A long-standing member of the LMS takes stock of over thirty years of religious revolution. He prefers to remain anonymous.
‘Though I am growing old, I maintain that the best part is still to come – the time when one may see things more dispassionately and know oneself and others more truly, and perhaps be able to do more; and in religion rest centred in a very few simple thoughts’.
(Benjamin Jowett, translator of Plato’s dialogues, when aged 71)
None of the above is true for me, so I conclude that I am still young! I feel the need to put down on paper a description of how I have reached my present frame of mind in my continuing search for the truth – the truth about life, and how I am supposed to live in the world which God created. My thoughts about religion are still in turmoil and are certainly not simple.I was brought up by devout Catholic parents, and educated by priests at a Catholic school. Everything concerning God and the Church was clear, cut and dried, and I practised my religion outwardly perfectly, but inwardly as a matter of routine.
I gained a credit in the Higher Religious Certificate at school. I could define hyperdulia and hypostatic union, yet I felt no sense of a personal relationship with God. My prayers were sterile repetitions of standard formats.
I left home for the first time at eighteen to do my National Service and immediately, in a spirit of rebellion, stopped doing all those things which my parents had made me do – cleaning my teeth every morning, refraining from swearing, and going to Mass.
However, after some months I found myself in a group containing some very brilliant intellectuals. Seeing ‘R.C.’ on my papers, they began to engage me in debates about Catholic dogmas, and I was unable to answer them. I decided to bluff, kept my ‘lapsation’ to myself, and embarked on a furious reading binge of books by past and current Catholic writers, in the process becoming more able to engage fully in the debates and arguments.
I realised later that the hand of God was at work in this. I became truly fervent in my prayer and, having read about and observed most other forms of Christianity, was confirmed in my view that the Roman Catholic Church was the one for me.
When I came out of the army, I fell in love with a charming girl. She was at the time preparing to be received into the Catholic Church, so when we married everything was neat and tidy. After a short period living in London, we moved to the country and, apart from tending to our growing family, we became very active in local church affairs and, in particular, liturgical music. I also maintained an interest in the affairs of the Catholic Church worldwide, and read The Tablet and The Universe regularly. I was happy in my faith, and in the Church, which was a rock for me to cling to in times of trouble and distress.
Certainly I could see that there was a need for some reforms in the Church and in its liturgy, and when the Council Fathers of Vatican II started to announce their decisions I greeted most of them with delight.
Reform or revolution?
Soon after the Council ended, I began to travel to the (former) Soviet Union and East Europe, and developed a love for the Orthodox liturgy – when I could find it. In those days the Orthodox Church in Russia and the Catholic Church in East Europe were still suffering persecution. Because of my frequent absences I failed to give careful attention for about ten years to what was going on in the English Catholic Church. In the early 1980s I started to feel uneasy at all the changes which were taking place. It seemed to me that what the Council Fathers had envisioned was not at all what was happening.
I did not learn until much later that the scenario had been painted even before the Council began. The ‘reformers’ were led by Archbishop (later Cardinal) Bugnini, who gathered around him a number of advisers (periti), some of whom were Lutheran theologians, and their aim was simply the radical revision of the Holy Roman Catholic church, and its replacement by an almost Lutheran form of Christianity. Pope Paul VI in his later years realised the enormity of what had been done, and sacked Bugnini (who made a statement of repentance on his deathbed – somewhat late in the day). Cardinal Heenan, before he died, was appalled by the distortions by the implementers of the directives of the Council of which he had been a member.
My beloved Gregorian Chant was thrown out. The Latin Mass according to the missal of St Pius V was thrown out. The vernacular Mass (designated by the Council as ‘permitted’ as an alternative to the Latin Mass) was now the norm. The Novus Ordo arrived and I was dismayed at what was left out, at the banality and distortion of much of the translation, and the ordinariness of it all. What had been an awesome liturgical worship of God in Trinity was replaced by a jolly celebration of man’s worthiness, with a user-friendly Jesus.
Ninety per cent of the saints I had venerated were thrown out of the calendar (‘most of them never existed, and the legends about those who did are false’). The richness of the Liturgical Year was reduced to a dreary repetition (‘the 199th Sunday in ordinary time’). Doctrines to which I had held firm since childhood were dismissed as ‘old hat’.
