Continuing last week’s discussion of the tabernacle veil, its
significance, and its expected use within the Church, there is a related issue:
that of the covering of the altar. For
centuries, in most (but not all) churches, the tabernacle and altar were not
only joined in their theological significance but also physically.
Up until the 13th
century, the Blessed Sacrament was commonly reserved on the altar itself. The altar would be beneath a canopy supported
by four columns, and a curtain was raised between the columns in order to
completely obscure from view the altar and the Blessed Sacrament. In fact, the action of the Mass was carried out largely behind this curtain with
the Faithful unable to see or hear anything (more on this at a later date). The
Fourth Lateran Council (1215) mandated that the Eucharist and Sacred Chrism
(interesting that they address both in the same statement!) should be kept
under lock “so that no audacious hand can reach them to do anything horrible or
impious” (no. 20). At that point, the tabernacle was kept either on the altar, as
has been the maintained tradition of the Churches of the East, or in close
proximity to it. Eventually, many altars
were joined to the wall in which the tabernacle was placed, giving us the
common, traditional arrangement that was rather ubiquitous until the call of
the Second Vatican Council that the altar should be free-standing so that one
might be able to walk all around it.
Despite their present separation,
the tabernacle and altar are linked most especially by their centrality to the
mystery of the True Presence of Christ in the Church. The former houses the Blessed Sacrament, the
Eucharistic species which is the Body and Blood, Soul and Divinity of Jesus
Christ. The latter is Christ Himself in the Eucharistic Sacrifice (remember, in
the Mass, Christ is priest, victim, and altar all at the same time!). For this reason, it has been the custom of
adorning the altar in a similar manner to that of the tabernacle (although
tabernacles were a later innovation, which actually suggests tabernacles being
adorned in the manner of the altar).
It is prescribed that an altar be
covered by a frontal or antependium, a cloth that covers at least the front
side of the altar, as well as at least a single white cloth covering the mensa, or tabletop of the altar (three
cloths are traditionally used). The white cloths covering the top of the altar,
the place of the Sacrifice of the Mass, were usually made of linen and called
to mind the linen burial shroud in which the body of Our Lord was wrapped after
his crucifixion and death. The antependium, on the other hand, constituted a
covering of honor for the “body” of the altar, and was very rich in its
ornamentation to highlight the royalty and sovereignty of Christ. These “robes
of majesty,” as Bishop J. F. Van der Stappen calls them in his work Sacra Liturgia, represent Christ as
Priest and King, and are only stripped away on Holy Thursday. “His faithful,
His costly garments, His disciples, are all stripped from Him; and His
desolation is made all the more evident by this complete annihilation of
colour.” Moreover, the fully dressed altar draws further focus to its
architectural significance as the focal point of the church, the epicenter of
the great Mystery of our Faith, the Eucharistic Sacrifice itself.
Finally, and on a more practical
note, the antependium of the altar, with its changing of color throughout the
seasons of the Liturgical Year serves as a visual representation of the
liturgical cycle, a tangible and prominent reminder to the Faithful of how the
celebrations of various Masses pertain to the person of Christ Himself as our
King and Savior.
There seems to be prevalent habit
these days of lessening the sensory effect of the liturgy in the life of the
Church, which I decry as lamentable and entirely preventable. The call of the
Second Vatican Council to rediscover the “noble simplicity” of the Liturgy
subordinates simplicity to nobility, wherein we are lifted out of the mundane
into the unspeakable Beauty that is the House of God itself. Blessed Idelfonso
Cardinal Schuster, Archbishop of Milan in the early 20th Century,
wrote the following: “It is well known that all the present texts of the Missal
and of the Breviary have beautiful melodies attached to them. As no one, for
instance, would desire to judge of an opera simply by reading the libretto of
the author, but would wish also to hear the music and see the full effect of
the mise en scène, so, in order
thoroughly to appreciate the sense of beauty and inspiration, the powerful
influence produced by the sacred liturgy on the Christian people, it is
necessary to see it performed in the full splendour of its architectural
setting, of the clergy in their vestments, of the music, the singing and the
ritual, and not to judge it merely from a curtailed and simplified presentment.”
Beauty. Nobility. Splendor. The
things of Heaven, prefigured on earth for our sake. That’s certainly something
to aspire to.
Originally published in The Lewis County Catholic Times on 29 January 2017.
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