Filippo and Filippino Lippi at Rome’s Capitoline Museum

Filippo Lippi, Madonna of Humility, 1420

Though I still have a few weeks of grading exams to go, summer is definitely here in Rome. To celebrate the end of classes, I took a morning off last week to visit a special exhibit at Rome’s Capitoline Museum. The Capitoline is one of several museums in the Eternal City that would be the top attraction anywhere else but gets overshadowed by the Vatican Museums and the Borghese Gallery. It contains a number of impressive ancient Roman sculptures and a couple of Caravaggios — antiquity and baroque being the two periods Rome is known best for. When it comes to Renaissance art, Rome takes second place to Florence (though, given the work of Michelangelo and Raphael in the Vatican, the competition is still stiff).

In any case, the Capitoline is hosting an exhibit this summer dedicated to the work of Filippo Lippi (1406-1469) and his son Filippino (1457-1504). I mentioned Filippo before for his wonderful frescoes in Spoleto’s cathedral depicting the life of the Virgin. Filippo grew up an orphan and very poor. He was raised in a Carmelite monastery in Florence and became a monk. His superiors noticed his talent and encouraged his artistic career. He proved, in fact, to be a better artist than a monk. While executing a commission in a monastery in Prato, he ran off with a 17-year old novice, Lucrezia Buti, who became the model for some of his most beautiful female figures. Filippino, you might have guessed, was the fruit of their union.

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A bloody Sunday: Corpus Christi homily

Homily for the Solemnity of Corpus Christi (B)

Today’s readings are bloody.  Some years the readings for Corpus Christi emphasize the bread that becomes the body of Christ, and they remind us that the Eucharist is our nourishment and also the source of our unity.  A single loaf of bread is formed from many individual grains of wheat.  

Moses, Michelangelo

But today’s readings are full of blood.  This is not a Sunday for the squeamish.  Blood sprinkled, blood shed, blood poured out, drinking blood.  If we are tempted to imagine that worship is something abstract or comfortable or safe, the blood-spattered images in today’s readings should give us second thoughts.  In the ancient world and in the time of Jesus, worship was a matter of flesh and blood, of life and death.  Entering the Temple of Jerusalem would have been a shock to the senses—crowds of visitors both from Judea and from the Jewish diaspora; animals—birds, sheep, goats, bulls—and all their animal noises and smells; the sounds of these animals being slaughtered; the smell of blood; and the songs of prayer, of the psalms rising to heaven, with the smoke of burning incense and roasting meat.  Worshipping God was not for the squeamish.

I think the fact that today’s readings speak rather vividly of the blood of goats, heifers, and bulls—bowls of blood—is perhaps a way of reminding us that Christianity—following Jesus—requires a certain courage.  In one way or another we all have to overcome our squeamishness, whatever form it might take.  The perfect act of worship, after all, the sacrifice which is the model for all other acts of worship, the death of Jesus on the cross, was not only bloody, but brutal.  There was nothing abstract or comfortable in the scrouging and beating, in the nails, the crown of thorns, or the agonizing hours on the cross.  And yet this was not, in the final analysis, merely an act of violence or a miscarriage of justice but an act of self-giving love.  The blood of the new covenant was shed for those Jesus calls to be his friends and disciples.

But why blood?  What is the meaning, for example, of what probably seems to us the very strange gesture of Moses who, to seal the covenant between God and his people, splashes blood upon the altar and then sprinkles it on the people.  When I read this passage one of my first very modern, very practical thoughts is, “How are the Israelites going to get all that blood out of their clothes?  What a mess!”  But we are told, in the letter to the Hebrews, that it is blood—the blood of Christ—that cleanses.

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Granados endorsement

Just a friendly reminder that if you haven’t yet ordered your copy of Baptism of Desire and Christian Salvation, at a mere 20 cents/page, it remains a bargain. And each page is jam-packed with non-stop theological action.

You might think I’m biased, but you don’t have to take my word for it. When the book came out, I was thrilled to see that CUA Press had arranged a review and endorsement from Fr. José Granados. Attentive readers will recall that I mentioned Fr. Granados’s superb Introduction to Sacramental Theology here before. (It’s now available in Italian under the title Teologia dei sacramenti: Segni di Cristo nella carne.)

