Preservation of Tradition vs. Fidelity and Organic Progress: A Necessary Updating of Certain Elements of the Liturgy of a Greek-Catholic Church

Abstract

With good reason, Vatican II encourages the Eastern ecclesial realities to preserve and, if necessary, to rediscover their own traditions (also, even if not only, for ecumenical reasons). There are, however, certain aspects of the heritage of the Eastern Churches that require urgent revision in a spirit of consistency with the teachings of the Council. This is undoubtedly the case with regard to the anti-Jewish elements so specific to the entire Christian tradition (more or less generalised insults and judgments; substitutionary and appropriative perspectives; a purely instrumental use of the Jewish scriptures) and, in the absence of full reception of the Council, still reflected in the public prayers of the Romanian Greek-Catholic Church, to the detriment of that spirit of respect, fraternity, and dialogue theoretically embraced throughout the Catholic world today. In the light of Nostra aetate §4 and the subsequent developments that flowed from it, I shall try in this contribution to outline some possible criteria for reforming the offices of Holy Week, aiming to show that—at least in this particular case—it is not enough merely to refer to the OE, let alone to use it to justify a comfortable tendency towards inertia. Apart from the fact that it is this very Decree that speaks of a possible and necessary organic progress, we cannot ignore the more general spirit of renewal of the Council and its other documents (the NA, the SC, the DV, the GS). The challenge would be to engender a creative fidelity, which—while preserving the best of tradition—surpasses certain of its contingent elements.

1. Introduction

Well before OE, it was an Apostolic Letter of 1894 by Leo XIII that affirmed the dignity of the Eastern Churches and their respective liturgies (OD); in its wake, the rediscovery of Eastern traditions determined one of the specific directions taken by the liturgical movement of the early twentieth century in the Greek-Catholic milieu (Mojzes 2005, pp. 210–12, 217–18), although this was not the only direction taken, as is clear from the Romanian Greek-Catholic press reports at the time (Albinus 1926, p. 1; Lauran 1926, p. 3; Pteancu 1926, pp. 2–3; Gael 1926, pp. 2–3). And it is this idea of the rediscovery, valorisation, and preservation of its own rites that is still predominant in the Romanian Greek-Catholic sphere, based on certain stances adopted by Vatican II itself (OE §§1–3, 5–6), which, however, are not the only ones to be retained from the conciliar documents, the latter also hinting at the legitimacy and necessity of organic progress (SC §§3–4; OE §§2, 6). This tension between the idea of the preservation of traditions and the legitimacy and the possibility of development is also to be found in the Instruction for applying the liturgical prescriptions of the Code of Canons of the Eastern Churches (§§9–12, 16–20 and the OL §§1; 4–5, 8, 10; in the same sense, see: Gugerotti 2004, p. 269; 2005, pp. 77, 80, 83–85).

In this article, I shall attempt to show that, at least in the case of the anti-Jewish elements still present in the liturgies of the Romanian Greek-Catholic Church (especially, but not only, in the liturgies of Holy Week)1, the principle of their preservation simply cannot be justified. Their reform is required for consistency both with the novelty of NA §4, and with the most authentic Byzantine tradition (generally characterised by the spirit of humility and repentance for one’s sins and not by the judgment of others) and the spirit of Christianity itself (a religion of love, fraternity, and forgiveness, and not of hatred, condemnation, and revenge which are often the hallmarks of the current liturgical texts). Rather than absolutising certain paragraphs of the Council’s writings (or even reading them selectively), we should strive to grasp their general spirit of renewal, which is also reflected in the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy. The latter makes it clear that, while there may be certain norms and principles of reform that apply only to the Roman rite, there are others that apply to the other rites as well (SC §3).

Rather than doubting the possibility of reforming the liturgies of Holy Week, we should perhaps ask ourselves what their current form would have been if the Romanian Greek-Catholic Church had had the possibility to participate in the Council (and then to apply it in full freedom) or, even prior to that, to have had the opportunity, together with other ecclesial realities, to travel the path towards awareness of the Christian responsibility in the Shoah and of the need for a change in traditional teaching (Stefani 1998, pp. 45–50; 2004, pp. 223–26, 246–49; Schäfer 2022, pp. 223–27; Neudecker 2012, pp. 17–22; Remaud 2008, pp. 17–26; 2015, pp. 94–99). But the fact is that the forty years of communist persecution (1948–1989) have greatly delayed the reception of the pre- and post-conciliar innovations in this field2. Perhaps, however, the 60th anniversary of NA and the Jubilee are the appropriate time for such change, and Vatican II—like the further developments of NA §4 and its other documents—could provide us with various keys to reform.

