Historic St. Anthony Catholic Church
258 Ohio, Wichita, Ks
2nd St. & Ohio
Two blocks east of Old Town
Sunday Mass at 1:oo
English/Latin missals provided. Join us for coffee and donuts after mass downstairs in the St. Clair/Sunshine room, south exterior basement entrance.
Pastor of St. Anthony Parish: Fr. Ben Nguyen
EFLR Celebrants: Fr. John Jirak, Fr Nicholas Voelker
Master of Ceremonies: Tony Strunk
Choir Director: Bernie Dette

Continuing News

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Did You Know

Mass Propers, the readings that change everyday, can be found in the red missalettes at the entrance of church?

Fr. Nicholas Voelker celebrates Low Mass Saturdays at 8:00 a.m., St. Mary's Catholic Church, 106 East 8th street, Newton. There is no mass this Saturday, January 30, 2016.

Tuesday, October 13, 2015

Post #293

Topics: Bishop James Conley: Home Burglarized ...October 15: Feast of St. Teresa of Avila...Why Latin?: Various Quotes...Confessions: of a “Say the Black, Do the Red” Catholic...
Old Roman Chant Introït: Puer Natus Est Nobis

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The Necessaries.
I am a member of the Latin Mass Community of St. Anthony Parish,Wichita, Ks., as well as a parishioner. While this blog may at times comment on, or allude to, the community and parish, Venite Missa Est! is by no means, in any way an official voice of any particular parish or the Diocese of Wichita. Venite Missa Est! is strictly a private layman's endeavor.

Lincoln Bishop's Home Burglerized
10/11 Now
by Lauren Scott

Most of us will remember Bishop James Conley before he was a Bishop when he served the Diocese of Wichita serving as the liaison between the Latin Mass Community and Bishop Jackels and celebrating mass with us on sundays.

Police are investigating after Bishop James Conley, home was burglarized in broad daylight.
The bishop wasn't home when the burglary happened, but calls the break-in unsettling. The thief got away with the bishop's pectoral cross and the bishop simply asks for prayer for its return.

For the bishop this cross is invaluable. It was given as a gift back in 2012 from Pope Benedict after naming Conley a bishop.

The break in happened around 2:30, Saturday afternoon. Conley was out of town at the time and said his maintenance man called to tell him about the burglary. The thief went through the drawers in Conley's bedroom and that is where they found the cross.

The bishop says the cross actually isn't worth much money, and he isn't sure why anyone would want to steal it. "Just turn it into any church, anywhere," said Conley. "What my hope and prayer is, they will take it into a church, drop it in the back pew and say a prayer for me."

Lincoln diocese spokesperson, JD Flynn, said they can't be sure on a motive or if the bishop was targeted because as of now they don't know who burglarized the home. Police have also put out a warning to all resale and pawn shops in case the thief tries to sell the cross.

Feast of St. Teresa of Avila
October 15th, 3rd Class

  • Patron of Headache sufferers, Spanish Catholic Writers
  • Birth: March 28, 1515
  • Death: October 4, 1582
  • Canonized By: Pope Paul VI on September 27, 1970

Catholic Online

Teresa of Ávila was born Teresa Ali Fatim Corella Sanchez de Capeda y Ahumada in Ávila, Spain. Less than twenty years before Teresa was born in 1515, Columbus opened up the Western Hemisphere to European colonization. Two years after she was born, Luther started the Protestant Reformation. Out of all of this change came Teresa pointing the way from outer turmoil to inner peace.

Teresa's father was rigidly honest and pious, but he may have carried his strictness to extremes. Teresa's mother loved romance novels but because her husband objected to these fanciful books, she hid the books from him. This put Teresa in the middle -- especially since she liked the romances too. Her father told her never to lie but her mother told her not to tell her father. Later she said she was always afraid that no matter what she did she was going to do everything wrong.

When she was seven-years-old, she convinced her older brother that they should "go off to the land of the Moors and beg them, out of love of God, to cut off our heads there." They got as far as the road from the city before an uncle found them and brought them back. Some people have used this story as an early example of sanctity, but this author think it's better used as an early example of her ability to stir up trouble.