Here’s his verdict:

Offers a very accurate historical analysis of the doctrine of baptism of desire, starting with St. Ambrose and St. Augustine up to Vatican II. Lusvardi does not only give information about the different Fathers and theologians but delineates a clear leading thread that allows us to follow the development of the idea. The analyses are precise, the bibliography is abundant and well chosen, the documentation is excellent, the theological approach very sound.

José Granados, author of Introduction to Sacramental Theology: Signs of Christ in the Flesh

Some recent publications…

Lisbon, Portugal

I’m honored to have a couple of recent works appear in print in the past few weeks, the first an article in La Civiltà Cattolica, a publication founded by Italian Jesuits in 1850, which has since gone international. The article “Gestis Verbisque: The Words and Actions of the Sacraments” (the Italian is here) analyzes a recent Vatican document dealing with sacramental theology — specifically the question of invalid baptisms. The document Gestis verbisque was available only in Italian at the time I wrote the article, but has since come out in English (and other languages) here. It’s an important document because it reminds priests and deacons of the need to faithfully celebrate the sacraments according to the Church’s tradition and liturgical books. We probably all have had unfortunate experiences of goofy things happening in liturgy because Father thought that he could improve upon a centuries-old ritual with regrettable results. Gestis verbisque reminds us that “The Church is the ‘minister’ of the Sacraments, but she does not own them.” My own article fleshes out some of the background behind the document and points out where I think it adds something theologically (its treatment of the minister’s intention). It was interesting to see some of the strange cases in history that I found while researching Baptism of Desire and Christian Salvation come up again in modern settings. You’d think we’d learn!

The other publication is the first short story I’ve published in a while–too busy with academic work–in a magazine that will be familiar to readers of these pages, Dappled Things. Dappled Things is the only literary magazine I know of dedicated exclusively to Catholic literature. I’ve been honored to have a number of short stories and essays appear in their pages over the years, some of which can be found on their site. My most recent story, “Pious Tchotchkes,” is in their Easter 2024 issue, which is only available in print. Their print issues are always beautifully crafted.

The story is set in Portugal, and here are a couple of places alluded to — baroque exuberance in Coimbra and Cabo da Roca, the westernmost point in continental Europe.

Ascension

Transfiguration, pulpit (Pisan 1160), Cattedrale, Cagliari

“Today our Lord Jesus Christ ascended into heaven; let our hearts ascend with him. Listen to the words of the Apostle: ‘If you have risen with Christ, set your hearts on the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God; seek the things that are above, not the things that are on earth’ (Col. 3:1-2). For just as he remained with us even after his ascension, so we too are already in heaven with him, even though what is promised us has not yet been fulfilled in our bodies.”

St. Augustine, homily on the Lord’s Ascension, quoted in Robert Imbelli’s
Christ Brings All Newness (Word on Fire Academic, 2023), p. 144.

The bodily resurrection of Jesus

Galleria degli Arazzi (Gallery of Tapestries), Vatican Museum: The Resurrection, Raphael, 1519

As we near the end of the Easter season, I’ve been reading the latest book of Fr. Robert Imbelli, Christ Brings All Newness (Word On Fire Academic, 2023). It is a fine collection of essays on everything from Vatican II to Dante, all held together by the wonder and uniqueness of the Son of God’s entry into the world. The title comes from St. Irenaeus of Lyons: “Christ brought all newness in bringing himself.”

To give a taste of the book–and as we approach the Ascension–I thought I’d share some of Fr. Imbelli’s words on the Resurrection from the essay “Resurrection and Real Presence.” Insisting on the bodily resurrection of Jesus–and not some watered-down academic knock-off–Imbelli again demonstrates a truly sacramental sense of the body’s importance, which I mentioned in another post a few weeks ago.

