The Kingdom of the Beloved Son(Col. 1, 13) |
What do those accustomed to the new rite ‘see’ when they stumble across a Traditional Mass? Why are some repelled but intrigued – wary of ‘anachronism’ but drawn to the evident holiness of the Mass? Why does the Traditional Rite convey the Mystery of the Mass more powerfully than the new rite? Father Nicolas du Chaxel FSSP discusses the supernatural, dogmatic and spiritual strength of the Traditional Rite. |
In pushing open the door of a Catholic church, one can discover very different forms of architecture and different rites.
Sometimes, in the morning, a small assembly might gather round a priest to clap hands joyfully and sing in syncopated rhythm an English translation of the Psalms of David, broken up by acclamations which flow from the heart of the participants. Every morning, according to the inspiration of the day, this ‘office’ might be subject to variation with respect to its content or its melodies, and yet there remains a palpable fervour.
Elsewhere, perhaps at the same hour, in the silence proper to another world, a priest ‘turns his back’ to those gathered, who are on their knees, and bows over the altar. Something dear to the hearts of these people is taking place, without which they would not remain there in silence. At certain moments, the priest mutters something in Latin, words that the people might not comprehend. What is the meaning of these words and actions?
Such a scene can be discouraging or even surprising; reactions might be quite varied: some will say, “What is this for?” or “I don’t understand” or even, “I feel left out!” Others are fascinated or even drawn in. This range in response is essentially due to a lack of understanding of what Liturgy is. Such ignorance often leads one to consider the Mystery according to criteria that belong exclusively to man or to the world, or as Archbishop Malcolm Ranjith , Secretary of the Congregation for Divine Worship and the Discipline of the Sacraments, states, criteria that correspond to the latest and most fashionable theological theory.
(In a memorable document, The Eucharistic Spirituality of the Church, he writes: “I think that the general problem was an erroneous idea of the purpose of the Council. Indeed, speaking of the conciliar reforms, Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger says: ‘The [Council] Fathers wanted to update the faith, indeed, to present it with its full impact. Instead, people gradually formed the idea that the reform consisted merely of throwing out the ballast, in other words, of divesting it so that in the end the reform did not appear to radicalise the faith but to dilute it’ (Salt of the Earth, p. 86). This erroneous attitude gave rise to theological schools which, by downplaying the importance of Tradition and the ecclesial Magisterium in theological direction and research, have advanced confusing opinions. The same situation has more or less plagued sacramental and especially Eucharistic theology. New approaches of certain other theological disciplines, such as those concerning ecumenism and interreligious dialogue, have influenced events. These bewildering theological opinions on the nature of the sacrament have subsequently given rise to not a few problems…More dangerous was the emergence of an erroneous or only partially true Eucharistic theology that was not in keeping with the Church’s teaching: ‘Lex orandi’ is ‘lex credendi’, as we well know.” The document is a priceless and thorough analysis of the current state of affairs in the Church and the possible remedy.)
This article seeks to remind us briefly of what liturgy is and hopes to show that, faced with this great Mystery, we are able to use our sense of awe to come to an awakened desire for holiness. It also tries to suggest how we might surpass the dialectical confrontation between two points of view: the sense of nostalgia for the past and the innovating sense of liturgical creativity.
God’s Holy Temple
To pass through the door of a church already constitutes a religious act which signifies entry into the sacred. A church is the temple of God. It is not a meeting place of men but the place of worship of God. All are called to enter this temple and to find God, but the Heavenly voice which finds its echo in these walls calls out firstly to the baptised. In the baptismal ritual in the Traditional Rite, after the catechumen is brought into the church, the priest puts salt in his mouth and says, “After this first taste of salt, let his hunger for heavenly nourishment not be prolonged but soon be satisfied.” From his baptism, the Christian has a taste for the things of God. He should know how to discern between those things that are of the world, and those that come from above. To show that the priesthood and the Church protect the catechumen, the priest places his stole on the head of the child as he is brought into the church, saying, “Come into God’s sanctuary, where you will be given a share with Christ in everlasting life”.
Elsewhere we read in the Mass of the Dedication of a Church these beautiful words that bear an eternal echo: “hic domus Dei est, et porta caeli, et vocabitur aula Dei” (“This is none other than the House of God, and this is the Gate of Heaven” – Introit of the Mass Terribilis Est, taken from Gen. 28, 17).