2. Preservation of Tradition vs. Organic Progress

2.1. Anti-Judaism, a Point of Contrast with Vatican II

Sixty years after the Council, the liturgy of the ‘Great and Holy Week’ in the Romanian Greek-Catholic Church still retains a number of anti-Jewish elements3, starting with offensive terminology. Even a cursory analysis of the liturgical texts prompts the immediate observation of the preference for the term iudeu,-i. And while it may be true that it replaces the even more pejorative jidov in the previous edition of our liturgical texts (Strastnic 8–9, 11, 32, 35, 37, 40–41, 68, 79, 86–88, 90, 101, 103, 105–108, 112, 123–124, 127–128, 155–157, 159), we might wonder what feelings its sound, so similar to the name of Judas (Iuda in Romanian), is likely to arouse in the participants in liturgical celebrations4. Moreover, since it is used as a generic term, it is likely to be understood as relating to all adherents of Judaism or even all members of the Jewish people. In addition, in the offices examined, the various references to more or less well-defined ‘Jews’ are often accompanied by epithets designed to make their image even more negative and detestable. Thus, the people and leaders are called ‘ungodly’, ‘unbelieving’, ‘iniquitous’, ‘lawbreakers’, ‘lawless’ (Rânduiala 79, 105, 107, 148, 158).

Moreover, it does not even seem necessary to identify such terms in the Holy Week texts, since they are often used as a simple substitute for ‘Jews’, referring mainly, but not exclusively, to the leaders (Rânduiala 82, 84–87, 106, 122, 138, 140, 143, 148, 152, 158, 166–167, 174, 185). Such expressions are similarly applied to the Sanhedrin (Rânduiala 96, 137, 153, 175) or to the scribes (Rânduiala 135), as well as to Judas (Rânduiala 106–107, 112, 135, 138), but also to the ‘crowd’ (Rânduiala 63–64) or to the people (Rânduiala 142). The ‘Jews’ (directly named or only implied) are also linked, though less frequently, to other outrageous epithets such as ‘heathens’ (Rânduiala 154, 158), ‘dogs’ (Rânduiala 154), ‘sinners’ (Rânduiala 28), ‘killers’ (Rânduiala 140, 145), and finally, ‘deicides’ (Rânduiala 148; 154), a term that has made much headway both in the East and in the Christian West, fuelling their centuries-old anti-Judaism5.

And it is in this, perhaps, that lies at the heart of the anti-Judaism of our liturgical texts: the accusations surrounding Jesus’s passion and death, which are addressed both to the leaders and to a less defined Jewish entity. Thus, the leaders are accused of having plotted against him or of having induced Judas to betray him, of having planned (and determined) his death, and of having handed him over to Pilate/to the ‘gentils’ (Rânduiala 63–64, 82, 105, 107, 153–154), of having tortured and crucified him (Rânduiala 143, 145). Sometimes, however, these (and other) acts—the corruption of Judas (Rânduiala 135, 138, 148), the plan to kill Jesus (Rânduiala 135, 154), the fact that he was slandered with false testimony (Rânduiala 154), handed over to Pilate (Rânduiala 140, 148), condemned (Rânduiala 143, 145, 148), tortured (Rânduiala 138, 142–143, 154, 166–167, 174–175), mocked (Rânduiala 28, 174) and, finally, killed (Rânduiala 28, 138, 142–143, 145, 148, 166–167, 174–175), pierced (Rânduiala 138, 174), defamed even after his death/resurrection (Rânduiala 185, 201)—are attributed to the more generic collective term, ‘Jews’ (to the ‘Jewish people’/to the assembly of the Jews/to the deicide mob, to the ‘iniquitous’/‘ungodly’/‘lawless’/‘those who neglect the law’, etc.).

