Born in 1192, St.  Juliana of Liège (or of Mont Cornillon) entered religious life as a Norbertine canoness regular. Of her, Pope Benedict XVI wrote: “She is little known but the Church is deeply indebted to her, not only because of the holiness of her life but also because, with her great fervor, she contributed to the institution of one of the most important solemn liturgies of the year: Corpus Christi.”

Jacques Pantaléon, a humble cobbler’s son, was sent to a monastery school where he excelled in canon and common law studies.

Pantaléon was serving as archdeacon of the cathedral of Liège in Belgium when the visions of Sister, later Saint, Juliana, prioress of the Norbertine canonesses, became known to Robert de Thourotte, Bishop of Liège.

Sandy, my older brother, and I both went to St. John Vianney High School in Los Angeles, staffed by Dominican friars. It engendered a great fondness in us for this great cleric, who is the patron saint of parish priests. In the 18th century, with the battered Church in France brought to her knees by revolu-tion, God raised up an unexpectedly gentle champion of the faith.

Truly, we are creatures of habit. Used to standing for the Gospel Acclamation’s alleluias immediately following the Epistle, congregations at Mass are usually caught by surprise when the Sequence appears instead. Often left without instruction by the lector or cantor, worshippers stand, hesitate, then self-consciously resume their seats.

At sunrise on a beautifully warm spring morning in April, the heavy beams of the wooden gates set in Jerusalem’s thick stone walls were swung open to let families stream up the hill and into the city. Laughing and singing, each family brought a special white, fleecy lamb.