“Resurrection faith stretches heart and mind to the breaking point, as they stagger under the unbearable lightness of being. Is it any wonder that we frequently retreat before the mystery, reducing it to more manageable perspectives? And so, certain scholars contend, ‘He is risen into the kerygma’–betraying thereby their inordinate appetite for ideas. No resurrection there, only a ghostly apparition. Or, some ecclesiastical functionaries insist, ‘He is risen into the institutional church”–displaying, by the very contention, a rather petrified imagination. That would merely exchange one tomb for another. Or, others of more liberationist bent cry, ‘He is risen as the people’–manifesting their often havoc-wreaking innocence. A provocative resuscitation, perhaps, but no true resurrection. But against all infringement of the mystery, the angel stands adamant: ‘He is risen; he is not here!'” (pp. 158-9)

Popular piety and tradition in Sardinia

I was fortunate this year to have spent Holy Week and Easter in Maracalagonis, Sardinia, a small town about a 20 minute drive from the center of Cagliari. It was a good break from the classroom and a wonderful taste of parish life.

Chiesa della Santa Vergine degli Angeli, Maracalagonis, Sardinia

The religious atmosphere I experienced was both warm and traditional. Masses were full; I heard confessions all week long; I met deeply committed Catholic families. I was especially impressed by the enthusiasm for traditional popular devotions. Teams of parishioners take responsibility for organizing different devotions throughout the year. Of particular note during Holy Week were the su Scravamentu, in which the nails are removed from the Lord’s hands and feet and he is taken down from the Cross after the Good Friday liturgy, and the many processions through the town streets–Stations of the Cross, Palm Sunday, Holy Thursday, the Sorrows of Mary on Good Friday, and then the S’Incontru on Easter morning.

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Sacraments, incarnation, and the body

Madonna of the Pilgrims, (1604-6) Caravaggio, Church of Sant’Agostino, Rome

I’ve shared the work of theologian Fr. Robert Imbelli before. Here is another piece from him about a theme near to my heart, the “sacramental sense,” a phrase he takes from St. John Henry Newman.

Imbelli makes a point that has struck me before as well, that our society’s neglect of the transcendent is oddly connected to an unease with the body. We see this unease with our own bodies in everything from the explosion in the popularity of piercings and tattoos to the growth of eating disorders. Sex-changes are perhaps the most dramatic example of turning against one’s own flesh.

One of the sad marks of our secular age is a paradoxical double loss. Not only do we struggle to find access to the other dimension, that is, the spiritual, but we also seem impervious to the true sense of the material. Our sacramental sense has atrophied. Indeed, these two losses may be intricately connected.

Imbelli quotes philosopher Charles Taylor to argue that secular people today live lives of “excarnation,” disconnected from the communities and traditions that bore them. We live increasingly rootless lives. In contrast to this “excarnation,” Imbelli quotes Jesuit poet Gerard Manley Hopkins and points toward our Eucharistic faith. He hints at the way that this sacrament directs us toward a relationship with creation–and our own embodied part in it– that is rooted, first of all, in gratitude.

Read the rest of Imbelli’s piece at the Catholic Thing.

Romano Guardini on the liturgy

In preparation for I talk I gave last week to a group of seminary rectors from Africa and Asia, I read Romano Guardini’s short but profound book Liturgy and Liturgical Formation.

Guardini was one of the twentieth century’s sharpest and most balanced theological minds, and his writings on the liturgy are particularly valuable. He understands the irreducibility of liturgy and liturgical symbols and has absorbed the way the Fathers experienced liturgy, best exemplified by the line from Pope St. Leo the Great’s Ascension homily: “What was visible in the Lord has passed over into the mysteries.”

Chapel of San Basilio, Maracalagonis, Sardinia

Here are a few gems from Liturgy and Liturgical Formation:

“Liturgy does not deal with knowledge but with reality. There is knowledge of the liturgical action, which precedes it and could be called liturgical knowledge. And there is knowledge within it; the liturgical event allows an insight into itself. To speak of this today is not easy because it has escaped our religious consciousness at large. The liturgy itself is not merely knowledge but a full reality, which embraces much more than knowledge alone: a doing, an order, and the being of itself.” (13)

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