The explicit accusations listed above—which might perhaps still seem justified insofar as they claim, after all, to constitute a simple description of the facts, starting from the way they are reported in the Gospels (not without certain subjective touches, however)—are, in addition, accompanied in our liturgies by harsh assessments of the character of the persons and groups under discussion (which, in my opinion at least, is contrary to the most authentic spirit of Christianity, despite the fact that it may be rooted in certain passages of Scripture, indeed even in certain pronouncements put in the mouth of Jesus). To the leaders of Israel are attributed, for example, attitudes of wickedness (Rânduiala 82, 154), envy (Rânduiala 63–64), or even perfidy (Rânduiala 63–64, 107, 135), which cannot fail to remind us of the very first reforms of the Good Friday rites in the Roman Catholic Church (Paiano 2000, pp. 685–710; Stefani 1998, pp. 48–50). The entire people is treated, more or less explicitly, as ungrateful and/or unfaithful (Rânduiala 140, 143, 148, 166–167, 175, 197), even across the generations (Rânduiala 112, 138, 140). This is also a very prevalent theme in the improperia-type texts, sometimes formulated in the name of Jesus (Rânduiala 143, 166–167, 175), sometimes in the name of the apostles (Rânduiala 143), or of the praying community (Rânduiala 140). In some of these texts, the idea of substitution—perhaps the cornerstone of secular anti-Judaism (Stefani 2004, p. 54)—is also clearly expressed (Rânduiala 143, 166–167).

A final characteristic of our liturgical texts that I would like to submit to scrutiny here is the tendency to overlook the responsibility of the Romans in the death of Jesus (a strand much explored by researchers today) and to exempt them from further moral evaluation (Rânduiala 21, 145, 148, 154, 157, 174). Thus, it should be said that various hymnographic passages where their involvement cannot be entirely overlooked are formulated in a rather neutral and deliberately ambiguous way so that the Jews can also be included (Rânduiala 146–148, 156, 174). Indeed, in the only passage where their involvement in the killing of Jesus is explicitly mentioned, it is in fact rather ‘the Jews’ who are judged (Rânduiala 154). Moreover, as we have already seen, our offices charge them with actions that the Gospels explicitly attribute to the Romans: the condemnation, the crucifixion, the torture, the piercing of the side (Rânduiala 138, 142–143, 145, 166–167, 175), which goes to show that the ‘historicity’ of the facts (or at least the faithful rendering of the Gospel text) is not necessarily the primary concern of the compilers of our offices.

All these elements (and many others) are undoubtedly in concordance with the Church’s teachings on the Jews over the centuries (held responsible for the death of Jesus, they were considered an accursed people6, rejected by God and felicitously replaced with the ‘new and true Israel’, which was obviously considered to be more in keeping with that vocation), but not with the perspective found in Nostra aetate, which posits (1) the rejection of any form of anti-Semitism/anti-Judaism7; (2) the renunciation of any generalising accusation with respect to the Jews in relation to the death of Jesus; (3) the recognition of universal responsibility with regard to that death (and, on a historical level, also Roman responsibility)8; (4) the abandonment of the idea that the Jewish people were rejected and cursed by God; (5) the affirmation of an intrinsic bond between Israel and the Church; (6) the promotion of respect towards the Jews; (7) the idea of a universal brotherhood and a general spirit of dialogue.

So, here we are at a crossroads: even though our liturgical texts are entirely ‘traditional’ (not only have we always prayed this way, but their contents are based on ancient Christian literature) and the Orientalium ecclesiarum requires us to preserve our liturgies, certain elements of the services of Holy Week (and others) are evidently discordant with the contents of other conciliar documents (in this specific case, Nostra aetate). Should we therefore preserve the liturgy or rather renew it? Would there be a way to remain faithful to tradition, yet not be held captive by it? What should be preserved and what should be renewed? According to what criteria should the pre-Easter services be updated?