Above all things, this is what a church is: the House of God, the Gate of Heaven, the space in which, with and through Christ, we receive no less than eternal life. How could one resist such a calling? The mere thought of the majesty of a church ought to move us with great enthusiasm. Those who find God too distant or too silent ought to re-read the ritual of Baptism and spend more time in these magnificent temples, passing through the gates of Heaven. (“Liturgy presupposes…that the heavens have been opened….If the heavens are not open, then whatever liturgy was is reduced to role playing and, in the end, to a trivial pursuit of congregational self-fulfilment in which nothing really happens. The decisive factor, therefore, is the primacy of Christology”. Joseph Ratzinger, A New Song for the Lord, p. 133, Crossroad Publishing Company).
If contemporary churches, as the architecture of many of them leads us to conclude, scarcely set themselves apart from the parish hall or dining rooms, we should not be surprised if the faithful no longer want to enter such places. Truly, the action that takes place in the church is not that of man, but of Christ: “it is an action of Christ the priest and of His Body which is the Church, it is a sacred action surpassing all others” (Vatican II, Constitution on the Liturgy, Sacrosanctum Concilium #7).
Sacrosanctum Concilium invites us to look up and to expand the horizons of our souls in considering the glory of God: “In the earthly liturgy we take part in a foretaste of that heavenly liturgy which is celebrated in the holy city of Jerusalem toward which we journey as pilgrims, where Christ is sitting at the right hand of God, a minister of the holies and of the true tabernacle” (Ibid #8).
The liturgy is, first and foremost, a taste of heavenly life, and a manifestation of God’s glory.
The Real Presence
Before considering more fully the Traditional Rite, let us quote the exhortation of Cardinal Francis Arinze, Prefect of the Congregation for Divine Worship: “People enter churches to pray not to be entertained… They are not tourists in a museum or music hall.” (‘Hearts and Minds’ Conference at Westminster Cathedral, April 2006.) Following which, the Cardinal Prefect uses the definition of the Mass from the Council of Trent in order to invite us to pray with reverence and faith:
“The Council of Trent teaches us that in the Most Blessed Sacrament of the Eucharist ‘the Body and Blood, together with the Soul and Divinity, of our Lord Jesus Christ and, therefore, the whole Christ is truly, really and substantially contained’. The Real Presence of Christ in the Holy Eucharist is therefore very much a part of our Catholic faith…Adoration is consequent on our Eucharistic faith. If we believe that the Sacrifice of the Mass is a sacramental re-presentation of the Sacrifice of the Cross, and that Jesus is really, truly and substantially present in this august Sacrament, adoration is going to follow…The way in which we celebrate the Mass has great importance. This applies first of all to the priest celebrant, but also to deacons…[and] every other participant, each in that person’s own role. The way the priest celebrates the Holy Eucharist affects the congregation in a very special manner. If he celebrates in such a way that his faith and devotion shine out, the people are nourished and strengthened in their Eucharistic faith…We also show our adoration and reverence towards the Holy Eucharist by silence in church, by becoming dress and postures at sacred celebrations.”
All that the Cardinal expresses as his pious wish is profusely found in the Traditional Rite – the Mass of the Ages. It is to this that we shall now turn our attention.
Sacred language
In entering a church, it is fitting to take some holy water and to make the Sign of the Cross. This act is a commemoration of the Easter Resurrection and of our own baptism. We leave outside the church our old man, in order to put on the new man “created after the likeness of God in true righteousness and holiness” (Eph. 4, 24), for the object of worship – and the highest act of worship is the Mass – is not man but God. We should not be astonished that the dominant language of such sacred celebrations is the Latin tongue. Latin is not only the language of the Roman Church but it is a sacred language, having been used and sanctified by Our Lord in the course of His life.
(The Council of Trent stated in its dogmatic decrees: “If anyone says that…the Mass should be celebrated in the vernacular only, let him be anathema.” The Second Vatican Council called for Latin to be retained in the Roman Rite; but with Cardinal Ratzinger we exclaim, “The Council was pushed aside; for instance, it had said that the Church was to retain Latin…today we might ask: is there a Latin rite at all any more? Certainly there is no awareness of it” The Feast of Faith, Ignatius Press 1986, p. 84).
