pammar moving benevolent

[Abigayle Laurenitis]

sprinkling ritual of the Catholic church, also an antiphon intoned or sung during this, 1550s, from Late Latin asperges, noun use of second-person singular future indicative of Latin aspergere "to scatter, strew upon, sprinkle," from ad "to" (see ad-) + spargere "to sprinkle" (see sparse).

The word is taken from the phrase Asperges me, Domine, hyssopo et mundabor, from the 51st Psalm (Vulgate), sung during the rite of sprinkling a congregation with holy water. Old English used onstregdan as a loan-translation of Latin aspergere.

word-forming element expressing direction toward or in addition to, from Latin ad "to, toward" in space or time; "with regard to, in relation to," as a prefix, sometimes merely emphatic, from PIE root *ad- "to, near, at."

In Old French, reduced to a- in all cases (an evolution already underway in Merovingian Latin), but French refashioned its written forms on the Latin model in 14c., and English did likewise 15c. in words it had picked up from Old French. In many cases pronunciation followed the shift.

Over-correction at the end of the Middle Ages in French and then English "restored" the -d- or a doubled consonant to some words that never had it (accursed, afford). The process went further in England than in France (where the vernacular sometimes resisted the pedantic), resulting in English adjourn, advance, address, advertisement (Modern French ajourner, avancer, adresser, avertissement). In modern word-formation sometimes ad- and ab- are regarded as opposites, but this was not in classical Latin.

Asperges me Domine hyssopo et mundabor,
lavabis me et super nivem dealbabor.
Misere mei, Deus, secundum magnam misericordiam tuam.
Gloria patri et filio et spiritui sancti,
erat in principio et nunc et semper et in saecula seculorum. Amen.

Anyhow, I have enjoyed plentiful good times at No. 12, more than I deserve. Home to Chris, Dave, Alex, Jenny, and ZaZa, it was always a comforting place when things were irritating me; a veritable home away from home. And because they have satellite television, there was always at least one program about Irwin Rommel on for us to watch whilst slowly sipping a cup of Earl Grey. From getting sunburnt in the garden while studying this term, to the time Cockburn the Younger was ill atop the herb garden, No. 12 has been a font of good times and fond memories, and long may it be so to its future residents. No. 12, I shall miss thee.

The Bronxville Review-Press informs me that old Mrs. Garretson has passed away. When I worked at the bookshop in the village, I used to deliver the books she ordered to her apartment. I never made it past the large entrance hall, but that alone was literally covered in all sorts of polychromatic art; always very intriguing. Mrs. Garretson was always a very courteous lady, may she rest in peace.

This morning after the 9:00am Mass we learned that Fr. Patrick Burke has been summoned to the Eternal City for a job at the Congregation of the Doctrine of the Faith. Fr. Burke, who was Convener of the University of St Andrews Union Debating Society (f. 1794) and President of the Catholic Society during his undergraduate days, is just about the best (diocesan) priest in Scotland.

Meanwhile Mr. Brenner inquires as to why I stated my preference for Murray Hill among the neighborhoods of Manhattan. It is somewhat on the quieter side of things, it has one of the best parishes in the Archdiocese (the Church of Our Saviour) and is within walking distance of another (my beloved St. Agnes), is home to the Union League Club, the English-Speaking Union, and other institutions, and the general tendency of the architecture is fairly attractive. Why not?

In the mad media market of Manhattan, the most reliable option for the Sun is not as a general interest paper, a more financially-precarious model, but instead to find a niche in which to solidly rest. The weekly New York Observer, only born in the nineties, has a niche which gives it a fairly firm foundation provided it continues to serve it well, and the Sun should take note of that.

3) The Metropolitan Newspaper: Of course it must continue to be an intrinsically New York paper. Coverage of the civic, political, and social sides of the city are essentially. This department has been pretty solid and consistent, and should only be augmented.

All sorts of people turned up and inquired about the cause. Some bought out of hunger, some bought out of desire for scrumptious brownies, and some gave from their hearts out of their desire to see Chris C. well-armed.

Last night was spent in the Mess at Wyvern (HQ, A Sqd, TUOTC), which is one of the most delightful places in St Andrews. They have the cheapest pint in town, and even still it somehow seems you only need to drink half as much as usual to alter your consciousness.

Speaking of Mr. Watt, Dave had gone to Wine and Cheese that evening and showed up in the Mess pretty late, grievously attired in a black shirt with red stripes, accompanying tie, a white jumper, and with the obligatory blazer on top. He had hassled along some other OCDT (officer cadet) who had been at Wine and Cheese that evening to come along to the Mess. Now this chap was decked up in the more usual tweed jacket (and riding boots, without explanation) but was lacking in necktie. As one might expect, jacket and tie are de rigeur for the Mess, and once the said tie-less fellow showed up the lack of tie was noted and brought to the attention of the PMC.

