Does the Novus Ordo Really Have “Noble Simplicity” Compared to the Tridentine Mass?

J.M.J.

Greetings, merry Christmas, and happy new year to all!

It has been quite a while since I’ve posted anything, unfortunately, so I understand if people have been thinking this blog is dead. It’s not, in fact, dead. I have one post mostly written that I haven’t gotten around to publishing, continuing with the subject of lay readers that I already made two posts on. I also have another big post — focusing on evolution — in the idea stage. But time is a beast, and, very often, I find myself wanting to do other things. With all that said, there’s something I’ve been thinking about over the past couple weeks that I wanted to discuss.

One of the primary directives of Vatican II’s Sacrosanctum Concilium is the following:

“In the revision of the liturgy, the following norms should be observed: the rites should be distinguished by a noble simplicity; they should be short, clear, and unencumbered by useless [inutiles] repetitions; they should be within the peoples’ powers of comprehension, and normally should not require much explanation” (Sacrosanctum Concilium 33-34).

Now, many, including me, take issue with the repetitions in the older Mass being called “useless,” and I would also question whether “comprehension” of the rites should be a primary aim. After all, the Holy Mass is an infinite mystery, and, try as we might, we will never totally understand it.

But what I’d like to focus on here is the idea of “noble simplicity.” In Sacrosanctum Concilium, and in the revised Order of the Mass, it seems that “noble simplicity” requires short, simple prayers – and hence, the saints’ names in the Confiteor and in the Libera Nos following the Our Father got cut. The numerous signs of the Cross in the Canon got cut. The Domine, Non Sum Dignus is said by the priest and people together, once only. And there are numerous other examples of this rather unfortunate trend as well.

However, I would suggest that, in one respect, the revised Order of the Mass fails utterly in its aim to be nobly simple, and that the former Mass is clearly more in line with the aims of Vatican II’s directives.

If the former missal has something definitely going for it, it’s that the Mass has a clearly delineated structure, and the faithful in the pews can know what to expect each time. To put it simply, the Traditional Latin Mass doesn’t really have options. There is the option of what type of Mass will be offered – Low Mass, High Mass, Solemn Mass – but that’s essentially it. The Novus Ordo, however, allows for so many options in all of its parts that any Mass according to that missal would differ from others. Let’s observe some examples. For the sake of ease, I’m going to refer to the older Mass as the “Tridentine Mass” (even though it was around well before the Council of Trent).

The Tridentine Mass, with very rare exceptions, always begins with the Prayers at the Foot of the Altar. These don’t change. These begin with Psalms 43 and 42, then include a Confiteor said by the priest and then a Confiteor said by the servers on behalf of the faithful. There is then a brief quotation from Psalm 85, followed by two prayers as the priest goes up to the altar. This pattern can be expected at essentially every Tridentine Mass.

In the Novus Ordo, however, there are multiple options after the Sign of the Cross, which will depend on the whim of the priest offering the Mass. So, for example, he could say, “The Lord be with you,” (R\: And with your spirit), or he could say, “The grace of our Lord, Jesus Christ, the love of God, and the communion of the Holy Spirit be with you all” (same response), or he could even say, “Grace to you and peace, from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ” (the response here is either “And with your spirit” or “Blessed be God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ”).

Then, for the Penitential Act, there are three options, which can be chosen at the priest’s discretion: 1) the Confiteor and Kyrie; 2) just the Confiteor; 3) just the Kyrie, with prescribed introductions before each petition.

So far, then, there’s six official variations from the Sign of the Cross to the Kyrie, which will differ from priest to priest, while the Tridentine Mass has a stable and unchanging setup.

As far as Scriptural readings are concerned, the Tridentine Mass has three variations: the priest reads the Epistle and the Gospel himself at a Low Mass; he chants them at a High Mass; and in a Solemn Mass, the subdeacon chants the Epistle while the deacon chants the Gospel. That’s the extent of variations to be expected in this area. In the Novus Ordo, though, there are numerous options. As is the case in most places, lay people – men or women – are permitted and even expected to read the first two readings. They may do so in their own clothes, or vested in something such as an alb or a cassock and surplice. Alternatively, the priest himself may read the readings, though this is rarely done. Yet all options would be licit, and all of them could feasibly happen, depending on the desire of the priest.

Then we reach the Eucharistic Prayer. In the Tridentine Mass, the prayer is the Roman Canon. No other options exist, no textual variations exist, and the rubrics are always the same. In the Novus Ordo, not only are there technically ten different prayers (the Roman Canon, Eucharistic Prayers II-IV, the two Eucharistic Prayers for Reconciliation, and the Eucharistic Prayer for Various Needs – which has four variations), but also, within the Roman Canon, the priest has the option of abbreviating it by omitting most of the saints and all of the “Through Christ our Lord. Amen” conclusions. Thus, there are eleven possible Eucharistic Prayer variations from Novus Ordo to Novus Ordo, while it will always remain the same in the Tridentine Mass.

There are more options I could explore within the Novus Ordo as well, but this is enough to make my point. This doesn’t even bring up options such as having Mass ad orientem or ad populum; English or Latin, or a mix of each; bare altar, or altar with a crucifix and candles; male or female altar servers; Extraordinary Ministers or just the priest distributing Communion; and on and on.

My goal is not to say that options are intrinsically a problem. They can be utilized to good effect, as the Anglican Ordinariate Mass, and some of the Divine Liturgies, demonstrate. But my question is this: have we really rendered the liturgy “nobly simple” by allowing a dizzying plethora of options, which end up making the Mass more of an a la carte menu? Or might the Tridentine Mass have something to teach us in its stable and constant character?

God bless, all.

Beautiful But Rarely Used: The Canon of the Mass, Part 2

J.M.J.

Greetings, one and all!

In the last post on this topic, I told you that this post (admittedly a rather long one, but hopefully interesting all the same!) would be dealing with the Roman Canon, the first Eucharistic Prayer, from the Consecration onward. Well, as it turns out, that was just slightly misleading, because I want to take take a minute briefly to address a chief difference between the Canon and its newer rivals.

The Holy Spirit: Strangely Absent?

The difference is this: for better or worse, the Roman Canon has no direct prayer asking the Holy Spirit to sanctify the offerings (also known as an Epiclesis).

It might seem insignificant, but this was something which made liturgists both before and after Vatican II (like the author of Eucharistic Prayer III, for example) dissatisfied with the Canon, many thinking the Canon surely used to have an Epiclesis and it somehow got pushed out or reworded as time went on (The Mass: A Study of the Roman Rite by late nineteenth and early twentieth-century liturgist Adrian Fortescue gives many and various ideas from liturgists of that time about how this might’ve occurred, but gives no solid evidence of whether or not it’s true). At any rate, the new Eucharistic Prayers have an Epiclesis (would the plural be Epicleses?) in some form or another, and this was lauded among liturgists at the time they were written as being a happy return to a more ancient practice now restored. It was also seen as a pleasant way to connect the West with the East, since the Churches of the East are known for utilizing the Epiclesis in their Eucharistic Prayers (more correctly, their “anaphoras”).

This Eucharistic Prayer is notable for its lack of an invocation to the Holy Spirit upon the offerings.
This Eucharistic Prayer is notable for its lack of an invocation of the Holy Spirit’s sanctifying power upon the offerings.

