et, percutientes sibi pectus, dicunt

Thanks to the thoughtfulness and charity of reader Carl, who rescued the book from a culling at a seminary library, today I have received a 1944 Caeremoniale Romano-Seraphicum in the Capuchin use. Ironically, the bears a library stamp from our old monastery in Garrison, New York. So it has made a trip and come home.

The ceremonial is full of great stuff. Here's a fun little sample:

De pectoris percussione

Percussio pectoris, quando in sacris functionibus praescribitur, fit manu dextera aperta et extensa, digitisque simul coniunctis. Ne sit strepitosa, sed modesta, ita ut mentem et cor sincera peccatorum suorum contritione imbutum in spem divinae clementiae erigat, ac ceteros ad pietatem excitet.


On the striking of the breast

The striking of the breast, when it is prescribed in the sacred services, is to be made with the right hand open and extended, and also with the fingers joined. It is not to be noisy, but modest, that the mind be raised to hope in divine clemency and the heart be imbued with sincere contrition for its sins, and that others be aroused to piety.


Here's hoping everyone gets to pray the new and improved Confiteor on the first Sunday of Advent this year, beating their breasts in just such a spirit.

As always, translation improvements are welcome in the comments.

The Transitus of Francis

784 years ago tonight, our holy father St. Francis departed from this life. On this eve of his feast day tomorrow, Franciscans everywhere will celebrate the transitus of Francis, marking his migration from time to eternity. As a ritual it does not seem to have a fixed form, but usually includes the reading of one of the accounts of the saint's last hours.

Here is one of the traditional antiphons for the celebration, courtesy of the 1955 Rituale Romano-Seraphicum:


omnes stant et cantant:

Salve, Sancte Pater,
patriae lux, forma minorum:
Virtutis speculum, recti via, regula morum;
Carnis ab exsilio duc nos ad regna polorum.

omnes genuflectunt et duo Cantores cantant:

V. Franciscus pauper et humilis caelum dives ingreditur
R. Hymis caelestibus honoratur.

All stand and sing:

Hail, holy Father,
light of our homeland, form of minors;
Mirror of virtue, right way, and rule of conduct;
lead us from the exile of the flesh to the kingdom of heaven.

all genuflect and two cantors sing:

V. The poor and humble Francis enters heaven rich.
R. And is honored by celestial hymns.


Translation improvements are welcome, as always.

Curiously, neither the ritual nor the Roman-Seraphic breviary offer any rubric as to when or how this celebration fit into the course of the Divine Office for the day. Also, and interestingly, the old ritual imagines the Transitus as a public celebration, as evidenced by one of the final rubrics instructing the celebrant to bless the people with a relic before the ritual concludes with an opportunity for religious to kiss it.

Happy feast of St. Francis!

My Missent Ritual

I have to say that, for me, the tracking of packages is one of the greatest and most enjoyable uses of the internet. It's like taking a virtual journey through places near and far, with a conclusion of sudden reality when whatever it is actually shows up.

I have ordered from Paxbook and watched a package come all the way from the Holy See. It first appears in Rome and then quickly makes its way to Milan. Then it descends into silence for a few days before popping up in Pittsburgh.

I have tracked packages sent via UPS, FedEx, and Deutsche Post (The Dutch book dealer from whom I have found a few treasures seems to wander over the border to do his mailing.)

But the most obscure, mysterious--and in this sense, interesting--package tracking is with items sent via the U.S. Postal Service Media Mail, the former 4th class/Book Rate. The indications can be opaque and the itineraries without obvious logic.

Today I see that my latest package from the great Loome Booksellers, now in its ninth day in the epic journey from Stillwater, Minnesota to the City of Gracious Living, Yonkers, New York, has appeared in Englewood, New Jersey, having taken three days to get there from fifteen or so miles away in Jersey City.

This means that me and my package are probably less than three miles apart at this moment, but who knows how long it will take to get here, especially as the most recent "status" reads "missent."

I can only imagine what "missent" might mean: Perhaps some Jersey Wiccan or Scientologist is poring over the 1955 Rituale Romano-Seraphicum in a state of disappointment.