Arcadia Est Imperare Orbi Universo

Last night’s Tenebræ service was incredibly powerful. There were probably a hundred people in attendance, and we had half a dozen servers and the full choir. Fr. Wichert led.
And the choir! Oh, they were fantastic! The last anthem,... (more at http://www.thomryng.com/amateurmonk/tenebrae-debrief/)


Tenebræ from the Choir Loft (photo by Francine Mastini)

Originally posted at Mundus Tranquillare Hic. If you wish to comment, please do so there.

http://www.thomryng.com/amateurmonk/tenebrae-debrief/

File under: Chant, community, Divine Office, Francine my love, Holy Days, inside baseball, Rev. Nicholas Wichert, Save the Liturgy, Save the World

On this day in the year 1571 was fought the Battle of Lepanto.

Lepanto

White founts falling in the Courts of the sun,
And the Soldan of Byzantium is smiling as they run;
There is laughter like the fountains in that face of all men feared,
It stirs the forest darkness, the darkness of his beard;
It curls the blood-red crescent, the crescent of his lips;
For the inmost sea of all the earth is shaken with his ships.
They have dared the white republics up the capes of Italy,
They have dashed the Adriatic round the Lion of the Sea,
And the Pope has cast his arms abroad for agony and loss,
And called the kings of Christendom for swords about the Cross.
The cold queen of England is looking in the glass;
The shadow of the Valois is yawning at the Mass;
From evening isles fantastical rings faint the Spanish gun,
And the Lord upon the Golden Horn is laughing in the sun.

Dim drums throbbing, in the hills half heard,
Where only on a nameless throne a crownless prince has stirred,
Where, risen from a doubtful seat and half attainted stall,
The last knight of Europe takes weapons from the wall,
The last and lingering troubadour to whom the bird has sung,
That once went singing southward when all the world was young.
In that enormous silence, tiny and unafraid,
Comes up along a winding road the noise of the Crusade.
Strong gongs groaning as the guns boom far,
Don John of Austria is going to the war,
Stiff flags straining in the night-blasts cold
In the gloom black-purple, in the glint old-gold,
Torchlight crimson on the copper kettle-drums,
Then the tuckets, then the trumpets, then the cannon, and he comes.
Don John laughing in the brave beard curled,
Spurning of his stirrups like the thrones of all the world,
Holding his head up for a flag of all the free.
Love-light of Spain–hurrah!
Death-light of Africa!
Don John of Austria
Is riding to the sea.

Mahound is in his paradise above the evening star,
(Don John of Austria is going to the war.)
He moves a mighty turban on the timeless houri’s knees,
His turban that is woven of the sunsets and the seas.
He shakes the peacock gardens as he rises from his ease,
And he strides among the tree-tops and is taller than the trees;
And his voice through all the garden is a thunder sent to bring
Black Azrael and Ariel and Ammon on the wing.
Giants and the Genii,
Multiplex of wing and eye,
Whose strong obedience broke the sky
When Solomon was king.

They rush in red and purple from the red clouds of the morn,
From the temples where the yellow gods shut up their eyes in scorn;
They rise in green robes roaring from the green hells of the sea
Where fallen skies and evil hues and eyeless creatures be,
On them the sea-valves cluster and the grey sea-forests curl,
Splashed with a splendid sickness, the sickness of the pearl;
They swell in sapphire smoke out of the blue cracks of the ground,–
They gather and they wonder and give worship to Mahound.
And he saith, “Break up the mountains where the hermit-folk can hide,
And sift the red and silver sands lest bone of saint abide,
And chase the Giaours flying night and day, not giving rest,
For that which was our trouble comes again out of the west.
We have set the seal of Solomon on all things under sun,
Of knowledge and of sorrow and endurance of things done.
But a noise is in the mountains, in the mountains, and I know
The voice that shook our palaces–four hundred years ago:
It is he that saith not ‘Kismet’; it is he that knows not Fate;
It is Richard, it is Raymond, it is Godfrey at the gate!
It is he whose loss is laughter when he counts the wager worth,
Put down your feet upon him, that our peace be on the earth.”
For he heard drums groaning and he heard guns jar,
(Don John of Austria is going to the war.)
Sudden and still–hurrah!
Bolt from Iberia!
Don John of Austria
Is gone by Alcalar.

