Early one Sunday
morning, my son, age 3, asked whether we were going to the "quiet
Mass" or the "fun Mass." The choice was between the 100-mile drive
our family makes once a month to Atlanta to attend a church that offers
the Traditional Latin Mass -- the liturgy that prevailed in the Catholic
Church until 1969, when Second Vatican Council reforms were implemented
-- and the quick hop down the road we make on other Sundays to our
local parish church in Auburn, Alabama. There, we can see friends
and neighbors, sing along to bouncy liturgical music, feast on donuts
afterward (the Latin Mass in Atlanta offers only hard cookies), and
be home in no time. My son was relieved -- but also disappointed --
to learn that this wasn't the Sunday of the "quiet Mass," when we
make our monthly trek to be part of what every Catholic in the world
experienced 30 years ago....
Nonetheless,
the overall effect of our parish Mass is not so much scandalous
as spiritually and aesthetically prosaic. Despite the new liturgy's
attempt to reach us where we are, its effect is oddly abstract and
distant compared with that of the old. It's great to be with the
community and hear a nice homily, but the whole point of the Mass
is something very different: that in the sacrifice on the altar,
the bread and wine are transformed into the Body and Blood of Our
Lord. In the multitude of readings, greetings, and songs in our
parish church, that point tends to fade into the distance.
Even my toddler
son and my older daughter, age 6 (my youngest is a baby), understand
that something is missing at the "fun Mass." I make a point of never
disparaging the new rite in my children's presence. That's because
I recall a conversation I once had with a fallen-away Catholic.
She said, "Oh yes, my father loved the Latin Mass. After Vatican
II, he refused to go to church at all." I wondered at the time if
her father's stubbornness inadvertently played a role in his daughter's
loss of faith. I didn't want that to happen to my children, so I
swore that I would always keep my complaining to myself. I want
my children to grow up as faithful Catholics, regardless of which
rite they attend.
But can the
new rite ensure this as well as the old? The old rite provides theological
depth, transcendental complexity, the right mix of exterior and
interior textures, and a historical link to the whole of Catholic
liturgical tradition. Can a rite designed in 1969 do the same?....
I've tried
to put myself in their place and deduce why they are attracted to
this old-fashioned ritual, which is not inherently child-friendly.
Maybe it's the smell of incense and the strange sights and sounds:
the clanking chain of the thurible, in which the incense burns;
the complicated altar choreography; the high-pitched Sanctus bells.
Maybe it's the Gregorian chant, a form of music so intrinsic to
the Faith, it seems to evangelize all by itself. Or the silence
in the church before and after Mass. Even the very unfamiliarity
of the Latin language that challenges their ears.
Most likely,
my children treat the Traditional Latin Mass with respect and deference
for the same reason my wife and I do: the entire liturgy takes us
far away from everyday life, envelops us in a sense of mystery and
spiritual solemnity, transports us out of time and place, and feeds
our souls. It is not one thing in particular but the whole package,
so integrated and thick with meaning, so radically unfamiliar and
yet deeply this Mass as a bone thrown to quirky people willing to
drive long distances to attend it, but as a mainstream part of everyday
Catholic life, as it once was.
Catholic
writers such as Michael Davies have gone to great lengths to demonstrate
the theological superiority of the old Mass and its continuity with
the practices of the early Church. Philosophers such as Catherine
Pickstock of Cambridge University have contended that the old Roman
Rite is so significant as a distinct language form that it solves
the very riddle of linguistic meaning that the French deconstructionists
have raised. She argues that the old liturgy, developed over 10
centuries, emerged as neither pure "text" nor pure revelation from
God, but a "middle voice" between time and eternity, one that takes
us to truth. But in the end, such arguments are not as important
as the simple fact that the Latin Mass calls me personally and intimately
to communion with God, and that everything that happens during that
hour is directed toward that goal....
Children
of all ages can be seen at these Masses. In fact, most of the people
there seem to be under 40 and over 65, with the generation that
came of age during Vatican II conspicuously underrepresented. Many,
like us, travel long distances to attend. The congregation includes
a broad cross-section of races, ethnic groups, and social classes.
What unites us all is a love of the old liturgy and our faith.
Why, if the
case for the Traditional Latin Mass is so apparent to so many of
all ages, do we have to drive so far to find it? Part of the answer
may lie in Church politics (many liturgists have invested heavily
in the notion of "reform" that the new rite seems to entail) and
part in sheer inertia. The new Mass is now the "tradition" in most
parishes, like my own in Auburn. Still, I'm inclined to think that
eventually the majority of Catholics will come to recognize -- and
reinstate -- the beauty and profundity of the "quiet Mass" of the
traditional rite, which my 3-year-old son can see so clearly.
This article orginially appeared in Belief magazine.
Reproduced by permission
of the author.
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