Today is the feast of All Saints of the Order for the Society of Jesus (the Jesuits). The 13th of November is the corresponding feast for the Augustinians. And tomorrow is a "first Friday." In Roman Catholic practice the first Friday in a month is often reserved for a particular purpose. There might be a special liturgy or blessing, or there might be an indulgence available for those who go to Mass.
Last month, on the first Friday of October, Math Man and I were in Paris. At Notre Dame. The renovated cathedral is beautiful, though I have no point of comparison as this was my first trip to Paris.
Notre Dame houses a Crown of Thorns. (I hesitate to say "the" — there is a list of about 700 thorns "from" the crown of thorns in existence. Some are 3rd class relics — touched to a first class relic— some are undoubtedly just objects of devotion. Reminders of The Crown, but disjoint.) Crowns of Thorns has been venerated since the 5th century. The provenance of this particular relic doesn't stretch quite so far. What seems relatively certain is that it resided in Constantinople, then was used as collateral for a loan and held by a Venetian bank. Louis XI redeemed it in the 13th century, removed it to Paris where he built Sainte-Chapelle to house it.
On the first Friday of the month, the Crown of Thorns that is held at Notre Dame is taken out and brought in procession to the main altar for anyone who wishes to venerate it. It was the first Friday in October, so we found seats in the nave (kept for those who want to pray or attend a liturgy) and waited. Victor read about the design and construction of the church, I meditated. People drifted in, including a tour group that took up the rest of our row and the two rows behind us. Two dames of the Sepulchre were working their way down the aisle, selling holy cards with a photo of the relic on the front. Two euros each. The leader of the tour group asks for 22 of them, which the dame duly counts out for her. When asked for the 44 euros, however, she balks. Negotiations ensue, the leader buys two, the dame sniffs and moves off. "Madame. Madame!" I try to attract her attention. She finally turns back and when I ask for a holy card she lets out an exasperated sigh. Ah, no, I am not with the group that waffled. I hand over my two Euros and get a card (this is the only thing I use cash to purchase in the entire trip.)
The liturgy began with a procession of red vested clergy, accompanied by Knights (and Dames) of the Holy Sepulchre. Knights in white capes with red crosses on their shoulders and dames draped in black lace mantillas followed. The relic, in its glass reliquary, was nestled on a red pillow. The organ sounded deep mournful chords to accompany the procession. There were Gospel readings (in French and I could not catch enough to identify the pericopes). We sang hymns. And like at least a thousand years of believers before me, I approached the altar. I watched the small family — mother, father and two year-old — kiss the glass, and cross themselves. "Thank you," I hear the mother whisper. I laid my hand on the glass and offered up a brief prayer for two friends in particular who are having a very tough time.
Does it matter whether or not the crown of thorns is "real", whether it ever touched the head of Jesus of Nazareth? The Church does not demand that I believe, and I'm not sure I demand belief of myself. It is perhaps enough that we come together and reverently encounter each other. That we might for at least a amoment, hold each other close in thought and prayer. To hope for each other.
An indulgence in Paris might be
tarte tatin eaten sitting on the terrace of a café across the Seine, but indulgences in Catholic parlance are practices that reduce time in purgatory, the time to work off the effects of sin. Yes, I know, is there time in the heaven as we know it here? We used to say partial indulgences get you so many days or years off. Make the sign of the cross and your time of purgation is reduced by 100 days, use holy water and its 300 days. Plenary indulgences are a hard reset, returning the counter to zero. Spending three days on retreat or thirty minutes of meditation on the scriptures or in front of the Eucharist gain a plenary indulgence. As far as I know, there is not an indulgence for venerating the relic of the Crown of Thorns.
For much of my adult life, three solid days on retreat felt like an indulgence of the
tarte tatin sort, so I'm not sure that the current theology of indulgences would say that it would "count" for me, but time to stop scurrying down this rabbit hole and return you to your regularly scheduled programming (and me to my actual writing), which hopefully includes some time for God and whatever treat takes the place of
tarte tatin in your life.