After this incident she led a fairly ordinary life, though she was convinced that she was a horrible sinner. As a teenager, she cared only about boys, clothes, flirting, and rebelling. When she was 16, her father decided she was out of control and sent her to a convent. At first she hated it but eventually she began to enjoy it -- partly because of her growing love for God, and partly because the convent was a lot less strict than her father.

Still, when the time came for her to choose between marriage and religious life, she had a tough time making the decision. She'd watched a difficult marriage ruin her mother. On the other hand being a nun didn't seem like much fun. When she finally chose religious life, she did so because she though that it was the only safe place for someone as prone to sin as she was.

Once installed at the Carmelite convent permanently, she started to learn and practice mental prayer, in which she "tried as hard as I could to keep Jesus Christ present within me....My imagination is so dull that I had no talent for imagining or coming up with great theological thoughts." Teresa prayed this way off and on for eighteen years without feeling that she was getting results. Part of the reason for her trouble was that the convent was not the safe place she assumed it would be.

Many women who had no place else to go wound up at the convent, whether they had vocations or not. They were encouraged to stay away from the convents for long period of time to cut down on expenses. Nuns would arrange their veils attractively and wear jewelry. Prestige depended not on piety but on money. There was a steady stream of visitors in the parlor and parties that included young men. What spiritual life there was involved hysteria, weeping, exaggerated penance, nosebleeds, and self- induced visions.

Teresa suffered the same problem that Francis of Assisi did -- she was too charming. Everyone liked her and she liked to be liked. She found it too easy to slip into a worldly life and ignore God. The convent encouraged her to have visitors to whom she would teach mental prayer because their gifts helped the community economy. But Teresa got more involved in flattery, vanity and gossip than spiritual guidance. These weren't great sins perhaps but they kept her from God.

Then Teresa fell ill with malaria. When she had a seizure, people were so sure she was dead that after she woke up four days later she learned they had dug a grave for her. Afterwards she was paralyzed for three years and was never completely well. Yet instead of helping her spiritually, her sickness became an excuse to stop her prayer completely: she couldn't be alone enough, she wasn't healthy enough, and so forth. Later she would say, "Prayer is an act of love, words are not needed. Even if sickness distracts from thoughts, all that is needed is the will to love."

For years she hardly prayed at all "under the guise of humility." She thought as a wicked sinner she didn't deserve to get favors from God. But turning away from prayer was like "a baby turning from its mother's breasts, what can be expected but death?"

When she was 41, a priest convinced her to go back to her prayer, but she still found it difficult. "I was more anxious for the hour of prayer to be over than I was to remain there. I don't know what heavy penance I would not have gladly undertaken rather than practice prayer." She was distracted often: "This intellect is so wild that it doesn't seem to be anything else than a frantic madman no one can tie down." Teresa sympathizes with those who have a difficult time in prayer: "All the trials we endure cannot be compared to these interior battles."

Yet her experience gives us wonderful descriptions of mental prayer: "For mental prayer in my opinion is nothing else than an intimate sharing between friends; it means taking time frequently to be alone with him who we know loves us. The important thing is not to think much but to love much and so do that which best stirs you to love. Love is not great delight but desire to please God in everything."

As she started to pray again, God gave her spiritual delights: the prayer of quiet where God's presence overwhelmed her senses, raptures where God overcame her with glorious foolishness, prayer of union where she felt the sun of God melt her soul away. Sometimes her whole body was raised from the ground. If she felt God was going to levitate her body, she stretched out on the floor and called the nuns to sit on her and hold her down. Far from being excited about these events, she "begged God very much not to give me any more favors in public."

In her books, she analyzed and dissects mystical experiences the way a scientist would. She never saw these gifts as rewards from God but the way he "chastised" her. The more love she felt the harder it was to offend God. She says, "The memory of the favor God has granted does more to bring such a person back to God than all the infernal punishments imaginable."

Her biggest fault was her friendships. Though she wasn't sinning, she was very attached to her friends until God told her "No longer do I want you to converse with human beings but with angels." In an instant he gave her the freedom that she had been unable to achieve through years of effort. After that God always came first in her life.

Some friends, however, did not like what was happening to her and got together to discuss some "remedy" for her. Concluding that she had been deluded by the devil, they sent a Jesuit to analyze her. The Jesuit reassured her that her experiences were from God but soon everyone knew about her and was making fun of her.