Disgrace! What was to be done? A Mess Court would be convened, Tom Kerr presiding. The shameless and inebriated David Watt would provide the defense, the shameless and inebriated Chris C. the prosecution, and George Irwin, Euan Gorford, and I were appointed as jury.

The current building is one of 53 churches built/rebuilt by Christopher Wren after the Great Fire of London in 1666. Its history, architecture and appointments are impressive and cannot be summarized in a short paragraph – guidebooks and the church's own website speak with much better authority than I ever could. Let me just say that the tomb of Miles Coverdale, who in 1535 produced the first complete English translation of the Bible, was relocated here in 1840, and the church is said to be haunted by the figure of a monk in cassock and cowl, with long black hair but no face, who has been seen staring at Coverdale's tomb.

It has a long history and association with the neighbouring trades of this part of London. It is the guild church of the Worshipful Company of Fishmongers and of the Worshipful Company of Plumbers. The Church of St Magnus the Martyr is well known for its high liturgical standards in the Anglo-Catholic vein.

A church has existed on this site for over 1000 years. For centuries it sat literally at the foot of the old London Bridge, where all people crossing the Thames entered the city. Now it is nearly dwarfed by the modern London skyline.

A priest (but not on staff) shook my hand and asked if I was staying for the service or just looking around (Wren churches must get a lot of fans – are they called Wrenies? – just looking around). When he learned I was staying, he urged me to come downstairs afterwards for lunch, if possible, or just a beverage and cookies.

The celebrant intoned the beginning of the Asperges: "Asperges me." Then the choir chanted the remainder: "Domine hyssopo et mundabor", etc. (You will sprinkle me, o Lord, with hyssop and I shall be made clean) as the celebrant sprinkled the congregation with holy water.

Knowing it was a Wren church, I allowed myself to be distracted by its features: the massive dark wood wall behind the altar, the graceful white columns, the black and white marble floor, the stained glass windows, especially St Magnus holding a replica of his red stone cathedral in Kirkwall, and St Thomas Becket holding a portion of his own head!

Very formal, very high church. Much ceremony, much incense, ornate vestments, black birettas donned and removed several times during the service. I felt transported back to the 1950s Roman Catholic masses of my youth.

As an American Episcopalian, I'm used to a more participatory role during worship. I felt like a passive role of observer: the choir did most of the singing (the congregation sang the offertory hymn and a hymn just before the Angelus after mass). The words of the consecration were not printed in the bulletin, so it felt like the priest (with his back to the congregation) was the only one actually celebrating.

I was told the usual fare is biscuits/crisps and tea. But because the congregation was celebrating the 30th anniversary of the cardinal rector's ordination, we feasted on wine, chicken salad, couscous salad, sliced tomatoes, trifle, cheesecake, meringue with fruit coulis, brie and crackers. I had lovely conversations with several friendly folk.

Yes, even with my discomfort with the traditional practices. I felt like a comrade-in-the-faith at St Magnus. I hope that's what being a Christian is all about: not how we worship but whom we worship, and how we live the gospel.

This leaf is from a French Book of Hours made in the middle of the fifteenth century, and measures 18.5 x 13 cm. The marginal ivy emerges from the text block and weaves and subdivides, producing gold leaves and several kinds of colorful flowers; the ivy seems only to be located along the outer margin of each page. The arrangement of this Book of Hours may be in accord with the Use of Paris.

Ecce enim in iniquitatibus conceptus sum: et in peccatis concepit me mater mea.
Ecce enim veritatem dilexisti: incerta et occulta sapientiae tuae manifestasti mihi.
Asperges me hyssopo, et mundabor: lavabis me, et super nivem dealbabor.
Auditui meo dabis gaudium, et laetitiam: et exultabunt ossa humiliata.
Averte faciem tuam a peccatis meis: et omnes iniquitates meas dele.

[from Psalms 50] For behold I was conceived in iniquities: and my mother conceived me in sins. For behold thou hast loved truth: the uncertain and hidden things of thy wisdom thou hast made manifest to me. Thou shalt sprinkle me with hyssop, and I shall be cleansed: thou shalt wash me, and I shall be made whiter than snow. To my hearing thou shalt give joy, and gladness: and humbled bones shall rejoice. Turn away thy face from my sins: and blot out all my iniquities.

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