St. Michaels on his Mountain in the sea-roads of the north
(Don John of Austria is girt and going forth.)
Where the grey seas glitter and the sharp tides shift
And the sea-folk labour and the red sails lift.
He shakes his lance of iron and he claps his wings of stone;
The noise is gone through Normandy; the noise is gone alone;
The North is full of tangled things and texts and aching eyes,
And dead is all the innocence of anger and surprise,
And Christian killeth Christian in a narrow dusty room,
And Christian dreadeth Christ that hath a newer face of doom,
And Christian hateth Mary that God kissed in Galilee,–
But Don John of Austria is riding to the sea.
Don John calling through the blast and the eclipse
Crying with the trumpet, with the trumpet of his lips,
Trumpet that sayeth ha!
Domino gloria!
Don John of Austria
Is shouting to the ships.

King Philip’s in his closet with the Fleece about his neck
(Don John of Austria is armed upon the deck.)
The walls are hung with velvet that is black and soft as sin,
And little dwarfs creep out of it and little dwarfs creep in.
He holds a crystal phial that has colours like the moon,
He touches, and it tingles, and he trembles very soon,
And his face is as a fungus of a leprous white and grey
Like plants in the high houses that are shuttered from the day,
And death is in the phial and the end of noble work,
But Don John of Austria has fired upon the Turk.
Don John’s hunting, and his hounds have bayed–
Booms away past Italy the rumour of his raid.
Gun upon gun, ha! ha!
Gun upon gun, hurrah!
Don John of Austria
Has loosed the cannonade.

The Pope was in his chapel before day or battle broke,
(Don John of Austria is hidden in the smoke.)
The hidden room in man’s house where God sits all the year,
The secret window whence the world looks small and very dear.
He sees as in a mirror on the monstrous twilight sea
The crescent of his cruel ships whose name is mystery;
They fling great shadows foe-wards, making Cross and Castle dark,
They veil the plumèd lions on the galleys of St. Mark;
And above the ships are palaces of brown, black-bearded chiefs,
And below the ships are prisons, where with multitudinous griefs,
Christian captives sick and sunless, all a labouring race repines
Like a race in sunken cities, like a nation in the mines.
They are lost like slaves that sweat, and in the skies of morning hung
The stair-ways of the tallest gods when tyranny was young.
They are countless, voiceless, hopeless as those fallen or fleeing on
Before the high Kings’ horses in the granite of Babylon.
And many a one grows witless in his quiet room in hell
Where a yellow face looks inward through the lattice of his cell,
And he finds his God forgotten, and he seeks no more a sign–
(But Don John of Austria has burst the battle-line!)
Don John pounding from the slaughter-painted poop,
Purpling all the ocean like a bloody pirate’s sloop,
Scarlet running over on the silvers and the golds,
Breaking of the hatches up and bursting of the holds,
Thronging of the thousands up that labour under sea
White for bliss and blind for sun and stunned for liberty.

Vivat Hispania!
Domino Gloria!
Don John of Austria
Has set his people free!

Cervantes on his galley sets the sword back in the sheath
(Don John of Austria rides homeward with a wreath.)
And he sees across a weary land a straggling road in Spain,
Up which a lean and foolish knight for ever rides in vain,
And he smiles, but not as Sultans smile, and settles back the blade….
(But Don John of Austria rides home from the Crusade.)

(G.K. Chesterton)

28th Sunday in Ordinary Time

The meme continues. Very nearly a third of the way through, now!

( Days of Yore )

Day 09 – Your beliefs, in great detail

One must begin, I suppose, by asking, "beliefs about what exactly?"

God? Philosophy? Science? Art? Literature? History? Other people? Me?

It's quite impossible.

So. Having said that, here are just a few of the things in which I believe.

I believe in love.

I believe in beauty.

I believe in the power of friendship.

I believe in the power of the printed word.

I believe the sun will rise in the east tomorrow over both the just and the unjust.

I believe violence is almost never the solution to a problem.

I believe those who fail to learn the lessons of history will go the way of the Roman Empire.

I believe that great civilizations are not destroyed; rather, they commit suicide.

I believe all of us fall short of our potential and of the glory of God. This is called sin.

I believe my job as a human being is to seek Truth and to love. This is a pretty good response to sin.