In order to perform a sacred action, it is fitting to use a sacred language. In the time of Jesus, the Semitic peoples, whose daily language was Aramaic, continued to use the Hebrew language in their worship and liturgical functions; Hebrew was retained as a sacred language by these people. Similarly, “Latin”, as Blessed John XXIII points out, “is the ideal link by which the Church of today remains attached to the Church of yesterday and that of tomorrow” (Apostolic Constitution, Veterum Sapientiae, 22 February 1962). Simply put, Latin is a universal language as well as a sacred one.
Furthermore, it is said that the liturgy is, above all, a school which teaches us to enter into the Mystery of the Mass. As with all the great Mysteries of our Faith, are we surprised that we do not fully understand, say, the Trinity or Grace? As a consequence, we must take it upon ourselves to live the Mystery. It is the same with a sacred language: we must allow it to clothe us in the sacred character of the rite.
Padre Pio suggested that it was not necessary to go to Mass with a missal: “It suffices to pray”, he would say, “and for that you don’t need a missal.” It is beneficial and salutary to follow the Sacraments of the Church but it is important to note: the Church does not intend that they should be ‘transparent’; nor should we suppose that for centuries, pastoral care in explaining the liturgy was lacking. The proof is that the Church has obliged its pastors to explain these sacred ceremonies in the course of the administration of the rites. Regarding Baptism, Extreme Unction and the Sacrifice of the Mass, the Council of Trent declared: “the Holy Council commands pastors…that they explain frequently during the celebration of the Mass some of the things read during the Mass, and that among other things they explain some mystery of this most holy sacrifice, especially on Sundays and festival days” (Session 22 chap. 8, Denz.# 1749).
The Traditional Rite is far from the presumed obscurantism of which many are quick to speak.
Priest and faithful
Good manners would have it that we should look at Him to whom we speak. It is not a question of a dialogue amongst the members of the worshipping assembly; therefore all should turn towards God, with the priest at their head. Having received the sacerdotal character, the priest leads the procession and the contemplation of the community. He does not ‘turn his back’ to the congregation, but, like them, he looks at God and leads his flock towards Him. (“A common turning to the East during the Eucharistic Prayer remains essential. This is not a case of something accidental, but of what is essential. Looking at the priest has no importance. What matters is looking together at the Lord.” Cardinal Ratzinger in The Spirit of the Liturgy, Ignatius Press, p. 81.) One should not be surprised that the first words of the Traditional Mass are, “Introibo ad altare Dei” (I will go in to the altar of God).
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Insofar as it is possible, the sacred ministers wear majestic vestments. It is not a question of ecclesiastical vanity, for actually the ministers hide their own human personality to let Christ, the Sovereign High Priest, shine forth. The best example that the priest is the first among sinners is that in the Mass of the Ages, the priest bows before the altar and alone recites the Confiteor while the ministers and congregation listen. Likewise, before receiving Holy Communion the priest recites three times alone the “Domine non sum dignus”, (Lord I am not worthy).
However, it would be too hasty to derive from the above that the role of the faithful in the Traditional Rite is to be passive spectators in the face of a heavenly liturgical event, (God and the priest do everything and I do nothing!)
Let us take an example: the Collect that follows the Kyrie and (when it occurs) the Gloria.
The celebrant kisses the altar, turns toward the faithful and greets them: Dominus vobiscum! A succinct phrase that, firstly, expresses a wish: The Lord be with you! It is for this reason that the celebrant first kisses the altar, so as to bear Christ, who is represented by the altar, and who he will give to the assembly. However, the Dominus vobiscum is more than a wish. To translate rigorously, one ought to say: The Lord is with you, just as Gedeon was greeted by an angel: “The Lord is with thee, O most valiant of men!” (Jdg 6, 12). We see that it is the affirmation of a reality: the Lord is with you.
In saying Dominus vobiscum, the celebrant opens his arms to the assembly, as if he is one with them and embracing them in the prayer that follows. Et cum spiritu tuo, respond the faithful, And with your spirit: words that parallel the greeting of Saint Paul: “May the grace of the Lord Jesus Christ be with your spirit” (Phil. 4, 23). Then, the celebrant invites the faithful to pray: Oremus! Let us pray! (Here in the plural for the entire community prays with the priest.) In turning towards the crucifix, the celebrant brings this prayer to Christ. The priest now recites the Collect, from the Latin verb ‘colligere’, which means precisely to bring together. In this prayer, we find the wishes and prayers of all the faithful brought together and presented to Almighty God by the celebrant through his dignity as a priest, a mediator between God and man.
