Back When God Was A Lady

There is a lovely antiphon for the Benedictus at Morning Prayer for Trinity Sunday:

O Holy and Undivided Trinity, Creator and Ruler of all that exists, may all praise be yours now, forever, and for ages unending. 

I am well familiar with it.  Just read it yesterday morning.  But alas, I am lazy, I confess it,  and pray in English; little did I know the theological bombshell the English text was concealing.  That is the trouble with English, or rather with the imprecise, translations pushed by those Liturgiam Authenticam folk who are responsible for the current Liturgical texts and who use the liturgy to push their own sexist ideology.  I should have listened to Archbishop Lefebvre after all and kept to the lingua materna of the Church.  Well no, not actually, as that would be Greek.  But the wicked stepmother tongue.  Latin.

After my posting yesterday about the Maryland Maven rallying the torch and pitchfork crowd against Father Dan Fitzpatrick of Durham in England and his “heresy” of referring to the Holy Spirit in the feminine, a reader sent me an extraordinary comment pointing out that the Benedictus Antiphon for Trinity Sunday Lauds—in the pre-conciliar breviary (and of which our previously cited novus ordo vernacular antiphon is a translation, and a poor and misleading one at that)—is a truly remarkable exposition of the femininity not only of the Holy Spirit, but the Godhead Hims—whoops, Herself.  Get a load o’ this!

Benedícta sit creátrix et gubernátrix ómnium, sancta et indivídua Trínitas, et nunc et semper et per infiníta sæculórum sæcula.

I don’t even know where to begin!  Trust me on this, the Latin text is infinitely superior to the English Translation just on the literary level.  I mean, as Latin goes, it is exquisite. It just cries out to be melodiously chanted by virginal monastics who have been made eunuchs for the sake of the liturgy.  But, that aside, let’s unpack it theologically for a moment.

Trinitas in Latin is feminine.  I knew that.  But I presumed like nauta (sailor) and agricola (farmer) it is a feminine noun referring to a male being and therefore taking adjectives in the masculine form.  All languages have their idiosyncrasies.  But no, I should have remembered that it is a sancta et individua, that is to say, feminine Trinitas. Moreover, whoever composed this antiphon way “back in the day” went way overboard to push the feminine theme using the feminine creatrix rather than the masculine creator and the feminine gubernatrix rather than the masculine gubernator.  This antiphon then refers to God, Creator and Ruler of All –as a lady creator and a lady ruler.  I mean it is just incredible!!!  And Sister Joan Chittester had nothing to do with it!!!!  Neither did Elizabeth Johnson!!!!  In fact, almost certainly it was some guy who did it.   The Krazies will assure me that he was almost certainly gay.  Damn gender-benders!

Pope John XXII established the Feast of the Most Holy Trinity for the universal Church in the 14^th century, but the feast itself and the proper office to it is much older, having been composed by Stephen of Liege in the early 10^th century.  I don’t know that this particular antiphon referring to the Creator and Ruler of the universe in the feminine goes back that far—though as it appears in the Rite of York as well as in the Liege ceremonial, an indication that it is pretty ancient, undoubtedly long before Quo Primum and Pius V— it is certainly pre-12^th century.  Ol’ Steve of Liege and his buddies were way ahead of their time.  Can you imagine if they were to be members of the upcoming Synod???  Why those ol’ battle axes from Les Femmes and Restore DC Catholicism would be joining up with the ladies in lavender  from Rorate Caeli and New Liturgical Movement to bar access to the Synod Hall to these heretics.  Creatrix indeed!!!  I bet ol’God is going to hitch up the coleos divinos and smite a few of these liberal pansies who called him a creatrix et gubernatorix.  

Avignon--the pope's home away from Rome.

When the papal court first settled in Avignon, JohnXXII at first took up residence in the Domincan friary. Avignon was not an unimportant city and the major mendicant orders had friaries and churches inside the city but the Dominicans—very strong in what is today southern France because of their preaching crusades against the Cathars—had the largest and most grand. John was not to stay there for long, however, as he was a man of great dreams and viewed the papacy as a world power both in the religious and political dimension. John and his successor Benedict XII undertook the building of a grand palace on a rocky promontory that dominated the city and overlooked the Rhone river below. In many ways the palace created the papacy as we know it. it was an enormously expensive undertaking and one that never seemed—like so many building projects—to come to an end. To fund the palace it became necessary to centralize much of the finances of the Church and centralized finances created a central bureaucracy. The popes began charging taxes and assessments on abbeys, dioceses, and a host of administrative positions. A man (or in the case of an abbess, a woman) who expected to be confirmed in a position to which they had been elected or appointed had to pay a fee—usually an “annate” (the first year’s income of the position) to the papal chancery. Thus a man elected bishop of London by the Cathedral Chapter of his diocese (in this case the Cathedral of Saint Paul’s London) and wanting the pope to confirm the election had to pay the entire first year revenues of the bishopric of London to the papal court. That could amount to the modern equivalent of millions of dollars in larger and more important sees. An abbot or abbess would have to pay the year’s revenues attached to their position. A canon in a cathedral—say Trier or Bologna—would have to pay his first year’s salary—much less than a bishop’s but it adds up fast as the cash comes rolling in. The Master General of the Dominicans wants to grant a Doctorate to a friar teaching in Palermo—he needs to pay a fee to the papal chancery. The Abbot of a monastery in Denmark wants permission to wear the miter—there is a fee for that too. Nothing was free. And it wasn’t only a matter of money, but of power. Those chancery-rat scribes receiving and answering petitions have a lot of discretion in what to pass on quickly and what to lose at the bottom of the pile (as they still do today). People far more important than they are importuning them to speed up their business, offering money and favors for help in getting things done quickly. And each, to show his relative importance, affects a style of dress more elaborate and more courtly than the next fellow. Meanwhile, the palace continues to rise, larger and larger. The original palace, called the palais vieux (old palace) kept being expanded and expanded again into what is now called the palais neuf (new palace). One can see it today. (It is a great tour—and if you can get the night torchlight tour, by all means take it—but only after you have seen the inside in good daylight.)
The central chamber of the palace is the la grande chapelle, the principal chapel where papal ceremonies were held. The guides tell you that it is the same dimensions of today’s Sistine Chapel in the Vatican (which had not been built when this chapel was constructed) but, to be honest, it appears much larger. That may be because of the lack of decoration in the Avignon chapel which could trick the eye into thinking it larger, but frankly I believe the guides are wrong. But there are wonderful series of chambers and courtyards and halls throughout the palace. The popes left Avignon in 1377 to return to Rome, but within two years the Avignon (anti-)popes of the great schism had returned and lived in the palace until 1403. We will eventually do more on the role of Avignon in the Western Schism.