One confessor was so sure that the visions were from the devil that he told her to make an obscene gesture called the fig every time she had a vision of Jesus. She cringed but did as she was ordered, all the time apologizing to Jesus. Fortunately, Jesus didn't seem upset but told her that she was right to obey her confessor. In her autobiography she would say, "I am more afraid of those who are terrified of the devil than I am of the devil himself." The devil was not to be feared but fought by talking more about God.

Teresa felt that the best evidence that her delights came from God was that the experiences gave her peace, inspiration, and encouragement. "If these effects are not present I would greatly doubt that the raptures come from God; on the contrary I would fear lest they be caused by rabies."

Sometimes, however, she couldn't avoid complaining to her closest Friend about the hostility and gossip that surrounded her. When Jesus told her, "Teresa, that's how I treat my friends" Teresa responded, "No wonder you have so few friends." But since Christ has so few friends, she felt they should be good ones. And that's why she decided to reform her Carmelite order.

At the age of 43, she became determined to found a new convent that went back to the basics of a contemplative order: a simple life of poverty devoted to prayer. This doesn't sound like a big deal, right? Wrong.

When plans leaked out about her first convent, St. Joseph's, she was denounced from the pulpit, told by her sisters she should raise money for the convent she was already in, and threatened with the Inquisition. The town started legal proceedings against her. All because she wanted to try a simple life of prayer. In the face of this open war, she went ahead calmly, as if nothing was wrong, trusting in God.

"May God protect me from gloomy saints," Teresa said, and that's how she ran her convent. To her, spiritual life was an attitude of love, not a rule. Although she proclaimed poverty, she believed in work, not in begging. She believed in obedience to God more than penance. If you do something wrong, don't punish yourself -- change. When someone felt depressed, her advice was that she go some place where she could see the sky and take a walk. When someone was shocked that she was going to eat well, she answered, "There's a time for partridge and a time for penance." To her brother's wish to meditate on hell, she answered, "Don't."

Once she had her own convent, she could lead a life of peace, right? Wrong again. Teresa believed that the most powerful and acceptable prayer was that prayer that leads to action. Good effects were better than pious sensations that only make the person praying feel good.

At St. Joseph's, she spent much of her time writing her Life. She wrote this book not for fun but because she was ordered to. Many people questioned her experiences and this book would clear her or condemn her. Because of this, she used a lot of camouflage in the book, following a profound thought with the statement, "But what do I know. I'm just a wretched woman." The Inquisition liked what they read and cleared her.

At 51, she felt it was time to spread her reform movement. She braved burning sun, ice and snow, thieves, and rat-infested inns to found more convents. But those obstacles were easy compared to what she face from her brothers and sisters in religious life. She was called "a restless disobedient gadabout who has gone about teaching as though she were a professor" by the papal nuncio. When her former convent voted her in as prioress, the leader of the Carmelite order excommunicated the nuns. A vicar general stationed an officer of the law outside the door to keep her out. The other religious orders opposed her wherever she went. She often had to enter a town secretly in the middle of the night to avoid causing a riot.

And the help they received was sometimes worse than the hostility. A princess ordered Teresa to found a convent and then showed up at the door with luggage and maids. When Teresa refused to order her nuns to wait on the princess on their knees, the princess denounced Teresa to the Inquisition.

In another town, they arrived at their new house in the middle of the night, only to wake up the next morning to find that one wall of the building was missing.

Why was everyone so upset? Teresa said, "Truly it seems that now there are no more of those considered mad for being true lovers of Christ." No one in religious orders or in the world wanted Teresa reminding them of the way God said they should live.

Teresa looked on these difficulties as good publicity. Soon she had postulants clamoring to get into her reform convents. Many people thought about what she said and wanted to learn about prayer from her. Soon her ideas about prayer swept not only through Spain but all of Europe.

In 1582, she was invited to found a convent by an Archbishop but when she arrived in the middle of the pouring rain, he ordered her to leave. "And the weather so delightful too" was Teresa's comment. Though very ill, she was commanded to attend a noblewoman giving birth. By the time they got there, the baby had already arrived so, as Teresa said, "The saint won't be needed after all." Too ill to leave, she died on October 4 at the age of 67.

She is the founder of the Discalced Carmelites. In 1970 she was declared a Doctor of the Church for her writing and teaching on prayer, one of two women to be honored in this way.