2.2. Various Facets of the Conciliar Perspective on Tradition

For a proper discernment, it might be useful to gain a better understanding of the perspective on tradition that Vatican II offers us in the Constitution on Divine Revelation, going beyond the static vision that would treat it as an immutable patrimony or as a treasure to be preserved unchanged, and presenting it as a living organism, which progresses over time, also in proportion to the deepening of our understanding of spiritual matters, and not only through the efforts of ‘those who have received through Episcopal succession the sure gift of truth’, but also through ‘the contemplation and study made by believers’, which is an implicit affirmation of the value of theological studies (DV §8; di Pilato 2017, pp. 172–77; Imperatori 2019, p. 112). Developing these insights gained from DV, Pope Francis in turn likened tradition to ‘a tree that lives and grows’, also saying, in words perhaps even more suited to our theme, that tradition is not a ‘museum’ nor the ‘urn of the ashes of the past’ (Francis 2019, 2021a, 2021b; 2025, p. 105)9; regarding the process of growth in the understanding of our faith, he also liked to quote a principle already expressed by Vincent of Lérins in the fifth century: annis consolidetur, dilatetur tempore, sublimetur aetate (consolidated by years, expanded by time, refined by age), which again is well suited to the subject studied here.

No matter how immutable the contents of our liturgies might seem to us, first of all because they are biblical10 and then because they are apparently legitimised by patristic authority, our understanding of Scripture and the context in which it is read by the Fathers is growing. Today, for example, we are much more aware of the extent to which certain of their perspectives—the typological view of the Passover of Melito of Sardis (with the associated idea of the death of the Jews and the disappearance of Judaism) or the invectives of Tertullian, Chrysostom, Ephrem, the use of the Hebrew scriptures against their first recipients, and the development of any potentially anti-Jewish elements in the New Testament, etc.—are circumstantial and not infrequently competitive and polemical. The patristic texts on which our liturgies are based (and here we are already dealing with a selection of approaches and emphases to which we could find alternatives in the same tradition) should therefore be properly contextualised before being absolutised. This will remain a challenge even after a reform of the liturgical offices, since there are patristic writings in circulation in the Romanian Greek-Catholic milieu that are not always provided with suitable introductions and explanations, and a simplistic reading of them will continue to nourish homiletics, the spiritual life of the faithful, and theological studies. It is also necessary to understand that true fidelity to the tradition of the Fathers does not lie so much in uncritically replicating their words, but rather in carrying forward, with all the means at our disposal today (readier access to biblical texts, a better understanding of the redaction process, the proliferation of interpretative methods, the contextualisation of certain themes and emphases, an awareness of the consequences of the approaches favoured so far, etc.), their efforts at reading the Scriptures in their own times, with results that we might not entirely agree with today, but with an undeniable pastoral passion, which would be an important approach to cultivate in a new interpretation of the texts on which Holy Week is built (or would be built in the future). The good of believers, their spiritual benefit, is one of the principles on which the Constitution on the Sacred Liturgy bases the very idea of reform (SC §§1, 23, 36, 50).

Then, as regards the relationship between the Council and tradition, it should be remembered that NA §4 actually marks a turning point, a rupture, a discontinuity. Relevant in this regard is the fact that, despite the fundamental choice that the Council makes in favour of ressourcement, this paragraph does not cite any patristic or magisterial text in support of its pronouncements (Remaud 2018, p. 31; 2008, p. 27; Stefani 1998, p. 18; 2004, pp. 227–28); indeed, certain of its assertions overturn the classical teaching of the Church and constitute a ‘real new beginning in the way of conceptualising the relationships that bind the Church to the Jewish people’, the starting point ‘of a new path with regard to the overall way in which the Catholic Church looks at ‘Abraham’s stock’’ (Stefani 1998, pp. 18–20, 178; Remaud 2008, p. 27, 110, 124–25; 2015, pp. 92–98). This is why, at least in the present case, rather than justifying the maintenance of the current approach adopted in our offices by reference to the statements in Orientalium ecclesiarum about the necessity of preserving the Eastern traditions, we should perhaps endeavour to find a suitable way to put into practice the idea, equally present in this declaration, of a legitimate and necessary updating of our liturgy (OE §§2, 6). The fundamental question is probably to what extent, although present in the secular tradition of the Church, the teaching of hate and contempt with regard to Jews and Judaism can be considered an inalienable part of Tradition or merely one of its circumstantial elements. Its disastrous effects throughout history should make us no longer hesitate to change something 60 years after the Council and 80 years after the Shoah. And this is not an external requirement, but a purely internal one. Our liturgy will not be an authentically Christian (and Byzantine) prayer for as long as it continues to convey messages of judgement, accusation, vengeance towards others, and self-justification and self-idealisation.