I believe governments exist to guarantee to their people life, liberty, and justice.

I believe education is not just career training.

I believe that while science may provide answers to how, who, what, where, and when, it's pretty crappy at answering why.

I believe that one of the primary purposes of the artistic instinct is to create beauty, so that the artist may become a co-creator of the universe with God.

I believe that any technology that doesn't support community or the search for Truth probably ought to be avoided.

I believe that just because you can do a thing, it does not follow that you should do it.

I believe everything that the magesterium of the Catholic Church proposes for my belief.

I believe in one God, the Father almighty, maker of heaven and earth, of all things visible and invisible.

I believe in one Lord Jesus Christ, the Only Begotten Son of God, born of the Father before all ages. God from God, Light from Light, true God from true God, begotten, not made, consubstantial with the Father; through him all things were made. For us men and for our salvation he came down from heaven, and by the Holy Spirit was incarnate of the Virgin Mary, and became man. For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate, he suffered death and was buried, and rose again on the third day in accordance with the Scriptures. He ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father. He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead and his kingdom will have no end.

I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life, who proceeds from the Father and the Son, who with the Father and the Son is adored and glorified, who has spoken through the prophets.

I believe in one, holy, catholic and apostolic Church. I confess one baptism for the forgiveness of sins and I look forward to the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come.

Amen.

( The rest of the days )

Well, we had planned to finish the chapel roof today, but Mike is home with a bad cold. Turns out working in the pouring rain on somebody's roof can be hazardous to your health.

Instead, Victoria and I will tarp up the walls for winter. We'll finish the roof Sunday. Helpers enthusiastically welcome!

Here are some shots from two different days - in the first, Victoria and I hang the floor joists, in the second, Victoria, Mike, and I put on part of the new roof.

Enjoy!

( pix! )

Abba Lot went to see Abba Joseph and said to him, ‘Abba, as far as I can I say my little office, I fast a little, I pray and meditate, I live in peace and as far as I can, I purify my thoughts. What else can I do?’

Then the old man stood up and stretched his hands towards heaven. His fingers became like ten lamps of fire and he said to him, ‘If you will, you can become all flame.’

(From The Sayings of the Desert Fathers, circa fourth century AD)

Now there were shepherds in that region living in the fields and keeping the night watch over their flock. The angel of the Lord appeared to them and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were struck with great fear.

The angel said to them, "Do not be afraid; for behold, I proclaim to you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. For today in the city of David a savior has been born for you who is Messiah and Lord. And this will be a sign for you: you will find an infant wrapped in swaddling clothes and lying in a manger."

And suddenly there was a multitude of the heavenly host with the angel, praising God and saying: "Glory to God in the highest and on earth peace to those on whom his favor rests." (Gospel of Saint Luke 2:8-14)

We finish Advent with O Magnum Mysterium, which is technically a responsorial chant from the Matins of Christmas. These days it is sometimes used in the Masses of Christmas Eve and Christmas Day (though not, I venture to add, in any parish within two hundred miles of this writer's present location).

Though it was originally a chant, I recently discovered this polyphony version by Tomás Luis de Victoria that is simply sublime.



O magnum mysterium,
et admirabile sacramentum,
ut animalia viderent Dominum natum,
jacentem in præsepio!
Beata Virgo, cujus viscera
meruerunt portare
Dominum Christum.
Alleluia.

Englished:

O great mystery,
and wonderful sacrament,
that animals should see the new-born Lord,
lying in a manger!
Blessed is the Virgin whose womb
was worthy to bear
Christ the Lord.
Alleluia!

---

Enjoy, and if I don't see you before this evening, please allow me to wish you a very merry Christmas.

blessings and love,

thom

With Christmas literally days away, we hear the penultimate O Antiphon this evening.

I mentioned a couple of days ago that the antiphons might sound vaguely familiar to you. In the 12th Century, an unknown songwriter compiled versions of the O Antiphons into a single Advent hymn, called Veni, Veni Emmanuel. You know the English version as O Come, O Come Emmanuel.

The song's verses are in reverse order from the order of the antiphons. More on that tomorrow.



O Rex géntium, et desiderátus eárum,
lapísque anguláris, qui facis útraque unum:
veni, et salva hóminem,
quem de limo formásti.