If someone were to ask me, I would say the Roman Canon doesn’t particularly need an Epiclesis, as it has multiple prayers preceding the Consecration which ask God to bless and accept the offerings, and it also has its own prayer that, while not expressing the same idea as an invocation of the Holy Spirit, expresses an idea of comparable weight and gives the Canon its own particular character. This is the Supplices te rogamus. More on that below, though.

Now, onwards to the Consecration!

The Prayers of the Consecration Itself

Yet another difference between the Roman Canon and the newer prayers is the introduction to the Consecration. I said that the inclusion of an invocation to the Holy Spirit within the new prayers was seen by many as a happy way to unite the liturgies of East and West. Well, what I’m about to mention is rather less significant, but still interesting. In the new prayers, one might notice that the priest uses words along the lines of, “On the night He was betrayed,” “At the time He was betrayed,” or “The night before He died.” Well, as it turns out, this, too, was seen as a way to assimilate a little bit of the East’s practices into the West. The Roman Canon has always used a different formula, one which is particular to it, if I’m not mistaken, and thus particular to the Roman Rite. It has it this way: “The day before He was to suffer” (“qui pridie quam pateretur”). I remember reading somewhere—perhaps it was the book mentioned above—that it was worded like this to focus the minds of those present on the Passion of Christ, but I can’t recall for certain. Anyway, it’s an interesting little difference.

A more obvious thing one might note when comparing the Roman Canon to the newer prayers is the heightened reverence for Our Lord present here. It does not just say that Our Lord “took bread,” but that He took it, as the Latin says, “in sanctas ac venerabiles manus suas,” that is, “in His holy and venerable hands.” This might sound like the product of excessive piety, but it’s actually quite interesting. The Lord Jesus Christ is a Divine Person Who has assumed a human nature. He is God, in a human nature, and so, as the prayer bears out, His Person sanctifies everything about the nature He has taken, including something so seemingly insignificant as His hands. This is a fact which should bring wonder to every priest called upon to repeat His action in the Holy Mass. The very hands of Christ are sacred, yet in the Mass, the entirety of Christ is made present.

800px-Simon_ushakov_last_supper_1685
Any chalice used to hold the Blood of Christ, from the one He used at the Last Supper to any chalice used at a Mass since that night, is going to be “precious” from then on.

Again, in the Consecration of the Chalice, it does not just say He took “the chalice,” but rather, “this precious chalice,” — “hunc praeclarum calicem.” Why? Because any chalice which has been called upon to hold the Blood of the Lord, from a golden one embedded with jewels to a wooden and uninspired one, is, from then on and ever afterward, perpetually sanctified, perpetually made holy. It becomes no longer just an object, but indeed, one might argue that every chalice which has held the Eucharistic Presence is a genuine Tabernacle for as long as it serves that purpose, and also for as long as it will continue to serve that purpose in the future. It’s no longer just a chalice. It’s the holiest of man-made vessels, for it contains the Holy of Holies within itself.

After the Consecration

Following the Consecration, there is heard what is, in my opinion, the most striking text of the entire Mass: “Therefore, as we celebrate the memorial of the blessed Passion, the Resurrection from the dead, and the glorious Ascension into Heaven of Christ, your Son, Our Lord, we . . . offer . . . from the gifts you have given us, this pure Victim (hostiam puram), this holy Victim (hostiam sanctam), this spotless Victim (hostiam immaculatam), the holy Bread of eternal life and the chalice of everlasting salvation.” Right there, on the altar, offering Himself for our sake now, without death, just as He offered Himself in death on the Cross, is the One Whom Peter called “the Lamb without blemish or defect” (1 Peter 1:19).

The Lamb has things said of Him which can only be said of God without the one saying them being guilty of sin.
As the priest mentions “this pure Victim, this holy Victim, this spotless Victim,” it’s difficult not to think of the sacrificed Christ, the Lamb of God, as depicted in the Book of Revelation.

 

Going back to what I mentioned earlier about the propitiatory character of the Mass as affirmed at Trent, this next segment is very interesting. The current translation has it this way: “Be pleased to look upon these offerings with a serene and kindly countenance.” That sounds nice, surely, but if one looks at the Latin original, he’ll find something more striking: “Supra quae propitio ac sereno vultu respicere digneris,” literally, “deign to look upon them with a propitious and serene gaze.” Such a translation clearly brings to mind the Mass’ propitiatory, or sin-forgiving, character. The Canon goes on to mention the Old Testament forerunners of our sacrifice, Abel, Abraham, and Melchizedek, whose offerings foreshadowed, and are perfected in, the Holy Eucharist. The Holy Eucharist is, as the prayer says, the “holy sacrifice” and “spotless Victim” of the New Covenant.

As the Canon draws to a close, it reaches that peculiar moment that has no parallel in the new prayers, known as the Supplices te rogamus. This prayer, I think, could be rightly called the “Epiclesis of the Canon,” for although there isn’t a direct prayer asking for the outpouring of the Holy Spirit, there is nonetheless a definitive request that the Sacrifice be “ratified” by God. This prayer is, interestingly, one of the places where the profoundly reverential rubrics of the older form of Mass have been retained to this day, and, if other people are at all like me, this is likely a place where they will take notice. Bowing low over the altar, the priest asks God’s angel (considered by some to be a reference to Christ Himself, the “Angel of the Lord” in many an Old Testament text) to carry the Sacrifice to the altar in Heaven, “in the sight of [God’s] Divine Majesty,” such that all who receive the Holy Eucharist from the altar here below may be filled (literally translated) “with every heavenly blessing and grace” (“omni benedictione caelesti et gratia”). Those last words also mark the only point remaining inside the Mass (i.e., the “current” Mass) where the priest is to make the sign of the Cross over himself, and that moment, coupled with the profound bow for the duration of this prayer, make the Canon definitively more striking and beautiful to me than any of the other Eucharistic Prayers. But beyond the mere gestures of the prayer, the reference to God’s “altar on high” helps the faithful to realize that the same Sacrifice of Christ they take part in during Mass is going on perpetually in Heaven, and that the Mass, for as long as it lasts, is a union of the Church in Heaven and the Church still on Earth.

The second-to-last prayer, the Memento defunctorum or Remembrance of the Dead, once again points in a clear way to the fact that the Sacrifice of the Mass is to be offered for the souls of the faithful departed, or, as the Canon calls them, “those who have preceded us with the sign of faith and sleep in the slumber of peace” (“qui nos praecesserunt cum signo fidei et dormiunt in somno pacis”). Here there is yet another string of that “rhythmic,” repetitious wording as the priest asks that the faithful departed be admitted into a “place of refreshment, light, and peace.”

Screen Shot 2015-03-01 at 12.42.58 PM
Archbishop Fulton Sheen praying briefly for particular deceased persons at the “Memento” for the dead (note the joined thumbs and forefingers, which is a mandatory rubric of the older missal to safeguard any particles of the Host on the fingers of the priest).