Last but not least, the Council’s assertions on the necessity of the Eastern churches preserving their own traditions—so easily absolutised in our ecclesial milieu, often merely out of convenience (it is certainly easier to cling to the logic of ‘it has always been done this way’, and a certain inertia is perhaps also normal in a long persecuted community such as ours) and sometimes out of a traditionalist spirit rather more Western than Eastern (the current integrationist trends of the West, which idealise the pre-conciliar liturgy and consider Vatican II to be the cause of the decline of the Church, do not remain without echoes in the Romanian Greek-Catholic sphere, also because they are promoted by a section of the media and a certain type of catechetical programme)—should perhaps be contextualised. Like the Council’s more general affirmations on the dignity of the Eastern churches (LG §§13, 23; OE §§3, 5; UR §§14–15.17; SC §4) and on the value of their respective patrimony (OE §§1, 3, 5–6; LG §23; SC §§4; 23; UR §§14–18)—these assertions should be positioned first of all within the dynamic of its fundamental choice of a return to the sources already mentioned above (O’Malley 2013, pp. 43–45; Faggioli 2013, pp. 24, 28–38, 51–62), and also in the context of the abandonment of the earlier assumption of the superiority of the Latin rite (Farrugia 2000a, p. 547; 2005, p. 20; Instruction §24). Moreover, the idealisation of the Eastern rites by the promoters of the Western liturgical movement reflected a rather romantic view of these texts, instrumentalised for their own reformist purposes (Taft 1999a, pp. 100–103, 107, 113, 119–120; 2004, pp. 18–20, 23–28). Our rites are valuable, undoubtedly, but certainly not unreformable where a new understanding of the other or of certain elements of our faith would require it. The issue here is not so much whether to remain stationary but rather, to discern between what should be preserved and what should be renewed. In my opinion, what we should preserve are the rich biblical inspiration of our offices and the beauty of the poetry and the singing, and what we should avoid at all costs is the subjective selection of the scriptural text and any interpretation thereof that is hostile towards others. In the Apostolic Letter Orientale lumen John Paul II affirmed the following: ‘When the uses and customs belonging to each Church are considered as absolutely unchangeable, there is a sure risk of Tradition losing that feature of a living reality which grows and develops, and which the Spirit guarantees precisely because it has something to say to the people of every age. As Scripture is increasingly understood by those who read it… every other element of the Church’s living heritage is increasingly understood by believers and is enriched by new contributions, in fidelity and in continuity… Tradition is never pure nostalgia for things or forms past, nor regret for lost privileges, but the living memory of the Bride, kept eternally youthful by the Love that dwells within her’ (OL §8).

Nor should the fact that the idea of preserving the Eastern rites is linked in the document on ecumenism to the ideal of Church unity in itself condemn the Eastern Catholic churches to immobility. On the one hand, what the Council affirmed about the preservation of the ‘very rich liturgical and spiritual heritage of the Eastern Churches… for the faithful preservation of the fullness of Christian tradition… for bringing about reconciliation between Eastern and Western Christians’ (UR §15; cf. OE §24) cannot in itself nullify its general spirit of renewal and the possibility of organic development. After all, this and other problems of our common liturgical heritage could become topics of dialogue with our Orthodox brethren, and the undertaking of reform—a common endeavour and (why not?) a workshop for unity (Instruction §21). And then, in anticipation of such cooperation (and in support of it), for the Greek-Catholic Church, the effort to find a way to accommodate in its liturgy the conciliar and post-conciliar theological perspectives on this and other issues could perhaps already be a way of fulfilling its mission of being a bridge between East and West.