Englished:

O King of the nations, and their desire,
the cornerstone making both one:
Come and save the human race,
which you fashioned from clay.

Continuing on, we come closer and closer to the birth of the Messiah, "the holy one, the true, who holds the key of David, who opens and no one shall close, who closes and no one shall open" (Rev. 3:7).

If you are interested in learning more about the O Antiphons, I recommend Fr. Zuhlsdorf's site here. The format is bare-bones, but the information is thorough.



O Clavis David, et sceptrum domus Israël;
qui áperis, et nemo claudit;
claudis, et nemo áperit:
veni, et educ vinctum de domo cárceris,
sedéntem in ténebris, et umbra mortis.

Englished:

O Key of David and sceptre of the House of Israel;
you open and no one can shut;
you shut and no one can open:
Come and lead the prisoners from the prison house,
those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death.

Last night was the first time Francine and I had prayed Vespers in community since shortly after leaving our former parish. Sam joined us. The lack of practice really showed - we were disjointed and could not even chant the opening or the Magnificat correctly.

Tonight, we'll trot out some of our old books and see if we can't put it together a little better.

Today is the second "O" antiphon, O Adonai. These videos, which I will be embedding each day until Christmas, were recorded by the Dominican student brothers at Oxford in 2006.



O Adonái, et Dux domus Israël,
qui Móysi in igne flammæ rubi apparuísti,
et ei in Sina legem dedísti:
veni ad rediméndum nos in bráchio exténto.

Englished:

O Adonai, and leader of the House of Israel,
who appeared to Moses in the fire of the burning bush
and gave him the law on Sinai:
Come and redeem us with an outstretched arm.

Today I resolve to listen to the Ninth Symphony, and probably the Third as well. You should too!

Yesterday evening I attended our parish Advent Reconciliation Service. I arrived late, having had to walk up the hill from downtown, and of course I ended up dead last in the longest line for confession.

It gave me some additional time to examine my conscience, but it also afforded me the opportunity to observe people going into and out of the confessionals.

It's amazing to watch people walk out of the confessional; it's like they're floating on air.

Feast of Saint Theresa of Avila
Seattle

Dearest reader,

During my morning commute, I usually do the crossword puzzle in the venerable Tacoma News Tribune. It's usually enough to wake my brain, though they are not so difficult that I can't use a pen to fill them in.

This morning, one of the clues was "Ragamuffin". This immediately put a silly children's counting rhyme into my head:

Ragamuffin, ragamuffin
Hovel for a nest
Tell us now
Who is the best.

It's the sort of thing children use to determine sides or captains for ad hoc ball games and the like.

Except that I don't know whether it actually exists or I made it up.

Has anyone heard of this before?

The experience was made slightly more surreal when the words "hovel" and "nest" proved to be answers in the puzzle - answers I hadn't yet filled in when the rhyme occurred to me.

In other news, today is the feast of Saint Theresa of Avila, one of the great Doctors of the Church. In college I was once called upon to write three essays about her, one from a Marxist perspective, one from a Freudian perspective, and one from a Kierkegaardian perspective.

Needless to say, the sum of the essays was no where near the total of her life and work. I think the Kierkegaard one was the most ridiculous of all. I wrote it without notes from the top of my drunken head on an electric typewriter the night before it was due.

It was my best grade in the class.

Happy Easter, everyone!

Rejoice, heavenly powers! Sing, choirs of angels! Exult, all creation around God's throne! Jesus Christ, our King, is risen! Sound the trumpet of salvation! Rejoice, O earth, in shining splendor, radiant in the brightness of your King! Christ has conquered! Glory fills you! Darkness vanishes for ever! Rejoice, O Mother Church! Exult in glory! The risen Savior shines upon you! Let this place resound with joy, echoing the mighty song of all God's people! My dearest friends, standing with me in this holy light, join me in asking God for mercy, that he may give his unworthy minister grace to sing his Easter praises. ...

Exultet iam angelica turba caelorum: exultent divina mysteria: et pro tanti Regis victoria tuba insonet salutaris. Gaudeat et tellus tantis irradiata fulgoribus: et, aeterni Regis splendore illustrata, totius orbis se sentiat amisisse caliginem. Laetetur et mater Ecclesia, tanti luminis adornata fulgoribus: et magnis populorum vocibus haec aula resultet. Quapropter astantes vos, fratres carissimi, ad tam miram huius sancti luminis claritatem, una mecum, quaeso, Dei omnipotentis misericordiam invocate. Ut, qui me non meis meritis intra Levitarum numerum dignatus est aggregare, luminis sui claritatem infundens, cerei huius laudem implere perficiat. ...

