Sanctus Sanctus Sanctus

I know this is petty. I try to not let it bother me; however, I do wonder.

In the 70s the Roman Catholic Church in the US liberally changed some of the English used in the Mass from its original Latin translation. I think the reasoning was to make it more relatable to Americans (some people called it touchy-feely translating). This year, 2012, we were instructed/mandated to return to the proper, literal translation from the Latin.

I happen to prefer the literal translation. Having fallen away from the Church for many of the intervening years, it was much easier for me to revert to what I had originally learned when I was a child, when the Mass first went to English and the translation was precise.

The 70s sometimes added superfluous words. The response to "Let us give thanks to the Lord our God" became: "it is right and just to give Him thanks and praise" instead of the simple "it is right and just" (Dignum et iustum est.).

Which brings me to my observation. When I was young and we sang the Sanctus in Latin it went:

    Sanctus, Sanctus, Sanctus

    Dominus Deus Sabaoth

When we were allowed English, we said or sang:

    Holy, Holy, Holy

    Lord God of Hosts

Then, the 70s additions happened and it was interpreted this way:

    Holy, Holy, Holy Lord

    God of power and might

(observe that the word Lord is bumped up to the first line)

Today, I notice that many are still bringing the word Lord up to the first line:

    Holy, Holy, Holy Lord

    God of Hosts

(and this kinda drives me nuts)

In my Church, most of the priests lead the English this last (wrong?) way. Unless we sing it; then we do it correctly. I've thought about discussing it with one of our parish priests –and I might– but perhaps this minor annoyance is a good thing to "offer up" (remember that?).

I like to think of myself as a non-rigid Catholic who doesn't get all hung up on rules. I think that one's relationship with God is infinitely more personal than dictates allow or even attempt to understand. I tend to think that sometimes we hide true meaning behind habitual and regimented behavior.

So I will try to not flinch at "Holy Holy Holy Lord" ... because to do so is trivial and not sanctus at all.


 

Currently reading:

 The Last Report on the Miracles at Little No Horse 

 by Louise Erdrich

For more than a half century, Father Damien Modeste has served his beloved people, the Ojibwe, on the remote reservation of Little No Horse. Now, nearing the end of his life, Father Damien dreads the discovery of his physical identity, for he is a woman who has lived as a man. To complicate his fears, his quiet life changes when a troubled colleague comes to the reservation to investigate the life of the perplexing, difficult, possibly false saint Sister Leopolda. Father Damien alone knows the strange truth of Sister Leopolda's piety and is faced with the most difficult decision of his life: Should he reveal all he knows and risk everything? Or should he manufacture a protective history though he believes Leopolda's wonder-working is motivated by evil?

I am finding this book very passionate, fascinating, surprisingly believable, sometimes humorous, beautifully written in a way that grasps from the prologue and doesn't let go. The Vatican might not approve of this story; however, knowing how intensely Catholicism is practiced, I am intrigued.

[She] imagined that she had bent to the ground and had been rooted by the ends of her fine, black hair. When she pulled herself upright, earth rained down on her and her thoughts were as weak as dust.

That is just so much more expressive than saying:

[She] was depressed.

Rats and Bats

 I spent today making silhouettes of rats and bats.
They look great in a mirror, in windows or against a white surface.

Mom's Handbag

Ah! There is much to be said about enduring style, is there not?
I still have in my possession the handbag my mother held on the day she married my dad in Dublin, Ireland, right after WWII, August 1945. At this writing, that makes it 67 years old; not exactly Smithsonian vintage but nearly. It doesn't have a label so I don't know where it was made; undoubtedly it was purchased in Belfast, Northern Ireland, where she lived. Just beautiful.

Here is the proof in her right hand!
I also used to have the suit, a scarlet wool 40s style, but it got too moth-eaten and sadly, was discarded. Oh– and that's my future dad, the US Army sergeant who swept her off to America.

I'm currently reading The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society and wonder how, in Northern Ireland, 1945, she could have gotten her hands on such a handbag– with leather and practically everything being rationed. My mom, being young and cute, would brag a little of how her own mother encouraged her to flirt with the fellow they called "Billy Butter" to get extra –what else?– butter! I have a feeling that, the minute the war was over, my dreamy-future-mother went on a meager shopping spree.  P.S. Good book!

Strawberry Season

   Strawberries have personality. And good taste.

Crows Love Cherries!

Where did all the cherries go?

 
Caw!  Caw!

The tree was decimated by the crows.

When I Lose on eBay

Dream Big– READ!

It's time for Summer Reading and the theme this year is Dream Big- READ!

Here is what I've come up with for our Book Log:

Individual schedule for Central.