2.3. Paths of Renewal for the Liturgies of Holy Week

But the revision of the anti-Jewish content of our worship is first and foremost an internal requirement for our ecclesial reality. A merely theoretical reception of NA §4 (and of Vatican II in general) would be terribly sterile in this ecclesial sphere, possibly even creating serious cognitive dissonance in the absence of the reinforcement of the new messages through the liturgy, in itself a formative place (SC §§2; 7; 10; 21; 33; 84; 88; 105; Instruction §14)11, and for many, even the only one. Warmly recommended (SC §§14, 19, 35.3; Instruction §30), liturgical catechesis is in fact very rare and, when offered, not necessarily attended. Moreover, in the situation under discussion here, it seems an unsatisfactory solution, since it risks either reinforcing the current content of Holy Week or creating a schizophrenic perspective on the subject: we pray one way, but we believe another. And if the reception of NA §4 was not possible for the Romanian Greek-Catholic Church at the time of its publication, perhaps this delay also brings its own opportunities, since, in the meantime, the insights of Vatican II in the field of the relationship with Jews and Judaism and in so many areas of theology have matured and the liturgical reform in general, and that of Holy Week in particular, have shown both their fruits and their limitations. As far as our topic is concerned, I think that one of the things we can learn is that the suppression of a term such as perfidis judaeis (with endless repetitions in the Byzantine offices) is far from solving the problem of anti-Judaism. That improperia do not necessarily lose their original meaning through the simple suppression of certain terms that address them more explicitly to Jews. That the path of reform is gradual, as gradual as the awareness of this problem. Moreover, the contents of NA §4 were carried forward.

If a first step towards the reform of the liturgical offices discussed here could consist in reformulating certain texts (those containing insults towards Jews or generalised judgements for Jesus’s death, perhaps better circumscribing where responsibility lies for this event) or suppressing those more explicitly substitutive, vindictive, or disrespectful of Judaism (such as those that refer without further explanation to the ‘curse of the law’), following precisely the line taken by NA §412, I personally believe that—sixty years on—we could go much further. In my opinion, something would need to be changed in the spirit of the Holy Week offices themselves. In the first place, their fundamental perspective, which is currently, paradoxically (1) more Judeocentric than Christocentric; (2) accusatory and judgmental towards our Jewish brethren rather than the bearer of the good news of salvation and divine mercy for everyone; (3) excessively critical towards others and overly justificatory (and idealising) in respect of the Christian community. And here perhaps is the really significant step required to bring about a true reception of Nostra aetate 4: the reformulation of our offices to make them more engaging for the participants. This does not mean that to update the hymnography of the Great Week it would suffice to simply extend the current accusations to Christians as well, renouncing the current detachment (they did such and such, but we glorify you), although a good criterion for reform would certainly be to ask ourselves whether we could maintain the same severity of language if, instead of the Jews, or alongside them, we were also to be talking about ourselves. The purpose of the liturgy is not to apportion blame (not to ourselves, let alone to others), and the ‘holy’ week should change its name if, instead of love and blessing, it conveys hostility and curses. Perhaps the challenge of receiving NA §4 would be to stop once and for all blaming the Jews (more or less collectively) for the rejection and killing of Jesus, acknowledging that—had we been in their place (and this would be a useful ‘substitution’ exercise, probably the only legitimate one)—we would not have done any better. And then find a new way of expressing the mystery of Easter and the cross which, rather than being a court passing judgment on the acts of others or an occasion for self-congratulation, might be for worshippers an opportunity for awareness and authentic conversion.