At this point, there is a last prayer for those present, who, sinners though they are, can trust that God, in His kindness, will welcome them into Heaven along with “His holy apostles and martyrs,” with many of those martyrs being mentioned by name. This section begins with the words “Nobis quoque peccatoribus, famulis tuis,” literally, “to us sinners also, your servants.” This section also has retained a rubric from the older form, namely, that the priest strikes the breast upon saying, “peccatoribus” (sinners). Like the gestures of the Supplices te rogamus, this rubric makes the Roman Canon all the more beautiful to me. Certainly, a recognition of sin, if too self-effacing and pervasive, is the problem of scrupulosity, but in my opinion, the newer prayers would have done well to emulate the humility of the Roman Canon, which is indeed humility in the true sense: not saying that man is unworthy and leaving it at that, but rather, that man is unworthy, yet able, in the words of this prayer, to have confidence in the “multitude of God’s mercies.” The newer Eucharistic Prayers, while they mention the sinfulness of man, do not convey it in as moving or profound a fashion, nor do they give those present at Mass continual reminders of their place before the Divine.

+++

And so, my dear readers, these have been my various thoughts about this beautiful, but rarely used, prayer. I do hope more priests begin to see the beauty of it and will use it more. In my opinion, one of the simplest ways to recover a healthy theology of the Mass at the parish level would be to use the Roman Canon as the Sunday Eucharistic Prayer. At this point, one can only pray, though.

Before I go, I would highly recommend, for those interested in further reading, that you check out this article by Fr. Cassian Folsom, OSB, and published in 1996: “From One Eucharistic Prayer to Many: How it Happened and Why.” It gives a very interesting look at the surrounding situation—largely disobedience in the beginning, as history frequently has it—that brought about the new prayers, and the characteristics of the Roman Canon (some mentioned here) which the authors of the new prayers sought to alter.

I do hope you’ve found all this enjoyable.

Have a holy Lent!

“To you, therefore, most merciful Father” – (Somewhat) Theological Observations About the Canon of the Mass, Part 1

J.M.J.

+++

Until the current form of the Mass was officially promulgated in late 1969, Catholics of the Roman rite would have only known one Eucharistic Prayer. That prayer, now the first option among many (and commonly known as the Roman Canon), had sustained the Church almost entirely unchanged for over a millennium, and was, it might be argued, a hallmark of the Church’s liturgical faith against the ideas of people such as the founders of Protestantism.

The Council of Trent gave a glowing endorsement of this particular prayer with the following statement (read carefully, as it’s a bit of a mental tongue-twister): “And since it is becoming that holy things be administered in a holy manner, and since, of all things, this sacrifice is the most holy, the Catholic Church, to the end that it might be worthily and reverently offered and received, instituted many centuries ago the holy canon, which is so free from error that it contains nothing that does not in the highest degree savor of a certain holiness and piety, and raise up to God the minds of those who offer. For it consists partly of the very words of the Lord, partly of the traditions of the Apostles, and also of pious regulations of holy pontiffs” (Session XXII, Ch. IV).

Despite such high praise, despite the fact that the Church fostered it for centuries, and despite the generations of Catholics who were formed by it, it has been virtually thrown out of the ecclesial window and into the ecclesial trash heap since the end the of Second Vatican Council. Most often used in its place are Eucharistic Prayer II (a significantly shorter prayer with a much thinner level of substance) and Eucharistic Prayer III (a prayer which was written to be, in many ways, a reworking of the Canon so as to fix its perceived problems). Unless they have a priest who particularly likes it, Catholics today will generally hear the Roman Canon a few times a year (probably at Christmas, Easter, and All Saint’s Day—the last one due to the lists of individual saint names present in the prayer). But otherwise, several centuries of tradition have been discarded, with priests finding the Canon too long, the new prayers more streamlined, or the content of the new prayers more appealing (if a priest is reading this and has other reasons for not using the Canon, let me know; I don’t want to put words in anyone’s mouth). As for me, though, I’ve felt a strong affinity for the Roman Canon ever since the Mass was retranslated a few years ago, and I feel like some of my readers might appreciate reflections going into why I like it and why I wish it were once again prayed frequently.

NB: a) Before I go into my many thoughts on the matter, let it be said that I’m not an academic, and I’ve only studied this stuff at the level of personal interest, so I recognize that many solid objections could probably be brought up against the things I say. 

b) Where there is a portion of Latin in this post, it will be the case for the most part that the translation used is the one promulgated in 2011. If it’s my own translation, I’ll have written something like, “literally translated as…”

The Opening of the Prayer

Screen Shot 2015-02-28 at 1.41.57 PM
The beginning of the Canon in a missal from 1962 (the last edition promulgated of the previous liturgical form). Considering the sweeping changes which would take place in the years following Vatican II, it’s almost surprising that, at least as far as text is concerned, this prayer was virtually untouched (there is a difference in the immediate Consecration formulas, but that might be better discussed elsewhere).

The beginning of the prayer is already markedly different from most of the other options. Most of the other Eucharistic Prayers, making a direct connection with the Sanctus, the Holy, Holy, Holy, address God with the words, “You are indeed holy, O Lord.” Some perceive this as a definitive strength of the new prayers, since they have a greater connection to what has preceded them. That’s a topic for a different post, but at any rate, for those who aren’t used to the Roman Canon and have gotten used to hearing a correlation between the Holy and the beginning of the Eucharistic Prayer, the introduction of the Canon might seem strange: “To you, therefore, most merciful Father, we make humble prayer and petition, through Jesus Christ, your Son, Our Lord.” This already establishes a different tone than the other prayers, most of which begin, not with an immediate statement of humility, but a statement of praise. Now, before somebody jumps on that, I’m not saying there’s something wrong with praise and that we should be always and everywhere approaching the Lord in sackloth, ashes, and lamentations. But to me, the tone of these words suggests the weight, the responsibility, the majesty of the action the priest and faithful are going to take part in, and, for me, it provides a deeper mental preparation going forward than the comparatively “joyful” characteristics of the newer prayers. The faithful in Mass are going to be present to God and to all the angels and saints of Heaven, yes, but they’re also going to be transported to the scene of the Cross, the scene of our Good Lord’s suffering and death, and this, I think, is aided by words that recognize, like the centurion, “Lord, I am not worthy” (Mt. 8:8).

The Prayers Before the Consecration

One of the things immediately noticeable about the Roman Canon is that, both in its Latin text and when translated literally (as opposed to the translation approved in the late 1960s), there is an almost poetic quality to it throughout. It uses strings of words that give it an arguably rhythmic tone. It begins, for example, asking God to accept and bless, in the Latin, “haec dona, haec munera, haec sancta sacrificia illibata”—as the current English translation renders it, “these gifts, these offerings, these holy and unblemished sacrifices.” As the priest offers them for the Church, the reader will notice there is yet another set of rhythmic phrases as the priest asks God to “be pleased to guard, unite, and govern her throughout the whole world” (“quam pacificare, custodire, adunare, et regere digneris toto orbe terrarum”).

Going on, it makes immediate mention of the Pope, the bishops, and the clergy, almost as a way of saying that prayers for the Vicar of Christ, whom Our Lord has made His spokesperson on Earth and the Rock of His Church, belong in a prominent place during the Sacred Action. The priest prayers also for all those who “cultivate” or “hand on” the Catholic and Apostolic faith (“et omnibus orthodoxis atque Catholicae et Apostolicae fidei cultoribus”). There is no sense of vagueness in this prayer. It is certainly declaring the Church headed by the Pope and bishops to be the universal faith, the same faith given from the Apostles themselves.

The next section, coupled with its counterpart later in the prayer (which some liturgists suggest were together in the Canon’s earlier development) shows an important truth about the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass as affirmed by the Council of Trent: that the Mass is a propitiatory sacrifice, able to forgive our sins and able to be offered for the souls of Christians both living and dead.