St. Teresa is the patron saint of Headache sufferers. Her symbol is a heart, an arrow, and a book. She was canonized in 1622.

Why Latin?
Various Quotes
Encyclical of St. Pope John XXIII, Veterum Sapientiae, in which the Latin language is confirmed as the sacred language of the Catholic Church. 
"Latin therefore, so intimately bound up with the Church's life, is important not so much on cultural or literary grounds, as for religious reasons as was pointed out by Our predecessor Pius XI who, having investigated this matter, indicated three attributes that are wonderfully consistent with the Churchs nature, namely: in order that the Church may embrace all nations, and that it may last until the end of time, it requires a language that is universal, immutable, and non-vernacular.
Second Vatican Council in the Document on the Liturgy, Sacrosanctum Concilium: 
6. 1. Particular law remaining in force, the use of the Latin language is to be preserved in the Latin rites.
Fr. Michael Muller, C.SS.R> 1825-1899.,The Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, Ch. 37Why Latin? 
A variety of languages is a punishment, a consequence of sin; it was inflicted by God that the human race might be dispersed over the face of the earth. The holy Church, the Immaculate Spouse of Jesus Christ, has been established for the express purpose of destroying sin and uniting all mankind; consequently she must everywhere speak the same language. The Catholic Church is the same in every clime, in every nation, and consequently it's language must be always and everywhere the same, to secure uniformity in Her service.
Pope Paul VI, Encyclical Sacrificium Laudis, 1966
"The Latin language is assuredly worthy of being defended with great care instead of being scorned; for the Latin Church it is the most abundant source of Christian civilization and the richest treasury of piety. We must not hold in low esteem these traditions of our fathers which were our glory for centuries." 
Pope Paul VI, Encyclical Sacrificium Laudis, 1966
"The Latin language is assuredly worthy of being defended with great care instead of being scorned; for the Latin Church it is the most abundant source of Christian civilization and the richest treasury of piety. We must not hold in low esteem these traditions of our fathers which were our glory for centuries."

Confessions of a “Say the Black, Do the Red” Catholic
National Catholic Register
by Dan Burke

It is hard to extend mercy when one is not intimately familiar with one’s own failures. Most don’t realize that the Pharisees were stalwart orthodox. They were deeply committed to their faith. However, they had strayed interiorly. Their faith was one of external adherence and they thought that this was the entirety of the life in God. Jesus’ rebukes of this problem were not new and were echoed throughout the Old Testament. 

I have no doubt that the Pharisees would have loved the phrase, “Say the black, do the red.” By the way, I always say “Amen!” when I read it myself. Here’s the hard part: external orthodoxy is a distorted orthodoxy when it is not accompanied by a properly oriented interior life.

What does a holy interior life look like? It is found in a soul that is deeply aware of its own failures and need for a savior. It is found in humility. We know this because Jesus rebuked the prideful orthodox of his time and praised the man who wouldn’t dare raise his eyes to heaven but instead bowed his head and pleaded, “Have mercy on me, a sinner.”

Authentic orthodoxy does “say the black and do the red.” But it does so both interiorly and exteriorly. The interior disposition to obedience is because authentic orthodoxy is completely sold out to God. It recognizes the boundaries as acts of love that we are invited to, not merely rules to be followed out of duty. Duty is good, but it is an immature expression of fidelity that must lead to a more mature expression and motivation based on gratitude and love.

These boundaries are what it means to live within a covenant of love with God. This love then emanates from us and, like Christ, draws all who are seeking answers to life’s most important questions. This love reflects an orthodoxy that draws the broken-hearted and the spiritually thirsty to the receive the authentic and eternal Water of Life.

How do we know if we, the vehemently orthodox, would be rebuked or embraced by Christ? How do we know of we are stuck in a distorted, rather than authentic, orthodoxy?

Here are a few questions we can ask ourselves to determine the answer:

Are we deeply aware of our own sins and frailty or are we more aware of the sins, mistakes, and errors of others?

When others fail or seem to demonstrate a lesser commitment than ours, or seem to live outside of the boundaries of orthodoxy, are we quick to throttle them as the wicked servant did in the gospels?