For this reason, perhaps more than a chronicle of what happened or an exact account of Jesus’s sufferings, our offices should be a place that speaks of his infinite love (as the ending of NA §4 itself states), as well as one where we proclaim his forgiveness (with him and on his behalf), acknowledging our own need for such forgiveness. Whenever we blame the Jews for the crucifixion of Jesus in our liturgies or elsewhere, we should perhaps ask ourselves how many times we have crucified him in our brothers. And we would perhaps be reminded of the way the Church acknowledged the faults of the past during the 2000 Jubilee (Neudecker 2012, pp. 121–22). If, up to this point, a ‘historical’, literal (indeed, literalist) interpretation of the Easter events has prevailed in the Easter offices, it is certainly not the only one possible; the alternative, in my opinion, would consist precisely of a more ‘spiritual’ interpretation of the Easter events, which is already present in a certain type of exegesis and homiletics on many biblical passages, including those central to the Easter celebrations. After all, the purpose of Scripture is not to instruct us on the evil of others, but rather to highlight our own, in order to then light our path (Ps 119:105), healing and transforming our lives. What form would the offices of Holy Week take if—instead of judging the acts of Judas and the ‘Jews’, comfortably detaching ourselves from them—we found ourselves involved in them through the darkest corners of our own existence? So many other figures from sacred history serve as mirrors for us; why would these be an exception? What if, instead of identifying ourselves with Christ or with the Cyrenian13, or with the ‘faithful’ disciples—at most with the ‘good thief’ and the repentant sinner—we identified ourselves with those who plotted against Jesus, betrayed him, condemned him, mistreated him, crucified him, mocked him, offered him vinegar and gall, etc.? A spiritual reading of the most varied biblical texts is extremely common to an entire Christian tradition; why stop at the mere historical level in this case, forgetting that it is not the letter, but the spirit that gives life? And even if, by moving to a theological level, our liturgy were perhaps to lose something of the historical truth of the facts, it would gain something in truthfulness: coming face to face with our most real self (not the ideal one, supposedly converted once and for all through baptism) and placing it in all nakedness before God in prayer could not but benefit every member of the praying community. Similarly, starting from the readings of Holy Monday, could we also see ourselves in the murderous vineyard workers, in the brother who refused to work in the vineyard, in the barren fig tree (all themes explored in an anti-Jewish sense by patristics). And, as already mentioned, in the case of fig tree motif, the liturgy already offers us some models for a rewriting of the texts when it applies this image to the praying community (Rânduiala 32, 67). But such an insight should perhaps be extended to what has so far been neglected (or even discarded) in our offices: the behaviour of a Peter in Gethsemane, the flight of all the apostles (till now rather idealised), and perhaps, and above all, the acts of Judas and the ‘Jews’, the figures of Pilate, Herod or Barabbas14. Seeing ourselves in all of these, and perhaps above all in that ‘son of the father’ in whose place Jesus went to the cross, accepting his mission and carrying it through to its ultimate consequences, could cure us of any desire to accuse others. Reforming our liturgical texts in this way would be consonant not only with the essence of Christianity, but also with the most authentic Byzantine spirit concentrated throughout Lent in the prayer of Ephraim the Syrian: ‘O Lord, give … the spirit of … humility … and love to Thy servant …, the charity that never fails …; grant me to see my own faults and not to judge my brother’15.

Well, I think that by now—after John Paul II’s historic visit to the synagogue in Rome and Pope Francis’s encyclical Fratelli tutti, which after all develops certain affirmations on fraternity already present in the Council (NA §§1, 4–5, GS §§35, 38, 61, 88, 92), as well as a key idea of Christianity—it is unimaginable that this designation does not also apply to Jews. It is true, however, that this theme—for centuries explored in the Christian tradition to designate the relationship between Jews and Christians in rather negative senses—would require reinterpretation and healing. If our ancestors concentrated above all on their conflictual aspects, it might be time to explore new meanings. Illustrative of the current approach is the way in which, commenting on the story of Jacob and Esau, the Fathers neglect the episode of their reconciliation (La Bibbia Commentata dai Padri. Antico Testamento 1/2, Genesi 12–50 2004, p. 330), but also the themes that our liturgy chooses from the story of Joseph: the father’s lament for the loss of his son (Rânduiala 25)16 and the resistance in the face of the temptation by the Egyptian woman (Rânduiala 25, 32). How would the whole setting of our offices change if they also incorporated that part of his story that speaks of the brothers finding each other and of his forgiveness? Given that the whole Christian tradition (and the liturgy itself) sees Joseph as a Christ-like figure, this would bring down the whole anti-Jewish edifice we have built up. But is forgiveness not the path that Jesus has shown us? A theme to explore in our liturgies? The essence of the Jubilee (SNC §23; Pastoral Guide §§1–2; 14, 18)?