Known as the Memento vivorum, the Remembrance of the Living, the section begins, “Remember, Lord, your servants, and all those gathered here, whose faith and devotion are known to you.” The next line is important, because it clearly enunciates a truth only able to be grasped in the other prayers by way of interpretation. This truth is that the Eucharist is offered, not just communally as a “we,” but separately as well. “I” offer it for my own needs, “you” for yours, and the ordained priest does so differently than the laity present.

And so the prayer says, “For them we offer you this sacrifice of praise, or they offer it for themselves and all who are dear to them”—and pointing to the propitiatory, or sin-forgiving, nature of the Offering, it goes on— “for the redemption of their souls, in hope of health and well-being.” Something to notice is that the word “health” here is a translation of the Latin word “salutis,” which could also be translated as “salvation.” However it’s translated, it’s difficult not to notice, again, that repetitious, almost rhythmic quality I mentioned: the Mass is offered for “redemption, health, and well-being,” things which can all be taken to mean similar things, but which add a poeticism to the prayer by their individual presence.

The next section, the Communicantes, is, like so much of this prayer, clearly Catholic through and through, beginning with a clear and direct affirmation of Mary’s divine maternity. “Communicantes et memoriam venerantes, in primis, gloriosae semper Virginis Mariae, Genetricis Dei et Domini nostri Jesu Christi“—literally, “Having communion with and venerating the memory, in the first place, of the glorious ever-Virgin Mary, Mother of our God and Lord, Jesus Christ.” The mention of the many individual saints calls to mind the host of holy men and women who have made it to Heaven, and also helps those present at the Mass to remember that they have intercessors in Heaven constantly praying for their sake. There is a clearly Catholic air, too, as the prayer closes, with the priest asking that by the “merits and prayers” of the saints mentioned, and all the saints in Heaven, the Christian faithful might always experience God’s protection and aid.

In the prayer preceding the Consecration, one can’t help noticing, yet again, that rhythmic repetition which marks so much of the prayer, as the priest asks God to (literally translated) “make this oblation blessed, approved, ratified, reasonable, and acceptable,” that it might become the Body and Blood of His Beloved Son.

+++

More to come, my dear readers, in Part 2, which will take a look at the rest of the Canon from the Consecration onward. That, in fact, is when I’d say things get most striking.

God bless, and may you all have a holy Lent until next time!

Getting Down to Basics: What Is the Mass?

J.M.J.

I think it’s not unreasonable to say that many Catholics today, through no fault of their own, don’t really know what the Mass is. The majority of Catholic youth now aren’t formed using the simple, direct memorization format of the question-and-answer Baltimore Catechism, and most of what Catholic kids do learn is often given to them through Sunday school courses that (in my experience, at least) teach some basic elements of the Faith, but don’t clearly pinpoint certain doctrines and fully explain them. Principle among these “not fully explained” doctrines has been, unfortunately, the question of what the Mass is.

I, personally, was homeschooled and grew up with the Baltimore Catechism (the teaching tool of most American Catholics prior to the late 1960s). I’m genuinely grateful, to God and to my mother who taught me, because from early on I’ve known the answer to the question of what the Mass is pretty well. I’m thankful for that not to be an arrogant know-it-all, but simply because it strengthened my faith in those years. But I also had to go through parish CCD and other forms of religious education later, and this was my experience of them:

  • When they got to the point where they talked about the Eucharist, they said, quite correctly, that it was the true Body and Blood of Christ
  • They emphasized that it’s what we Catholics do as a community, following the command of Christ: “Do this in memory of Me.”
  • They pointed out that Protestants believe the Eucharist is merely symbolic, and not actually the Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity of the Lord
  • But what they did not say was what the Mass is for, what goes on during Mass, and the fact and meaning of the Mass being a sacrifice.

And this last point is incredibly unfortunate, because although it’s necessary to know that the consecrated bread and wine are Our Lord’s Body and Blood, it is equally important and necessary that Catholics be taught about the nature of the Mass. The Mass is the source and summit of the Faith, according to the Second Vatican Council, so its imperative that we know as much as we can about it. What is the Mass? What happens during it? If you, my good reader, are unable to answer those questions, then I hope I can be of service to you in answering them as we go along.

I think the three most prevalent misconceptions about the Mass today are these:

  1. The Mass is above all re-enactment of the Last Supper, and that, also above all else, it’s a communal meal.
  2. The Mass is the community worshipping God as it has traditionally done (I’ve encountered this one a lot: the Mass is just “Catholic worship”, and, to quote from the Fiddler on the Roof: “Where do we get these traditions? I’ll tell you: I don’t know.”)
  3. The Mass is a sacrifice in some sense, but we’re not sure what that sense is.

If those are misconceptions or incomplete notions of the Mass, then let’s ask the question, one last time, whose answer will clarify it all: what is the Mass, if it isn’t just “the way Catholics worship God,” or a re-enactment of the Last Supper, or a sacrifice in some vague sense?

Here is the definition of the Mass, which I’m going to explain further after you’ve read it, to make sure any misconceptions are clarified: the Mass is Christ’s offering of His Body and Blood to the Father, just as He did on the Cross, but this time in a “non-bloody” way, which means that, unlike the Cross, Christ offers Himself in each Mass without dying. 

We can clarify this definition further here in a minute, but given this definition, the Church has always considered that the Cross and the Mass are really the same thing: on the Cross, Christ sacrificed Himself and died; in the Mass, Christ still offers Himself in sacrifice to God, but does not die, since He has died already and cannot die a second time. But it’s the same sacrifice, for the priest is the same, and the victim of the sacrifice is the same, Jesus Christ, offering Himself in eternity now as He did on the Cross in time.

Now, a couple important clarifications…

Clarification 1: the Mass is not the “repetition” of the Cross, as though Our Lord’s death on the Cross wasn’t good enough, and He needs to be offered over and over again. That’s the objection Protestants use against the Mass, and it’s quite simply untrue. Christ is not re-offered in the Mass. Rather, as the Scriptures tell us, He is still offered (Revelation 5:6, for example, says that Christ, the Lamb of God, is in Heaven “standing as though slain”—because He offers Himself in sacrifice even after having died; and Hebrews 7:24-25 say that Christ has a “permanent priesthood, always interceding for us”). Indeed, He died only once, and this single act of dying brought about the Redemption; but He didn’t offer Himself in death and then be done. Instead, even after having risen from the dead and ascended into Heaven, He still offers Himself, immortal and glorified, as the perfect Sacrifice to God the Father. His offering is continual and unceasing, and the Mass “brings it down” from Heaven and makes it present on the altars of our parishes. It’s equally correct to say that the Mass takes the Crucifixion of Our Lord from 33 A.D. and brings it to the altar in our present place and time. Whether we want to think of it as “tapping into” and making present the death of Christ on Calvary, or tapping into and making present the self-offering of the Risen Christ in Heaven, both are correct: it’s all one, continuous, unending Sacrifice, which is offered in the Mass under the appearances of bread and wine, through the instrument of the ordained priest (and, by extension, us the laity; more on that below).

