — the vertical axis. At the intersection of the two axes, the Ego dies, or, if preferred, is sublimated, retaining only the elements leading upward; the point of intersection of the two axes is the "place" of the Self, the central point. In iconography, it is sometimes adorned with the radiant Heart or the Rose, two symbols of the blossoming of the Self and theosis. When man thus integrates his divine personality, it can be said that the "image of God" in him has rejoined its heavenly archetype. This is the metaphysical definition of salvation. It is, at the same time, the act by which the "sacrifice of God," which we have spoken of and which is like the externalization of God in His creation, is annulled, "redeemed," if one dares to say; for in this act, man renounces himself in his externalized state to retrace, in the opposite direction, the journey of God going to the creature, so that the creature returns to its Principle. And, with it, the entire creation; for man, by integrating the Self, does not make the journey back to God alone; as a mirror and summary of (¹¹): In the Byzantine liturgy, during the offertory, the faithful say these words: "Let us offer ourselves and one another and our whole life to Christ our God." See Saint Paul, Rom. 12:1, and Saint Augustine, Civ. Dei 10.20.

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the world, a microcosm, he draws the entire cosmos along this path, following Christ who, as the first Man-God — God, indeed, but also Man — has accomplished the redemption of the entire cosmos. This spiritual alchemy is symbolically represented in the famous and admirable icon of the Trinity by Andrei Rublev(¹²). We could not do better, to summarize, at the end of this work, the meaning and significance of the Eucharistic sacrifice in its relation to the entire economy of salvation, than to convey the teaching, both hidden and radiant, of this icon(¹³). The work aims to be a representation, both of the Divine Essence and of the work of salvation, the realization of the Kingdom, which is the immaterial and unconditional presence of Divinity. The gazes of the "angels" turned towards each other express the ecstasy of the Divine Essence. The movement, starting from the foot of the angel on the right — the Holy Spirit — continues in the inclination of its head, passes through the middle angel — the Son — and involves the Cosmos, represented by the tree and the rock, and is resolved in the vertical posture of the angel on the left — the Father — where it comes to rest. In addition to this circular movement, the icon features a square table with the Eucharistic Cup. In the center of the painting is the Tree of Life, and its vertical line intersects with the vertical line from the base of the Cup and the hieroglyph of the earth: the small rectangle painted on the front of the table. This is supplemented by the vertical line of the Temple located above the angel on the left. All of this symbolism expresses the Fall (the small rectangle "fallen" at the foot of the Tree of Life), the Earth's aspiration towards heaven (the vertical lines), Redemption, the work of the Son (in the middle), accomplished through the Cup, whose central position connects it with the Heart of God and Creation and nourishes the Tree of Life bearing the fruits of eternal life; finally, the reintegration of all things into God, represented by the table inscribed in the trinitarian Circle. It should be noted that the hands of the angels converge towards the sign of the earth: the world, indeed, is separated from God as a being of a different nature, but it is included in the sacred circle of the "communion of the Father"; it follows the circular movement, which, for the world, culminates in the palace-temple, a figure of the Church. The temple remains in the stillness of the rest of the "Great Sabbath," the culmination of the trinitarian movement. The cycle of the cosmic mystery is closed; it is the eschatological vision of the New Jerusalem, but through the mediation of the Eucharistic sacrifice. (¹²): The icon also bears the title "Theoxenia of Abraham." It is the representation of the well-known scene from Genesis where the patriarch "extended hospitality to God" (that is the meaning of the word Theoxenia), who had visited him in the form of three human beings of identical appearance. See the reproduction in the plates. (¹³): Everything that follows is based on P. Evdokimov, "The Icon," in La Vie Spirituelle, January 1950.

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Sculpted Cross. Ravenna, National Museum, 5th century. Symbolic Crucifixion: the lamb, the blessing hand between the Sun and the Moon.

Circular Altar (Besançon Cathedral, 11th century). The inscription that runs around the circumference: Hoc signum praestat populis cœlesta regna "Here is the sign that opens to the peoples the celestial kingdom"; This sign is undoubtedly the monogram of Christ ☧ engraved in the center, but perhaps it is also the entire altar itself, which "is" Christ. On the circumference, 8 cells are arranged: now, 8 is the number of resurrection and Christ.

Epiclesis of the Holy Spirit, to ask Him to consecrate by His Power, the Holy Blood in the chalice.

Patena known as Pulcheria, at the Xeropotamou Monastery

Communion of the Apostles. Mosaic of Saint Sophia of Kiev.

The Last Supper. Judas, without a halo, the third to the left of Christ, places his hand on the plate.

Altar Table (Mosaic of the Baptistery of S. Urso, in Ravenna, 5th century)

Altar Table (Mosaic of S. Vitale, in Ravenna). These monuments are the oldest reproductions of altars in the West.

Arrangement of the oblates of bread in the Mozarabic Liturgy (Spain). On ordinary days, only one bread is taken; on Sundays, five are taken, which are arranged in the form of a cross. On Christmas Day and certain other festivals, seventeen are taken, with five placed in the form of a cross, and the twelve others arranged in a circle around them. On Easter and Pentecost, forty-five breads are arranged according to a combined cross pattern.

Arrangement of the oblates of the Eucharistic bread on the disk (paten) in the Byzantine-Greek Divine Liturgy: the pieces taken from the first three loaves form a first row, with the "Lamb," engraved with the symbols IC XC NI KA, occupying the center; those destined for the living form a second row, and those dedicated to the dead form a third row.

Eucharistic celebration in the Coptic Rite

The Sursum Corda in the Greek Liturgy (Ἄνω τὰς καρδίας! / Áno tàs kardías!) before the grand Preface at the beginning of the Eucharistic Anaphora.

Elevation of the chalice after the Pater in the Syriac Mass: "What is holy to the Holy Ones! (Sancta sanctis). One is the most holy Father, who is with us, who, in His goodness, created the world. Amen. One is the most holy Son, who is with us, who saved us through the infinite value of His sufferings. Amen. One is the Holy and Life-giving Spirit, who is with us, Creator and Preserver of all things that are and that were. May the name of the Lord be blessed, now and forever. Amen."

Concelebration of the Byzantine Rite at Rome