Do we fail to see that conversion is a process and that each person is somewhere on the path and that not all actually know the path and how they should proceed; or do we always attribute negative motives or weak commitment and then criticize or condemn on that basis?  
Are we patient, kind, gentle, and respectful with others as the Holy Spirit has clearly instructed us to be in scripture, or are we impatient, harsh, critical, unkind, or disrespectful as we engage those with whom we disagree? 
Do we spend much of our time arguing and debating with others on the internet or are we actually giving our lives to the tangible service of our communities, our parishes, and those in need both of the works of corporal and spiritual mercy?
Do we fail to see the providential hand of God active in redemption and the leading of His Church and thus do we only see and constantly complain about the human failure and frailty in the Church?
 Do we demonstrate the joy of the presence of God within us that is fostered by daily mental prayer and frequent participation in the sacraments and that reflects a peace and love that dominates our hearts even in the most challenging of times? If we do have that joy, does it show on our faces or are we always dour, sour, and downtrodden?

As a zealous convert, I must admit that I began my faith living out a distorted orthodoxy. I was quick to condemn, assume motive, and argue with pride and arrogance. I had a shallow but strongly held conviction that love and truth were the same in essence. Even now, I tend to fall back into this trap.

I am deeply disturbed by this part of my present and past. In the past, I read past the innumerable passages in the gospels that spoke of mercy and focused on those few that justified my arrogant rants on behalf of the truth. In fact, I focused on those passages of Jesus scourging the temple and his other rebukes as if I knew what he knows and thus could issue such harsh judgement with absolutely certainty. I had raised myself to the status of Supreme Judge.

One day I realized, and was recently reminded by the same readings in the gospels, that Jesus reserved the bulk of his harsh words for those who were the orthodox of his time. I realized that I was the target of these rebukes and that I needed an interior conversion that maintained my commitment to “say the black and do the red” but that would be concomitant with an interior conversion that reflected a more authentic orthodoxy.

This interior conversion would lead me to greater patience with those who may be deceived or off the path (as defined by the Church, not by me). It would lead me to be “quick to listen, slow to speak, and slow to anger” and to temper my arguments with kindness and respect. It would lead me to err on the side of assuming the best instead of the worst in others. It would lead me to begin to see others as Jesus did, as sinners who were and are as deeply flawed as I am and who need to know love and mercy, often before they could understand the truth (as Pope Francis is constantly reminding us).

God is nowhere near finished with me. The summit I once perceived that I had climbed successfully now seems like the beginning of my journey. I am a sinner saved by grace. Though I deeply desire it, I know very little of what it means to be a saint. God, help me to be kind and patient as You are. God, help me to see and stay on the path. Lord Jesus, have mercy on me, a sinner.

Old Roman Chant
Introït: Puer Natus Est Nobis

Blogger's note: This is the Introit for the third mass of Christmas and, naturally , can be found in your missals. We are a bit far out from Christmas but this song is in my iPod (yes I still use an iPod!) playlist and it gives me comfort and strength throughout the day. Plus it's just masculine and bold and solid...like a good thick book or a great big Labrador Retriever, or a good days work...something of substance to hold onto or get lost in.
The mystery of the Incarnation of the Word lies at the heart of the Christian faith. It is celebrated just after the longest night of the year, when (in the northern hemisphere) the days begin to lengthen until we reach the summer solstice, which is associated with the figure of John the Baptist. To celebrate this moment, the Church deploys an exceptional virtually uninterrupted liturgical cycle in which the usual Offices are interspersed with four Masses.

The music is that of the ancient chant of the Church of Rome, one of the oldest repertories of which traces have remained in the collective memory of mankind. Up to the thirteenth century this repertory accompanied the papal liturgy. It disappeared with the installation of the papacy in Avignon, and sank into oblivion. Rediscovered in the early twentieth century, it aroused little enthusiasm among musicians, and only began to be studied properly, first from the liturgical, then from the musicological perspective, in the second half of the century. At this time, to distinguish it from Gregorian chant, it was named Old Roman chant.
Puer natus est nobis, et filius datus est nobis, cujus imperium super humerum ejus et vocabitur nomen ejus, magni consilii Angelus. 
A child is born to us, and a Son is given to us: Whose government is upon His shoulder: and His Name shall be called, the Angel of Great Counsel.

