By Father George W. Rutler
Jacques
Pantaléon was an unlikely candidate for the papacy, being neither a
cardinal nor Italian, since he was the son of a French cobbler.
Nonetheless he became Pope Urban IV after having acquitted himself well
as Patriarch of Jerusalem. His attentions also involved him in concerns
from Constantinople to Germany and Denmark.
Two
months before his death in 1264, he commissioned Saint Thomas Aquinas
to write hymns for a new feast honoring the Eucharistic Presence of
Christ. There used to be many hymnodic “Sequences,” but over the years
they were trimmed down to Easter and Pentecost and, later, Corpus
Christi. Although Aquinas had written so sublimely about the Real
Presence, Urban wanted song more than prose. Thus we have Pange Lingua, Tantum Ergo, Panis Angelicus, and O Salutaris Hostia.
As they have endured nearly nine centuries so far, they are likely to
outlast the musical kitsch that guitar-strumming grey heads of a dying
Woodstock generation persist in thinking are the heraldic sounds of a
New Age. Unlike the works of those more recent composers, whose absent
Latin and poor English only serve to express a low Eucharistic theology,
the classical hymnody of Aquinas can best be sung in the original and,
if sung in translation, needs translators who are accomplished Latinists
and masters of English. Two Anglican converts of the nineteenth
century, Edward Caswall and Gerard Manley Hopkins, qualified for that.
The
ineffable mystery of the Blessed Sacrament will always be prey to minds
smaller than the Doctors of the Church, as they try to reduce mystery
to mere human puzzle whose pieces can be arranged according to limited
human intelligence. Even in Pope Urban’s age, which by many standards of
architecture and scholarship was golden, confusion about the Real
Presence in the Mass was spreading. One priest, Father Peter of Prague,
while en route to Rome was granted what the Church considers a miracle:
blood emanating from the Host. Pope Urban was in nearby Orvieto and sent
delegates to inspect the phenomenon. The Feast of Corpus Christi soon
followed.
At
the last Supper, our Lord did not subject his apostles to a lecture on
how he could give them his Body to eat and Blood to drink. He simply
commanded, “Do this.” This is not to deny the vocation of theologians
ever since to describe the Heavenly Banquet, but the best of them have
known the difference between apprehending and comprehending. “Faith for
all defects supplying, Where the feeble senses fail.”
A
Baptist hymn writer in the nineteenth century, Robert Lowry, would
certainly have been a bit uncomfortable in the presence of the Dominican
master Thomas Aquinas, but one suspects that the Angelic Doctor would
have fully empathized with the confidence of Lowry’s hymn:
The peace of Christ makes fresh my heart,
A fountain ever springing;
All things are mine since I am his—
How can I keep from singing?