I went to a priest and asked him to hear my confession, and was told, ‘you don’t need to bother with that any more, just tell God yourself you are sorry’. Homosexuality was now O.K. (‘as long as you are discreet about it’).
The legacy of beautiful churches was dissipated. Existing churches were stripped of their furnishings and decorations. New churches were built which could have been designed for any purpose – offices, schools etc., and were minimally furnished in a brutal soviet style. The quiet ten minutes before and after Mass was replaced by the hubbub of the market place. The altar placed at the east end of the church, with the priest facing it, and leading the people towards God, was replaced with a free-standing table (as Luther had decreed) with the priest behind it facing the people like the chairman at a meeting. In the music sphere the organ was out – the guitar and recorder were in.
The music I loved was no more, and trite twangy pop tunes with lyrics written by feminist American nuns were the order of the day. As one priest put it to me - ‘We used to love singing “Praise to the Holiest in the Heights” – now all we’ve got is **** “Kumbayah” !’
A low ebb
The awe, the mystery, the reverence were all gone. Statistics showed an inexorable decline in all fields – baptisms, Mass attendance, vocations, converts. Looking at the graphs between 1965 and 2001 one does not need to be an expert mathematician to calculate that the Catholic Church in the United Kingdom will probably cease to exist as an institution around the year 2030.
One priest had the audacity to say to me, ‘Yes, now we have a leaner, fitter church for those who are really interested, and the others can do what they want.’ I do not think that this was what Jesus Christ planned.
In the late 1980s I entered a slough of despond. I hardly knew what to believe any more, and went through the motions of participation at the new Mass with an unhappy heart. I was by then playing the organ at Mass in two churches. I stopped playing the organ for weddings, because I became disgusted at the behaviour of those present who appeared to have little idea as to what was going on. I played the hymns during Mass (this was all that was wanted now). At one of the churches, I became more and more annoyed at the trashy music and lyrics of the hymns I was asked to play, but bit my lip and carried on. In the end the unhappiness became too much, and I quietly resigned.
At the other church very shortly after this, I was asked to play at a Mass organised by the Latin Mass Society of which, at that time, I had never heard. I had not realised that the Old Rite Mass was still being celebrated. I accompanied the plainchant Mass on 8 September 1989, and my faith was restored from that day.
Second wind
joined the Latin Mass Society and became an active member. On Sundays I travel to one of two churches where the Old Rite Mass is celebrated which are both the nearest available to me. Either involves a round 80-mile journey. I sometimes attend a Novus Ordo Mass with my wife, who is quite happy with the new order of things and disagrees with me – so do most of my Catholic friends and my family, and this divergence of religious views is a matter of great sadness for me.
During the thirteen years since I joined the LMS I have been very happy, and feel at peace with God and myself. I read voraciously (having thrown out The Tablet long ago), make donations to the societies of Traditional priests – the Fraternity of Saint Peter and the Institute of Christ the King. They are thriving and cannot cope with the queues of young men wishing to enter.
A young Englishman, William Hudson, was ordained at the Institute last year but, with parishes and seminaries closing down in England through lack of priests and ordinands,
it seems the bishops of England do not want this young man to run a parish over here lest he queer the pitch. I am still upset that to be orthodox is now taken to be blameworthy, whilst to be avant garde is now mainstream.
On three occasions the Pope has specifically urged bishops to be generous with their permissions for the Traditional Mass, and yet (with some notable exceptions) the hierarchy of England and Wales treat us like troublesome delinquents. What I learn through the Catholic press about English seminary training over the past thirty years fills me with despair. What sort of persons (albeit in ever-decreasing numbers) are they turning out, with their psychological profiling and their rejection of any applicant who shows traditionalist leanings? What I learn about religious education in Catholic schools is even more alarming – and I know that on this subject my siblings, all former teachers, share my fears.
Basically the theme since 1968 has been ‘old is bad, new is good’
It has been said that we (traditionalists) are obsessed with the liturgy ‘which is not a fundamental issue’. Yet Dom Gueranger, the leading nineteenth-century liturgical reformer, said that ‘to change people’s religion you need do no more than change their books of worship’.
