I have found that uploading photos on the fly, literally, can be difficult. Hence, thin posting.
On the way into Rome, there were some rather ominous clouds piling up.
Sure enough. I got settled into the monolocale macolato and headed out to find initial supplies. BAM! With cracks of lightning and thunder for a while it came down as if the Tiber had been upended. And I, without umbrella.
The dove eventually found a mountaintop and I got some errands done.
Later, to Ss. Trinita for my own Mass – I said the first Mass of my stay for benefactors! – and then a Pontifical Mass at the Faldstool followed by Exposition until midnight. I sat in choro. The celebrant was Card. Burke.
The celebrant says his prayers before being vested.
I know that there are out there the half-informed who think that all this ceremony and finery is either outdated or a manifestation of pride or clericalism or whatever the hell thing they make up. It needs to be seen and grasped through the prayers that are said for each vestment and also the significance of preparing the celebrant.
Some of this developed from the “court” being around the bishop. Why? Because every Mass of the bishop was really seen as the entire diocese being present and celebrating in his person. That’s why you had all these extras, such as the guys in black, who were notaries in the chancery.
Meanwhile, the bishop has to just stand there and endure it all. Why? Because it is not about him. It’s about HIM. The bishop is going to be the priest and the victim at the altar. Hence, he is treated like the sacrificial lamb before the slaughter, carefully prepared.
He even has to submit to being divested.
The ministers line up in order with the vestments which the deacon and subdeacon put on the celebrant.
Eventually, things get underway.
Exposition after Mass.
Interesting. They have all the plate out this time!
After Exposition I was able to exchange cordial greetings with the Cardinal (we’ve known each other since long before he was appointed bishop). A little chat with Ed Pentin and Diane Montagna on the steps in front. Then it was off to supper with The Great Roman. Not being as young as we once were, we split some Pasta alla Norma.
Then, orata in white wine. I forgot to order the spinach rather than potatoes.
And thus, I returned to the monolocale macolato, tired.
More errandy sorts of things today.