Purify and Mould

Whitsunday 2020

For those able to join me, it was a joy to be to resume public Masses yesterday, the last day of Eastertide and the great solemnity of Whitsunday. We had good numbers for both Masses, with blustery wind blowing through my domestic oratory at the morning Mass to add to the atmosphere and drama of the occasion. The afternoon Mass - our first in church since mid-March - was a particularly special moment. The light was clear and bright, the air crisp, and there was an overwhelming sense of calm and peace over the whole church. The choir, assembled in their (socially distanced!) loft, sang Hassler’s Missa Secunda, and motets by Palestrina and Attwood, and the final Regina Caeli was sung lustily by all, with a palpable sense of joy and relief. And now the Octave - Whit Week - begins!

​Ages past, when first the Spirit
Moved upon the face of earth,
When all other works were finish’d,
Came the primal human birth.
 
God the Father, in His power,
Moulded first that perfect form;
Noblest clay it stood before Him,
But not yet with being warm.
 
Like the Maker, yet resembling
Creatures dumb of lower race.
What can add the grand distinction?
What can bring the crowning grace?
 
Breathed God then into his nostrils
Holy breath of life divine;
Living soul the dust becometh,
Bearing deep the birthright sign.
 
This the Spirit’s first outpouring,
This the earliest Whitsuntide;
Lord of earth and heir of heaven
Stood man, pure in worthy pride.
 
But the human heart, too weakly,
Fell from out the first estate,
And the breath of God was quenched,
Overworn by fleshly weight.

Cometh then the second breathing
Of the soul-requick’ning power;
God the Son in endless mercy
Bringeth back the holy dower.
 
On the faithful few assembled
On the Pentecostal morn
Fell the Holy Ghost with power;
Once again mankind was born.
 
And a Whitsuntide there cometh
Evermore to hearts prepared;
Hence, by every ransom’d sinner
God’s great comfort full is shared.
 
Holy Spirit, moving ever
On the human waters’ face,
Prompting, guiding, thought inspiring,
Source of holy life and grace.
 
Thou from whom alone there floweth
Power to keep Thine image clear,
Come, although with fire of suffering;
To our blinded souls appear;
 
Purify, and mould, and help us
To fulfil our high Ideal;
Then on Thy design accomplish’d
Set the Heaven-accepted seal.

Whitsuntide by Emily Manning, 1845-1890