The only two bishops to defy Paul VI, and continue to celebrate the Traditional Roman Mass in conformity with the precepts of Pope Paul V, were Lefebvre in France and de Castro Meyer in Brazil. Both were excommunicated. The followers of Lefebvre formed themselves into the Priestly Society of Saint Pius X, and in Brazil into the Union of the Priests of Campos. The good news is that in January of this year the Pope publicly lifted the censures and canonical penalties on the Priests of Campos, ratified their right to celebrate Mass according to the missal of Pius V, and raised their status to that of a Personal Apostolic Administration under their leader Mgr Licinio Rangel, directly subject to the Apostolic See. What a joy! Now we are all waiting to see the outcome of talks between the SSPX and the Vatican.
A typical Mass
My wife and I went to California in May for a holiday. The Mass on our first Sunday there was in a modern church which resembled a community hall. It was a fairly normal Novus Ordo, but with many omissions, and with a social get-together atmosphere.
On the second Sunday we went to another church and even my wife was distressed by what took place inside. In the entrance area was the font – except that it was a huge jacuzzi with water cascading around. There was no crucifix in the church and no tabernacle. There were neither statues nor pictures, except in the entrance area where there was a large picture of Christ depicted as a laughing youth leader with his arm around some boys whilst kicking a football. High above the altar was a wooden figure, just recognisable as a man, which I suppose represented Christ. The figure was suspended by a large pole stuck in its back. It was truly awful.
The whole ceremony was conducted by a robed woman, with other robed women forming a choir, handing out the communion hosts, and performing other jobs. Two priests (the only men) stood by acting like slightly embarrassed co-hosts on a chat show. There were no introductory prayers – no mention of sin, penitence and forgiveness. There were no genuflections.
The whole Canon of the Mass (if that is what it was) and the consecration took a total of 3 minutes. Most of the time the congregation stood and held hands, swaying to the melodies of the pop-style hymns that were being sung. At the end we all had to applaud in turn all those who had appeared on the ‘sanctuary’.
Well, we are nearly there in England…
By comparison, I went back last month on business to my favourite non-English country – Russia. All over Russia I have witnessed a huge resurgence of Christianity. One English bishop said to me, ‘Ah, but this is always so after a period of persecution’. Ah – but it isn’t ! In the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Hungary and (to a lesser extent) Poland, the Catholic Church was just as heavily persecuted in Soviet times. After the fall of communism, Catholic churches were again permitted to practice openly and freely, as the Orthodox were in Russia. Most of these Catholic churches immediately toed the new party line and ‘went modern’. All of them have been declining in numbers and popular respect ever since, just as in Western Europe.
And yet in Russia, the Orthodox numbers are going up and up, and the churches are going up and up, and the seminaries are full to bursting. When I attend an Orthodox liturgy in Russia the Church is full – not just of old baboushkas, but of people of all ages.
The liturgy is arguably even more beautiful than the traditional Catholic form, the singing is exquisite, and the sense of awe and reverence is palpable. According to our modernists this just should not be so. The Orthodox Church is still using the same liturgy which it has used for hundreds of years. They are using a dead language (Old Church Slavonic) which is not used outside the church. They are preaching the same doctrines as they have always done. And still the people come in their thousands, including many young people and ex-atheists.
The tragedy is that the Great Schism of 1054 could undoubtedly have been resolved by patient theological discussion relatively quickly, but after some years the positions became entrenched and apparently incapable of resolution.
We had a great chance of reconciliation in1990, after the Communist regime fell and the Orthodox Church was once again free to operate. Of course the Orthodox hierarchy have shown that they can be stupidly stubborn and too concerned with what has happened in the past, but I truly believe that the possibility of rapprochement was there, and was certainly a major desire of the present Pope. But in talking to Orthodox clerics now, I sense dismay at all the changes in the Catholic Church since 1968 and an unwillingness to be associated with this changed – and still changing - church. This is not just sad, it is a tragedy.
And still the years roll on. Maybe, after all, I should just close my eyes and ears and mouth and ‘rest centred in a very few simple thoughts’.
[Taken from the Latin Mass Society's November 2002 Newsletter.]