3. Moving Forward

The Pastoral Guide for the Jubilee of the Oriental Churches invites the various ecclesial realities to ‘a profound exterior and interior renewal’ through ‘courageous steps’ that make ‘Christians more conscious of the treasure of their faith and more credible in their witness to the gift of love they have received’, which requires ‘new approaches’ (Pastoral Guide §29), as well as a ‘liturgical and spiritual renewal of the Lenten celebrations’ (Pastoral Guide §32), also speaking of the need for churches to transmit concrete gestures ‘of forgiveness given and received’, which could be ‘all the more prophetic’ in the times of anguish and conflict we are currently experiencing. What if the Jubilee of Hope would be an appropriate time for the start of the reform of Holy Week? When Jules Isaac visited John XXIII before the Council and presented him with Seelisberg’s ten points, he asked him at the end of the meeting if he could hold out hope for a change in the Church’s traditional teaching and prayers with regard to the Jews and Judaism, and the Pope replied that he could have more than hope (Stefani 1998, p. 54; Remaud 2008, p. 18). This promise was not fully realised at the time, however, since a part of the Eastern Catholic Churches could not follow the pre- and post-conciliar innovative trends because of the conditions imposed on them by the Communist regimes. But such renewal may have been substantially delayed; it is not irretrievable (and, in any event, should not be put off any longer). Eighty years after the end of the Second World War and the tragic experience of the Shoah, and sixty years after Nostra aetate, it is time for the Romanian Greek-Catholic Church to become aware of the weight of traditional anti-Judaism still present in its liturgies and to begin to reform them (along with catechetical, homiletic and theological mindsets and discourses).

This would be required first of all by the coherence of the life of this ecclesial reality with the spirit of current Catholicism, which has taken so many steps in the area of relations with ‘our elder brothers’ (John Paul II 1986) and ‘fathers in faith’ (Benedict XVI, cf. The gifts and the calling 14) in recent decades. The reception of Vatican II on this and other issues is not an optional extra, but a journey that has to be undertaken, as authoritative voices have repeatedly reiterated (John Paul II 1985; 1986, p. 5; 2000, p. 10; TMA §36; Francis 2013, 2016; Sandri 2014) and will, at some stage, inevitably also impact on worship, a precious source of vitality that should remain so. However, in their current form, the offices of Holy Week risk being quite the opposite when they cultivate attitudes of hostility towards others, which is already at odds with the most authentic spirit of Christianity, which should cultivate love rather than judgement. It would also require consistency with the Eastern spirit, which, especially during Lent, should cultivate penance and weeping for one’s own sins and those of others (Makarios Simonopetritul 2008, pp. 62–80), as Pope Leo XIV reminded us in his recent meeting with the Eastern Catholic Churches (Leo XIV 2025). Personally, I hope that the fact that he reaffirmed the idea of the preciousness of the Eastern rites and the proper stewardship of our traditions will not be interpreted as a rejection of any organic progress. On the other hand, he also spoke of the perennial novelty of Eastern spiritualties. The idea of not diluting them does not necessarily mean immobilising them, paralysing them, allowing them to atrophy.

At the above-mentioned Jubilee of the Eastern Churches, seeing the various Catholic Churches of the Byzantine rite praying together, it occurred to me that reflection on how to update the anti-Jewish elements of our liturgies could be the subject of a networking exercise (and also, as already mentioned, a subject of dialogue and cooperation with our Orthodox brethren). In a context in which knowledge is ultra-specialised and the problem of anti-Judaism much more complex than would appear at first sight, it would be essential to bring together a variety of skills and experiences, as well as a variety of creative resources to try to re-tell the Paschal mystery in new ways, proclaiming the cross of Christ ‘as the sign of God’s all-embracing love and as the fountain from which every grace flows’ (NA §4). In a world where the harm caused by words of scorn and hatred is readily apparent, and in a time when we are well aware of the tragic consequences of the traditional teaching on Jews and Judaism, and when, rediscovering the values of fraternity, dialogue, concord, we bear testimony to them with such conviction, we should stop disseminating expressions of hostility (to whomever they may be addressed) in our own worship. And since the Pope reminded us that our spiritualties are ‘medicinal’, perhaps we should ask ourselves how they could become more so, even and especially in their liturgical expression. Probably the way to do this would be to replace the insults, accusations, judgments, condemnations and curses that characterise our worship at present with an acknowledgment of our own limitations and sins, repentance, intercessions, and blessings.