Clarification 2: the Lord offered Himself by Himself on the Cross; in the Mass, He uses the ordained priest, who acts in the Person of Christ and functions as His instrument. It is still Christ who offers Himself in the Sacrifice of the Eucharist, but He does it through the priest. The priest, Father Whoever, acts as Christ’s instrument (rather like a person using a piano to make music: the musician [Christ] plays the music [the offering of the sacrifice], but the piano [the ordained priest] is what allows the music to be played).

Because of all this, we can see that the Mass is really Christ’s action more than it is ours. It can be so tempting to think of the Mass as what we do to or for God; but really, the Mass is what God, the Second Person of the Trinity incarnate, does for us, and anything we do within the context of the Mass is merely a participation in the priesthood of Jesus Christ.

But at the same time, it would be incorrect to assume we do nothing. There is a reason that Malachi 1:11 prophesies that “From the rising of the sun to its going down, in every place, a pure offering will be made to [God’s] name.” For the Sacrifice of the Eucharist is, in addition to being the action of Our Lord, the action of us, too. We, priest and laity alike, are all “priests” in our own way. The ordained priest is the one who can be the direct instrument of Our Lord in the offering of Him, the one who can act in His place and actually do the offering, as it were. He alone has been given authority by God (through his ordination) to stand at the altar and “make it happen.” But we the laity have a priesthood about us as well, and we are able—and required—to offer the Lord to the Father ourselves, doing so, as the concluding doxology of the Canon says, “Through Him, and with Him, and in Him.” In every offering of the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass, Christ the Lord is the “true” priest, the ordained priest is the instrument priest through which Christ directly offers Himself, and we the laity are all priests, too, called upon to offer the Sacrifice of the Eucharist—the Sacrifice of the Body and Blood of Christ—together with the ordained priest and, in the end, with Jesus Himself.

This has been a great deal of information, and a great deal more could be said still, but I hope it was informative, if you didn’t know these things before. If you did know these things before, I hope this has clarified the nature of the Mass further. As a parting gift, I’d like to leave you with this image. Especially if you had not known clearly about the nature of the Mass before reading this, this picture makes more sense now, doesn’t it?

1477645_697193553626811_108865285_n

The good God bless you, until next time.

“Heaven Is a Place On Earth”? Indeed It Is!

J.M.J.

I think that maybe the biggest problem with us is that by repeating things, they become routine. This applies to everything: work, school, play, the company we keep, pastimes we enjoy, prayer, worship, and on and on. Allow me to point out a few moments in Scripture before we truly begin:

When the angel visited the Virgin Mary and announced to her Whose mother she would be, she said, “Let it be so” (Lk. 1:38), and at that moment, the Holy Spirit came down and formed, in her virgin womb, the human nature of God’s eternal Son. John the Baptist found such joy in the presence of the incarnate Lord and His Blessed Mother that he leapt for joy in the womb of Elizabeth, while she herself was moved to say, “How does this happen, that the Mother of my Lord should come to me?” (Lk. 1:41, 43). Then, when Our Lord was born, all the angels appeared and acclaimed, “Glory to God in the highest” (Lk. 2:14). When Simeon saw the Child Jesus, he considered his life finished at last and said with complete contentment, “Now you may dismiss your servant” (Lk. 2:29).

Much later in the life of Christ, in the 14th chapter of St. John’s Gospel, Our Lord is speaking to the Apostles about the place He is going to after His resurrection. Philip, in all sincerity, blurts out, “Lord, show us the Father, and it will be enough for us” (Jn. 14:8). There is a certain frustration in Our Lord’s response: “Have I been with you so long, yet you have not come to know Me, Philip? He who has seen Me has seen the Father. Do you not know that I am in the Father and the Father is in Me?” (Jn. 14:9-10).

Why do I mention all this? Because of the privilege which we have even today, which can be so often forgotten about due to the routine nature of our lives. When Our Lady said, “Let it be done to me according to your word” and Our Lord was made flesh in her womb, God became tangible. He became something we could see, touch, speak to, and hear, with the senses. In His new nature He became limited also, not losing but voluntarily placing aside the Divine Majesty so as to live like us and, ultimately, redeem us to the Father. The Lord, who until now had been infinitely distant, became intimately close. And this brought immense joy to all those who recognized what had happened: to Elizabeth, to John the Baptist, to Simeon, and to the whole Host of Heaven. Our Lord wanted Philip to recognize that He, Jesus Christ, is truly Emmanuel, “God with us”.

So now comes the important part: Do you, my fellow Catholics, recognize that the very same miracle which occurred in the womb of the Blessed Mother happens at every Consecration in the Mass? When Our Blessed Lady said to the angel, “Let it be done to me”, the Lord was made present there, physically, where He had not been so before, and all of Heaven was “concentrated” into Our Lady’s womb. The same thing happens in the Mass. When the priest repeats the words of Our Lord, “This is My Body . . . this is My Blood”, the Host and the wine are changed into Christ, and so, as at His conception, He is made physically present where He was not before, and all of Heaven is concentrated into what once was bread and wine on the altar.

It can be so difficult to remember this when we go to Mass, Sunday after Sunday, with our off-key choirs and boring homilies and unedifying church buildings and whatever else. But it is the reality of what happens in the Mass. Whether it is a Mass where the red is perfectly and reverentially adhered to and the black is perfectly and reverentially said, or a Mass where the priest makes up half the prayers and tries to be the center of attention, it is still the reality of the Mass (provided the correct words and matter are used, the correct intention had on the part of the priest, and the priest validly ordained, of course): God the Son, and in fact the entire Trinity due to the union of the Divine Nature, comes down to us in our own church and lifts us up to the sphere where, even now, He is “as a Lamb slain from the foundation of the world” (Rev. 13:8). The only difference between Heaven itself and the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass is that in Heaven, we will see Almighty God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit, as He is, while here we see Him only veiled, and in Heaven there will be no more barrier of sin to separate us from sharing in His life.

Fr. Calvin Goodwin, FSSP, said the following concerning the Mass: “…at the moment of Consecration, it’s not so much that Christ merely comes down, but that He lifts us all to the sphere where He lives in glory, once again beyond time and the limitations of this world, to the very presence of God” (qtd here, “Roman Catholic Mass Explained”). The Mass itself says, before the Sanctus, that we sing of God’s holiness together with the hosts and choirs of Heaven. The Holy Mass is not just the worshipping act of your or my particular parish, it is the act of the entire Church, both in Heaven and on Earth, a unitive act where you might say that Heaven and Earth are temporarily joined together. So in a certain sense those who say Heaven is a place on Earth are correct: they need look no farther than the Holy Sacrifice of the Mass.

What, Precisely, Makes Your Participation “Full, Conscious, & Active” In The Liturgy?

J.M.J.

Greetings to all of you, my good readers!

I’m going to begin with a dichotomy, one you’ve probably heard quite a bit if you’ve gone to Mass within the past 50 years. Here it is, with its mixture of truth and untruth:

Before Vatican II in the 1960s, Catholics didn’t participate in the Mass. It was in Latin, so they couldn’t even understand it, the priest was up there talking quietly toward the wall, and the people didn’t even get to say anything during Mass.

After Vatican II, the people have a much greater role in the Church’s liturgy: the Mass is in the local language, the people make the responses and read the readings and perform ministries during Mass, the priest was turned around—it’s all much more inclusive now.

Fair enough. It’s a huge oversimplification, but most people can hardly be blamed if that’s their perception, or worse yet, if that was their experience with the Mass in the Church before the Second Vatican Council. Still, an oversimplification it is, which is in desperate need of a deeper look. And so, my friends, take a deeper look we shall.