[Exultet]

It has been some time since I've posted here, and longer still since I've posted regularly.

For this, I deeply apologise to you, my one loyal reader.

My only excuse is this: it has been a trying time, and I've been working long hours.

In the past few months, I've spent weeks at a time out of state. I've been to Charlotte, North Carolina; Palm Desert, California; Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania (twice, thank you); and most recently to Los Angeles, California.

I'm awfully tired of business trips, and there's another one in the offing: a return to Charlotte in the New Year.

In addition, I've been spending some time with Tristan, though probably not as much as I ought.

Numerous responsibilities and projects have fallen to the wayside, including this journal.

So what, you may ask, compels me now to write? What new disaster, what new calamity, has stirred my (electronic) pen?

Just this: today is my 42nd birthday.

I thank all of those who have taken the time, quite unbidden and unexpectedly, to wish me happy returns of the day. Thank you.

Of course, if you really loved me, you would have taken me down to the pub for a beer. But I digress.

Looking back at the past year, as one often does on these occasions, prompts me to ask in a somewhat plaintive wail, "what the hell was that all about?"

There were certainly times of joy: co-habitation gave way to glorious wedded bliss. Chronic unemployment fell to relatively lucrative and more or less creative work.

And yet, there was death and disaster in equal measure, tiring my soul and emptying my bank accounts.

I am so very weary so often these days.

So what can I say at 42? At the age of the Ultimate Answer?

Not much, it turns out.

I can say that God is good to me. There is nothing that has been taken that He has not first given me. Why disaster strengthens faith is beyond my ability to discern, but that it is true is now beyond any ability to dispute.

I can say that there is no earthly thing more precious than friendship, than love. It continues to pour out on to me through all the difficulties and the delights.

And I can say that I am continually astonished that the world is so very different than most people - myself included for a very long time - seem to think.

This world is magical and mythical and musical. And if you, my single and beloved reader, doubt that this is so, I invite you to behave as if it were. A week should do. You will be astonished.

Listen.

Last week on the bus, I sat across from an elderly gentleman wearing brand new jeans and a clean, unpatched coat. His hair was long, lanky, and yellow, and his face was creased so deeply it looked like furrowed earth.

He had a plastic garbage bag on the seat next to him, filled with precious things. He had a soda can that smelled as if it contained kerosene. I suspect he was flammable.

As I approached, he lurched over and touched two fingers solemnly to the seat I was about to take. Then he sat back upright and polished off whatever was in the soda can.

As we went on, he puffed madly at an unlit cigarette butt and muttered to himself. I made the mistake, I think, of trying to ignore him for some time.

And then I caught some of his words - a fragment, really - "carpe diem".

I began to listen more closely. His muttering was fairly indistinct, and I caught no further words for some time. He did stop, I noticed, every once and again. It finally occurred to me that he was having a conversation with somebody I could not see.

And then I finally caught a solid phrase - "benedicta tu in mulieribus". It was the Ave Maria, the Hail Mary. In Latin.

I looked up at him rather sharply as I caught his words.

He stared back at me, wild-eyed, stopping in mid-sentence.

And then he stood up and got off the bus at the next stop.

What did it mean? I confess, I've absolutely no idea. There was a time when that would have bothered me.

You might think him a sad, mad drunk, and perhaps that's a fair assessment. I don't know.

But as today is December 17th, I invite you, my single dear, dear reader, to pray for the wisdom to see the world in all of its hidden splendour.

I pray for that most every day.

Of course, it's part of a very long list.

And this, my friends, is why ultimately the Pope commissioned Da Vinci instead.



Happy Friday!

Today is the feast of St. Thomas Becket, one of the earliest saints to fascinate me for many reasons, not the least of which is that I share his name.

His is a compelling story of continuing conversion, culminating in martyrdom.

I consider him one of my patrons, along with St. John the Divine, whose feast was the day before yesterday.