The image today is the great chapel in the papal palace at Avignon

To these popes we owe Chateauneuf du Pape

I am not a big enthusiast for red wine, but I do like Chateauneuf du Pape, a great full-bodied red from the Rhone valley. (My taste, alas, cannot be satisfied cheaply.) Did you ever wonder how a French wine can be called after a castle of the pope? Probably not, but I am pedantic enough to tell you anyway.

I mentioned in an earlier blog (January 16) that the popes have not lived that long at the Vatican but at various other residences in Rome. I particularly mentioned the Lateran palace which was their official residence from the time of Constantine in the fourth century until the early fourteenth century when they abandoned Rome altogether. (note, I said "official," they often lived elsewhere as we shall see.) Rome was not a great place to live in the Middle Ages. Its population had shrunk from the two million or so at the time of Augustus to anywhere twenty thousand or eighty thousand at various times in the Middle Ages. The city was unhealthy—the Tiber and swamps were a breeding ground for malaria. The forum was in ruins; the great buildings of the empire had been ravaged for building materials or collapsed into rubble from earthquakes. The noble families lived in bricked up temples and amphitheatres which they had fortified against rival families and gangs fought in the streets of the city while cows grazed in the forum. The tenth and eleventh centuries saw popes spending a lot of time up in France and Germany; the twelfth and thirteenth centuries saw them taking their ease in charming hill towns of Lazio, Umbria and Tuscany. It was at one of these towns, Anagni in Lazio, that Boniface VIII was attacked by Guillaume de Nogaret, the lieutenant of Philip the Fair of France—one of nastiest people God every made. (Philip was “fair” as in handsome; not as in just.) The pope was not only physically assaulted but held captive without food or water for several days. He died within the month. His successor, Benedict XI, reigned only eight months, dying suddenly at Perugia in Umbria. There is a possibility that he was poisoned by Nogaret whome he had excommunicated for his assault on Boniface. Benedict was succeeded by a Frenchman, Raymond Bertrand de Got, who took the name and number Clement V. Clement had no ties to Italy and no desire to live there and he moved the papal court first to Poitiers and then four years later to Carpentras. Clement died in 1314 and the papacy sat vacant for two years. King Philip assembled twenty-three cardinals for a conclave at Lyons in 1315 and they elected one of the more intriguing—and good—popes, Jacques Duèze who took the name John XXII. Duèze came from humble origins; his father had been a shoemaker. He was a bright fellow, however. He had studied medicine at Montpellier and law at Paris. He also had no ties to Italy and no desire to go there—he settled the papacy at Avignon where it would remain almost sixty years. We will do some blogs—someday—on John XXII as he is a very interesting and often overlooked pope, but for today let’s begin to take a look at the effect that the Avignon had on the papacy and the papacy had on Avignon.
In the first place we think of Avignon as being in France—and so it is today. It is a delightful place—well worth a visit (about three hours from Paris on the high-speed trains). But at this point in history it lay across the Rhone river from the southernmost boundary of the domains of the French King. In other words, it wasn’t in what was France in the fourteenth century. And culturally, even today, it has a more Mediterranean, even a somewhat Italian flavor to it. Avignon’s political status is difficult for us today to comprehend. As I said, It was not part of the domain of the Kingdom of France, but was territory of the Kingdom of Arles or as it is sometimes called the Second Kingdom of Burgundy which, in turn, was a fief of the Holy Roman Empire. Thus it lay outside the authority of the King of France and in the nominal power of the Emperor. ("Nominal" is the operative word.) The Emperor gave this fief to the Counts of Provence who were of the House of Anjou. In addition to being counts of Provence, the House of Anjou were Kings of Naples—the title was King of Sicily—but after the “Sicilian Vespers” of 1282 (the Sicilian Vespers was an uprising not a Church Service) their Kingdom was confined to the lower part of the Italian peninsula. The House of Anjou had been named to the Throne of Naples (aka Sicily) by Pope Clement IV in 1266—which meant that the Kings of Sicily (who were the same people who served as Counts of Anjou--times were tough and they had to work two jobs) owed the Pope a big favor. Consequently when the popes said that they would like to set up shop in Avignon, the Counts-of-Anjou-Kings-of-Sicily more or less had to say: "mi casa, su casa." After John XXIII, five more popes made Avignon their residence, serving both as Bishop of Avignon and Bishop of Rome. In 1348 the Clement VI bought Avignon from Joan of Naples, countess of Provence, for 80,000 florins (a little over 12 million USD in today's currency). Finally in 1377 Gregory XI was persuaded to return to Rome. We will talk more about that in some future blog, but there will be more to say about Avignon first Meanwhile, pour yourself a glass of Chateauneuf du Pape and toast the French popes,

The image today is the Palace of the Popes, Avignon