I’d like to let you all know right now that this post won’t be saying anything about the old or new Mass forms, or any of the specific practices in either one. So you can breathe easily in that respect; the controversy level will be pretty low for liturgy devotees. Instead, I want to help you unpack the meaning of a commonly thrown-around phrase from the Second Vatican Council which declared that the peoples’ participation in the Sacred Liturgy should be “fully conscious and active” (Sacrosanctum Concilium 14). Most people (quite understandably) take this to mean that the people need to make the responses and perform ministries and whatnot, since the phrase was from Vatican II and since the Mass that came out of Vatican II seems to put so much stock into people doing things.

But then we get to the question: is that indeed what full, conscious, and active participation is, or is it something deeper than that?

As with most questions that run like that, you’re probably able to guess that this active participation is indeed more than just external activity. At the risk of surprising some of you, I’m going to go out on a limb and say the following: fully conscious and active participation can be accomplished whether a person makes every response devotedly or whether he never opens his mouth during Mass. In fact, fully conscious participation can be accomplished even when one does not receive Holy Communion! The quiet Irishman sitting in his pew who keeps his eyes shut and hands folded during the entirety of the Mass can technically achieve the same level of participation in Mass as the reader who reads and makes all the responses with attentiveness and devotion.

So what, then, is active participation in the Sacred Liturgy? It is when you crucify yourself along with Our Good Lord and give your life, yourself, to Him in four ways: 1) adoration; 2) contrition; 3) thanksgiving; and 4) supplication.

Those are the four ends of the Mass, the four reasons the priest stands at the altar and offers the Eucharist to God. Our participation in the Mass, therefore, is nothing more than an extension of those four things.

Firstly, Christ offers Himself (through the priest) to the Heavenly Father as an act of adoration. “To adore God is to acknowledge him as God, as the Creator and Savior, the Lord and Master of everything that exists, as infinite and merciful Love” (CCC 2096). We must adore God simply because God is God, because God is the sustainer of all that is, because God has all perfection, because God is the source of good and love, the One Who creates all that is good and lovable.

Secondly, Our Blessed Lord offers Himself to the Father as an act of contrition. Not for Himself, since He is without sin, but for us, that we may obtain forgiveness for our sins. He said on the Cross concerning His killers, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do” (Douay-Rheims Bible, Luke 23:34).

Thirdly, Christ offers Himself to the Father in thanksgiving, because of the greatness of the Father’s love, His mercy shown toward sinners, and for His very self, which can only be loved when known.

And finally, Our Lord offers Himself in supplication, mediating for us to the Father, praying with His human nature for us and our needs, using His Crucified Self as a prism through which the Father looks at creation and grants all its prayers. “Holy Father, keep them in thy name . . . that they may be one, as we also are . . . I pray that thou wouldst keep them from evil and sanctify them in truth” (John 17).

My good readers, this is what you must do in Mass: offer yourself in adoration of God, with all your fears and imperfections and worries. Offer yourself in contrition, repenting of sin and asking for the Divine Mercy; offer yourself as an act of thanksgiving for all God has done for you, in good times and in bad; and offer yourself in supplication, asking the Lord to grant those prayers compatible with His will. And be mindful of that fact that you don’t do this alone, disconnected from others, but rather, you do it with Christ, placing your “little” cross next to His Cross on the altar during and after the Consecration. He said that in the Scriptures that anyone who would be His disciple must take up a cross (Mt. 19:24) and, further, that anything asked of God the Father in His name would be granted (Jn. 16:23). Our participation in the Mass takes up these two passages of Scripture and turns them into reality: we crucify ourselves with Jesus Christ, offering ourselves to God through Him, in His name, in virtue of His status as God, Man, Lord, and Redeemer.

It is not enough merely to say the responses of the Mass carefully or to focus on the text of what’s being said or to perform some special liturgical function, which are all very commendable things. Rather, in the words of Archbishop Fulton Sheen, “In order to take a part in [the Mass], you have to bring little crosses” (Fulton Sheen, “The Meaning of the Mass”). The Baltimore Catechism was very insistent on this point as well, and although I don’t remember the exact words it used, it was speaking about the phrase “assist at Mass” and said something along the lines of, “One never merely attends Mass. One must consciously unite himself with the Sacrifice of Christ, and thus it is said that he assists at Mass”. That has always stuck with me. One never merely attends Mass. It’s not like a lecture where we’re passive spectators, contrary to the perceptions of many in the pre-Vatican II Church, and perhaps more importantly to be driven home is the point that it’s not just about doing things, saying things, or having a role to play. It’s about making a sacrifice of oneself so as to be united with Christ, Our Lord, the Head of His Mystical Body, whose members we are.

At this point I hope it’s evident that one can participate just as well in the pre-Vatican II liturgical form as in the one prevalent now, and that such dichotomies as commonly heard lack a certain degree of substance. Participation in the Holy Mass has always been essentially the same, the offering of the self with the offering of Jesus the Christ.

Now, because the current form of the Mass desires the vocal participation of the faithful, it is good to be an obedient son or daughter of the Church and participate vocally. But it is not essential, and it’s no skin off my back if the person two pews away never opens his mouth. For all I know, he’s more concretely focused on his ultimate liturgical mission than 90% of the congregation present. In the end, disregarding the goodness—or not—of external participation, the thing to be remembered as essential is that liturgical participation is about self-offering with the Crucified Savior. If you have that down, then you’re doing your job correctly.

The Problem With Liturgical Pickiness—From A Guy With Very Specific Liturgical Views

Good evening, everyone!

I’m not gonna be going on about Latin or English in the Mass right now, but as a background to the topic of this post, I was talking about the liturgy recently (big surprise there) and it was on the very subject of Latin vs. English. My opinion may strike some as almost being schizophrenic: I actively like the vernacular, and when I go to a Mass in Latin I find it takes an extra effort to pay attention, but as a matter of fact I don’t like the vernacular and think we should go back to using Latin.

But why in the world would I argue we should use something (Latin) other than the thing I technically prefer (English)? That, my dear readers, is an idea I want to talk to you about now.

In a word, I would say this: in the end, the Mass is just not about us. To be sure, some liturgical principles should be maintained everywhere. To be sure, any liturgical celebration should be entirely founded on the traditions of the Church (a topic open to varying interpretations itself), and to be sure, I have my own opinions and pray about them. But in the end, I think we need to remember something: it’s not about us.

Did you notice that across the whole spectrum, especially across countless Catholic blogs, there’s a bunch of opinions about what would make the best liturgy? In conversation, I’ve heard many older Catholics say that they like the reverence and feel of the Mass before 1965, but don’t miss not being able to understand what the priest is saying; so basically they’re saying that, if they could pick, they’d take the reverence and aura of the older liturgy and do it in their own language. A ton of examples could be used to illustrate this mindset. What if you like Praise and Worship in the Mass, a distinctively new thing, but like to receive Holy Communion kneeling down and on your tongue, a distinctively old thing? What if, say, you like it when only the priest gives Communion, but you like Communion under both species rather than Communion under one kind only, so you start pressing for intinction? I’m not saying you can’t have your likes and dislikes. That isn’t my point. But how good is it, do you think, if we keep picking and choosing all these different aspects, as so many Catholics invariably end up doing? At what point do we begin to see the liturgy as a great big set of opinions, with our individual opinion—rather than the countless individual opinions of other people—representing the ideal liturgy? Before the 1960s, such an idea would have generally been unheard of. The liturgy was codified in all its different parts and was viewed as something that the Church was given and meant to safeguard. Now, whether someone is labelled a traditionalist or a liberal, it seems like the liturgy is viewed as something you can tinker with at will—making the liturgy what Cardinal Ratzinger once called a fabricated and on-the-spot product.