Although they were removed from the calendar, they remain saints. I intend to celebrate in the traditional manner - by purchasing a new pair of shoes.

If we are mark'd to die, we are enow
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honour.( Read more... )

Book meme from some_dumb_blurt via garpu :

1. Grab the nearest book.
2. Open the book to page 23.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the next three sentences in your journal along with these instructions.
5. Don't dig for your favorite book, the cool book, or the intellectual one: pick the CLOSEST.

Just for fun, I took the excerpt from page xxiii.

"It has opened up to us a wealth of material and an abundance of findings that enable the figure of Jesus to become present to us with a vitality and depth that we could not have imagined even just a few decades ago. I have merely tried to go beyond purely historical-critical exegesis so as to apply new methodological insights that allow us to offer a properly theological interpretation of the Bible. To be sure, this requires faith, but the aim unequivocally is not, nor should it be, to give up serious engagement with history."

Jesus of Nazareth, Pope Benedict XVI.

See, this is why I usually skip the Foreward until the end. The book itself is remarkably free of the prose density of the example cited above. In fact, the book itself is freakin' brilliant.

This bit of news from Bloomberg caught my eye:

Philanthropist and retired hedge-fund manager Robert W. Wilson said he is giving $22.5 million to the Archdiocese of New York to fund a scholarship program for needy inner-city students attending Roman Catholic schools.

Wilson, 80, said in a phone interview today that although he is an atheist, he has no problem donating money to a fund linked to Catholic schools.

"Let's face it, without the Roman Catholic Church, there would be no Western civilization.''

Now there's a quote.

...and somehow, this seemed appropriate.

The Englishman

Saint George he was for England.
And before he killed the dragon
He drank a pint of English ale
Out of an English flagon.
For though he fast right readily
In hair-shirt or in mail.
It isn't safe to give him cakes
Unless you give him ale.

Saint George he was for England,
And right gallantly set free
The lady left for dragon's meat
And tied up to a tree;
But since he stood for England
And knew what England means,
Unless you give him bacon
You mustn't give him beans.

Saint George he is for England,
And shall wear the shield he wore
When we go out in armour
With the battle-cross before.
But though he is jolly company
And very pleased to dine,
It isn't safe to give him nuts
Unless you give him wine.

(G.K. Chesterton)

I wish all those who celebrate a happy Vernal Equinox!

Also today, we Benedictines celebrate the Feast of the Passing of Saint Benedict. While no longer celebrated on the Roman calendar, the various Benedictine Orders still account this day a patronal feast.

So let's get out there and celebrate!

I admit, this made me laugh.

( Read more... )

Whatever did we do for entertainment before YouTube?

Late have I loved you,
Beauty so ancient and so new, late have I loved you!
Lo, you were within,
but I outside, seeking there for you,
and upon the shapely things you have made
I rushed headlong – I, misshapen.
You were with me, but I was not with you.
They held me back far from you,
those things which would have no being,
were they not in you.
You called, shouted, broke through my deafness;
you flared, blazed, banished my blindness;
you lavished your fragrance, I gasped; and now I pant for you;
I tasted you, and now I hunger and thirst;
you touched me, and I burned for your peace.

(from The Confessions, Saint Augustine of Hippo)

Today is the Feast of the Dedication of Santa Maria Maggiore in Rome. This is, in my opinion, the most beautiful building I've ever been in.

This feast commemorates the miracle of the snowfall that occurred during the night of August 4-5 in the year 358 on the site where the basilica now stands. According to tradition, the Virgin Mary appeared in a dream to two faithful Roman Christians, the patrician John and his wife, as well as to Pope Liberius (352-366), asking that a church be built in her honor on the site where snow would fall on the night of August 4-5. Pope Liberius traced the outlines of the church in the snow and the first basilica was built on that site. (Source)

There's even a tiny little mosaic on the walls of the Pope with a snow shovel, if you know where to look.

So here's what it looks like if you decorate a church for fifteen hundred years without ceasing:

(click the images for larger pictures)

	Santa Maria Maggiore side chapel This is one of several side chapels at the fantabulous Santa Maria Maggiore
	Santa Maria Maggiore high altar This is the high altar. The canopy is roughly two stories tall. The apse mosaics date to the IVth or Vth century; the ones in front are half a millennium later.
	A closer view of the altar.