In reflecting upon these few words, ‘Dominus vobiscum’ and ‘et cum spiritu tuo’, our whole being acts and worships. Do we meditate enough on this reality? By comparison, the missal of Paul VI is considerably poor in symbolism: the altar is no longer kissed; neither is the source and recipient of the Collect, who is Christ, signified; no longer does the priest turn round to the people to gather their prayers and to present them to God.
We could point to many other examples in the Traditional Rite that symbolise the supernatural reality of the Mass, for each prayer is, in itself, a symbolic universe which enables us to participate in the Mass.
Silence and Communion
In the Traditional Mass a privileged place is given to silence. No one has better explained the meaning of silence than Cardinal Ratzinger. Here is a rather long quotation that needs no explication:
“Many protagonists of liturgical reform seemed to think that if we only did everything together and in a loud voice, the liturgy would automatically become attractive and effective. They forgot that the spoken words also have a meaning, and part of participatio actuosa is to carry out that meaning. They failed to notice that the actio does not consist only or primarily in the alternation of standing, sitting and kneeling, but in inner processes. It is these which give rise to the whole drama of the liturgy. ‘Let us pray’ – this is an invitation to share in a movement which reaches down into our inner depths. ‘Lift up your hearts’ – this phrase and the movement which accompanies it are, so to speak, only the ‘tip of the iceberg’. The real action takes place in the deep places of men’s hearts, which are lifted up to the heights. ‘Behold the Lamb of God’ – here we have an invitation to a special kind of beholding, at a much deeper level than the external beholding of the Host. Where this inner dimension was neglected, the liturgy still seemed ‘boring’ and ‘unintelligible’, with the result that ultimately the Bible was replaced by Marx and the sacrament by a kind of party atmosphere. People wanted to ‘turn on’ an immediate effect, as it were, from outside. Compared with the merely external busy-ness which became the rule in many places, the quiet ‘following’ of Mass, as we knew it in former times, was far more realistic and dramatic: it was a sharing in the action at a deep level, and in it the community of faith was silently and powerfully mobilised. Of course, to say this is not to impugn ‘active participation’ as I have defined it; the criticism only applies where this participation has degenerated into mere externals. There is simply no way of ensuring that everyone, always and on all occasions, is involved in the actio” (The Feast of Faith, Ignatius Press, pp 89-90).
This silence is particularly striking at the moment of Consecration. According to the ancient practice of the East, the Consecration takes place as the priest stands over the oblation, and recites in a voice so low that no one can hear. One could object that it is regrettable and perhaps not such an ancient practice that the Consecration should take place with such an apparent distance from the people. To such a claim, we can say that the Christian East does not conceive of another way and that the solemn silence is followed by the joyful exultations of the Sanctus; furthermore, the Canon of the Mass in the Roman Rite began to be celebrated in a low voice from around the eighth century, so that not even the celebrant would break the sacred silence. In the midst of the awe of the Consecration, the only possible attitude is that of silence, in which all can contemplate the Sacred Species raised before them by the celebrant.
In the Traditional Rite, there is a rather interesting detail: following the Consecration, the priest keeps his thumbs and forefingers joined until the purification after Communion. This is a precaution that clearly manifests belief in the Real Presence, its purpose being to ensure that any small particles that may be stuck to the fingers are not lost.
Such respect for the Real Presence also dictates the manner in which Holy Communion is received: with the communicant preferably kneeling, Holy Communion is always given on the tongue and never in the hand. The intentions of Pope Paul VI are clear on this matter, even at the time of the introduction of the new missal. In the Papal instruction, ‘Memoriale Domini’ (29 May 1969), the Pope states that “given the actual state of the Church throughout the world, this way of distributing Holy Communion [on the tongue] must be kept.” The current near universal practice in the new rite is in fact a concession given to regularise illicit practice, and only to be used after careful preparation of the people.
A text that has often been used to show that Communion in the hand is an ancient custom supposedly comes to us from Saint Cyril of Jerusalem, although its authenticity is uncertain:
“In approaching therefore, come not with thy wrists extended, or thy fingers spread; but make thy left hand a throne for the right, as for that which is to receive a King” (Cyril of Jerusalem, Mystagogical Catechesis 5, 21).