Old Roman chant occupies a central position in the history of music. It is the keystone which gives meaning and coherence to what ought to be the musical consciousness of Western Europe and far beyond. For, looking back to the period before, it gives us the key to the filiation between the chant of the Temple of Jerusalem and the heritage of Greek music. Through the magic of music, sung texts become icons. Time is deployed with sovereign slowness confers on the sound a hieratic immanence in which time and space are united in a single vibrant truth.

The Introit

The Introit (from Latin: introitus, "entrance") is part of the opening of the liturgical celebration of the Eucharist for many Christian denominations. In its most complete version, it consists of an antiphon, psalm verse and Gloria Patri that is spoken or sung at the beginning of the celebration. It is part of the Proper of the liturgy; that is, the part that changes over the liturgical year.
In the Roman Rite of the Roman Catholic Church it is known as the antiphona ad introitum (Entrance antiphon), as in the text for each day's Mass, or as the cantus ad introitum (Entrance chant) as in the General Instruction of the Roman Missal, 47 and as in the First Roman Ordo (sixth to seventh century).[1] In pre-1970 editions of the Roman Missal, the word Introitus was used, distinguished from the normal meaning of the word (entrance) by being capitalized. In Ambrosian chant and Beneventan chant, the counterpart of the Introit is called the "ingressa".[2] In the Mozarabic, Carthusian, Dominican, and Carmelite Rites, it is called the "officium".


Originally, the entrance of the priest who was to celebrate Mass was accompanied by the singing of a whole psalm, with Gloria Patri (doxology). While the psalm was at first sung responsorially, with an antiphon repeated by all at intervals, while a solo singer chanted the words of the psalm, it was soon sung directly by two groups of singers alternating with each other, and with the antiphon sung only at the beginning and the end, as is the usual way of chanting the psalms in the Liturgy of the Hours. The change to this manner of singing the psalm has been attributed to Pope Celestine I (422-432). Pope Gregory I (590-604), after whom Gregorian chant is named, composed several antiphons for singing with the Entrance psalm.[1]
If singing of the psalm was not completed by the time the Entrance procession arrived at the altar, the singers moved directly to the Gloria Patri and the final repetition of the antiphon. In time only the opening verse of the psalm was kept, together with the Gloria Patri, preceded and followed by the antiphon, the form of the Introit in Tridentine Mass Roman Missals, which explicitly indicate this manner of singing the Introit.
The 1970 revision of the Roman Missal explicitly envisages singing the entire psalm associated with the antiphon, but does not make it obligatory.[3] In contemporary Catholic usage, the introit corresponds to the Entrance Antiphon and is sung or recited audibly throughout by the faithful.

Text and liturgical use

The antiphons of most Introits are taken from Psalms, though many come from other parts of Scripture. In some rare cases the antiphon is not from Scripture: "Salve, sancta parens", from the Christian poet Sedulius, is the antiphon used in the Tridentine form of the Roman Rite for common Masses of the Blessed Virgin Mary; the 1970 revision kept a Mass formula of the Blessed Virgin with that antiphon, but provided several alternatives.
The words of the antiphons are related to the theme of the feastday or celebration and most frequently have something in common with the liturgical readings of the Mass.
In the Tridentine Mass the Introit is no longer the first text used in the Mass. In Low Mass, the priest reads it only after the Prayers at the Foot of the Altar. Until 1908, even in sung Mass the choir began the Introit only after the priest had begun those prayers, but Pope Pius X restored the old arrangement whereby the Introit accompanied the entrance procession of the priest with the ministers. The Tridentine Mass has the priest read the Introit in the Missal even when it is also sung by the choir. It also has him make the sign of the cross, when reading it, a relic of the time when Mass began with it.[1]
Since the 1970 revision of the Roman Missal, the Entrance chant begins as the priest enters. Its purpose is to open the celebration, foster the unity of those who have been gathered, turn their thoughts to the mystery of the celebration, and accompany the procession. If there is no singing at the Entrance, the antiphon in the Missal is recited either by the faithful, or by some of them, or by a lector; otherwise, it is recited by the priest himself, who may even adapt it as an introductory explanation.[4]

If another rite immediately precedes Mass, such as the Palm Sunday procession or the various ceremonies that precede Mass at the Easter Vigil, Mass begins with the collect; there is no Entrance at that point and so no Entrance chant.

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