How do we get out of this? Honestly, I don’t know. In the end there will inevitably be varying opinions about what makes “good liturgy” and “bad liturgy”, but in my humble opinion, this would be helped partially by slimming down the huge number of options for everything in the current missal, giving us instead a set formula for each part, which would be used every Mass. This would give greater stability to the celebration of the liturgy in general; then, though many will disagree with me, I think we should do all we can (to borrow from the Pope Emeritus again) to bring the “current” Mass in line with the “previous” Mass, thus, again, limiting the differences. Finally, it would be my hope that we would, after many, many years, perhaps, have once again a single liturgical form, founded soundly on Church tradition, without a plethora of options and variations. This, to me, would decrease the “mental narcissism” of many Catholics—including me!—and would allow us to view the Mass, once again, as something objective, codified, and not formed by majority opinions. And if we were to reach such a point of resignation, we could repeat the outstanding principle laid out by St. John the Baptist: “He must increase, and I must decrease” (Jn 3:30).

Genuflecting, Tabernacles, and You—What is the Correct Protocol?

Greetings, my dear readers,

It’s been quite a while since I’ve posted anything liturgically related, but I feel I should write about what you’re going to read for the sake of everyone involved. Every time I go to a Catholic church, whether the Tabernacle is located in the sanctuary or not, 90% of the congregation invariably skips genuflecting and makes a bow, unless they’re getting into pews, where genuflecting seems to be a more ingrained habit.

Part of this confusion comes from the separation of the altar and Tabernacle in the 1960s. Without going into my thoughts on that, I will say simply that before the postconciliar changes, it was simple: the Tabernacle and the altar were typically one unit, and so when you passed the altar (which was also the Tabernacle containing the Blessed Sacrament), you genuflected. Now, people hear conflicting directions: genuflect to the Tabernacle, but bow to the altar when the Tabernacle is absent. And it has confused people enough that now, they mostly bow whether the Tabernacle is present or not. I’ve heard priests and laypeople alike say that the “profound bow” (a bow of the torso) is sufficient before the Blessed Sacrament, but I’d like to clear up some things. What does the Church currently expect you to do when you pass by or in front of the Tabernacle? Is it any different than it was in the pre-Vatican II days? Read on!

The current document of guidelines on these matters, the General Instruction of the Roman Missal, distinguishes between a) the reverence given to the Tabernacle inside Mass and outside Mass, and b) the reverence given to the Tabernacle inside Mass, which differs between those who have a liturgical role to perform and those sitting in the pews. Easy guideline first.

Although there are individual exceptions, 99% of the time you will only need to remember this one rule: the GIRM says that “all who pass before the Most Blessed Sacrament genuflect” (274). I’ll get to the exceptions in a second, but like I said, they will only rarely affect you, so just genuflect most of the time. I think it’s important to underscore something, not to be a Pharisee, but to ensure that the importance of the Holy Eucharist, the reverence due to God present in It, is properly conveyed by our movements. Genuflecting is the required gesture before the Blessed Sacrament. The profound bow is only allowed if you truly cannot genuflect. If you can’t genuflect without something to hold onto, but are able to do so with some sturdy object as support, then by all means, grab onto a nearby pew and genuflect that way. Please, consider the truth of the Real Presence and use the profound bow as a truly last resort, like if you have genuine leg problems and nothing to grab hold of. 

Now, what are the exceptions to genuflecting? Like I said, they’re rarely going to apply to you. They actually apply to the priest and other ministers, and only during Mass (GIRM 274):

If the tabernacle with the Most Blessed Sacrament is present in the sanctuary, the priest, the deacon, and the other ministers genuflect when they approach the altar and when they depart from it, but not during the celebration of Mass itself.

There we go.

Rule 1) Outside of Mass, everyone genuflects to the Tabernacle, whenever it is passed and whenever entering or leaving a pew. This trumps bowing to the altar. At the risk of sounding irreverent, just ignore the freestanding altar if the Tabernacle is there and make a genuflection.

Rule 2) During Mass, if you’re just a member of the faithful in the pews, genuflect before the Tabernacle. The profound bow, contrary to common belief, is reserved only for those with a true inability to genuflect, rather than being just an easier and equally acceptable gesture.

Rule 3) If you’re performing some ministry within the Mass, then you do not genuflect to the Tabernacle. If you’re the priest or an altar server, you genuflect upon approaching the altar if the Tabernacle is present, and also upon leaving it, but not during Mass itself.

Rule 4) Only if the Tabernacle is not present, make a profound bow to the altar instead.

And you know what, I’ll even throw in a personal pity plea: I’m confined to a wheelchair. I wish that I could genuflect, but I can’t. Please, I beg you, use the working legs God gave you and perform this gesture of reverence before Him in the Eucharist. It’s worth a few seconds of stopping for.

So…Lemme Talk About Mass Music

It’s probably fair to say that one of the most radical changes in the last fifty years has been the music used during Mass. Most typical parishes nowadays have a lame “gathering song”, a vanilla “offertory hymn”, a “Communion song” about “breaking bread” and “sharing the cup of blessing”, and finally, a “song of sending forth”. In Masses for gatherings of youth, we’ll usually find a praise and worship band, or if nothing else, a lot of acoustic guitars and emotional songs. Then in traditionalist circles, we’ll find either chant or some old, reverent hymns. This last category is a rare bird, though. Most of the time, the music heard at Mass is unoffensive, non-theological, very community-oriented, and thought of as a direct fruit of Vatican II.

Now, I tend to be a pill (by the standards of many) when it comes to the question of what music should be used in Mass. I’m staunchly anti-Praise & Worship where the Mass is concerned, and I also dislike nothing more than the above-mentioned community hymns by the likes of Dan Schutte, David Haas, and Marty Haugen. But the question is, why am I against it? Can’t people worship God however they want? Can’t people sing whatever music they feel connects them to Our Lord? If it would get teenagers (and by the way, I am one) to go to Mass, would Praise and Worship really be that bad? These questions, my friends, are what I shall attempt to answer right now.

Objection 1: We Should Be Able to Worship God However We Want

The thing wrong with this argument is that it is using the word “worship” as an arbitrary form of praise given to God, one that’s kinda blurry and simply needs to end in acknowledging the greatness of the Lord. And while there’s some truth to that, the Mass is not “worship” in that way. Protestants have worship when they get together and read the Scriptures and have songs, the man kneeling next to his bed is worshiping while he recites his evening prayers. But that’s not all that goes on at Mass. Yes, the first reason for which Mass is offered is the adoration of God. But this adoration is not subjective worship like prayer. This adoration is done in a concrete, most perfect way, a way that is within the context of another act. What is this act? It is the act of giving God the only offering totally and completely acceptable to Him: the infinite offering of God Himself. It is so perfect an act of adoration, so beyond what we would think of ourselves, that God Himself had to institute it during His Last Supper on Holy Thursday. And because God was the One Who had to give it to us, that means God is the One Who determines how it’s done, rather than us.