Invariably the following is never mentioned:
“…giving heed lest thou lose any portion thereof; for whatever thou losest, is evidently a loss to thee as it were from one of thine own members. For tell me, if any one gave thee grains of gold, wouldest thou not hold them with all carefulness, being on thy guard against losing any of them, and suffering loss? Wilt thou not then much more carefully keep watch, that not a crumb fall from thee of what is more precious than gold and precious stones?”
Nevertheless, it remains the case that today’s practice in the new rite of communion in the hand rarely corresponds to the apparent practice of the early Church. (For a fuller discussion of this matter see ‘The Veneration and Administration of the Eucharist’ by John E.G. Stone in Mass of Ages, May 2005.)
The perennial rite
In conclusion, on the basis of elementary catechetical notions concerning Holy Mass, it is easy to see that the Traditional Liturgy in no way constitutes a rupture, neither with the past (which is self-evident) nor with the actual Magisterium. On the contrary, all that is encouraged by the Magisterium, from Vatican II to Pope Benedict XVI, confirms the well-founded good of an attachment to the perennial rite. I have written rather briefly of the Mass, however I could add countless more considerations concerning the Breviary and the Ritual.
In the words of the late pontiff, John Paul II: “In the Missal of St Pius V, as in various Eastern Liturgies...[there] is revealed the very substance of all Liturgy” (Message of the Holy Father to Participants in the Plenary Assembly of the Congregation for Divine Worship and the Discipline of the Sacraments, 21 September 2001). In 1998, Cardinal Ratzinger was not afraid to say that “many bishops, priests and lay-people see this attachment to the old liturgy as a divisive factor”, and to respond with great firmness: “Such anxieties and fears must cease! If in the two forms of celebration the unity of the faith and the unicity of the mystery should appear clearly, that could only be a reason to rejoice and thank the Good Lord’ (Cardinal Ratzinger’s speech on the Liturgy, given in Rome on October 24 1998 on the tenth anniversary of the motu proprio, ‘Ecclesia Dei’).
If a certain anxiety exists today, it should rather be the result of the liturgical innovations and spontaneity in the new rite, which I indicated at the beginning of this article, or even derive from a doubt as to how well-founded is the ‘good’ of the post-Vatican II reforms: “Liturgy does not come about through regulation. One of the weaknesses of the post-conciliar liturgical reform can doubtless be traced to the armchair strategy of academics, drawing up things on paper which, in fact, would presuppose years of organic growth.” (Cardinal Ratzinger, The Feast of Faith, Ignatius Press, p. 81). The Cardinal also wrote, in his preface to La Réforme Liturgique en Question: “What happened after the Council was something else entirely: in the place of Liturgy as the fruit of development came fabricated Liturgy. We abandoned the organic, living process of growth and development over centuries, and replaced it – as in a manufacturing process – with a fabrication, a banal on-the-spot product.” (Editions Sainte Madeleine, 1992).
On the other hand, the Traditional liturgy goes back to the Last Supper, at which Jesus made the offering that He would soon accomplish on the Cross: “This is my body which is for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” Our Lord links the Last Supper to Calvary, He casts upon this feast the shadow of the Cross. He institutes the Mass and the Liturgy with a view to the renewal of this sacred gesture by the Church: “Every time that you do this, you will do it in memory of me”. Today, through the operation of the Holy Ghost, it remains possible to be carried away by the ‘musicality’ of Christ who “Himself thus becomes the choir director who teaches us the new song and gives the Church the tone and the way in which she can praise God appropriately and blend into the heavenly liturgy” (Cardinal Ratzinger in A New Song for the Lord, op cit., p. 97).
In the face of the reality of what constitutes worship, and supported by the encouraging documents now coming from Rome, Traditional Catholics feel deeply attached to our liturgical traditions, and, in a special way, to the Roman Rite of Mass as codified by Pope Saint Pius V. We cannot renounce a spiritual patrimony that built up the faith of our fathers, their burning devotion and their theological reflection concerning the Sacrament of the Passion of Our Lord. In the Traditional Mass we also have a masterpiece of Western civilisation, in its hierarchical and sacred expression. One must come to know and to love with increasing desire the Traditional Mass. It is our treasure to be safeguarded and preserved from pillage.
[Taken from "Mass of Ages" August 2007, The Latin Mass Society's quarterly magazine]