Further proof that God is the director of liturgical acts comes from the fact that He Himself had to proscribe even finite sacrifices in the Old Testament. Remember how, in Exodus, Moses and Aaron went to Pharaoh to ask him for a time of freedom, so that God’s people could offer Him sacrifices in the wilderness. Pharaoh asks why they can’t just offer God their sacrifices without leaving, and they reply, “We must take a three-day journey into the wilderness to offer sacrifices to the Lord our God, as He commands us” (Ex. 8:27). Pharaoh keeps trying to make deals with them, and they say, “until we get there we will not know what we are to use to worship the Lord” (10:26). They can’t just do whatever they feel like, they have to do what God wants. If this was the case with their finite offerings, how much more would it be the case with that infinite offering that is the Mass?

Objection 2: It Should Be Allowed In Mass Because It Might Bring People Such as Teens Closer to God

Well first of all, considering that I’m a 16-year-old myself, this obviously isn’t universally the case. But that’s not the point. I’m going to talk here specifically about Praise and Worship, since I don’t know any teens inspired by Schutte, Haas, or Haugen. However much Praise and Worship might make Mass exciting for a teen–even, for a time, inflamed with enthusiasm for Our Lord–it does so purely within the realm of subjectivity, at the cost of obscuring what the Mass actually is. As I said above, the Mass is objective. Praise and Worship turns the Mass into a play of pleasant emotions, when in actuality, the thing going on at the altar is far from “pleasant”. “Good”, sure, but not pleasant. You have to realize, when the priest says the words of consecration elevates the Eucharist, you’re observing far more than you’d think. Under the veils of bread and wine, you are looking at the Second Person of the Blessed Trinity stretched out upon the Cross, scourged, beaten, suffering intensely, DYING for you. I’d like to repeat that:

Your senses may not grasp it, but at Mass you are observing your Creator, Lord, and God being willfully destroyed, due to YOUR OWN SINS (and mine). It might sound harsh, but is it untrue? It’s not the time to sing upbeat, emotional music that takes away that reality of the Mass, and changes that objective thing into something shaped by our own tastes. It’s a time to say, “Thank You, O Lord, for the gift of the Mass as You have given it to us. In gratitude for Your sacrifice I will put myself aside to adore You within the liturgy as You please”.

If we’re talking upbeat music, then that makes the music the focus of the Mass, rather than Our Lord on the altar. And this next part is important: I’d even say this is the case if we have solemn, operatic music. Any music that makes itself and not God the center of attention has no place in Mass.

Finally, music is not just something added to the liturgy for the sake of enhanced effect, and a lot of folks don’t know that. Liturgical music properly speaking should be an extension of the liturgical texts themselves, which is why there are pre-composed “Entrance Chants” and “Offertory Chants” and “Communion Antiphons” in the missal for every Mass of the year. It is the thought of the Church that these would be sung, not the random four hymns every week. The random four hymns is an exception. The norm is to chant the Propers of the day, which are connected with the Mass of the day, and don’t just add to it to sound nice, but are truly a part of the Mass itself. It’s quite odd, therefore, that most parishes choose four hymns all the time instead of the set-in-stone, actual liturgical texts the Church has given us.

On the Question of Haas-Haugen-and-Schutte-style Music

As I said at the beginning of this post, the problem with modern “community-style” hymns is that they make the Mass purely into a fraternal social gathering. But again, the Mass is not just the community getting together to worship God arbitrarily. It is a concrete offering made to Him on His own terms, and He is to be the focus. Thus, hymns that are a celebration of ourselves are quite a problem. They totally distort the character of the Mass into what Pope Emeritus Benedict called “the self-enclosed circle”. With this type of music, God is worshiped in our own way, and thus, it’s not really God being worshiped at all, but our perception of God. When we worship our perception of God rather than the true God, we end up worshiping ourselves.

It’s time parishes do a deep-cleaning where music is concerned.

 

The Lord bless and keep you this Holy Week.

 

A Brief Post on the Problem of Too Much Liturgical Diversity

The Novus Ordo is currently the “ordinary expression” of the Roman rite in the Catholic Church. As such, that means that most priests within the Roman rite will celebrate this form of the Mass, which means, in turn, that this will be the form of Mass that is most widely seen.

This fact alone would make one expect uniformity in its celebration. Moreover, the Novus Ordo is but a single rite of the many rites in the Western Church. Thus, a person wouldn’t expect a great amount of diversity when looking at this one rite. Yet find diversity he will. In the present situation of the Church, there are as many forms of the Novus Ordo as there are parishes to celebrate it.  Indeed, one might reasonably say there are more differences between various celebrations of the Novus Ordo than there are differences between older Western rites that are entirely distinct from each other.

Permit me, my friends, to give examples of this great diversity. In the Novus Ordo, you have several options. You can choose among the following for any celebration of Mass according to this missal:

  • Celebration with the priest ad orientem or facing the people
  • Celebration entirely in Latin or entirely in the local language
  • Celebration with a mixture of Latin and the local language
  • Reception of Holy Communion on the tongue or in the hands
  • Reception of Holy Communion kneeling or standing
  • Celebration where the music is either the Propers found in the missal or four hymns of choice
  • Celebration with boys serving at the altar, or girls
  • Celebration with both boys and girls serving at the altar
  • Celebration where the priest alone distributes Holy Communion, or where he is helped by laypeople
  • Celebration where the priest may use the Roman Canon or one of the new replacement Eucharistic prayers
  • Celebration where the Confiteor and Kyrie are said, or where one of the a new penitential acts is used instead
  • Celebration that begins with the priest saying, “The Lord be with you”, or one of the new options

I needn’t go on. You get the point. Please note that the list is arranged in such a way that the traditional practice is mentioned first. Note also that the “or” options are what most parishes use, which is especially troubling since, by using the “or” options, these parishes introduce inevitable differences from other churches (particularly as regards the choices of music, penitential form, Eucharistic prayer, language, and gender of altar servers).

What if there’s a really traditional church that wants to have only the traditonal options (the first choices on each part of the above list)? That’s all well and good, but a Novus Ordo said like that will look nothing like the Novus Ordo a few miles away. Is it really good for the Church to have so many different forms within a single rite?

My suggestion, then, would be the following [maybe the next Holy Father could implement them… :) ]:

  • Mandate ad orientem (after reasonable preparation)
  • Mandate reception of Holy Communion kneeling on the tongue (giving good explanations as to why)
  • Mandate that the priest alone may give Holy Communion, and not laypeople (after giving a good explanation as to why)
  • Mandate that only the Propers may be sung, in Latin, and to a set tune, instead of the constantly-changing four-hymn platter we’re constantly served
  • Mandate boys only as altar servers (after giving a reasonable explanation why)
  • Mandate the Roman Canon as the only Eucharistic Prayer
  • Mandate the Confiteor and the Kyrie as the only option for the penitential act
  • Mandate “The Lord be with you” as the initial thing the priest says to the people, getting rid of the new options

That leaves the question of Latin vs. local language. I would say the Canon should be in Latin, but the mandating of that should wait, so as not to bombard the faithful with too much change at once.

I’m convinced that the Novus Ordo would be uniform and beautiful if such mandates as listed above were made. Anyone want to agree?

As always, thoughts are welcome.